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[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: I Saw You in a Dream\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1108\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about two people whose dreams are somehow connected." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "I felt a momentary haze, a crowd of people surrounded me, and myself amongst them. I never liked places like these. The confusion and exhaustion it elicited leave me feeling thousands of miles away from people who are physically next to me.\nFor myself, there is a perpetual feeling of loneliness in large crowds. I’ve never cared for people, not in large crowds at least. I preferred the company of others as we sit across from each other in a quiet restaurant. In a Christian sense, my love for others was present, no matter how begrudging that may be. After years in my faith, the commandment to love was, not a feeling, but a goal that required personal and external work in multiple complex senses. Something that I personally failed at, more often than I would like to admit, even with those who I claimed to love and care for.\nI took a drink of water and smoothed the wrinkles in my black sweater. I scanned the room for my mother who seemed to be my only source of solace at these parties. I probably looked rude to most people, but my emotional unavailability and irritation with small talk was my problem and not theirs. As I look up, I hear her voice carry a conversation with another. My mother’s voice sounds like mine, but brighter and less frigid. The other voice rocks part of my soul with its gruff warmth.\n“We’re happy to see you!” I hear her say as my father stands next to her and nonchalantly nods.\n“Thanks, it’s been a long time since I’ve been back”, the second voice says. I recognize it but I’m terrified to put a name to the recognizable sound. \nMy eyes absorb the imagery in front of me. My parents' kind demeanor talking to a boy, no, a man now, who had a scar down the back of his head and a uniform on. My mind jumps at calling him a man, the last time I had seen him he was nothing more than a scared, petulant, little boy. I can still see his eyes looking at me like I was a black cat that crossed his path, and him a person fearing the omen that I represented in that time of my life.\nI see his gaze shift from my parents to me, as his face looks less fearful and more comforted at the sight of me. That subtle calming smile climbing across his face felt like sunlight on a Sunday afternoon in August. The warmest peace in an eternal three o’clock as you lie beneath a window while falling asleep. Every part of me had longed for him to look at me that way. Still, I was fearful of this. There was a fragility in it that if I said or did the wrong thing, this little vision would turn into an embarrassing moment for me. I desired his gaze and still avoided it. As I tried to step out and move away, I bumped into him.\n“It’s been awhile...” His voice was quieter. There was a mature sentiment to it that had not been there in earlier years.\n“Yeah, it has...” I trailed off, feeling passive, and terrified to do anything. For years since I left, I had daydreamed of this. Spare moments between difficult classes and jobs had left me in prayer to God and daydreaming of what I believed I had missed. Though my prayers were not unfounded, my feelings appeared to me as meaningless drivel. I was a young woman, who spent her free time daydreaming and living in a fantasy, like any other girl would have done. Still, I would step out of it, and never fail to remind myself that it was a fantasy, something I made up to cope with monotonous everyday life. I can feel the tensity, we weren’t on bad terms, but for us, I didn’t believe there would be good terms. Just indifference of people we once knew, that we are unsure of what meaning we represented in our lives. \nHe interrupts the stagnant silence, “How’s school? I heard you were planning on going into medicine?”\n“It’s good, yeah. I am. I complain about the medical industry so much, I figured if I whine that much I should do something about it.” I stop, flattered he asked but still trying to only take it as a gesture of friendliness. “How's the military?” I’m trying to hold the conversation, I’m happy, though it seems more like I’m struggling. I have no idea what to do.\n“Good, y’know it’s hard-but I signed up for it.” His tone even as a matured man had a sweet farm boy tone to it. Not pandering, but genuine and local. The way he spoke was polite and accommodating but if he knew the intensity that hid behind my words, I think he’d run away as though he’d seen the ghost of whatever emotion was between two twenty-year-olds. \n“I’m happy it’s going well for you.” The silence in me swallows everything in the vicinity as a thought walks across my mind like an actor on an empty stage, emerging into a singular spotlight. I pray for you often. How do you tell someone you’ve cared for them even if they’re no longer part of your life? How do you tell them they had some impact on you? How do you be vulnerable with a person? All of these words that wanted to spill out of my mouth could be wrongly intentioned and detrimental. I could only stand there, looking into his eyes. With whatever availability was left in me I let out “I have so much respect for you.” He smiled at this, it was pleasant and warm, I wanted to stay there with him. I could see him mouth ‘thank-you’ but the sound was gone.\n[...]\nI woke up in my bed, an alarm buzzing and my eyes tired. I hate my dreams. They are frequent and detailed. I never forget people because they show up years later as a passing face. Sometimes prophetic and sometimes emotional and fear-based. Part of me wants to go back to that dream, I want to apologize for feeling like I couldn’t reciprocate anything, for not knowing what to do, for feeling like I was too late. These were feelings though, hormones bouncing in my body, and nonsensical guilt that wracked me. I would love to see him again, but it would not compare to the thing my mind had cultivated as a comfort to sore wounds. It’s all a lie even though I wish it wasn’t." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on 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 Sticky Fingers Affair\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 2125\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about a character who believes their dreams predict the future." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Freezing drizzle soaked Brenda as she ran from her car to the bakery and fumbled with her keys in the pre-dawn blackness. Once inside she hit the switches and light bounced off the gleaming stainless steel benches and equipment. Another switch and the fan ovens whirred into life, soon drowned out by Brenda singing with Black Sabbath on the radio. Coat off, apron on, unwilling wet hair pushed up under her cap and she was ready to bake.\n\nBrenda loved this time of day when she could indulge her passion for baking uninterrupted. But this morning was different. Brenda had had a dream so vivid she felt she’d lived it. She had dreamt of a new slice, flavoured with coffee and at once chewy, crunchy, sweet, and tart. She felt excited and compelled to make it. As the ovens warmed the bakery Brenda glanced with venom at the decades old product manual of the Sticky Fingers Bakery chain. She had memorised it years ago. It bored and frustrated her, it stifled her creativity and professional development. She was just a small link in this chain, without power or voice. Owner Harry Bommel was a stickler for consistency in his range of products and would never agree to a new slice. She had tried before.\nWhen Harry arrived for his inspection at ten o’clock the bakery was warm with the aroma of cinnamon, baked fruit, and chocolate. Brenda’s heart always skipped a beat when he arrived. She took a deep breath in anticipation of the conversation she wanted to have with him as she took the blueberry friands from the oven.\n“Good morning Brenda, everything okay today?” He nodded at her.\nBrenda glanced at him. He was tall, solid, and quite handsome behind his glasses. Not much older than her, in his early fifties. Rumour had it Harry was a bit of a loner and had never married. He was a businessman, focussed solely on making money. He had inherited the business from his father and had not made a change in twenty years.\n“Yes, everything’s fine Harry. Can I have a word?”\n“Sure, but I don’t have much time.”\nBrenda put the friands on the bench and removed her oven mitt. “I’ve had an idea for a new slice…” she began.\nHarry sighed. “I’ve told you before, we’re not adding new products.” He walked to the door.\n“Don’t just walk off.” Her temper rose at the arrogance of the man, her frustrations boiled over. “You haven’t even heard my idea. It’s coffee flavoured and…”\n“Are you deaf?” Harry stopped, hand on the door handle.\n“No. I’m not deaf. Are you ignorant?”\nHarry turned, his face blank, unreadable. “Where did this idea come from?”\n“Well, it came from me. I dreamt it, and in my dream it became a huge success for your business.”\nHe stared at her as if she’d just arrived from Mars. Then he roared with laughter. “No new products,” he said and walked out still chuckling.\nBrenda felt gutted. Humiliated. Furious beyond words. Tears burned behind her eyes. She was surprised at how much his laughter hurt. She made herself a coffee and took it to the wobbly plastic chair by the back door, amongst the rubbish bins. She seriously needed to look at her choices. She was a skilled, creative, qualified baker. But with daughter Mandy to feed and a mortgage to pay walking out was not an option. Neither was not making the slice. Her head was full of it. The fudgy texture, the rich coffee taste. As she sipped her coffee other options came to mind:\nShe could burn down the bakery. That would fix the prat.\nShe could kill Harry with a rolling pin next time he came in.\nOr she could make the slice anyway and tempt him to try it.\nThe following morning found Brenda stirring thick creamy custard for the vanilla slice. Apple tarts in the oven sent heavenly wafts of spicy apple around the bakery, and the cooling brownies added chocolaty undernotes. Def Leppard strutted their stuff on the radio, but this morning Brenda didn’t sing along.\nBrenda had the dream again last night. No ordinary dream, this was cappuccino slice on steroids. The ingredients had come to life; currants rattled and shook in their bin, walnuts leapt and thumped against their lid, and the espresso machine puffed and whistled and squirted steam. There was a magical new ingredient wriggling across the bench. Amongst it all Harry had arrived, his handsome face twisted in disapproval. From its position on the bench the rolling pin suddenly dislodged itself, whizzed around the bakery and with a ghastly crunch whacked him on the back of his head. Brenda woke with a scream on her lips.\n“Yikes, concentrate girl,” she told herself as the custard started clotting, “Harry will do his prunes if the custard isn’t smooth.” But Harry didn’t arrive that morning. Brenda waited all day, becoming more tense as time went on. She meant to speak to him again, to convince him that this slice would be good for his business, to let her try. Two o’clock came round, time to go home. Still no Harry. Sick with nerves she checked the chiller and store-room to ensure she’d have all necessary ingredients and went home. She was going to make her slice. She was a baker possessed.\nThat evening was filled with the promise of frost when Brenda arrived back at the bakery. The day’s lingering warmth welcomed her as she shed her jacket and popped her apron on. There was no chance anyone would come in at this time, the place was hers. She switched the radio to the Concert Programme and the soothing sounds of a piano playing Bach flowed around her. This was no time for heavy metal. She closed her eyes and thought back to her dream, picturing how she had made the slice.\nShe melted condensed milk, butter and brown sugar and added two double shots of strong espresso. Then her dry ingredients: biscuit crumbs, coconut, currants, and walnuts. She found herself humming, effortlessly mixing it together, and adding the magic ingredient. She poured it into a tray and popped it in the chiller to set. She made icing by adding another double shot of coffee to icing sugar and butter, spread it over the slice and let it set some more. While she cleaned the equipment she noted she had never felt so exhilarated, so at peace with herself, so fulfilled.\nIt was while she was cutting the slice into forty-eight equal squares that she heard keys unlocking the backdoor. Her heart lunged in her chest. Her head spun. She took a large gulp of air and turned to face Harry.\n“What in on earth are you doing here woman?” He stood tall, his face thunderous. An image of the Viking God Thor came to her mind. Tall, broad, muscled, and violent. Missing (thankfully) was the hammer.\n“I might ask you the same thing, you scared the living daylights out of me.”\n“I was driving past and saw the lights on.”\n“And I came in to make my new slice, which I know will be your best-selling product ever. No need to thank me Harry, it was made with love.” If only his personality matched his looks. Whatever made him such an ogre?\n“You’re unbelievable. I’ve told you repeatedly we’re not adding new products. And here you are, stealing my ingredients and electricity, blatantly disobeying me.”\nBrenda glanced at the rolling pin. It didn’t move. She sighed with relief. Although he deserved to die, the prat.\n“Well?” Harry tapped his fingers on the bench and glanced at the slice.\nShe smiled. “I’m calling it Cappuccino Slice.”\n“What were you going to do with it? You knew I would never sell it here.”\n“You have seven Sticky Fingers bakeries Harry, all of them produce the same products every day. Have you asked yourself why this one sells more than the others? Why do the same products here look and taste better? And don’t you think the customers are getting bored with the same products year after year?”\n“Our formula works well. We can’t take risks.”\n“Ah, so that’s it. You’re scared Harry. Formulas are for science labs. Bakeries need passion, love and creativity.”\nHarry was furious. “You have deliberately disobeyed me. You’re suspended and will meet me in my office at nine tomorrow for a disciplinary interview. Please take your things and leave.”\nBrenda grabbed her jacket, snatched a square of the slice, and left, glancing wistfully at the rolling pin as she went.\nNext morning Brenda found it unsettling to see a relieving baker in her place. A pimply young man who had the Sticky Fingers recipe book spread out over the bench. She felt swamped with fear and doubt, was she that easily replaced?\n“Hi, I’m Jeff,” he said over his shoulder as he readied a tray of date scones for the oven.\n“I’m Brenda.” She watched him put the scones into the oven without their sugar and spice topping and decided not to tell him. There was no trace of the Cappuccino Slice. She assumed it was in the compost bin.\nThe tiny cubby hole Harry called his office had a small desk, two chairs and less room than the broom cupboard. She switched on the desk-lamp which lit up the desk but cast a gloomy half-light through the rest of the windowless space. The tick-tick-ticking of the wall clock unnerved her. Fifteen minutes to wait.\nShe sat down, stretched her legs, and yawned. She hadn’t slept. The slice had needed eating when she got home, and it had been everything she had dreamt. Her teeth had sunk through the creamy icing into the fudgy base. Her mouth had filled with the earthy crunch of walnuts, and the tanginess of chewy currants which balanced the soft sweetness perfectly. The satisfying coffee flavour had exploded on her tastebuds. It was divine. A Goddess food.\nAs the night crept on she had become increasingly concerned about her future. Harry was bound to sack her and unlikely to give her a reference. Her mortgage was huge, and Mandy’s university fees had gobbled up her reserves. During the dark hours Brenda had searched her soul. What could she have done differently? Not making the slice had not been an option, she knew that in her bones. Perhaps she had been too rude when she spoke to Harry. His arrogance, lack of acknowledgement and his laughter at her dream had hurt, and because it hurt her responses to him were sassy and unprofessional. But why had it hurt? Could it be that she cared for him, and was more than a little attracted to him? Hot tears soaked her pillow. When she faced him she would need to put those feelings aside. She would need to be professional and apologise. And with that resolve she awaited her fate.\nShe stood up when Harry arrived. The faint light softened his features, he looked almost human. He nodded at her to sit. Swallowing hard she raised her eyes to meet his. She couldn’t read them, but something in them had changed.\n“Harry, I’m sorry for the way I spoke to you, it was disrespectful,” she began.\n“Yes it was.”\n“It’s just that I love baking so much, and I have so many ideas that could make this place amazing. But I’m willing to tow the line if you give me another chance.” She felt his eyes on her. Her face flushed hot.\nThen he smiled, and his eyes twinkled behind his glasses. In that instant Brenda knew he had tried the slice. He’d tasted the love.\nHe stood up. “Come with me,” he said and led her through the bakery to the shop. In the middle of the counter, stunningly arranged on a glass platter, stood the cappuccino slice.\n“I have decided to employ a professional baker to review the product list and ensure quality and consistency across the chain. Would you be interested Brenda?”\nBrenda’s mouth dropped open but she was dumbstruck.\n“You were right Brenda,” he continued, “change scares me, and we need to move forward. Why don’t we discuss it over dinner this evening. I’ll pick you up at seven.” Harry smiled and looked into her eyes. Brenda blushed some more.\n“Okay,” she said.\nThe Cappuccino slice wiggled on the platter. Mission accomplished.\n\n(Note: This story was written in New Zealand, I'm aware that in some parts of the world a slice is not known as a bakery item. In NZ and Australia it is a flat oblong biscuit based cake, sometimes with filling ore icing. It comes in many different flavours.)" } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on 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 Silent Whisper\n\nGenre: christian\n\nWord Count: 1877\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about someone who breaks an unwritten social rule and the consequences they face as a result." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Social norms were demonstrated at an early age. If I had to classify myself, I would identify as Black/Jewish & German. My birth mother, Marie Delanie from the Delanie’s of Ireland was a Caucasian/German woman, my father, an African American man who was absent without participation, therefore, I grasp to the Caucasian linguistics. I settled in a sophisticated predominantly white community in Newark, New Jersey – Vailsburg section between So. 18th and So. 19th Street in 1932. A picture-perfect neighborhood, a white picket fence with a gorgeous flowerbed gently lying on the front lawn. The Germans owned many of the movie theaters including the “Ormont” which was an exceptional establishment for the elite. My mother, who was an alcoholic, placed me on the doorsteps of an interracial family at the tender age of two and disappeared into the night. My life was altered from that point, traveling from place to place without the understanding of where I belong.\n\nMonica, foster mother #1 was awakened by the silence of the night. She heard a disturbance coming from the other side of the door, she slowly opened, lowering her head to witness my cries, smiled while extending her arms to comfort me as only a mother could. She married a successful Caucasian man who at some point embraced me as well. Shortly after my arrival, he died of a sudden illness. She remarried a man who undoubtedly loved her. Initially the treatments were delightful until the commands settled in her mind. It wasn't until I was years older when I was guided to my sleeping quarters located in a “coal” bin where coals were kept near the furnace assembly. The bin was dark, scary with one small window where the chute was positioned. I labeled my bin “my secret place,” the very first time I learned how to pray and connect with God. When I was afraid, I would gaze out the window, praying to a God I couldn’t see or feel, staring into the night sky to always be free.\n\nHer punishments were severe, in fact, I was confined in darkness with a dim light she controlled. I turned around to see Monica standing at the top of the steps as I slowly entered the darkness, she quickly closed the door behind her. I was left alone for what seemed like hours until she quickly opened the door without a sound. I approached at a rapid speed to escape the dark, dampness of the unknown. I positioned myself at the dinner table where talking was not permitted. The more she left me alone the more I became secluded, a recluse for lack of a better word. Afterwards, the conditioning was to serve the elite, prepping for a life of acceptance under shields I could not see. The preparation was initiated by hours of listening to Hitler’s speeches on the radio. I was asked at an early age to communicate the knowledge I retained to ensure the task would be sustainable. Punishments were enhanced with decreased consumption of nutrition when incorrect answers were presented. Consequently, I began stealing food, my hunger increased to a degree of starvation. Noticeably, my body caused a reduction thereby alluding me into a facility called “The Boyland Street School” for undernourished children.\n\n“Sally”, foster mother #2 wasn't as pleasing, the treatments were strategic, she was the total opposite of what others perceived her to be. She hid behind several masks, speaking ever so softly with a beautiful smile that lit up any room with the personality of a saint. She was so wicked; she fell down a flight of steps and severely fractured her neck. Although she was still breathing with only the movement of her eyes intact, she had limited use of control. She was crushed between the narrow steps. Apparently, someone heard her scream as she quickly fell to her knees. The police discovered her body at the bottom of the steps where the paramedics transported her upstairs to the adjacent bedroom. I’d awaken the next morning to witness Sally lying on her death bed frightened, panic in fact. She was paralyzed from the neck down with no commands over nonentity, her house or anything. She survived for a week, then vanished from my life forever. I wasn’t too heartbroken because the fear of her returning was a mere panic I could not fathom.\n\nI ran away at the age of thirteen, I was placed in a third foster home in Silver Lakes not too far from Belleville, New Jersey. I ventured into a nearby restaurant to nourish myself. I was a runaway, a judge who was the head of New Jersey was sitting on the other side of the restaurant witnessed me sitting at the edge of the counter. He walked over, and asked me if I were catholic?” I replied, yes. He said, “I’m taking you to a girl’s shelter.\" I told him who I was and briefed him on my life struggles. He lowered his head and said, “you’ve suffered enough.\" Abruptly, he changed course and said, “I’m taking you to my home.\" Judge Sagatino, foster father #3 invited me to his beautiful home where he persuaded me to spy on his daughter because she was socializing with unfamiliar territory. The reward was a weekly compensation of five dollars to become his personal informant. He was a tall handsome Italian man who married a beautiful Italian woman, Betty, who I identified as very meek and quiet. I had food privileges, the freedom to journey without restrictions. I had to abide by the rules, of course, but the treatment was fantastic. They were quite wealthy with a telephone in the home, two cars and all the splendors one could imagine. I was made to feel the comforts of a family from the very beginning.\n\nBetty had a weakness for helping Caucasians in the neighborhood. She showed me how to become docile and to always put their needs ahead of mine. Unfortunately, the conditioning was so concentrated the desire to serve inadvertently became my normal. There, I was instructed and forbidden from playing with the nonentities on the block because I was told they were poor, and they did not look like me. The analogy was taught at an early age, in fact, it was a rule. There were two African American families approximately seven doors away. One family, Ms. Smith who lived with her daughter and son and Ms. Washington who worked for a Chinese laundry company within walking distance from her home. My mother was subservient to this one particular prominent Caucasian mother who accused me of stealing her diamond ring. The accusations were rapidly communicated because my interaction with her children was not well received. I was punished for false accusations on a regular basis. I knew I wasn’t white, but I craved to be in their presence to explore their customs and develop an accepted because I thought I was well received and privileged.\n\nCHEATING DEATH\n\nONCE… When I was nine, I had an operation on my throat, my mother Sally had given me “Sloans Liniment”, causing a fiery burning sensation almost immediately. She opened my mouth, poured it directly down the center of my throat. The doctors removed my tonsils but failed to remove the roots of the tonsils which caused severe bleeding. It was so sever; the priest was informed to grant me my last living rites. I died and went to an ambiguous location. When I died, God said, “you have a job to do.\" I knew I had an outer body experience where I mysteriously traveled through a pathway and halted at a moment’s time. A being appeared and touched me on my right shoulder and told me we are not ready for you yet and to go back down because I have a job for you to do. I was revived and went home the next day. \n\nTWICE… In the 1950’s I was in a terrible accident; I was thrown across McCarter Highway about ninety feet, landed on a mattress outside a fire station in it's resting place. I stood up and ran about a half a block away where I collapsed which landed me in St. James hospital in Newark, NJ. The lord showed me when your mother and father forsake you, I will take you up. He placed a hedge around me where nobody could ever do anything else to me no matter what I did. I walk a solitary life, me, and the Lord. Subsequently, I left the hospital and proceeded to a friend's house where remained isolated for five years until I left in 1959. I began walking down High Street, a car came soaring around the corner. I saw him approaching, as I called on the Lord, I froze, hitting the fire hydrant not too far from where I was standing. The wheels were spinning at a rapid rate.\n\nTHIRD TIME… A frightening breast cancer diagnosis in 1992, the doctors implied there was nothing more they could do for me, I was dying. One-by-one, the doctors and nurses approached my bedside and said, “the bottom line is you’re dying,\" I said, tonight? Not tonight, I turned my head to the left and told to the Lord about it and went home the following day. The diagnosis did not define me, what the Lord told me that night defined whether I lived or died. At a moment’s time I promised God I would always cling to him. My survival is intentional and unexplainable, I'm living my best life at ninety-three years young.\n\nMy foster families were afraid of me because I had for a lack of a better word, telepathic abilities. It’s a gift I could not control. I heard God tell me to leave my job and go find another one. I remember working at a facility in Central Jersey when the Lord spoke to me in a soft whisper, \"remove yourself and never look back.\" I couldn't quite understand the command until he instructed me to go to \"Middlesex General Hospital\" now \"Robert Wood Johnson Hospital\" to gain employment. I immediately completed the application because the Lord told me it was mine. The interviewer instructed me they were not hiring today, I replied, “you will hire me today.\" She desired to know where I came from and why I was there. I briefly explained. She replied, “who told you to come here?\" I replied, \"God told me to come here.\" She repeated, “we are not hiring today,\" “I replied you will hire me today!\" We talked for an extended period followed by a statement she replied firmly, “I don’t know why I’m hiring you, but you’re hired.\" Immediately, I was told where to go to collect my uniform. I’ve always traveled alone, a wonderer in the wilderness of strangers, in unfamiliar territories with God’s watchful eyes still upon me. My life's story is not coincidental. The belief in something definite, the faith in something you can't see of feel and the promises of God upon my life is the ultimate survival story. The consequence of my journey were to survive what seemed impossible because of God's Silent Whisper, I listened, obeyed, and I kept the faith." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on 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 BEDTIME STORY\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1304\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story where something magical happens when it starts to rain." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "\"OK kids, snuggle up and Gramps will tell you a story. Don't need no books. This story is sitting right here is this old head of mine. It happened to me right back then when I was knee-high to a grasshopper. Never forgotten it and I never will, not until they put me in a box in the churchyard, next to your Grandma.\n Well, it started out a normal enough day. I was up and about good and early and there was no hope of breakfast yet, so I opened the back door quietly and went off down the yard to use the outhouse. None of your fancy en- suites in those days or even indoor plumbing. It was just about light enough to see, if I left the door hanging open a crack. Light enough to have a quick check for spiders or snakes before sitting down to do my business.\n When I came out there was still no smell of cooking from the kitchen so I took it into my head to go foraging . It was early in the season but I'd spotted some juicy looking berries the day before. It was mushroom season too and I knew how good a plate of eggs and field mushrooms would go down.\n The sun was doing its best to rise, but big grey clouds were gathering faster than the cobwebs collecting in the corners. Your great- grandma never was much of a one for cleaning above eye level. Anyway it looked like rain was on it's way so I thought I'd best get a wriggle on. I set off out the yard and down the lane and my bare feet sent up little puffs of dust from the parched ground.\n Pretty soon I came to the bramble patch and stuffed my mouth with berries until the juice ran down my chin. Anyone passing would've thought I was half starved. To tell the truth my stomach was feeling pretty hollow and I kept thinking of the great breakfast I'd be getting if I found those mushrooms.\n I climbed the fence into the wood and set off to the shady spot where I knew the mushrooms would be, if only the squirrels hadn't found them first. The sky was getting darker and there was a distant rumble of thunder. A few drops of rain fell but the trees still had most of their autumn leaves and I was sheltered from the worst.\n My luck was in. Clustered on the bank were a dozen or so field mushrooms. I pulled them carefully, leaving the roots to carry on growing for another day. That was when I realised I had nothing to carry them in, so I whipped off my shirt and tied them into a bundle, leaving me in just my raggy shorts. The rain was coming down heavier now so I figured to get back home as fast as I could run.\n As I left the shelter of the trees I was soaked through in seconds. I scrambled over the fence and that's when I first noticed it. The sky was melting.\n You ever done one of those water colour paintings where you get the paper really wet then let the colours run down and spread out? Well that's what seemed to be happening. Where there had been thick grey cloud, a mist of colours appeared across the sky and ran slowly downwards. At the same time they spread sideways so the colours mingled into a curtain of reds, blues and yellows.\nThe more it rained the more the colours intermingled and now I could see greens, purples and oranges too.\n As I stood, I couldn't hardly bear to look around, the sight was so dazzling. Then it dawned on me that the display wasn't stopping with the sky. The colours of the trees started to disolve and the autumn leaves added their fiery hues. The wash darkened as the browns of the trunks and branches changed the palette .The shapes of the trees disappeared as I stared in amazement.\n A terrible thought struck me. I turned around. Where our house had stood was just a growing smudge of smoky grey. I looked down to find I was standing in a rapidly deepening puddle of water. It was that ugly shade that you get when you mix every colour in the paint box, with an oily slick of rainbow colours swirling on the top.\n Desperately I turned round and round trying to find a solid object in this melting world. There was only me, a tiny, terrifiedl figure, in a fading mass of ever changing colour. I wondered if I was going to wash clean away along with the rest of my universe.\n I looked at my arm. A drop of rain splashed onto it and for a moment I thought my skin was starting to turn transparent. I wondered what my bones would look like once all my outside had faded away. The mud coloured water was up to my skinny knees and rising. Perhaps I would drown before I had time to find out.\n Suddenly I was aware of a warm wind, like I was standing under one of those blow dryers . The rain slowed to a drizzle then the odd drop. As it stopped the wind seemed to wrap round my shivering body and ruffled my hair. I held my arms out and they looked tanned and covered with bramble scratches. I saw that my shorts had a new tear and thought that my Ma would give me hell when she saw it. Then I remembered. Ma was gone, along with Pa and our house and all the rest of my world.\n Perhaps it was the wind, but, I can tell you, my eyes teared up and I was fair set to start howling. Somehow though, the wind felt like a warm pair of arms hugging me tight and I felt safe, like when Ma hugged me goodnight. I clung on to that feeling and blinked the tears away.\n The wind kept right on blowing and the water I was standing in started to soak away, until I was standing in nothing more than a muddy puddle. Like a film running backwards the colours began to spread outwards and upwards and, after a while I could make out the shapes of familiar objects, like I was looking through a thick fog. The trees became trunks then gradually the trunks grew branches and the glorious autumn foliage reappeared.\n I hardly dared look round but, by the time I'd summoned up my courage, there was the wonderful shape of our house. It was still a bit fuzzy round the edges but as I watched the wind blew the last traces of cloud away and up into the sky. The colours spread and seperated and formed into a glorious rainbow arching across a pale blue sky.\n I grabbed my shirt full of mushrooms and ran down the lane as fast as I could. As I neared the house I smelled the heavenly aroma of cooking. Pancakes and eggs. The mushrooms would be just in time to add to the feast. I flew in the door and Ma swept me up in a giant hug.\n \" What were you thinking of, going out there in that cloud burst?\" she scolded, \" and what have you done to those shorts?\". I hugged her and hung on to her real tight.\n\" You're soaked through! What have you been doing out in this cloud burst?\" she asked.\n\" Oh, nothing much. Just collecting mushrooms.\" I poured my treasure onto the table and in minutes Ma had them sizzling away in a pan of lard. I've never enjoyed a breakfast so much in the whole of my life." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: The Bearer of Rainbow and Rain\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1410\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story where something magical happens when it starts to rain." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "CW: suicidal thoughts\n\nFrank Dove was staring at the sky for the last ten minutes. He was sitting on a slab made of steel on the top floor of the 26-story building. Few drops emerged from his eyes and rolled over his cheek. He then looked at his palms, maybe, trying to find the unfaithful fate line due to which he was in that situation, so alone on the floor of a high raised building if he jumped from there then the demise of him was sure. His life was miserable unto this point, and he was sure that his life would be more miserable ahead. He had been always normal in every aspect of life. He always minded his own business, not meddling with others. Still, this stage of life befell him. He had always been one of those guys who helps others, even if the other guy is rude to him on previous occasions. He always had a heart of gold, but when the time came, no one helped him in his sticky situations.\n The sore point in his life was his inability to lie, but as an insurance agent, his superior always forced him to lie to clients. He had always found some way so that he might not need to lie and evade the situation with clients following honest paths, but since the last two claims, he could not find other ways around. The company had to pay in full the last two insurance claims which resulted in his decreased rating before his boss, Rave Ronson. Rave was over fifty years, a little stout man. He had a perfect score of denying all the insurance claims coming before him, so he became superior soon after joining the job. He had warned Frank not to settle further claims unfavourably for the company otherwise he would get a pink slip. But he soon got another insurance claim where the husband died in an accident and the wife needed money badly as she had no job and two daughters to care for.\n The same hopeless situation extended to his personal life as well. His honesty has resulted in him being separated from his wife Melina Dove. Melina took their only son with her. Melina was an attorney in a private firm where she had an affair with her boss, and she went to live with him.\n These two incidents within a weak were the reason of him shattered to the core. He was able to somehow cope with the situation at the office but at home his situation was unbearable. He had become solitary. Solitude was destroying him from within. Today he cleared all the claims of the lady and after that he had lunch. At about 02 P.M he came to the roof where he was seated now.\n It was solitude on the top. Sometimes planes were hurling past piercing sky with the roaring sound of its engines. He was sitting calmly there but his innermost part was filled with a volcano of unbearable emotions and contempt over this selfish world. He was unable to understand why a man can not be true to himself and true to society. Why a man does not help others in need and foremost of all why honesty doesn’t pay in this wretched society. He was perhaps too mild to be in this harsh and cut-throat society.\n Some more time passed, and the sky was filled with clouds now. Slowly and slowly, it was becoming dark all around but at a distance, sun rays were still able to pierce the heavy cloud covering and were able to touch the ground. Soon it was raining cats and dogs. He was completely wet now. But his head became somewhat lite after getting covered with water. His apparel was dripping still he was sitting in the same position. After some time, the heavy powering of rainwater converted into drizzling and a rainbow appeared at distance. He slowly turned his gaze toward the rainbow and stood from his seated position. He walked slowly beside the boundary of the roof and started staring at the rainbow. The rainbow was calming his nerves and providing him with some divine kind of bliss. He felt as if he was being filled with some sort of positive vibes. He kept on staring at the rainbow for some time.\n Some more minutes passed but he was still looking at the rainbow. He felt that the end of the rainbow slowly got lifted from the ground and started moving toward him. The tiny, tiny drops of rain were giving him the feel of some sort of heavenly bliss. The end of the rainbow soon collided with him dispelling all the raindrops around him. The bright colours of the rainbow forced him to close his eyes momentarily.\n Within a few seconds, everything was calm. There was no rain, neither the rainbow. He was perceiving twinkling lights with his closed eyes. When he opened his eyes, he was astonished to see himself amongst the stars. He was standing in the sky. He was able to see stars twinkling all around him billions of light-years away as if he was floating in the sky. A man in his thirties having brown skin colour and wearing a completely white coat and pants appeared in front of him.\n “Hello, so how was your journey from earth to here, did you felt any uneasiness or any problem, sir,” he asked politely.\n “No, but where am I and who are you?” asked Frank.\n “I am God, and you have been chosen by the rain of purity as a new resident of heaven, congratulation,” said he.\n “What,” frank blabbered, “what are you saying I did not get it,”\n “Well let me take you to the hall of judgement first,” he snapped his fingers, and both were inside a big hall with white walls all around and a huge display on one of the walls. He and frank came near the display. It was displaying the life data of Frank; it was displaying 100 percent against the honesty bar of him.\n “See the honesty bar,” he pointed toward the green bar over the display. There were many bars in display displaying various other human characteristics. Honesty was one amongst them.\n“Your honesty bar is 100 percent. Whenever a human being has his honesty bar full, the cloud of blessings appears over him brings rains of purity and a rainbow gate to heaven is opened. He is taken to the voidness of the sky from when I bring him to heaven. But before heaven, we came here and tell him why he was chosen. Now tell me do you have any other questions or shall we proceed to heaven,”\n“So,” said Frank, “If I don’t want to go to heaven then can I be returned to earth?”\n“What are you saying? Why do you want to return there no one respect your honesty.” Said he.\n“It may be true that most people don’t respect my honesty but,” said frank.\n“But what,” asked he.\n“It may be true that I sometimes become frustrated with the condition on earth, with the thinking of other people still when I help someone, I feel immense pleasure from within, I just don’t want to lose that pleasure. Helping others bring the pleasure in me that perhaps might not come from residing in heaven,” said frank.\nListening to this He smiled and said,\n“Although, we generally don’t send back a human to earth instead I have a job for you,”\n***\nFrank was walking on the footpath of a road. It was the time of evening. He saw a homeless man sitting beside the footpath. He intentionally dropped his purse containing one million bucks and went past him. He had hardly taken few steps the homeless person came running to him,\n “Sir, you dropped your wallet,” the homeless man stopped frank by tapping on his soldier gently. Frank turned to him,\n “Take it, it's your now,”\n “No sir, it is yours, I cannot take it,” said the homeless man.\nFrank smiled and took his wallet back from the homeless man. The homeless man returned to his position beside the footpath. While going away from the homeless man frank snapped his fingers and it started drizzling. The rainbow appeared in the sky and one of its ends emerged from the ground and started approaching the homeless man.\n The End" } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Noah' Male Menopause.\n\nGenre: christian\n\nWord Count: 1156\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story that includes the line “I think someone’s listening/watching.”" }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Yes, it was Spring time in the mountain forests. Old Noah was still rocking around, one of the identities and well-respected characters. He lived in the back woods of the rustic small village of Good Blubbering. Old Noah and his family had built their own enclave, way off in the hills.\nIt was all very secluded. To get around, Old Noah had two big motor cycles, always there for his mid-life critical moments. He was now the President of Good Blubbering's garden society. He and his wives convened weekly meetings, to share their propagation stories, listening to guest speakers. They enjoyed munching on chocolate gateaux, or best rhubarb crumble.\nOld Noah was by now a more than slightly chunky figure of a male. He thought he looked good, squishing his beer belly into his leathers. As well as his gardening hobby, Old Noah was also the local community mystic medium. He was regarded as the Good Blubbering's leader of the good ole God Squad. His sons and their wives fully participated in prayer revivals, beseeching God on his throne for better ways for all God's creatures, especially humans.\nUnfortunately the teeming billions of the human race were feeding each other racism, armed conflict, and discrimination as they lived among the global flood plains. Half the world could not even afford malnutrition. Most of the global villages had forgotten to bow their heads and pray.\nEven more catastrophically, Old Noah had a mysterious effect on the weather. His senior wife rolled her eyes, gazing through the kitchen window at her husband planting his Spring seedlings, among the hundred foot high weeds in their hillside back garden. Noah turned around, saying to himself, \"I think someone's watching, apart from God.\" Yep, it was his array of ageing wives.\nOld Noah was so old now, but still experiencing his male menopause. All his wives could recall that fateful day, many long years ago. Old Noah had planted forth his winter vegetable seedlings. Being such a mystic medium, he had caused a global flood, teeming rain for forty days and nights. In all that drowned world, God had sort of floated all those planned winter vegetables away. They had been washed down the slope to be drowned in the vast lower reaches of the mighty river at the back of Good Blubbering.\nSo, the rain set in that night, many years later. His wives rolled their eyes, and started packing their spare underwear and mega multi packets of Valium. \"If you leave me, I'm coming too!\" Old Noah sang, as he hastily constructed his new God Squad Ark.\nThat global flood, Old Noah was going to use his smarts. He was going to be the salvation of all that was best in human civilization. It took his mind off the first night of global rain, but he was still a capable, ageing, practical kind of mystic. The God Squad were all over this.\nOld Noah listened to the sage wisdom of his almighty God, Yahweh the Divine. Old Noah used electrical wiring on the new Ark, for those long lonely male menopause nights, while his wives were hooked on Valium, not the least bit interested in his desires.\nFor true civilization revival, post the latest flood, Old Noah built two liquor cabinets, full of real hard liquor. Yes, hard liquor. He took both his motor cycles, all his leathers, and some favorite porno books. At his age, geldings were doing it for themselves.\nThe new Ark was wired for sound, Old Noah had definitely changed his priorities for this drowned world. Failing fresh vegetables, he added a junk food dispenser, with music. The theme song was, \"I was made for loving you, burgers, I was made for loving you, fries.\" Old Noah was getting well prepared.\nHis sons could take all the critters, if they so wished. Enough said. Old Noah, for this revival and salvation, was ditching the mosquitoes, along with the black rats and bubonic plague fleas. The only wildlife he wanted on his personal Ark was that breeding couple of mystic, mythical unicorns. Old Noah found them foraging and splashing around in the rising waters, as all the rivers ran and rose.\nYes, those unicorns had made it to the survival. Not like last time, no indeedy. Those unicorns, and two dung beetles, were planning to make it through, for a new dawn of the mortals on Earth. Unicorns were so pleasing to both God and Old Noah.\nThey were quiet, easy to maintain, liked a sing along. They had hides of gleaming white, creamy foaming milky manes and tales. The unicorns were mystic medium healers, and blessed all who passed with their unique golden tingling horns.\nUnicorns were always there for those long days and nights, listening to the rain. They let Old Noah cuddle them, always there for that mid-life critical moment. That did not say much about Old Noah's marital relationships with his wives. Really, there was nothing to discuss at the stage, as the rain tumbled down.\nYes, God did promise Old Noah the first time, that there would never again be a global deluge, no more drowning of the human race. What was left of human civilization did blame Old Noah, especially his wives. He had felt the need to plant more seedlings, all gone, disappeared.\nEventually, after those days spent revving his motor cycles, God turned off the great taps in the skies above the world restored. Old Noah and his God Squad had survived. It was a new dawn for what life forms had survived on their planet.\nLand was sighted, all was good as old gold. Old Noah, full of hard liquor in all his best leathers, roared off to create a burger bar, with music. His wives tailed along, completely over Old Noah and his leaky boat. They were totally planning to suggest that their ageing male in his full menopause abandon his gardening pursuits. Strangely, peering around, the good wives found some underwater pumpkins, the remnants of the long gone winter seedlings. Vegetables were saved from this apocalyptic flood. It was a true alleluia moment. Older women do care about healthy, well balanced and nutritious meals.\nAnd as for those magical, slightly mystical unicorns? Once again, they galloped off, splashing through the receding flood waters. Mr. Unicorn had his goals and objectives, he was after his manly oats with little Ms. Unicorn. The happy dances of the unicorns were back in a world God had saved from drowning again.\nThe unicorns raced off, fully delighted. They are still here somewhere, only a neuron away from the new God Squad. They leave only hoof prints in the emerald turf of time.\nWell done, Old Noah. All the reprobates and munitions had been floated away. A fresh start was in order. Please ditch that garden club. Oh, Old Noah, you've done it again. It was male menopause, after all." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Miss May\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1153\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a child who carries on their parent’s work or legacy in some form." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "I jerked my right elbow to remove his hand from my left breast.\n“Nope. Not tonight,” I told him, pulling my book closer to my nose. A shield to prevent further attacks.\nAdam rolled over onto his back with a huff, then gave me that wounded puppy look that, much like an evening on red wine, makes me want to laugh, then cry. Five years married and he wasn’t showing any signs of slowing down. I suppose I should count myself lucky. But then he hadn’t had to go through what I went through today. Unless they had started a ‘bring your kid to work’ day in the kitchen where he worked as chef.\n“How comes, Lou? And don’t say a headache because I already served your spaghetti with a pinch of paracetamol in your parmesan.”\nI involuntary cackled before telling him it wasn’t right to joke about that sort of thing. I’m always having to watch what I say at the school and it can take me a while to shake off that cloak. Sometimes until the following morning, when I’ll start calling the shower a twat for taking ages to produce any hot water. When that happens, I’ll use the noise of the cascading shower to bleat any more expletives wanting to hop off my tongue. By the time I’ve dried off, they’ve all been swept down the plughole.\nAdam continued. “Are you sure it’s something a nice massage couldn’t help with?”\nI brushed his hand away, again. “Oh my god, do you ever give up?”\n“I love it when you call me ‘God’,” he grinned.\nI rolled my eyes up, catching sight of a cobweb in the bedroom ceiling. I knew our cleaner had been cutting corners.\n“I just had a really weird day at school. Not really in the mood. Sorry.”\n“Would telling me help?”\n“I’m probably not supposed to.”\nHis eyebrows rose up closer to his already receding hairline. It ran in his family. He’d probably just shave it all off in a year or two and then he and his brothers will pass as triplets.\nI wasn’t all that interested in my book anyway, so sod it. It’d probably get out soon anyway, knowing what our community is like for gossip.\n“Ugh, fine. Get comfortable.”\n“Oh boy, a bedtime story!” He fluffed his pillow as though crashing cymbals while I fumbled around for my bookmark.\n“So, this kid at school…we’ll call her Ariana-”\n“How Grande.”\n“No interruptions, please.”\n“Yes, ma’am.”\n“One of the other kids came over to my desk at lunch while I was marking the history homework I was supposed to have done the other night but you’d brought home those leftovers that gave me the shits (thanks again, by the way). We’ll call her Doja.”\n“How catty.”\nI pinched my husband’s lips together. “Let me tell you this before I overthink it and change my mind.”\nThe reply was muffled, indicated concession.\n“Doja came to tell me that Ariana was out in the Wendy house acting kinda funny. I still had about a dozen pieces to mark but I thought what if the kid’s having a fit or something? Doja tends to downplay things. Like when she said Harry, who we’ll call Harry, had bumped his arm falling off the climbing frame when he’d gone and broken his elbow. So she takes me by the hand and starts marching me off.\nWell, turns out Ariana had gone and raided the arts and crafts supply cupboard, because clearly we don’t have the funding to give them the lunch hour excitement they obviously crave. She’d – oh god, this is so wrong – she’d gone and made herself ears out of plastic cups she’d tied to her hairband with bits of string and had pinned a white pom-pom to the back of her skirt. She was calling the Wendy house ‘her mansion’.”\n“What. The. Fu-”\n“I told you it was weird. Ariana was telling all her pals – she’s got quite the cult following this one, for always being a show off and drama queen – to call her Miss May. At first I thought she meant like “missed me” and that was the name of the latest game she’d invented, but nope. Oh and by the way, her shirt was lying in one corner of this ‘mansion’ and she was pressing her little chest (luckily she had a vest on) on the windows of this playhouse. One of the boys was asking me if I knew if there was bad weather coming because apparently Ariana had kept telling the others to ‘make it rain’.”\nI jumped as someone appeared to have pulled the pin out of Adam, who was about to give himself a hernia laughing.\n“Oh Lou,” he said between hiccups, “this is too good.”\n“No, it isn’t. It’s very bad.”\n“I know – for you, maybe – but for me…I…” I waited patiently for the next convulsion of laughter to leave his system. He rubbed his eyes. “Continue,” he said, in a voice trying very hard to acknowledge the gravity of the situation.\n“I had to bend down and knock on the door of the house feeling like a cop come to bust up a house party and asked Ariana what was going on. You are going to love this. So, apparently Ariana’s mother was a Miss April. Actually, now I think about it, I think she’s mentioned it before but I thought it was just a weird way of letting her know her mum isn’t married and they’re on first name terms.”\nI shrugged, while Adam started to vibrate from barely held in chuckling again.\n“She said, ‘Mummy told me she was a very famous house bunny and one of the favourites and that men used to pay a lot to go to a house to see her with no top on’ and then starts going on about some make up palette she’s trying to save up for…Christ, kids these days, when I was her age the only palette we used was the one we’d pour oil paint on.”\n“At least she’s demonstrating a good work ethic. Okay, don’t give me that look. The look that would turn a lesser man to stone.”\n“So I found myself having to explain to Ariana that she should try to raise funds by…oh, I don’t know, literally any other way possible and that what her mother had done was a grown up job only grown-ups could do and, argh, it was so awkward and from now on I’m locking my door when marking bloody homework. Let some other schmuck figure out how to deal with that shit.”\n“I feel honoured you shared that with me, Lou. And by the way, when is the next parent-teacher evening and can I tag along?”\nI elbowed him. Then told him only if he promised not to rabbit on." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: A PRAYER TO GOD.\n\nGenre: christian\n\nWord Count: 2773\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about someone who breaks an unwritten social rule and the consequences they face as a result." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "A PRAYER TO GOD.\n Could he hear her thoughts? For she had sinned. The stench and the screams early hours\n of the morning, did she deserve this? For years she had let Duke dictate and bully her. Telling the\n willowy kid in the diner that she could not cook gruel. “Only my joke darling.” He had said, as usual\n like many times over the years, she had made excuses for him. The male menopause, watching as\n he stroked the young waitress’s hand, as she collected their order with the five- dollar tip. After\n Pamela Sue had smoked a cigarette, as Duke drove the waggon.” That won’t do you any good, look at the creases around your mouth, smoking that rubbish.” He had said.\n Recently they had inherited her family’s farm a few chicken coups. It wasn’t much compared to her brother Jacks peanut farm in Alabama. The family had felt sorry for her thinking that she may get her life together. It beat living in a trailer on some caravan-park Duke spent all the money he earned on liqueur and other women. Pamela Sue had no pride twenty years on he had worn her down. Pamela Sue did not look thirty- eight with a lisp and missing front teeth. Why did she sit and take his lip? None of his conquests had lasted. Pamela Sue was five two, to Duke’s six three in height. At sixteen Pamela Sue had worked selling veg at her father’s farm, Duke had singled her out. They were going places. She had believed him. Putting up with his ridicule over the years.\nClimbing from the waggon she had followed him indoors. When Duke had bent down to pick up the television remote, Pamela Sue had jumped on his back with the bread knife squeezing his throat, he had tried to throw her off his back. Too late the blood had wheezed from his throat and mouth like thick dark red sauce. Plea bargaining had started people had come forward. Pamela Sue had sat in a corner of the shack that was her home, not able to believe what she had done.\n For days she had sat in her in her prison cell unable to talk, wash or feed herself. The doctors and psychiatrists, could not bring her out of herself imposed trance. The journals and tabloids went crazy was it a cry for insanity? A cold-blooded murderess? Her brother had offered to pay for her defence, what was the point? She would settle for state prosecution and the legal team they had suggested. Soon she would be away from it all. The narrow bunk, no rail for her clothes, her dark little room escorted to the toilet, by two guards a male and female was it all worth the effort of carrying on? It was all a charade to show justice. They say, the screams in the night belonged to her? The scratches to her arms and legs she felt as if she had lice maybe she did. Her hair hung lank and greasy unkept. How much longer? If she had been a dog, she would have been put down, it was cruel. The light shone through the barred-up window her denim trousers were too big she could put her two hands down the front of them. A grubby T-shirt, no long-sleeved shirt in case she tried to use it to throttle herself. Pamela Sue was sure that her family had sent better clothes if so, she never saw them. The excuse being she was in solitary till the court reached a decision.\nWhat happened to free spirit? All her life she had read the bible and praised god. What had made her do the devils work? Was Derek Duke the devil that had come to tempt her all those years ago? Well, it was too late he was at rest ash and bone by now. Cis his sister still had a good word for him that was the hold up with the trial.\nMaybe Cis thought she would have the shack and land to go with it? Pamela Sue’s brother Jack would keep that door firmly bolted where that was concerned. Jack would be free from worry justice would be done? Pamela Sue got down to pray. In prayer there was, no silence screams from others waiting their time, she could still hear them. Was she bad, like those, child molesters who did wicked things behind closed doors? The pimps and prostitutes who said, they we’re keeping men happy? The perverts who did not ever get caught? So many questions without answers now her time was coming near.\nThe open prison wasn’t too bad where she went to first, people smiled and worked the crops early mornings, she had heard them coming and going. She was still kept separate from the others there. And there was the smell of carbolic soap she got to shower once a week. Sometimes more. She could not keep track any more. They had come one day and taken her to her final destination San Quinton. There would be no reprieve or retrial. The media had done its duty. The public had followed their view. Did her defence try hard enough on her behalf? There were so many to give a guilty verdict on that jury.\n Her past had been laid bare, owing for goods at many at local stores, encouraging her husband to go off with prostitutes. She had wanted to scream it wasn’t me? It was the work of the devil Satan; Duke had built up those debts to pay for the whores, on Thirty second Street. They we’re tightening the noose around her neck? So that she could not breathe she had fainted, before being taken down to await sentence. There had been a retrial. The defence had been gentler than before, talking calmly as if they were friends. A nice man, handsome and understanding or so Pamela Sue had thought. He had used his weapon regarding the inheritance did she want it all for herself? A man who had stood by her who she could not give children, who kept coming back, how hard she was, planning to do away with him? Blatant lies had Cis told the papers? Journalists all this malicious gossip? Well the door was firmly shut, there would be a lethal injection.\n Dear Jack he had kept trying right till the end. She would pray for his soul maybe god would be merciful in the next life? No, she must not blame him, she had fallen at the wayside into the arms of temptation and failed the test. There was a click of the key in the lock get it over quick? Each time they walked away, there was another dawn with the squeaking of rats, mice for company and another day.” Oh, let me go lord to be your worthy servant. I will sin no more.” She had said the same thing as a small child when she had been caught by the preacher taking Leanora’s ribbon from her hair in mass. Her parents had been called and she had been punished for being vain having to kneel on the floor and ask god’s forgiveness. All these memories come back, in no particular order. \n Pamela Sue was being led along corridors by a team of six guards Why so many? For such a little woman? Had she anything to say? Would it really make any difference? She had Dukes blood on her hands. Pamela mounted the leather coach with the belts tied firmly in place, she had asked for the lord’s psalm to be read out.\nshe had sinned. The stench and the screams early hours\n of the morning, did she deserve this? For years she had let Duke dictate and bully her. Telling the\n willowy kid in the diner that she could not cook gruel. “Only my joke darling.” He had said, as usual\n like many times over the years, she had made excuses for him. The male menopause, watching as\n he stroked the young waitress’s hand, as she collected their order with the five- dollar tip. After\n Pamela Sue had smoked a cigarette, as Duke drove the waggon.” That won’t do you any good, look\n at the creases around your mouth, smoking that rubbish.” He had said.\n Recently they had inherited her family’s farm a few chicken coups. It wasn’t much compared to her brother Jacks peanut farm in Alabama. The family had felt sorry for her thinking that she may get her life together. It beat living in a trailer on some caravan-park Duke spent all the money he earned on liqueur and other women. Pamela Sue had no pride twenty years on he had worn her down. Pamela Sue did not look thirty- eight with a lisp and missing front teeth. Why did she sit and take his lip? None of his conquests had lasted. Pamela Sue was five two, to Duke’s six three in height. At sixteen Pamela Sue had worked selling veg at her father’s farm, Duke had singled her out. They were going places. She had believed him. Putting up with his ridicule over the years.\nClimbing from the waggon she had followed him indoors. When Duke had bent down to pick up the television remote, Pamela Sue had jumped on his back with the bread knife squeezing his throat, he had tried to throw her off his back. Too late the blood had wheezed from his throat and mouth like thick dark red sauce. Plea bargaining had started people had come forward. Pamela Sue had sat in a corner of the shack that was her home, not able to believe what she had done.\n For days she had sat in her in her prison cell unable to talk, wash or feed herself. The doctors and psychiatrists, could not bring her out of herself imposed trance. The journals and tabloids went crazy was it a cry for insanity? A cold-blooded murderess? Her brother had offered to pay for her defence, what was the point? She would settle for state prosecution and the legal team they had suggested. Soon she would be away from it all. The narrow bunk, no rail for her clothes, her dark little room escorted to the toilet, by two guards a male and female was it all worth the effort of carrying on? It was all a charade to show justice. They say, the screams in the night belonged to her? The scratches to her arms and legs she felt as if she had lice maybe she did. Her hair hung lank and greasy unkept. How much longer? If she had been a dog, she would have been put down, it was cruel. The light shone through the barred-up window her denim trousers were too big she could put her two hands down the front of them. A grubby T-shirt, no long-sleeved shirt in case she tried to use it to throttle herself. Pamela Sue was sure that her family had sent better clothes if so, she never saw them. The excuse being she was in solitary till the court reached a decision.\nWhat happened to free spirit? All her life she had read the bible and praised god. What had made her do the devils work? Was Derek Duke the devil that had come to tempt her all those years ago? Well, it was too late he was at rest ash and bone by now. Cis his sister still had a good word for him that was the hold up with the trial.\nMaybe Cis thought she would have the shack and land to go with it? Pamela Sue’s brother Jack would keep that door firmly bolted where that was concerned. Jack would be free from worry justice would be done? Pamela Sue got down to pray. In prayer there was, no silence screams from others waiting their time, she could still hear them. Was she bad, like those, child molesters who did wicked things behind closed doors? The pimps and prostitutes who said, they we’re keeping men happy? The perverts who did not ever get caught? So many questions without answers now her time was coming near.\nThe open prison wasn’t too bad where she went to first, people smiled and worked the crops early mornings, she had heard them coming and going. She was still kept separate from the others there. And there was the smell of carbolic soap she got to shower once a week. Sometimes more. She could not keep track any more. They had come one day and taken her to her final destination San Quinton. There would be no reprieve or retrial. The media had done its duty. The public had followed their view. Did her defence try hard enough on her behalf? There were so many to give a guilty verdict on that jury.\n Her past had been laid bare, owing for goods at many at local stores, encouraging her husband to go off with prostitutes. She had wanted to scream it wasn’t me? It was the work of the devil Satan; Duke had built up those debts to pay for the whores, on Thirty second Street. They we’re tightening the noose around her neck? So that she could not breathe she had fainted, before being taken down to await sentence. There had been a retrial. The defence had been gentler than before, talking calmly as if they were friends. A nice man, handsome and understanding or so Pamela Sue had thought. He had used his weapon regarding the inheritance did she want it all for herself? A man who had stood by her who she could not give children, who kept coming back, how hard she was, planning to do away with him? Blatant lies had Cis told the papers? Journalists all this malicious gossip? Well the door was firmly shut, there would be a lethal injection.\n Dear Jack he had kept trying right till the end. She would pray for his soul maybe god would be merciful in the next life? No, she must not blame him, she had fallen at the wayside into the arms of temptation and failed the test. There was a click of the key in the lock get it over quick? Each time they walked away, there was another dawn with the squeaking of rats, mice for company and another day.” Oh, let me go lord to be your worthy servant. I will sin no more.” She had said the same thing as a small child when she had been caught by the preacher taking Leanora’s ribbon from her hair in mass. Her parents had been called and she had been punished for being vain having to kneel on the floor and ask god’s forgiveness. All these memories come back, in no particular order. \n Pamela Sue was being led along corridors by a team of six guards Why so many? For such a little woman? Had she anything to say? Would it really make any difference? She had Dukes blood on her hands. Pamela mounted the leather coach with the belts tied firmly in place, she had asked for the lord’s psalm to be read out.\n The lord is may shepherd\n I shall not wont.\n He maketh me lie down,\n In pastures green,\nHe leadth me beside the still waters.\nHe restoreth my soul. \n Soon she would be at rest in pastures of green. Would she come back a better person? Was her story a lesson to be learnt? They had said the lord’s prayer at the end so the lords work had been done, the trees rustle, lakes shimmer, children play in natures beauty. While many cases of the people and the courts are dealt y,\nwith. Did Pamela Sue deserve such a sad ending to her life.? Man’s humanity why did Duke have such a quick death?\n Pamela Sue who was weak suffered in silence. Till she could take no more was she ignorant of her rights? Or just battle scared. So many unanswered questions maybe things will change if the death penalty was abolished. Did the lord think she had, suffered enough at the hands of Duke? Maybe one day soon these questions will be answered. Who knows? All her life she had been bullied always looking over her shoulder not knowing what to expect until one day all her feelings of resentment took over and stressed out, she finally hit out at the man who had held her captive most of her life with her self-esteem at breaking point she released her feelings." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on 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 East Star\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1362\n\nPrompt:\n\nYour character sits down at their desk on a Monday morning and finds a completely unexpected email in their inbox. Write about what happens next." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Every night he would look out at the sky, in search of the East star. It gave him comfort knowing that there could be a possibility that she would be watching the same star, at the same time. They hadn’t talked in years. In fact, they hadn’t talked since he had dropped her off that night, but he could still remember how that night felt as clearly as if he were rewatching the memory on CD over and over again. Why they hadn’t spoken in years was his fault, he knew that, and although he didn’t regret it, he could still feel her weight in his arms. He looked up at the East star again, and watched it twinkle, did she see that too? He shook this thought out of his head and scanned the sky again. She had called him every day for a week after that night on the docks. He never answered, he just watched her number run across the screen, waiting until the green answer button disappeared so he could go back to whatever he was doing before. He could never work up the guts to decline it, the vibration in his hand made her feel closer like she was right next to him again. He used to listen to the voicemails, clinging onto her words, letting the weight of them press into his head before swallowing them into his gut and deleting them so he couldn’t be tempted to replay them over and over like a used album. \nThe East star flashed again, catching his eye and he had to force all of his concentration into not noticing it. Oh and the stars, oh, oh and the stars, Well, they just blink for us he hummed along trying to concentrate on his work, catching the last note in his throat, he blinked away her face and shut the book. It was no use. \n“I like to lay in the sun and feel the warmth on my arms and chest. I like the way the sun feels, like bathing in certainty and consistency.” She didn’t look at him when she had said this. She laid with her back on the cool metal of the boat docks, continuing to watch the stars above. He had always told her that she thought too much and didn’t say enough. Sometimes he could tell she was chewing on her words, trying to fit them together like a jigsaw before she would spit them out perfectly fitted together. This was one of those times. “But now I like the feel of the breeze, how it pushes and pulls you without breaking. How it swirls around you, never quite letting you go.” She smiled as she said this, playing with his fingers in her hands “That’s what you’re like.” Reciting these words in his head now made his heart beat a different way, almost as if it suddenly wanted to match hers from that night. \n“I don’t understand” He laughed “explain.” She turned and he met her eyes.\n“I mean that I feel like I’ve known you forever. I feel like my soul knows yours more than my mind does.” She waited for his answer but his head felt hollow. After the long pause, he finally said the only thing he could think of.\n“You’re my best friend.” The air froze and this is where his memory stopped. He could never fit the pieces together after this. This still memory, which once filled his chest, now left him feeling cool and heavy, unexplainable. \noh well, sometimes it just don't add up. The song played again in the back of his mind and he had to turn on the fan to drown it out. That song was always playing, when there was nothing but silence it was sometimes all he could hear. She had played it for him, waiting for his expression, on the car ride home. At the time he just shrugged his shoulders, nodding, but since then he had played this song over again, trying not to forget the way she made him feel. \nHe was always guessing how she felt. He could almost envision her furrowed eyebrows, chewing on her lip as she waited for his call back. He never called back. He wanted to, but there was nothing he wanted to say, nothing that wouldn’t taint that night and confuse his memory of her. He could call, and listen to the silence between them, but it was too late. He tried to imagine the way her eyes would light up if he did call back all these years later. If she would count the rings before finally answering the last one. No-- he had switched numbers. The stars, Well, they don't make no fuss He turned on his computer, drumming his fingers on the keyboard, not typing anything. The last time she called he didn’t listen to the voicemail. He couldn’t even remember the way her voice sounded anymore. If it was high and sweet, or low and sincere. It sat on his phone until he finally had to change his number. 18 seconds long. 18 seconds lost in the abyss of the night sky, 18 unknown seconds. \nA shooting star flew past the East star. Shooting? Falling? They didn’t know the difference. \n“It’s supposed to be on the end of the little dipper.” He had objected, pointing at really nothing in the sky. “Can’t you see it?” She squinted, moving her head to follow his finger. They laid out near the water, in search of the North star.\n“No. I can’t. But look-- there.” She shifted his arm to the right. “That star seems to be the brightest, no?” He closed one eye, trying to focus on the canvas above. “Shouldn’t the north star be the brightest one in the sky?” He laughed again. He was always laughing when he was around her, not at her, but because her presence made him feel so light. \n“It should be, but it doesn’t look like it is. I think you’re right, that one is the brightest. We’ll name that one the East star.”\n“The East star.” She mulled it over in her head. “It’s like our own compass back to each other.” \nAt first, he had to squint to see which one she was talking about, but now he could pick it out in seconds. Less than 18 seconds. He knew why he wouldn’t call her back. This was something she had asked in one of her voicemails. “What are you so afraid of?” His need for her walked the thin line between temptation and desperation, something he didn't think she deserved. Something only time could heal.\n At first, being away from her made him feel like he couldn’t fill his lungs up all the way. Like he couldn’t catch a breath, but this lessened over time, just like his memories of her did. Even though he stopped being able to fill in the gaps, he never stopped flinching when he heard her name. Her name. He found himself typing it into the search bar of his email, scanning over all of the drafts he never had the guts to actually send. He rubbed his fingers together, finally forcing them all into the trash, knowing he would probably recover all of them in the morning. Sometimes he would reuse them, reuse that night. He caught himself trying to relive the moments they had together with other girls, but it never felt the same, it never felt as easy. Even his girlfriend now never understood his fascination with the night sky, how could he explain it to her? He went to close his laptop when he noticed an extra email buried in the search. Sent 2 years ago, unopened.\n“I’m sorry for reaching out like this, but I hope that we’ll follow the East star back to each other eventually. Maybe in the next life. -L” He shut his computer looking out the window at the starry canvas one last time before letting her song fill his head. Oh and the stars, oh, oh and the stars. Well, they just blink for us." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: The Artist\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 2510\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character pretending to be someone they’re not." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "The unbearable thing about living is not so much being but being oneself. God put billions of us into the world and gave us all, as a joke, our own life and morals. The universe never planned on me, or you, only some specimens based on the original model. Like a car, each made of the same essential central engineering. The only difference being the license plate. For a human, the license plate is their face, the accidental and unrepeatable accumulation and assortment of features which reflects neither character nor soul. \nMy face is a particularly ratty one, with big yellowish teeth. My eyes are quick and clever, like a rat's, and my ears are slightly pointed at the top. The few hairs left on my scalp are grey, again, like that of a rat, and when I am not in costume, my clothes are usually of a similar color. \nEveryday for the past fifty-something years I’ve analyzed my visage through my small tabletop mirror, referring, with some slight aesthetic modifications, that very rodent face back onto a canvas. Throughout my years as a professional artist I have painted some twelve-thousand works. Despite the monotony, I can’t say I love it any less than the first time I picked up a brush. There is a constancy to it that is extremely comforting to a person of routine and habit such as myself. I wake up early every morning, at precisely five-thirty, and make myself a strong cup of coffee. No sugar, no milk. As soon as the sun is up I go on my usual walk through the woods behind the house. I have done this for sixty years and at the age of eighty-eight, I can say it has done me some good. There's nothing like regularity for maintaining one's peace of mind. Whenever I am forced to exclude or exchange something out of my routine, such as with bad weather, it causes a certain upheaval within my body, like a new bird in a cage of canaries. \nAt eleven o’clock Caroline, my one and only friend — or better said, former friend — comes by to talk and make lunch. She is a very short woman, at least twenty years my junior, with an ashen face and a frosty, determined look which I used to appreciate. The lips are always pressed together and her large chest sticks out like a plump, ruffled bird. A week before she ruined our relationship with that self-obsessed character of hers, and sent me rushed to the hospital, she was making soup. I watched her put the pot on the stove and stir it with my long metal spoon until it came to the boil.\nAs it simmered on the fire we spoke, per usual, about my work. I confess, for however long it lasted, she was excellent company. The bird-like creature was just as lonely as me. Just as desperate for human contact. And, had we met not four but twenty years ago, perhaps we could have been more than simply friends. But I diverge. As I said, Caroline was my only friend, and for a man such as myself, brimming with bright ideas and equally interesting theories, I was quick to tell her everything, despite my otherwise secretive nature. Secrecy was, after all, pivotal to my line of work. \nOn that particular morning, a day before she handed me her so-called “present” and promptly destroyed our friendship, I was telling her about my most recent painting. \n“I have positioned myself on a deck chair in front of a big, sloping hill in front of my house in Chianti. The grass is freshly mown, a nice parakeet green. On my right,” I say, closing my eyes, envisioning the piece, “on my right stand two rose bushes in full bloom. The scarlet begonias are out too, and so are the hybrid lupins and the irises. Somewhere off in the distance stands a mysterious figure. The gardener. Or, no, I think I’ll call him the Messenger of Death. An artist, Caroline, must always be contemplating their death.” \n“Lovely,” Caroline said admiringly, her small bird like eyes opening and closing quickly, like wings in flight, “you’ve been very fond of your house in Chianti lately, haven’t you?”\nAs I said earlier, Caroline was excellent company. She instigated where I wanted to be questioned, expelled the things I did not want to address. And, most importantly, she was ready to believe anything. \nOf course, I do not have a house in Chianti. My entire body of work is a fraud and a lie. To those who knew the truth anyway. Which was nobody. That is the small price to pay for a lonely existence. You can mold and remold yourself however you please, and create your own immortality accordingly. For the past fifty years a secret plan had been brewing in my mind. After all, I live in Austria, the country of Freud. Like him, I wanted to create my own, distinctive causa-sui project. A personal stepping-stone towards inevitable success after my death. Like Van Gogh, Egon Schiele, Paul Gauguin, Amedeo Modigliani, Jean-Honore Fragonard. And in the process, give my life meaning beyond my life, and transcend my human limitations. \nTo be mortal is the most basic of human experiences, and yet, if one is really truthful to themselves, we cannot accept it, grapple with it, and behave accordingly. Man simply does not know how to be mortal. Can we be blamed? Every day our bodies show marks of our forthcoming demise. My obsession with immortality began when I was thirty, when I figured live wasn’t worth the living anymore. Instead of killing myself (despite everything my Wille zum Leben was incredibly strong), I decided to simply stop existing, and start preparing for my reputation when I was no longer around to defend it. Immortality, to me, meant being loved by strangers while I could not even love myself. It meant living in the admiration of women, children, men, yet to be born. \nSince then I have lived an isolated existence, alone in my small house here, in the outskirts of Vienna, and changed my name to Günther Von Neumann. I sign all my paintings with the initials GVN, and the false letters I write to myself all start with that name also. Günther the bachelor, Günther the artist, Günther the generous socialite, Günther the flâneur, the philosopher, the Austrian Gatsby. \nCaroline, the antisocial house cat, was the only person I shared my posthumous desires with. After all, we spoke everyday. As the broth sat on the stove, we made our way to the veranda, where I worked during the spring and summer months. The room was warm and clean, the curtain wide open, four easels each baring a canvas stood in every corner. Two were practically finished, two had strange red brush strokes painted on them, like Chinese characters. The art of painting is simply putting some strokes on a blank canvas. It’s like having a drink before a date. It breaks the ice. \nLeaning up against the walls, some vertical, some horizontal, stacked on top of one another, were my canvases. At least three-hundred in that small room alone. Upstairs in the attic are another three-hundred, in my storage room, which is full to the brim, another four-hundred. Günther is as generous in daily life as he is with painting. Gestural, quick, unsparing, slobs of paint cover the otherwise flat surfaces, none of which take me longer than a day or two to make. \nFrom my long veranda windows, one can see the garden. It is a fine garden, with a small pond and two rose bushes. The wind is strong during the spring, making the leaves hiss and crackle as if on fire. Though I rarely sit outside, I have two deck chairs, and a small white table for reading. \n“This is the Chianti piece I was telling you about,” I told her, pointing at one of the four easels. \n“It’s very beautiful. It fits perfectly with yesterday’s pool scene.”\n“That’s what I thought as well. I wrote this postcard to go with it,” I told her, handing her an envelope, with a stamp and everything, “from Günther to Rosalia. Never sent. I suspect people will wonder why he never did. Could it be a change of heart? A sudden bout of uncharacteristic anxiety? Did he hear a rumor? Was she getting married to someone else? Is there a new person in his life? Really, the options are endless.”\n“It’s incredibly romantic.”\n“It is, isn’t it? Tomorrow I plan on taking Günther and several of his male friends to a party in Florence. That night he will return home entirely drunk, and create a very fun, quick little canvas of his evening.”\n“Incredible.”\nIn a small journal Caroline jotted down everything I said. Her thin fingers darting from one side of the page to the other, like a mouse trapped in a small room. Though at first I had been hesitant, the written word was a dangerous thing if used against you, I also knew she was just as lonely as me, even more so. At least I had my cat. \nAfter speaking for some twenty, thirty minutes, she got up and went to the kitchen while I put the finishing touches on the Chianti scene. I could hear her cutting the vegetables and putting them into the broth. Some onions, a few potatoes, a handful of carrots. I was incredibly grateful for her presence, and found myself missing her dearly whenever she left. \nAfter lunch we said our goodbyes. I slept for some two, three hours, legs neatly placed on my ottoman, both arms crossed on my chest, snoring. Then at four I made myself a strong cup of whisky to get myself ready for Günther’s party scene. After three hours of concentrated work, I signed the piece, ate the leftover soup, and went to bed, satisfied. The next morning I awoke at exactly five-thirty, made myself a strong cup of coffee, no sugar, no milk, as always. As soon as the sun came up I went on my usual walk through the woods behind the house, and waited for Caroline to arrive with her groceries. \nShe was in an especially chipper mood, she chirped about this and that, and practically flew from one spot in the kitchen to the other. For the first time in four years she hardly let me speak. I admit, it was she who had, again, reminded me of my birthday. I liked Günther’s birthdate more, which was in the colder, more romantic autumn months. Far better than June. But Caroline preferred keeping to my own, and throughout our friendship she always came with a cake and made my favorite dish: Käsespätzle, which was simultaneously the clogger of my arteries and the reason my heart beat. The strong odor of cheese and onions hung in the air and made me salivate. \n“I have a present here with me. I can hardly wait to give it to you,” she said.\n“What is it? A canvas?”\nThe package was small and rectangular, wrapped in some newspaper, and had Caroline not given it such importance I would have overlooked it entirely. \n“Of course not, you have enough of those. No, this is something I created for you.” \nFrom then onwards I forgot about the small box completely. For one, I had the Käsespätzle on my mind, and two, she simply wasn’t the creative type. That was me. In my mind, anything she made had the same appeal as a cat with a dead bird in its mouth.\nLunch was excellent. For a short moment. She had mellowed down, how I liked her, and I was pleased to finally get some stage time to talk. I told her a long, and if I dare say, riveting story about Günther’s evening, and subsequent morning, which I read to her from his diary, like a snooping wife. The night before he had met a woman with a round, tanned face, tight and glimmering with subtle inward strength that was beautiful beyond words, and at which he stared all evening. \nI spoke for a long time. All the while Caroline seemed to coil into herself, as if jealously safeguarding a secret. In hindsight, I should have known her light grey eyes moved too quickly about the room, without her usual diligence and attendance, never settling on one thing for more than a moment. If I had been more observant, I would have noticed those small, faint upturned lines of anticipation placed neatly on both sides of her mouth.\n“Oh, I simply cannot wait any longer,” she said, as soon as I was done reading, “please open the present.”\n“Right now?” I said, annoyed. What could possibly be more important than Günther’s love life?\n“Please.”\n“Well, alright then.” \nI weighed the gift in my hands, then shook it. It was light, but not too light, flexible, but not too flexible. It was almost definitely a book. Perhaps she thought I could find some inspiration in it for my next work. I opened it slowly, trying not to break the wrapper, though it was only newspaper. \nThe cover bore one of my own paintings. A long dining table, laid out for a feast. Tall candles stood at equidistance from one another, becoming periodically smaller and less detailed as they disappeared into the distance. A great magnitude of shining silverware, three wine glasses per person, white table clothe and silk serviettes. \nThe title of the book was Günther Von Neumann: The Story of a Fabricated Existence. Under stood her name in shining white letters: Caroline Bauer. I reread the title several times over before the magnitude of the situation settled on me. A fabricated existence? Now everyone would know. That weasely, inhuman, rat of a woman. She had stolen my immortality from me. She had taken it with both hand, threaded it, then day by day unraveled it, and spun it into a web of her own. There I stood, at the age of eighty-nine, my death bed calling my name, stripped from the very thing keeping me alive for all those years. I was incredibly upset, I felt my breathe escape my nostrils in angry whiffs of air. At the same time, I couldn’t help but laugh. A strange cackling noise which scared even me. For as long as I could remember, I had tried to outrun my existential fears by painting a life which was not my own. In reality, all my work would have meant nothing more than a dinosaur’s distant cry anyway. Tears no one would remember. Perhaps I should have focused on living instead of dying while I was still alive.\n“I wanted to wait until your birthday to give it to you. It’s been in circulation for the past five months. It’s a best-seller! You’ll never have to worry about being forgotten again! I am writing the sequel as we speak.”" } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on 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 worst meal I've ever tasted'\n\nGenre: christian\n\nWord Count: 1209\n\nPrompt:\n\n‘The worst meal I’ve ever tasted.’ Imagine a zero-star TripAdvisor restaurant review: capture the customer’s evening out that compelled them to complain." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "'May l please have today's special'. said undercover solo food critic, Treasure McBright after handing back the menu. Treasure McBright. She is the world renowned food critic whose reviews make or break a restaurant’s global image and she's a solo traveller whose image is not known by most people. It was her first time in that restaurant, she was open to exploring the country's cuisine and had seen that restaurant through a TripAdvisor blog.\nThe menu of the day suggested that she would be tasting the best spaghetti Bolognese in town. She was taken back to the spaghetti Bolognese she tasted in Italy, it was the best ever! She started salivating when thinking of the delicious aroma of the mixture of ingredients in that Bolognese she tasted years back. Her throat muscles were condensing and expanding even before the food came, one would say it was the body’s preparedness mechanism when one is anticipating a great sensation of some kind of taste.\nThirty minutes passed not even water was brought to the table, she started looking around and waving her hand to try draw the waiters or waitresses towards her table but none came, she could not understand her predicament as her imagination of tasting the Italian dish was being distorted by the conduct of the restaurant staff. At first she didn’t really put much to it as it seemed to be a busy lunch hour rush.\nA man minding his own business across the table to Treasure's asked the waiter serving him to assist the lady waiving, but he ignored her and went back to the kitchen. Treasure started to feel infuriated by the treatment she was getting as a black person in a commonly white restaurant, she noted that almost everyone wo entered after her was being served while she was waiting for her turn. She grabbed the next available waiter passing by and demanded to see the manager. It took the manager almost thirty more minutes to attend to the matter claiming he was busy, worse he didn't see why Treasure was making it a big deal but the man opposite Treasure’s table interjected by first introducing himself as Bob. He told them to give her all she wants or she will be sending his recording of this mistreatment. He mentioned that for a while he has been seeing how the lady was being ignored by the staff, or was it they got an instruction from higher to act in that manner towards her as it was strange how they were all following same pattern of pretending they didn’t see her waving and calling out.\nThe manager seemed to be apologetic in front of the Bob, who was well dressed in a black bore tie suit. The manager then ordered staff to attend to Treasure. Treasure told the waiter that she needed lemon iced water to calm her down…Imagine of thinking of the iced water’s calming effect then you get tap warm water, she asked the waiter serving her, what was that he brought. “Ma’am it’s the water you requested’ said the waiter. Bob told the waiter that if they continued he would post the recording of their misconduct.\nIn as much as Treasure wanted to grab her bag and leave, now she had something to write about in her reviews but at the same time she had some glimpse of hope that the spaghetti Bolognese would erase all the mishap of that day.\nIt was almost two full hours of misconduct, finally the dish she had been waiting for arrived. What struck her the most was the presentation, seemed a little uncanny to the eye but she gave them the benefit of the doubt that they just might wow her taste buds regardless of the appearance, of course it was nothing to write home about but the glimpse of hope made her to dive in.\nTreasure choked and asked what acidic substance was added in that dish, she is normally a healthy person without any known allergies. Bob across her table was disturbed by this and asked Treasure’s consent to post the recording but Treasure thanked Bob and told him, she will deal with it her own way but would need his number in case a witness is needed to support. Bob shared his number with her. Treasure called for the manager again who for some reason came promptly unlike the first time when he was discriminating her in full view of other customers. Treasure told the manager this was the worst she has been treated and the worst meal she has ever tasted, it was even more toxic and deadly, thank God she didn’t swallow any of it though her mouth was a bit inflamed from the strong acid in the dish. The manager told her that was their special dish of the day and didn’t know why it made her choke. Treasure asked him to taste it himself but the manager refused, so there were a lot of assumptions racing through Treasure’s brain cells at that juncture, “could it be they deliberately tried to poison her and get her type not to enter that restaurant again, was it that the chef was under pressure and accidentally added too much acid to the Bolognese, was it that they didn’t like her casual dress code in the almost formal restaurant, what is it really that made them mistreat her the second she sat and ordered, if they didn’t want her type so bad, they could have blocked her from coming in the restaurant than to humiliate her in public, were this people who showed no remorse to their misconduct worth forgiving?, if so how will others learn as every human has the right to choose where to eat and needs to be treated equally despite one’s skin colour or race as long as you have money to pay. What was also racing through her mind was Bob’s attitude towards her ordeal, it gave her hope that no matter where you are in the world, someone or maybe you can say there is always a guardian angel in human form who will stand up for you and look out for you when others shy away without confronting a misconduct. So in short Treasure deduced that if one supports a misconduct being done on another it means that person supports the wrong doing by turning a blind eye to wrong doing. Treasure’s predicament was more of a lesson as she had spent time travelling and being treated with decency than this time around where her emotions were challenged in all aspects; Physical, mental and spiritual.\nTreasure’s review was simple. “If you are black, make sure you don’t go past Pete’s Italian cuisine restaurant commonly shown in the TripAdvisor’s blog, from manager down to waiters and waitresses, they will bend you and break you emotionally such that you might even leave through a stretcher from the allergic reactions you will get from the food they will serve you, and yet you joyfully entered the restaurant walking to explore the country’s cuisine. Go at your own risk black brothers and sisters, I got the worst meal l ever tasted.” Unapologetically signing off. Treasure McBright your undercover solo food critic." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Paradise on Earth\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1053\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about a character who takes nothing for granted." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "It was a long day at work which Susie loved doing just to get away from home. Susie's had so much responsibility on her that she didn't even feel married. Life started slowly consuming Susie and she had no outlet so she became bitter. Susie would sometimes cry in her room because she wasn't happy. Susie kept feeling like something was missing. Susie loved her family and was very loyal to them and her life was good. Susie was raised in the church all of her life and couldn't wait to stop going! Susie was made to go to church all the time as a child which made her faith strong. Susie had a lot of fear because of childhood issues and attacks on her as a young adult. Susie also had many close relatives to pass in her life such as dad, grandmother, uncle and so on. Susie's way of coping with these things was road rage and going off on others! Although this was toxic it was the only thing Susie could think of to do. She had forgotten about her faith along the way of life's struggles. Susie started to see the marriage was toxic and not serving her. Susie's son got shot by a group of troubled youth. This was the most traumatic experience of all. Susie didn't feel protected even with her husband. This was the straw that broke the camel's back! Susie knew this was a warning from God to change her life! Not only her life but her family's lives as well. What we do not only affects us but our loved ones as well. Susie cried and cried about this decision because she had been married for 17 years! Susie didn't know how she would support herself because she had become dependent on her husband's income. At this point Susie didn't care because she started back talking to God. Susie got a job and succeeded at providing for the household with God's help! Susie's lease was almost up and she knew she had to move from that house with those painful memories. Susie moved when her lease was expired and got an apartment instead of a house. Susie and her sons began healing from the trauma one day at a time. Susie struggled with wanting revenge on her son's attacker to the point she couldn't sleep. Susie knew in her spirit this wasn't right and had to teach her son who struggled with the same thoughts. Susie had to tell God about her family's struggles because only God could help them! Susie prayed constantly and worked and before she knew it those thoughts were gone. Susie still had to constantly teach this method of forgiveness and giving it to God to her. It was not easy to come back from a bullet but he still was alive. Susie was grateful God said no he will live and not die. Susie and her son went to trial that year and out of the four people involved they charged one and gave him four years. What a slap in the face that a person can try to kill you and get four years! This was truly a disgraceful system who showed Susie they didn't care. The bullet grazed his face and went into his right shoulder. Susie had to let go and let God to have peace and a somewhat normal life. Susie and her family continued to live life and receive life's blessings. They moved from those apartments and into a better area were we felt safe to finish healing our trauma. Susie stopped smoking weed and cigarettes which kept me in toxic situations longer. Susie's only brother had passed and Susie went into isolation. Susie was full of pain and remorse. One year after that Susie filed for her divorce once her baby boy was 18 years old. All he ever knew was mom and dad and by him being older it wasn't as painful. Susie cried so much and her heart was broken because she loved her husband! She realized that she had been putting him before herself and it didn't feel good! Susie was not being her true self by sitting back letting someone else run her life. Susie went through soul searching, meditation and shadow work! Susie read a book on boundaries and the full life frame work from Lifehack. Susie's life started slowly getting better. She didn't go outside much and she gave my husband back his truck. Susie felt like a loser and that she wasted all those years on him. She started watching psychics on utube and received answers she searched for her whole life. Susie's thought process and her heart started to change. She had visions of my brother, dad and grandmother in her dreams. Susie got to hug them to know they were okay and that helped her heal fast. Susie started to get more messages through the cards. She absolutely loved hearing from her Angels and loved ones. This spoke to Susie in a beautiful way and warned and gave Susie advice. These were things her intuition was already telling her! Susie began to see the beauty in everything and everyone. She recognize the blessing that came through the trauma of pain. It was a new beginning for her full of new possibilities! Susie thanked God for the air that she breathe, the trees,sun, moon, animals, water, and life! She thank God for my journey and the lessons from the journey! She thank God that she was always loved and supported by God even when she thought she was alone! Susie was grateful for forgiveness and love that she was given so she give it back! Instead of complaining about God's paradise that was created for us, Susie was in love with life again! Susie learned to never put anything before God and to appreciate all things in life. Susie no longer carried around resentment, anger or bitterness. Susie took on the fruits of the Spirit which are love, joy, peace, fruitfulness. Susie started helping others in her apartments with gifts, knowledge and love. Susie was usually introverted but decided to step out on faith. Fear was no longer apart of Susie's life because she knew God was always in control and not her!\nElisa Wells" } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Sunday Morning Drive\n\nGenre: christian\n\nWord Count: 1012\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about two characters who like each other but don’t get a happily-ever-after." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "The suburbs constantly sing with the tinny buzz of lawnmowers. In the summer, suburbia sweats the smell of freshly cut grass- manicured lawns. The fall is for breathing out leaves needing to be raked.\n\nIt was chilly for September, thought Miriam. She wiped the moisture from her brow and threw the rake down in disgust. She was angry at the leaves for still being soaked from the rain two nights ago. As the wind stirred again, she kicked the leaves and decided that her neighbor James could take over tomorrow. He already mowed her lawn in the summers. She would have to find a new way to pay him back.\n\nInside, Miriam realized that she had missed a call from Benjamin. She called him back before taking off her shoes. Ben wanted to know if she needed a ride to Church tomorrow. Always so gracious, she thought, and decided to accept. And spent the rest of the night massaging her sore muscles.\n\nThe next morning, Ben is fifteen minutes late, but Miriam still jumps when she hears the horn honk. She rushes through her makeup, slapping on foundation, concealer, blush, lipstick, and eyeshadow. She thinks twice about wearing the clingy red dress. After all, she does not want Pastor C. to call her a Jezebel- again. The dress wins the argument.\n\nFive minutes after mounting into the car and warmly greeting Ben, Miriam shouts in panic, \"Oh, no- I forgot my earrings.\"\n\"This is not a disaster, Miriam,\" responds Ben, with a smile. \"Do you want to go back and get them?\" he asks.\n\"That's what I love about you,\" said Miriam, realizing too late the words that she had let escape her mouth.\n\nShe had confessed a secret, long buried in her heart, that she had guarded like a security guard does a bank vault. But- it was the nonchalance at which the words had been uttered that upset her most. \n\nThere was an awkward silence, above which only the swish-swish of the windshield wipers could be heard.\n\nThen, Ben, in that slow way of drawing out the words like he was accustomed to- listening to him was like watching honey or molasses run- said, \"I like you too, Miriam.\"\n\nShe chuckled, half in disgust at herself. But, in her head, dangerous thoughts began to cyclone like a whirlpool. Miriam dared not fantasize.\n\nUsually, their conversation would flow easily- like a gentle river rushing along. But, today, Miriam is too inside of her head to listen to Ben as he makes small talk. She tries to pay attention. She realizes that Ben is in the middle of telling her about how his wife isn't feeling well. \n\"Yes,\" he says, \"We think that maybe at dinner last night she ate oysters that had gone bad.\"\n\"Oh,\" replies Miriam, not even looking at him. \"I'll have to call her.\"\n\nThere was another long pause. By this point, they were halfway to Church. Miriam saw the familiar bar, Lucky Strike, where she had met Ben's wife, dancing on a table, almost a decade ago. Suddenly, Ben turns the car off the route into a parking lot.\n\n\"Something wrong, Ben?\" Miriam asks, nervously.\n\"I'm curious…\" Ben begins to say but does not finish. Instead, he doesn't lean in, but pounces on her- lunging a kiss at her that bruises her lips. For Miriam, there is no reaction, just the taking over of instinct. Something swells up inside of her. A wave of relief, of pleasure, mixed with happy surprise. She responds, enthusiastically, almost clashing with his teeth. The wave bursts.\n\nSlowly, a moan escapes from her lips that causes Ben to pull back. The moan is deep, raw, and guttural- full of need- like an animal. He remembers his wife at home throwing up chunks of gelatinous shellfish in the bathroom. Her moans and groans of pain- full of discomfort- were just as raw, as deep, as needful the night before.\n\n\"We can't do this, Miriam,\" Ben finally drawls out. \"I'm sorry.\"\n\"I'm sorry too,\" Miriam replies, pulling down the passenger headboard to check her lipstick in the mirror. She wasn't sorry. The kiss had released a longing inside of her. She didn't care about Lucy, his wife and her best friend, sick in bed. Miriam thought about reapplying her makeup and decided against it. No need to tempt Pastor C.'s judgment.\n\n\"Yes, you're right,\" Miriam slithered out, looking Ben deeply in his brownish-blue eyes, one of her favorite things about him. \"It wouldn't be fair to Lucy.\"\n\"Or Ivan.\"\n\"Yes, Ivan, too,\" she repeated, with a sigh.\n\n\"How is Ivan?\" said Ben, as if he were easing into a cold swimming pool. \"Is he back in the country?\" he asked.\n\"No, he's still abroad,\" replied Miriam- continuing this conversation with the same enthusiasm as she would undergo a root canal. \"He's coming for Christmas…but we should get to Church. It's late.\"\n\nAs they start to drive off, Miriam's mind begins to clear like the clouds after a storm. She remembers Ivan. Ivan who is milky-white to Ben's sun-kissed tones. Ivan who is shorter than Ben. Ivan, who is not here. \n\nBen fidgets with the radio dial, turning on Christian Lite FM. A familiar hymn about taking it one day at a time and waiting upon the Lord is in the middle of playing. Miriam decides that she will not tell her husband about the kiss. Smiling to herself, she thinks, \"it'll be our little secret.\"\n\nThe rain begins falling in heavy curtains, and Ben, increasing the wipers, clears his throat and says, \"Looks like it's going to thunderstorm- again.\"\n\"Yes,\" replied Miriam, back again, sitting Shiva, with her thoughts. She felt like she had lost something with that kiss. An idea of who she was- her sanity, her self-respect, her moral center. But she had gained a new understanding about passion, and desire, and what it meant to be loved. And that made her even more afraid.\n\nMiriam stared straight ahead, into and through the rain, and thought, the leaves will have to wait." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Dinner For Three\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1918\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story from the point of view of three different characters." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Dinner For Three\nBy JOY DEEP SAHA\nIt was six o'clock when Breanna heard her mother's phone receive a text message while she was sitting on the kitchen bench.\n \"Mom, I bet it's a dad!\" Breanna jumped up from the couch, the books spilling in front of her. She had wondered what story her father would read in one of his funny voices when he put her to bed at night. \n Breanna's mother rubbed her temples and sighed softly. \n \"Honey, would you mind seeing if it's Dad? My head hurts a lot, but I want to cook a delicious meal for us tonight.\" \n Sure, mom. Breanna went into the kitchen to check on the phone. His father had been away two full nights working on a malfunction in his company's warehouse that had left valuable inventory unsecured and vulnerable to theft. I could arrive like a superhero and save the day, but did it have to take that long? It's from dad! \n\"Confirmed Breanna excited.\" He's on his way home! \"To support the family, her husband had taken on as many extra shifts and duties as he could to make ends meet. Times were tough, and he worked long hours, but that made Breanna's time with her father even better. \n \"Oh, that's fantastic news. Let's see what I can find to eat. \"Mother carefully got up from the couch and added, \"I would appreciate your help in the kitchen, Bree. I really don't feel good. \"\n \"Sure, Mom. \"Breanna looked at the phone in her hand and sent Dad a quick reply: \n<2>\n Great! Mom has a bad headache, but I'm leaving. Help her make dinner U soon!\" \n As Breanna opened the refrigerator door, she heard her mother sigh again. The light flickered and bounced off shelves that had been empty for too long. \n \"Oh, I think maybe just those beans and carrots tonight, darling. We could have some hot dogs to cook with too. Could you bring those for me?\" \n When her mother took two more headache pills from the box and put them in the palm of her hand, Breanna began peeling the carrots, just as her mother had taught her. Another beep from the phone distracted his attention, and he stared at the new message: \n Red and sour, round and sweet, seeds of love that I like to eat.\n Was that a mystery? Breanna lowered the peeler and studied the message carefully. Her father loved to entertain her with puzzles and rhymes, but she wasn't sure if she'd gotten one by text! .?\nRed and spicy, round and sweet.\n So what was red and spicy? Was it a fruit or a vegetable? She looked at the carrots and beans on the bench. \n Seeds of love that I like to eat ... No, these were definitely vegetables because they didn't have seeds. It must be a fruit! \n Red and spicy, round and sweet ... \n Breanna went over all the fruits she could think of that were red. What about the watermelon? He thought. It's red and round inside. But while it was cute, it wasn't. I think it was spicy. Oh, what a secret! \n Seeds of love I like to eat ... \n Breanna remembered with a sudden breath that her father had told her about a fruit that everyone thought was a vegetable, which was formerly called the \"apple of love.\" and sweet, red, and definitely hot.\n<3> \n I solved it! The food was ... a tomato! \n Breanna giggled and took another carrot to peel. Her mother\nslowly removed the clean plates and cups from the clothesline, and Breanna felt a twinge of sadness. \nHer mother had had so many headaches lately, and Breanna knew it was because she couldn't find work and was worried about money, but she also knew that her father was a champion and worked hard to bring smiles to everyone to conjure up in the face. Especially hers. \nNobody had a father like hers, and she couldn't wait. Coming in so he could wrap her in his big, strong daddy arms and caress her cheeks with his big, plump, bushy face. \n Thing! \nBreanna answered the phone once more and discovered some other puzzle: Big and\nsweet, don't look down on me, \"Because I wear a crown. \n Oh my god, Breanna thought. It sounded high and sweet like another fruit. But wear a crown? What fruit does a crown bear? \nBreanna plucked another carrot while thinking about fruits whose names sounded like king or queen. She had often gone to the markets with her mother and was\nreasonably sure a stand was selling \"royal gala apples.\" But apples? They\nwere adorable, but they definitely weren't significant.\" It didn't seem long ago that her mother was this proud and happy worker, dressed in a beautiful dress and brightly colored earrings for her work.\nHe wished he could wave a wand and turn his mother back into that confident, handsome queen. He could even imagine her wearing a glittering jeweled crown as she smiled at everyone from her throne.\nHe also remembered his mother's wise advice in dealing with all kinds of people; Be like a pineapple, she said, be cute and wear a crown. \n<4>\n Oh my god, Breanna thought.\nThat is! \nBig and sweet, don't humiliate me, Because I'm wearing a crown. \nThe solution was ... a pineapple!\n\"Bree, what the fuck are you giggling at?\" Her mom's lips developed a grin and\nthe corners of her eyes rolled a bit.\n \"Oh, I'm solving one of Daddy's puzzles,\" Breanna replied, taking another\ncarrot. \n Thing! it was again. Another SMS puzzle. What was his father doing? \n Don't tell the pigs, I'm delicious, Cut into small pieces, and I'll make the dish. \n Okay, Breanna thought as she put the carrots in a saucepan and picked up the beans. Don't say pig ...\n She knew it meant not to lie, but what did it mean here? And what was so delicious that he made the dish? He turned to ask his mother and frowned. His mother unwrapped the sausages, and he could see that there were only four. If she and her mother each had one, her father would only have two hot dogs left. He would be hungrier than her, for sure.\nAt that moment, Breanna, although she loved meat, decided to give her father the sausage from his plate. If Mom doesn't do it first, she thought.\n Wait a minute ... something went through Breanna's mind as she started cutting the dirty ends off the beans. Porkies ... did that mean pork or pork? ? All of a sudden, Breanna's mind shot through her mind eating pasta, pizza, and all those excellent Italian dishes with her parents, and\nall she could see where those pieces of ham that made them so delicious. \nThat was it. Don't say pigs, I'm delicious, Cut into small pieces and prepare the\ndish.\n The answer was ... ham. \n<5>\n Before another minute passed, another message came. \"My God, darling,\" her mother chided gently, \"if you keep chatting with Dad,\nwe'll never cook dinner on time.\" She took some beans and started cutting the\nends off while Breanna puzzled over the phone screen:\n Spend your money on something clean, fat or thin, it's all a pleasure! \n m ...Breanna thought about it. I think I know what's going on. He mentally turned the puzzle, remembering that the dough meant money. But in\nthis case, it also meant something else. Especially when it could be thick or thin. His eyes widened as he discovered the meaning of the riddle.\nThe answer is... the pizza crust. \n Brianna and her mother cooked the beans together. Mother took the beans and put them in the pan. Filled both pans with water and then turned the knob on the stove. The thing glowed orange, and the sausage was under the grill. \nGradually, they began to heat up and change color.\n \"Oh, I should wear this earlier,\" Brianna's mother complained. \"It takes years to prepare food. It would be great if Dad came over for a delicious lunch. He hasn't slept for 48 hours and must be exhausted.\" She looked sad; Brianna hugged her and raised her head to her mother. A big smile.\n \"You know, I think my father hasn't left for too long to wait for dinner.\n \"He understands everything, the meaning of the riddle, the reason his father gave him now.\n \"I sent my last message to my father. \n Melted slime makes me happy. Mesh dressing, mesh dad. \n Three minutes later, his father came up with the most extensive and most delicious ham and pineapple pizza; he took it home.\n<6>\n She ran up to him, he smiled at her, full of vigour and vitality, she couldn’t believe\nthat he hadn't slept for two nights.\n\"Cheese,\" he screamed, \"the last one. \nThe hint is cheese! I put tomatoes, pineapple, ham, and crust together and found that you brought the pizza home! I understand!\"\n \"Yes, of course, my smart girl. You even changed the word \"cool\" to GRATE, which sounds like cheese in pizza! Now put it on the table and let's eat it! \"He rubbed her hair, she inhaled his essence, mixed with the scent of delicious pizza, and suddenly believed that she was the happiest girl in the world, and nothing could upset her. When she saw her mother, she raised her head and frowned when staring at her father with arms crossed. \n Takeaway pizza? This money is too much! There is a lot of food here, and we can't afford that much money. \"Brianna's mother looked like she was about to cry. Her father stretched out his hands and walked to his wife. She refused to do so, but he kicked her in. \"Honey,\" he muttered, \"When my sweetheart, When my wife is too sick to cook, we have enough money to buy pizza.\n \"I mean, my great girlfriend has not been seen in two days.\nI just finished the longest and toughest shift I have ever done in my life. Then we should celebrate more and spend some money. This time out of For these reasons. Life no longer gives us many moments to celebrate, so we must catch them when they come and celebrate with all our heart.\" \n \"But we have too little money...\" His wife was silent; tears flowed down the cheeks.\n \"We have enough...for this.\" He stepped forward and gently held her hand. \n<7>\n\"Tomorrow we will have a more relaxing lunch, but now we want to celebrate and cherish what we have. Here and now: a beautiful family that can stay together even in difficult times, not Disturbed by a minor setback in life. Looking for a job. I know you will. I never want you to lose faith in yourself. We are not. \"\n\"No, Mom, Brianna interrupted her. \"To me, In other words, you are still the queen of all pineapples. \n It took Brianna and her parents ten minutes to finish a whole ham and pineapple pizza. At that moment, Brianna saw her mother become soft and burning; her father started to perform magic again, and suddenly the family laughed as usual.\n As if life has never changed, all aspects are sweet and beautiful. \n It seems that they continue to laugh and appreciate each other because life provides them with all the incredible aspects and flavors.\n It seems as if the things they need came to them and filled them all up. \n Like... Pizza." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Waiting Up\n\nGenre: christian\n\nWord Count: 2956\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart your story in a coffee shop without using obvious words to describe it (e.g. barista, coffee cup.)" }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Norm had waited out in the drizzling rain before the slightly hungover young woman opened the shop late—a full eight minutes after the advertised six o’clock open time. In Norm’s line of work as a pastor, waiting was his stock-in-trade and he had grown quite used to the fact that things like opening times and scheduled meetings were more suggestions than anything you could rely on. \n\nStanding under the awning, huddled under his umbrella, the morning rain had come sideways and caught in his gray beard and wet his face. He panted out shallow clouds of vapor and tapped his foot to keep warm as the girl fumbled with the bolt lock inside. Henri was probably still in bed, snoozing his alarm, his breath full of whiskey, Norm thought. \n\nNorm shook out his umbrella and rushed in as if he might be late—but, he knew better than to expect Henri on time. The bitter smell of fresh burnt grounds overpowered the caramel and chocolate notes that hung in the air. There was a stench of fresh grounds discarded in the trash bin. They steamed like wet autumn leaves decaying in the rain. The young woman filled the carafes. \n\nThere was also a smell of freshly baked cinnamon bread that reminded Norm of his mother’s kitchen. The young woman was playing some lovely jazz music, soft and rhythmic. The brewing sounds, clicking of presses, and hissing of steam were jarring by contrast. There was always this push-and-pull: the warmth of home pulled you in, out of time, into an air of comfort, while at the same time, the sounds and smells of commerce and the preparation of the morning’s product drew in the cold, hard transactional nature of the world, which broke the spell completely.\n\nOut of reflex, Norm picked up a worn-out weeks old newspaper from the newsstand that time forgot, which was by the door—a horrific-looking green wire thing. Henri would be along any minute, he thought. He settled into the corner of a booth seat by the window, where he could see Henri coming, and snapped open the paper. \n\nSeveral times each minute, he pushed up his round glasses, peering over the paper and looking out into the wet October morning. It was now half past the hour. Norm hadn’t read a word; in fact, he was totally unaware of the date on the paper, or the fact it wasn’t weeks old, but nearly two full years old. He only noticed it in passing as he tossed the old paper in the trash, pacing a bit to keep warm. The passing of time. Strange, Norm thought, how one could live a life in a day or how the days of life that really mattered compressed the space between them so that it seemed that no time had passed at all.\n\nNorm couldn’t stop thinking about the text message from the night before. I don’t have a father. \n\nNorm had heard this more times than he could count. Hell, he’d thought the very thing himself. More times than he could count. Thought it about his real father. Thought it about his heavenly father too. Sometimes it was all he thought. But those moments passed.\n\nNorm spotted Henri shuffling across the intersection at 11th Street, breaking into a jog with a magazine held overhead. Norm bolted out of his seat, went to the door, and ran halfway down the block to meet him with a hearty hug. Henri hugged back, but only a pat. Then, when Norm stayed glued in there, gave in and gave a solid embrace for just a moment. Thank God, Norm thought, letting out a characteristic chuckle to break the tension. \n\nWhen Norm had his arms around him, he could feel every bone through Henri’s flannel shirt, and it concerned him—he had always known Henri to be stocky and muscled—and here he was nothing but a bag of bones.\n\n“Good to see you,” Norm said, “Let’s get inside.”\n\nHenri didn’t say anything. He just looked at Norm, a tear hanging in the corner of his eye. And he shook his head as if to say, nice try. Henri's skin was pale. Great purple bags hung beneath his eyes. Even the stubble on his chin looked hungry and disheveled as if it lacked the energy to read the blueprint and assemble in the proper places and just patched up any old place instead. \n\nWhat had it been now? Norm thought, was it really two whole years?\n\nNorm rushed up to the counter while Henri got settled. A chalkboard sign stood on the counter with elegantly written words: 'Today's Special: Caramel Hug. Warm your soul.'\n\n“We’ll take two of today’s special!” Norm said.\n\nThe young woman behind the counter had tattoos of vines climbing her arms with sharp-ridged leaves and bundled grapes wrapping around the arms in patterned circles, which brought to Norm’s mind the vinedresser from whose perspective the rebels are already clean. A swell of emotion caught Norm by surprise—that his father had placed this here for him at this moment—and fat tears pooled in both eyes, burning behind his eyelids, and trickling uncontrollably down his cheeks. Norm pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed up the tears. The young woman muttered to herself audibly, this guy is having a day.\n\nShe poured out frothy concoctions from a shiny, metallic contraption, releasing a hiss and puff of steam. And as she worked, she said, “Anything else?” The contents were divided into two deep-blue mugs, warmth seeping through their ceramic walls. \n\n“Of course, yes. Throw in a bear claw… two of those Boston Crème’s… and what do you think, which of these breakfast sandwiches—let me see—how about one of the ‘Sausage or the Egg’ and one, no, two of the ‘Holy Guacomoles’… really love that name,” Norm said.\n\n“Is that all?” the young woman said, pressing her upper lip down on her lip ring and scowling, as she cocked her head to the side.\n\n“You’re right,” he said, “two bear claws.”\n\n“You taking that to go?” she asked, scanning the room.\n\n“No, no. We’re sitting over there by the window,” Norm said.\n\n“I’ll bring it right over,” she said. \n\nShe smelled vaguely of menthol cigarettes and baby formula.\n\n* * *\n\n“Here, drink, drink up. There’s a small feast coming. Today we eat well,” Norm said.\n\n“You didn’t have to,” Henri said.\n\n“Nonsense,” Norm said waving off the comment.\n\n“I don’t have a father,” Henri said, and then continued, “I don’t have a home. I don’t have ten dollars to get a decent meal. No money for rent. I’m f**ked.”\n\n“I know what it’s like,” Norm says.\n\n“Do you?” Henri says. “Do you really? What are you going to hit me with this time? God in the gaps, is that it? Cast your cares? Or have you got some new platitudes to dust off?” \n\nThe young woman came and set down the food, leaving the tray. \n\nHenri said, “You ordered all of this?”\n\n“You looked hungry,” Norm said. “Why haven’t you been eating?”\n\n“I’ve been eating a little,” Henri said as he tore into a sausage, egg, and cheese sandwich. “I’ve been working at P.J.’s Gentlemen’s Club as a barback. For free. Trying to work off my debts to Tommy. The short-order cook lets me scrape off anything the customers don’t eat and take it home.”\n\n“That’s disgusting,” Norm said.\n\n“You try going three days without a meal and then you tell me if some slob’s half-eaten pork roll and soggy disco fries don’t look like Christmas dinner.”\n\n“What happened to all the money you made with Donald?” Norm asked.\n\n“You mean the hedge fund—my brilliant benefactor—who God struck down during covid with a heart attack brought on by a prolapsed valve?” Henri said. \n\n“I hadn’t heard that Donald had died,” Norm said.\n\n“He died alright. Donald was supposed to have a mitral valve replacement. He was an orthodox Jew. He was trying to rationalize it with his Rabbi—having pig flesh sewn over his heart,” Henri said. “What kind of sadistic shit is that?”\n\n“I see,” Norm said, breaking off pieces of the Boston Crème donut to reveal the cream inside, placing the torn bits of dough on his napkin. “But what about all the money you made at Donald’s?”\n\n“You really want to know? Gambling with Tommy. Strippers. Sometimes two or three at a time. Blow. Let’s not forget that. The Mercedes. Let’s see, what else. Aspen. SXSW with Mailer and the boys, after Money came out. Other trips with the old Wesleyan crew. Shall I go on?”\n\n“Did you talk to Alfred—Mr. Tetrault—at all—about going back to work with him building houses?” Norm asked.\n\n“Come on, you know better than that,” Henri said.\n\n“I just don’t understand. You’ve got to help me here. For years—years—you were making like half a million dollars a year, plus what Alfred gave you to get your start. It can’t all be gone?” Norm said.\n\n“Typical Priest—”\n\n“—Hey! Pastor, not Priest. I’m not Catholic for… not Catholic,” Norm said.\n\n“Typical Pastor, you count up all the good times. But you forget about the downturn after 9-11, about the Financial Crisis, about Sandy flooding the Financial District, about the downturns in ’18 and ‘20 before covid, about the covid shutdowns. I can go on. Those are just the big ones.” Henri said.\n\n“I see,” Norm said.\n\n“What kind of God kicks you when you’re down? That’s what I want to know,” Henri said.\n\n“So, you’re dissatisfied with God, is that it?” Norm said.\n\n“He doesn’t exist,” Henri said.\n\n“You want what God can offer, but just without God—is that it?” Norm said.\n\n“It’s one of two things. One, God is real and He’s to blame. Or Two, God doesn’t exist, and all these things that are happening are blind chance,” Henri said.\n\n“Just playing devil’s advocate here, but if it’s blind chance, why take it so personally?” Norm said.\n\n“At least if there was a God, I could tell Him to go f**k himself!”\n\n“So, I’m right. You want what God can offer. You just don’t want Him in the picture,” Norm said.\n\n“You mean, do I want peace that passes all understanding? The desires of my heart? My enemies laid low? Someone to direct my paths? Sure,” Henri said.\n\n“That’s not what God is offering,” Norm said.\n\nNorm picked up the Boston Crème donut, which at this point was a circular crust of chocolate hovering over a crème center, with the sides completely removed. Norm took a big bite and some custard got on his beard, which he promptly swabbed up with a napkin.\n\n“What do you mean?” Henri said.\n\n“That’s not what’s on offer. You misunderstood,” Norm said.\n\n“Come again?”\n\n“Those are just the results of the offer,” Norm said. “God offers a way home. Offers to be by your side. To be a father to you. Offers a family. The rest of that stuff is just a consequence,” Norm said.\n\nBoth men sat in silence gazing at each other. Then Norm said, “Think about it. I need another cup of joe.”\n\n* * *\n\nWhile waiting at the counter for the young woman to make the beverages, Norm’s thoughts drifted back to the prior day’s events.\n\nBob Baker had walked into his office all red-faced and said, “I know what you’re going to say, but I really need two hundred dollars.”\n\nNorm immediately knew something was wrong. Bob was an affable guy who could be a bit talkative, but he’d never looked so agitated or barked out demands. His eyes were glassy, the pupils engorged, and his face was unusually flushed.\n\n“I need the money, you son of a bitch, you hear me,” he’d said.\n\nNorm had looked at him and said, “It doesn’t work like that Bob. You know what we do. You’ve volunteered for us. We make donations to the shelter and our parishioners, if they are moved to, will contribute to someone we are praying for—and you are on the list.”\n\n“F**k your list. Was my son on your list? My son. What about Eddie, huh, did he not make the list?” Bob said. And Norm knew at that point that this was not going to end well. Bob had been a U.S. Air Force vet who’d been working construction for Alfred for a few years and he’d been homeless now going on about two years, ever since his mother passed away and he’d lost her home in foreclosure. With his silvery white hair and big Western mustache, he was quite the character. Despite being homeless, he was a proud fella. He had both a gym and tanning membership and kept quite the social calendar for a homeless man. Recently though, he’d been turned away from the shelter multiple times for being drunk and seemed to be sinking lower. It was about three months since his eldest son passed away from Leukemia. But he’d never talked about it in church or said a word to anyone. And now it was coming to the surface.\n\n“What about you Pastor? Huh, you have a nice son at home. A healthy son. How would you feel if He took your son? Would you praise His name then?” Bob had said.\n\n“What are you saying, Bob? You’re scaring me,” Norm had said.\n\n“I’m saying, give me the f**king two hundred dollars like I asked. Because right now, I feel like I don’t give a damn what God thinks. I feel like going on a mass murder spree. Maybe I’ll start with your son and then maybe some of the other sons of the faithful. We can start a reverse Passover. How does that sound?”\n\n“Just hold on Bob, I’ll be right back,” Norm had said. And then he had gone into his office and called 911.\n\nPolice sirens were blaring out on the cobblestone streets, coming through the windows.\n\n“You f**king snitch!” Bob said, and he ran out of the door but didn’t get far before being handcuffed.\n\n* * *\n\nThe young woman placed down the two mugs, and Norm took them back to the table. Of the food they had ordered, only one of the bear claws was left.\n\n“Here you go,” Norm said, placing down Henri’s mug. “Do you remember what you told Alfred,” Norm asked.\n\n“I told that son of a bitch to give me what’s mine, that’s what I did,” Henri said.\n\n“What did you have against him? Against your father,” Norm said.\n\n“You mean, Coach. The revered high school basketball coach. The one that ordered me to do drills at home before junior prom in high school—wouldn’t let me get dressed until I hit thirty free throws straight. That who you mean? The drill sergeant. The tyrant.”\n\n“I know he was a tough-love sort of guy to you, but he gave you a job, and offered you his company, didn’t he?” Norm asked.\n\n“So, I could stay there, under his thumb. Taking orders?” Henri asked.\n\n“We all take orders from somebody. No getting around that,” Norm said.\n\n“Not from him. Never,” Henri said.\n\n“Do you know if he kept Bob Baker on?” Norm asked.\n\n“You mean after your little incident? Yeah. I heard,” Henri said.\n\n“Is he keeping him on?” Norm asked.\n\n“He is, that’s what I heard from Adam—he’s keeping him on,” Henri said.\n\n“Good. Thank God,” Norm said.\n\n“That’s the difference between you and Alfred, I guess. Someone threatens your son and you run to the cops. Alfred just doesn’t give a damn. Especially not about me,” Henri said.\n\n“That so,” Norm said.\n\n“It’s a fact,” Henri said.\n\n“He waits for you out on the porch every night. I don’t know who he has watching you, but he’s got someone on payroll checking-in. He updates me every so often about what’s going on with you. I’d heard about P.J.’s and all that a while back.”\n\n“Waits up. Yeah. More like keeping his claws dug in,” Henri said.\n\n“He sits out on that porch, sometimes until two in the morning, just waiting and watching for a car to come up the drive. Big guy like him. Out in the cold, huddled up. Sitting on that uncomfortable porch swing. Waiting,” Norm says.\n\n“Is that what he tells you,” Henri says.\n\n“You know he had to sell off the framing business, four trucks, and all those municipal contracts, all to set you up in New York,” Norm says.\n\n“Like I said. I helped build up that business. All I asked for was what was mine to begin with,” Henri said.\n\n“The whole thing was yours, you stubborn ingrate,” Norm said. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.”\n\n“No, brother. Tell me how you really feel. I deserve it,” Henri said.\n\n“Come home,” Norm said.\n\n“You know I can’t. He could never forgive me. Maybe he’d set me up with my own crew doing framing jobs or something, but I could never come back, could never look him in the eye. You know that,” Henri said.\n\n“He’s waiting for you,” Norm said.\n\n“He can wait until kingdom come but I’m never coming back.”\n\n“Then that’s just what he’ll do then,” Norm said. And he got up, dusting off the crumbs from his beard and the top of his cardigan. He looked down at his younger brother, not sure when he’d see him again. If he’d see him again.\n\n“I love you, brother, I’ll be praying for you. You know where to find me.”\n\n“Hey Norm,” Henri said, tears in his eyes, “Thanks for this.”\n\n“Any time. Literally, any time.”\n\n“It means a lot,” Henri said.\n\n“He’s waiting up,” Norm said, and walked out of the shop into the rainy October morning." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on 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 Rock in Walker County\n\nGenre: christian\n\nWord Count: 2988\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story with an open ending that gives readers just enough details to draw their own conclusions." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "A Rock in Walker County\n\nMiss Lane lived alone and it was impossible to say how old she was. It seemed like she’d been in our town forever; like the Baptist Church on Main Street so old the steeple was tilting. Miss Lane was there every Sunday, rain or shine.\n\nShe never missed the quilting circles, always bringing her famous banana pudding. Nobody could make a meringue peak like Miss Lane.\n\nHow she supported herself was a mystery. She lived comfortably in a house three blocks from the church. It was a white clapboard with a large front porch. Her wicker furniture set was perfect for company. There were ancient oaks in her yard, pecan trees, azalea bushes and crepe myrtles lining both sides of the house.\n\nYet there was something not normal about Miss Lane. Not abnormal though. No, that didn’t fit this elderly Southern lady in pearls and low-heeled black leather shoes. \n\nMiss Lane was a fixer. She corrected things and people who had gone in an unacceptable direction. Miss Lane never discussed her ways. I don’t know a soul who would ask her about them although some certainly knew. \n\nIt could be anything. Like if the preacher went over the twenty minute sermon limit, which was the understood amount of time he should preach. One of the deacons would catch Miss Lane’s eye and something would happen. Like the preacher would have a coughing fit or lose his voice. Then the choir director would quickly lead us in a closing hymn of one verse only and we’d all go home. \n\nFixing a big thing was rare but it happened. Like the church organist’s husband who was a drunk and would beat her regularly. One Sunday Caroline Beacon looked awful, even with heavy makeup. Her lip was busted and her right eye was swollen shut. Miss Lane had whispered in her ear. \n\nCarolyn Beacon told what transpired. It’s a process others have gossiped about for decades. She went to Miss Lane’s house where she was served iced tea and caramel cake.\n\nThen Miss Lane asked Caroline to tell her about the problem, which was her husband Wayne. They made a list of his good qualities on one sheet of paper. His bad ones on another. On the third sheet, Caroline wrote down her opinion of how to best solve the problem.\n\nMiss Lane told Carolyn to fold the third sheet of paper twice and put it in her purse. Then she gave Carolyn a map of Walker County with a big red X on a spot that was near the county line. Miss Lane said she’d watch the kids while Carolyn was on her mission. \n\nCarolyn was to go to the spot to find a huge rock—which was located exactly where the red X was—and leave that paper in a crevice in the rock.\n\nThen Carolyn did as instructed. She had knelt down and prayed a specific prayer, only six words that Miss Lane had dictated. Carolyn took those words and absorbed them into her spirit and meant every word. Then she turned her back to the rock and walked straight to her car and left. There was no looking back.\n\nCarolyn drove home to find Miss Lane sitting on the sofa, knitting a burgundy afghan. When Carolyn walked in, Miss Lane said “Good night, child” and left.\n\nHer two children, Missy and Maxwell, were asleep in their beds. There was food on the stove covered in tin foil. The house was spotless and the radio was softly playing gospel music. \n\nThere was no sign of Wayne Beacon. Although his whereabouts were unknown, Carolyn could feel his absence and the ball of steel in her stomach, made of fear and worry, began to melt away. Slowly at first, then quickly. Her mood was nearly giddy and though she felt as if it wasn’t becoming of her, she rode that wave all night. She told my mama she felt simple peace and security.\n\nI desperately wanted to know all about Miss Lane and exactly what the deal was with her. A lot of problems that us kids thought she solved could have been chalked up to coincidence. But that business of writing down on paper and leaving it in a rock is something that couldn’t have been a coincidence. There’s too much intention behind an act like that. And the results were big and mysterious. I knew some teenagers who had driven every old road in the county looking for that rock and never found it.\n\nI would ride my bike past her house and sometimes stopped to chat if she was in her yard. Miss Lane had beautiful flowers, plants and shrubs in her yard. She won Yard of the Month so often from the city that she asked them to give it to somebody else.\n\nOur chats were always pleasant and appropriate for a 10-year-old girl. “How are your mama and daddy?” Or “I hope you’re applying yourself in your piano lessons.” One time she invited me onto her porch for cake and lemonade. It was the day after my grandpa’s funeral. \n\n“I’m so sorry to hear that Mr. Taylor passed away,” she had said. While I ate my cake, she read to me about seasons. Everything has a season; there’s a time to be born and a time to die, she had read. It was much longer than that, but that’s the part I recall because I started to cry. I had not cried at all until then. Miss Lane gave me a real hankie and hugged me for a long time. It was wonderful and I felt light as a feather afterward. It seemed as if she had taken all the sadness right out of me.\n\nAfter that, the mystery of Miss Lane faded. She was still there, but became part of the fabric and foundation of my early life, what I stood on as I grew up and left for college and then a job in Birmingham. \n\nThings were great. I had a brief marriage that brought forth the miracle of my som. He was only four when my phone rang and it was my doctor’s office calling. She wanted to see me. The news was devastating. Then came a double mastectomy, chemo and radiation. I was too sick to work and moved back in with my parents in Walker County. It was the right thing to do as I hurtled toward certain death because Lukas needed family around him. As each day passed, I realized that I didn’t fear death but I did fear suffering. Mostly I feared leaving my son. The pain of that bond being severed was unbearable. \n\nAs I lay in my old bedroom contemplating another round of chemo and its misery, my thoughts turned to Miss Lane. It had not yet occurred to me to seek her out. She made problems disappear so maybe she could make cancer disappear. Surely I had nothing to lose. \n\nI called before I went over. She didn’t sound surprised to hear from me and invited me to come see her before I had a chance to ask. Gathering my strength, I made the short trip to her house where she was waiting on her front porch. \n\n“It’s so nice to see you!” she said. We hugged and she directed me to her front parlor. There was a caramel cake and iced tea waiting on a coffee table. She made small talk while she cut cake slices and poured tea. \n\n“Tell me about your son.” I hadn’t told her I had a son. But I felt a surge of joy to speak about Lukas. My heart, my everything. I spoke for awhile about him, which was a good transition for me to tell her why I was really there. \n\n“Miss Lane, I’m sick. It’s cancer and I’ve done everything the doctors said to do, but I’m losing. Losing the fight, I think. I don’t deserve to live any more than any other cancer patient, but when I think about Lukas growing up without his mother, it wrecks me. I’m mad, I’m terrified. And I’m just very sad.”\n\nMiss Lane kept a steady gaze on me as I spoke. She handed me a real hankie just like she’d done years ago when my grandpa died. She didn’t speak but her gaze never left me and I was comforted by it. \n\n“The thing is, Miss Lane, over the years, I’ve heard that you help people with their problems. I’m sorry if you think I was gossiping, as it was not gossip. It was…it was gratitude. I don’t know if it’s true or not but I have no hope. So if you can give me hope, then maybe Lukas will grow up with his mother.”\n\nShe sipped her tea for a few seconds before speaking. “Faith and hope walk together, child. Sick or well, you exist in many ways, miraculous ways.”\n\nI didn’t understand that at all. Maybe I was too sick to wrap my brain around what was clearly a riddle of sorts. \n\n“Miss Lane I don’t know how you do things for people, but I know that you do. Carolyn Beacon told my mama about coming to you and then her crazy husband just disappeared. Into thin air. Well, his car too but he was gone.”\n\n“Gracious child, you make me sound like the mob!” She was smiling. “Wayne Deacon came by to see me just a month ago. He is in AA and has been sober for six years now. Carolyn has forgiven him and married a delightful young man. An accountant I think.”\n\nI was stunned. I’d never given too much thought to what happened to Wayne. In my child’s mind, I thought he just went “poof.” Courtesy of the woman serving me cake. \n\nMiss Lane walked over to an antique captain’s desk and opened the top of it. She picked up a single piece of paper and a pen and handed them to me. \n\n“While I’m clearing these dishes, write down exactly what you want to happen. Just one sentence. Take your time.” \n\nShe nudged the coffee table toward me so I’d have a spot to write on. I didn’t need time to think. Time was not my friend. I quickly wrote “Take this cancer from me.” \n\nMiss Lane came back from the kitchen and instructed me to fold the note twice and put it in my purse. She then went to an antique buffet in her dining room which I could see from where I was sitting. She opened the big drawer and pulled out a map. \n\n“There’s a rock on the county line, Walker County side. Some might say it’s a boulder. Follow this map, the red X marks the location of the rock.” \n\nSo there really was a rock! This was really happening to me and I felt a jolt of energy just thinking about it. Wayne Beacon may not have been “poofed” away but the bad part of him was certainly exorcized. That was all I wanted for myself. I was desperate to be rid of this disease.\n\n“When you get to the spot, walk toward the rock very carefully. It’s not an easy path. The rock has a crevice on the right side. Once you’ve put the note in, kneel down and pray this prayer. You must truly mean it, dear.”\n\nShe took my hands in her warm, soft hands for a second, then leaned in and whispered a prayer in my ear. It was very short. Just six words. \n\nThe sun was setting and I knew it would be dark before I made it to that spot, that rock of hope. But I didn’t care. I drove straight there without letting my family know where I was going and what I was about to do.\n\nThis was a county road with no streetlights and I passed only one car as I approached the place to pull off the road. It was so dark that I could see nothing after I turned off the car’s headlights. \n\nI used the flashlight on my phone to spot the path and started walking gingerly down toward where I thought the big rock must be. \n\nA sudden intense stream of blue light beamed from above directly onto the rock which was about twenty yards from me. It was as if a helicopter was shining a spotlight from above, but there was no helicopter. Everything was perfectly silent but the ground under my feet seemed to vibrate. \n\nI stopped walking, frozen in place. It was an astonishing thing to witness. It’s difficult to describe what I saw step into the light. Who I saw. At first I couldn’t comprehend what I was seeing. Because I saw myself. Healthy and glowing, a normal weight and a head full of hair. \n\nShe—I—walked into the light and approached the rock carefully. She touched it and seemed to be feeling around for something. She found the crevice that Miss Lane told me to find. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper, kissed it and inserted it into the rock. \n\nOnly a minute or two had elapsed but it felt like an eternity that I watched this woman, me, walk into this bright light and do what I was supposed to do. Maybe I was seeing a vision of my future, fully recovered and leaving a note of thanks.\n\nI continued to stand in the same spot. The other me seemed to be kneeling by the rock and praying. Words she had been told to absorb and make them truly her heart’s desire like Carolyn Beacon did. \n\nShe stood up from her kneeling position then sat down on the ground. Then she wailed. It was the most mournful sound I’d ever heard. She hit the ground with her fists, which didn’t fit with my theory of what my future healthy self would do. Confusion set in. Maybe I was hallucinating. \n\nJust as suddenly as the light and my clone appeared, they disappeared. I continued to be frozen from shock. It took a few minutes to gather myself but eventually I was able to continue down the path toward the rock. I couldn’t allow a hallucination to deter me from what I needed to do. \n\nI used my iPhone flashlight to help me navigate to the rock. I looked for evidence of what I’d just seen. But I saw nothing. No footprints or flattened grass. \n\nI had a job to do that superseded everything, so I braced myself for the beam of light. It didn’t come so all I could do was carry on as if nothing bizarre had happened. \n\nI found the crevice, shined my flashlight inside and didn’t see anything coiling to bite me. I put my hand in to feel around a bit. Perhaps there was a little shelf or maybe a slot where I should put my note. Instead, I touched a piece of paper. Without thinking, I picked it up. \n\nThere was no doubt that I was going to read it because I knew with all certainty when I saw it that this was the same paper I’d just seen myself leave in that rock. There was even the faint imprint of a lipstick kiss on the outside of the paper. I had to compose myself first and quiet the storm of crazy thoughts blasting my mind. How was any of this possible? And why was I seeing it?\n\nI opened up the paper, which looked exactly like my own piece of paper. Same black ink and there was my handwriting. There was no mistaking that I had written this note but I had no idea when or why. \n\nI slowly unfolded it completely. On the paper, I had written these words: “Take this cancer from Lukas and give it to me.”\n\nI fell to my knees, barely able to breathe. I had no recollection of writing this, no memory of my son ever being sick and certainly no idea that I’d ever been here. Yet I’d just seen some kind of Twilight Zone replay of me putting this note into the crevice of the rock. \n\nI hadn’t glimpsed my future. It was a look into my past, one I had no memory of. But if my prayer, my wish, my whatever had been granted, would I remember it? Were there rules that came into the picture in attempting to understand this? Nope, there were no rules. \n\nAll I knew was that I saw myself put that note into the rock. I watched as the transparent me knelt and prayed as instructed by Miss Lane. And it was those six words that brought me to the full understanding of what I must do at that moment.\n\nSo I did. Just as I’d seen my earlier self do, in this my own private Gethsemane. I knelt down and put my hands on the rock and said aloud: Nevertheless, not my will, but yours. \n\nI stood and turned back toward the road and started walking away from the rock. Like Miss Lane had instructed, I didn’t look back. Wasn’t hard as I had no desire to. Everything was clear and crisp. I felt calm and peaceful. The only task I had to complete now was thank the perfectly not normal Miss Lane. I would not be telling her what I’d just seen because I knew she was fully aware. \n\nBut I would write Lukas a letter for when he’s grown. I’d tell him to visit Miss Lane and listen to stories about me. I knew the ageless Miss Lane would still be there, providing help to those who asked. Then I hope he’ll walk down that path and feel some essence of my spirit, my love that’s forever tethered to that big, mysterious rock in Walker County." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on 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 moon, pills and other wrong things\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1023\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character who can suddenly see through another person's eyes — literally." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "There’s nothing much like being woken up in a body that is most definitely not your own. \nThe familiar feeling of bedding you’ve never touched. A dress a might bit overfitted for sleeping.\nThe swift timbre of a voice you only remember from your dreams.\nThe blur of eyes that are not your own.\nIt might’ve been a blessing to be nearly blind, if Lily hadn’t wanted to understand.\nIt was still nothing to let go, when her body pulled her back.\n\nWhoever she was when she dreamed at night, was beautiful.\n\nBut Lily knew full well what dreams were made of. Lies and memories.\n\nLily Prince was halfway up from her own bed, when she wrote it down, the nothing in a stranger’s head she’d experienced halfway lucid in a dream all her own.\nSo excited she was, from her dream, she’d forgotten to look at the clock.\n2:15? When she finally looked over, the flurry and excitement of her journaling had waned into a wakeful calm. She decided to cut her losses and call it an early day.\n\nMaking coffee, starting her car, going to work, going home.\n\nThe little things that made a quiet life, flew by in the form of a robotic compliance to custom. There was little thought in her world, and while for others it felt mindless, her days weren’t often worth even that.\n\nBut then there were the pills.\n\nAnd sleep.\n\nAnd really, it was the only reason she worked at this point. Selling her hours for her dreams. In a literal way that most would be at least a little apprehensive about.\n\nEspecially considering the side effects.\n\nLily didn’t live in luxury, but this did nothing to distance her from the indulgence. Slipping one by with whatever she was drinking, it’d been a split second when she’d forgotten what night felt like, and lucid dreams held favor in her mind.\n\nHer stomach lurched, as she saw what she’d hit.\n\nPlease don’t let it be a person. But it was.\n\n“It’s alright sweetheart, she’ll wake up later.” went a soft voice beside her, from a side glance, Lily saw a bespeckled face. \n\nShe didn’t even feel sick. As her body pulled her back.\n\nLily was very sure of where she’d been when she fell into it. When her car hit something. \n\nBut there she was, in her bed.\n\nHad Lily forgotten every last step between the road from work to her house? Was she really that far gone? Had her mind traumatized her just to force her back into her body?\n\nShe walked outside to look at the sky. What had she expected to see?\n\nThe world realigned, and she hid her pills. She didn’t need to get lost again. And soon she was better, her experimentation with them had ended.\n\nIt wasn’t like she didn’t know where they were. If she wanted them.\n\nWeeks went by, and the fog that she so enjoyed from the pills had left her. She’d expected a brighter world to reveal itself, for that fog to be a consequence of her less than healthy habit.\n\nBut as her body kept functioning, moving away from that of a body under the influence of strange substances, she started to recognize the vacant nature of her life.\n\nLily had taken to the notion that she’d always known this, having been aware for much longer than she'd been willing to admit.\n\nOne would think it sensible to obtain a hobby, or some other such nonsense, but so little of her life could be hers along with her other expenses.\n\nIt didn't take long to find her answer. To find her pills.\n\nShe dreamed as she wished that night, with little regard for her journal, or her work, they hadn't seen a difference. With the fog.\n\nBeauty had a name in the body she'd woken up in, scratched out in her mind though it was.\nShe managed to find her glasses, something she knew the body needed.\nAnd she saw it. \nThe other woman in the car.\nLily hadn't known the face before, but she knew she'd been in here before.\nIn the body of the woman in the mirror.\nIf she'd known that all it would take to learn was a little time off her pills she would have - she didn't know what she would've done.\nShe wouldn’t have wasted the effort, she would’ve gotten impatient.\n\nIt was better that she tried to get away.\n\nShe felt the woman fall as her body pulled at her, Lily was back in her bed. Lily wanted to hold onto her dream, but it was a little much to write down with a late start.\n\nShe went to work as always. It was early, and the fog of her drive was taking over.\n\nLily saw a flash, in the blatant gray of morning, inch for inch, a repetition.\n\nBut she was awake this time.\n\n“Don’t you remember? She’ll wake up later!” Pamela said to her, Lily knew her name without even looking fully.\n\nPamela.\n\nPamela was almost biblical with age, as a name at least, being invented in the 16th century by an over-posh Courtier. Though even as it became dated, it never quite lost its youthful associations.\n\nThe bespeckled woman. In an overfitted dress. With an umbrella.\n\nShe wanted to cuss, she wanted to scream, how could her mind do this to her again, “I just ran somebody-”\n\n“Kani Pascal.” Pamela interrupted.\n\n“What?”\n\n“Kani Pascal.” she repeated. As if to clarify.\n\n“-Kani Pascal?” Lily questioned back, the discussion going nowhere. “I recognize the last name, but not.”\n\n“Pass over rabbit?” Pamela said, leading.\n\n“No.” \n\n“Yes.” \n\n“The easter bunny?” her eyes glazed over, realizing belatedly that her subconscious wasn’t worth looking at. Lily got out of her car to assess the damages, though being in her head, in her dream, precluded the action from being relevant. \n\n“Aren’t you gonna look up?”\n\n“why?”\n\n“Don’t you wanna see the sky of your dreams?\n\nShe turned her head to see the starry sky, she was farther out than was altogether expected. “Well, I’ll be. It’s just the moons, Pam.”" } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Dust Covered Girl\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1627\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite your story from the perspective of a side character." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Allow me to tell you a story. A sad story, true, one that you think you know. It is short, and simple, and easy to remember, but you do not know the true tale. Nonetheless, I shall share it with you now:\n She’d always been a special kind of girl, that one - not that she ever noticed. She used to go through the house, humming to herself as she swept, content in her own world, never realizing that there were those who plotted against her behind closed doors.\n She had been born there, her father a noble, her mother a beauty. Her childhood had been one from a fairy tale, until her thirteenth birthday. We had grieved alongside her when her mother passed, and felt her anguish when her father brought home a new wife a few years later. We’d thought, perhaps the same as he, that her new step sisters would love her as much as everyone else who met her.\n I am ashamed to say they did not. It did not take long for the girl to find comfort in other things better than sisters - books, for example. She would while away the hours hidden in her paper worlds, curled in the corner of her father’s study. Even after he passed she would find safety there, as the dust piles grew and the lights faded. \n While her step family spent their time wrapped in silks and smoke from their extravagant parties, the house fell into disrepair. Her stepmother sent the staff away, and left the chores to the girl. She dressed herself in rags and ash and cleaned.\n Eventually, people forgot there had ever been another girl in the house when they looked at the glittering step-sisters, the jewels of their mother’s eye. But the girl herself did not forget. How could she, when the dust covered paintings stared down at her on the floor of the kitchen while she slept? How could she, when the trills of their laughter echoed down the bare halls while she scrubbed the stairs? How could she, when the scars from their beatings rippled across her skin while she scrubbed herself clean with the leftover water.\n As she grew older, their treatment of their step-sister/-daughter grew unsurprisingly even more cruel. Quiet words turned into forceful shoves. Forceful shoves turned into lashings. And so on. The girl ignored it all, forcing her anger deep down, putting on a brave face.\n The years went by, as they tend to do. The girl grew prettier, not that you could tell under the thin layer of dirt on her skin. Her step-family grew more despicable. One summer night, the letter came from court. I’m sure, dear reader, you already know what this letter contained, but for the sake of this sad tale, let me continue.\n It was an invitation to the ball, three weeks hence. Naturally, the step-mother was delighted for an opportunity to show her ghastly daughters off. She found their finest dresses, and demanded the girl spend the next three weeks cleaning and mending them for her daughters. The girl gladly accepted this task, her fingers tired of washing dishes and beating the carpets.\n The first week, she worked on the eldest daughter's dress. A horrid green number, it had spent many years in the back of a closet and was covered in webs and all manner of bugs. It also needed to be taken out, as it had been a long time since it had been worn, and the eldest daughter had taken a liking to the sweet fudge served after dinners.\n I watched the girl wash the dress in the tub, swirling the water gently over the pretty designs in the lace. She unpicked the sides of the dress, adding in a black swath of fabric either side in order for it to fit on the sister. She lowered the hem, and added a simple golden trim to the edge. The step sister fell in love with it as soon as she saw it.\n The second week, the girl spent with the youngest daughter, and her nightmare of a gown. All I should have to say about it was that it was yellow with blue thread. The girl washed it, took it in for her step-sister (her diet was as sour as her disposition), and added a few diamantes to the sleeves to make it sparkle. I can tell you, while I don’t have a gag reflex, the sight of that dress made me wish I did.\n The third week was for her step-mother’s dress. A simple silk number, even I have to agree it was very becoming. It did not need a lot of work, only a simple wash and press, but the girl made sure every inch of it was perfect. I watched her go over it all myself.\n The night before the ball, the house was full of a feeling I had not felt in a long time - excitement. The girl’s stepmother and stepsisters were in the sitting room, eager for the next day to begin, while the girl was washing up from dinner. Her step family had feasted on roast chicken and potatoes. The girl had cold peas and ham. I heard them call her up, and saw the look of fear on her face. I felt her dread as she passed me and crept up the stairs, her slippered feet dragged slowly upwards.\n I did not follow, but I did not need to. I hear the yelling, the demands, from my cubby in the kitchen well enough. I heard the china smash on the floor, the sobbing of the girl as she fled, the cruel laughter of the step-sisters chasing her out of the door. I’m sure I don’t need to go into details.\n She left the house as the light faded. I followed her as far as the edge of the garden, but she disappeared into the forest without looking back. I worried for her, pacing up and down the kitchen for what felt like hours before I heard the door open.\n Her face pale, dried tear tracks cutting through the ash on her face, she crossed the kitchen and silently made her way to the parlour, where the three dresses were waiting to be put on for the ball. Here is what she did:\n To the eldest step-sister’s dress, she took a handful of poison ivy and sewed it inside the dress, around the bodice and beneath the crinoline.\n To the youngest step-sister’s dress, she sewed feathers through the fabric at just the right angle to poke at her legs and arms constantly. She added a touch of fish scales inside the hemline.\n For the step-mother, I watched as she took a pair of scissors and made several cuts - I could not tell you exactly where - so that the dress would, at the right moment, with enough stress, fall to pieces and expose her step-mother to the world.\n She scooped up ash from the fireplace and mixed it in with their powder, and dripped candle wax over their shoes.\n Finally, the girl went down to the kitchen and curled up in front of the fire. For the first time in years, she slept with a smile on her face.\n The next evening, her stepmother and stepsisters left for the ball without suspecting a thing. Sure, the girls were itchy and uncomfortable as they left, and all three looked a little grey in the face, but I thought they looked very nice - for now.\n I watched from an upstairs window as they left in the carriage, and turned to see the girl dancing alone in the garden, truly alone for the first time in her life. I am sorry to say it lasted only mere hours.\n They were back before midnight, the carriage screaming down the road. I could hear their anger from my windowsill perch, and ran off to warn the girl, but she already knew. The triumphant fear on her face as her stepmother bore down on her was a sight I’ll never forget. My brave girl. Stupid, brave girl.\n I wish I could have protected her, but you know how these things go. They walked, the four of them, out through the garden, her stepsisters holding her tight by the arms, and melted into the forest. I sat with bated breath all night, waiting for them to return. When they did, the morning sunlight barely kissing the tops of the trees, it was without the girl.\n Years passed. The youngest daughter took on the chores left by the girl, and when she ran away, the eldest daughter did so too. The stepmother became a sad, lonely woman, alone in her home, until eventually, she left this world completely. \n I will say, just to you, dear reader, that before she died, the stepmother was visited by a mysterious woman. No one knew much about her, other than years previously, she had stolen the heart of a prince, and had enjoyed many years of happy marriage with him. Her resemblance to my girl of old was uncanny, but naturally, a coincidence. \n I do not know what she said to the old woman, for I too am old and cannot hear as well as I once did, but I know it was only a few days after that I was truly alone in that house.\nNot all stories have a happy ending, dear reader, but perhaps we can say that maybe this one did. But what do I know? I wouldn’t blame you for listening to an old mouse ramble, but one must pass the time somehow, and this was a tale that needed to be told." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Tick Tock Croc\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1004\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite your story from the perspective of a side character." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Tick Tock Croc\nI could not take my eyes off Pixie Hollow, the island where the fairies live, it was beautiful, always glittering with gold pixie dust. It has become a habit of mine to admire their fantastic island from my boring one, Croc Creek, but today is different, today is the day I visit Pixie Hollow. \nMama Odie, the Voodoo priestess, promised every creature in Croc Creek one wish, provided they present an outstanding gift to her. It seemed like a fair deal, I had asked creatures who had visited Mama Odie, for gift ideas. They all told me to go big and glamorous, to find rare herbs or artifacts. So I decided to give her the rare glass flower. I searched the highs and lows of Croc Creek to find her the glass flower. \nAt mother’s, the aroma of her famous feather hat stew was eluding, making me nostalgic. I remembered the first time she cooked her stew, its uniquely delicious taste, the taste mother claimed to have come from the hand of a white feather hat pirate. This stew is the major reason I wanted to go to Pixie Hollow because it is my dream to be a chef at Pixie Hollow. Ordinarily I would not be allowed to become a chef because of gender roles that insisted males hunt while females cook. But since I swallowed an alarm clock when I was three, it had earned me the name Tick Tock Croc as well as made me too noisy to hunt. \nMother only cooked her special stew on special occasions, making me curious about what we were celebrating. I walked closer to the source of the aroma to ask mother about the celebration. She began to tell me about how she dreamt I would become a talented chef. It was not until she unwrapped the luminous glass flower from a napkin that I understood.\nAfter eating mother’s stew I set out for Mama Odie’s. It was a long way down the Creek but every step felt worth it. I was overwhelmed with joy, I was finally going to be a chef in Pixie Hollow. As I approached the entrance of Mama Odie’s shrine, I heard an old screeching voice call my name. A three feet figure with a snake around her neck emerged from the shadows. \n“What do you want Tick Tock Croc” she hissed. \nWith all the courage in me, I presented the flower and told her I would like to go to Pixie Hollow. The snake on her neck let out a loud laugh, and without a second glance, Mama Odie said, “Join’em with the rest” while signaling to form my flower to a huge flower vase of glass flowers. I was devastated, Mama Odie rejected the flower I had searched endlessly for and most importantly denied me my ticket to Pixie Hollow. She told me to return when I find a more valuable gift for her.\nWalking out of Mama Odie’s shrine was a moment I had fantasized about for years, I fantasized myself skipping out, to jubilate with my family. Yet I was walking out with my head down in bewilderment. I walked lazily to the highest part of the creek to look at Pixie Hollow. As I got to the top I heard a voice hiss my name, it was Mama Odie’s snake, Juju. he coiled beside me, staring at Pixie Hollow. \n“You know” Juju started “Mama O doesn’t hate you… she just wants you to give from your heart not your mind.”\nI looked at him shocked that he thought my glass flower was not from my heart. \n“I searched tirelessly for it…for years,” I said, almost yelling at Juju.\nJuju signed, “Your heart not your mind.” he repeated.\n In that instant I was a ship approaching the shores of the island. And there it was a pirate in a white feather hat. The idea immediately struck me to make Mama Odie mother’s feather hat stew. I rushed to the harbor to meet the feather hat pirate in an intense duo with a flying boy in green. The ship was in chaos, children were tied up to a pole, while some were ferociously fighting the ship’s crew, and a fairy was struggling in a lamp case. My gaze returned to the pirate, I waited impatient for him to fall into the water. The flying boy put one of his hands behind his back, dearing the pirate with his short dagger. The tied up children were free and the ship's chaos increased. Finally, the pirate tripped, falling straight into my mouth. I could hear the children on the ship cheering me on as I forced the stubborn pirate into my mouth. The pirate fought Yelling \"smee!” at every move he made. I continued to chase him to the middle of the ocean. \nIf my day could not get any worse, I watched as whale emerge from the sea with its mouth open swallowing the pirate. I was lucky to have not been eaten, but I was so angry that the whale had swallowed my only shot at getting my dream.\nI swam home slowly while trying to accept my heartbreak. Thinking about how I would never become a chef at Pixie Hollow. As I approached Croc Creek I heard stage sounds like drums beating and creatures singing. There was a party and all the creatures of the creek were jubilating alongside the boy in green, the cheering children and a fairy. I crept quietly away from the party, but Juju saw me and yelled: “He is here!” \nThe whole crowd shifted to face me then they began to parade towards me. They cheered me on saying I was courageous enough to chase the pirate which they called captain hook away from terrorizing the whole of Neverland. The fairy even offered to take me to Pixie Hollow to become a chef.\nSo there I was admiring my to be home from the shores of Croc Creek." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Burying Ghosts.\n\nGenre: christian\n\nWord Count: 1140\n\nPrompt:\n\nSet your story in a haunted house." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Kanna drew an impossibly deep breath as she drove down the winding drive through the overgrown brush and trees that were scratching their names in her airport rent-a-car. She could already hear the neglected engine of her father’s rotting chevy choking its way down the long-abandoned road in her memory. She exhaled a painful breath as she approached her destination. The driveway before her was cracked and beveled like an abandoned eggshell. She pulled closer to the garage door. The paint that was peeling from aged wood was piling like leaves in the fall at the base of the door that was so weather worn that it no longer sat solidly on the concrete but left large gaps as tiny doors for the mice to enter their undisturbed kingdom.\nShe pulled the large manila envelope from her backpack on the passenger seat. Her name was written in deep black ink on the front with the logo in the upper left-hand corner from the Benson Harrison Haddock & Wilson law firm. She pulled a smaller envelope from inside and shook the key inside it into her hand. The post mark was from two years ago. The paperwork inside included the will, the deed and receipt for the last two years’ worth of back taxes on the property. She kept asking herself why she had come. She didn’t feel like she could sell the property until she had seen it once again. There was no other way to leave it behind her. Or she would always wonder. So, she had flown from two thousand miles away to face her fears. \nShe pushed open the driver’s side door with some force in a moment of determination. She walked quickly toward the front door, but her steps became slower as she approached it. Her hands shook as she placed the key in the lock and turned it. The scream that the aged hinges made as it swung into the hallway echoed in her mind and triggered a memory and sped up her breathing. The door opened before her. Even from this place on the stoop, she could see the sunlight streaming into the tiny hallway from the kitchen window. Just step inside, she told herself.\nHer steps were slow on the color faded tile. Kanna dragged her finger through the dust resting undisturbed on the table in the hallway that held a solitary lamp. She didn’t bother to turn on any lights. She could’ve made her way through this home blindfolded. Nothing had changed in twenty-two years since she had been taken from here by Officer Lepetree. The sun was starting to rise outside and was sneaking noiselessly through the slats in the blinds that hung on the rain-stained windows and was leaving ladders of light on the weight-pressed carpet.\nShe was only a few feet in but was doubting her ability to move forward. The memories were thick around her like the cobwebs that lined the walls. She didn’t know why her mom had kept this home after all these years or why she had left it to her when she knew how much Kanna had hated it. She put the back of her right hand to her mouth. She felt like she was going to be sick. She could still hear the sound his hand had made when he slapped her. God, give me courage, she prayed.\nShe turned left into the kitchen. The oversized fork still hung on the wall next to the stove. The fridge had been emptied and unplugged and the door was open showing the yellowing shelves like unbrushed teeth. She pulled open the cupboard beneath the sink. She knelt in front of it to see if it was still there. She reached a single finger and touched it on the back wall in the upper left-hand corner– the flower she had carved in the soft wood of the cupboard while she was hiding from him. She had stayed hidden in there for hours until he had stumbled out of the front door finally drunk and disinterested in being home. Kanna didn’t know if he had even tried to find her that night or if he was relieved, she was quiet.\nShe went through the kitchen and into the library. Most of the shelves were empty with a few exceptions. It was still here. Her favorite book from when she was small: The Poky Little Puppy. Her grandmother had given it to her, and it still had her name written on the front of it in her best five-year-old cursive. Her mother must have left it here for her. What other treasures had she left?\nKanna almost ran up the rickety steps that groaned under her weight. She stepped over the threshold into her parents’ old room. It looked different barren of Mom’s old-fashioned bed frame and hand-me-down dresser. The window was slightly open as she always kept it for the evening breeze. The wood beneath it was twisted with the weather that had seeped in and warped the floorboards. If she remembered right, there was a place. She went to the side of the room that used to be beside the dresser. She tapped her foot on several of the boards until she found the place. One of the boards gave way beneath her tennis shoe and popped up at the opposite end. Mom’s secret hiding place that she had once shown Kanna. She pulled up the board. And there it was. Wrapped in a towel and enclosed in a sealed container that popped a little as she opened the lid. She pulled it to her chest and wept. She touched the surface of the worn family bible. She could picture it in her mother’s hands. The pages were soft with age and inside the front cover was her grandmother’s handwriting and after she had passed it on, her mother’s handwriting. A piece of ribbon was tucked into Revelations. Chapter 21. Verse 4 was always her favorite: And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain; for the former things are passed away.\nThis was her inheritance. Even with all that had happened to her, Kanna’s mom had given her a belief in God. An understanding that hope is always a beautiful thing. Faith that people are good deep down. She never gave up on anyone. And she knew that one day God would stand with her and wipe away all the hard things and only good would remain.\nKanna could bury her ghosts now. And move on. She would leave this haunted house behind her now with all its bad dreams. Someone could tear it down and make a happy family in the magic of the trees." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Passing Time\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1025\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story that switches between first person and third person point of view." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "The sunflowers had bloomed the week prior, the heat pulling them higher with each passing day, touching the sky with what seemed to be sheer elegance. Claire admired them as she slowly paced the perimeter of the garden, her fingertips grazing the tops of the purple hull peas. The breeze picked up a bit, pulling strands of her blond hair from her back braid and guiding them in an unsynchronized dance. It delivered a scent of the gardenia from the back porch to the far end of the garden where she now stood watching the birds sway in and out, weaving intricate patterns. She had always loved gardenia, it was a beautiful flower and smelled sweet like momma. \nI watched her through the dirt-spattered glass that served as my window to my bedroom fort that I had begged her to help me with before she left the swing door clapping in my face. With hurt feelings I tried to push myself to follow in her footsteps out towards the empty chicken houses through ankle deep grass in bare feet, but I was not in the mood for sweat and bugs. I would rather be in my room creating my own world to escape to, much like the garden was hers. The two of us used to set up royal tea parties and sail our imaginary ship through loch ness infested lagoons. Things were different now though. All alone on a deserted island, I searched for a rescue.\nIt seemed that hours had passed since Claire had darted away from the soon to be tear filled eyes of her little sister. She despised herself for being so harsh with her at times. Things had changed since mama had passed and Claire just wanted to run, all of the time. Running away started trickling through her mind, sounding like a good idea if only she would not have to leave her baby sister with the monster their step-father had turned into since the alcohol served as his only supporter through his grieving. Even though she was aware that it was not an option she would catch herself fantasizing about it daily. The sun drifted down slowly and fire flies blinked a graceful rhythm, one only she could hear. \nHomemade biscuits and meatloaf were a thing of the past now, and I deeply missed the smell of breakfast waking me up in the morning followed by the gentle ring of mama's voice coming down the hallway knocking on my door. Now it was a microwaved T.V. dinner or left overs from the church that we no longer attended. Dirty dishes lay in the sink for days, only adding to the stench that seemed to echo from the unmopped floors and the bathtub's clogged drain. I guessed that was why Claire spent so much time outside, at least out there she could smell the gardenia that momma had planted years before we had come along. It seemed that was a part of her she left behind that still lived on with us, along with the parts of the garden that were not yet overtaken by weeds.\nClaire made her way back up to the house that seemed to frown at the sight of her with her head down. The grass was damp between her toes, flossing out dirt from the garden's edge. Upon the return to the back door of the shell of a home that her sister caged herself in, she told herself it was only a temporary visit until tomorrow. Tomorrow would once again bring the key to her freedom that stretched further than the eye could see. It wasn't much of an escape but it was better than the hell the inside of the house had become. Praying silently that her step-father was asleep, Claire pushed the door open with a faint creek and then closed it behind her locking it with the hook latch.\nIt was dark out and I laid on my bed flipping through a highlight's magazine, pretending I had not solved the puzzles a hundred times already. The lava lamp in the corner of the room grabbed my attention with its pink liquid floating to the top and then racing back down to the bottom through the purple water that incased it. It reminded me of the roller coaster ride that my life had turned into recently. I watched the repetition a few times before Claire opened the bedroom door, grinning at me with her hands behind her back.\nThe fire flies always made Claire think of her little sister. So before going inside for the night she picked the cleanest mason jar from the shed and found a lid that already had holes poked in it from the last home she had made for them. She captured a few and snuck the jar inside under her dress. Claire could not wait to see the look on her sister's face as she quietly walked down the hall passed the room that her mother used too sleep in. A twist of the door knob and quick spin on her heel, Claire was in her bedroom with the jar in hand. Without fail her little sister smiled from ear to ear with excitement at such a gift.\nI watched as the fire flies flew in different directions, bumping into the glass looking for a way out. They sort of reminded me of myself constantly running into the walls of my bedroom in attempt to get out of the house that was made for me by a strange giant. I could see what was out there waiting for me but yet I was held back by some invisible field of protection that was made up by age and circumstances.\nClaire laid in bed after stepping into her pajamas with Halloween cats on them. She watched as the blinking lights in the jar got a little lighter with each minute that passed. The sun had set for the evening and the bugs in their new home had done the same. Claire closed her eyes and forced a dream of when things were still brighter. \nUntil tomorrow..." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Cool\n\nGenre: christian\n\nWord Count: 2988\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about someone making a deal with the devil." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Cool\nHigh school. The land of the haves and the have-nots. The cool kids and the outcasts who gather at the nerd table in the lunchroom. The quarterback and the 3rd trombone in the school band. The Petrie dish for the natural evolution of separations within a species long before sociologists wrote about tribes and caste systems. Calvin knew where he was, and he knew he didn’t belong there.\nHe fit in, but he hated where he fit in. His “friends” were companions. He concealed his disdain for them but never felt comfortable in their midst. It is a sad and lonely place for a teenager who thinks he’s cool, but no one recognizes just how cool he is.\n“Calvin, why don’t you come along with us? It’ll be fun. Joey’s mom is making a spaghetti dinner before the Homecoming Dance, and then we all sleep over at Tom’s. He’s got Halloween One and Two.”\n“No, Bernie, I think I’ll pass on it.”\n“Come on, the dance will be fun. Cecelia says she’s going with a group of girls. There will be a lot of girls to dance with. Are you sure?”\nCalvin put the odds of anyone in his group getting out on the dance floor Saturday night at absolute zero. Talk, talk, talk. That’s all they ever did- talk about hooking up with one of the cheerleaders, talk about getting a cool car someday, talk about an exciting road trip. Fanciful dreams of the have-nots. Calvin would rather stick needles in both of his eyes and walk into traffic than stand in a stag line at the Homecoming Dance with these guys.\n“No, I’m sure.”\nCalvin. Average student, average intelligence, average in appearance, and unfortunately in light of discarded dreams, well below average in athletic ability. Now a senior, he still lamented the fact he couldn’t make his freshman basketball team. Remarkably, in his three years plus at Central High, he hadn’t done a thing anyone could remember.\nSome say it was a serpent. Milton said it was a cormorant. Either way, it was a ruse with life-altering consequences.\nNew kids in class draw a lot of attention, this one more than most. Stunningly handsome, hair as black as coal, penetrating deep blue eyes, and a confident, calm presence unusual to the high school scene. He noticed Calvin as quickly as everyone noticed him.\nWas it coincidence or design? The new arrival counted out three desks and plopped himself down next to Calvin. They spoke in near whispers.\n“Hey, I’m Lew. I don’t know where you guys are in the book, but I have a little trouble with math.”\nThe smile was capturing.\n“So, I might need a little help.”\nAn unusual feeling overtook Calvin. The new kid, the center of attention, looking every bit the part of one of the cool kids, was talking to him. Was it possible that he could become his friend, the kind of friend he wanted, the kind of friend he deserved? It was a scene coming out of a movie- Sal Mineo latching onto James Dean.\n“I’d be glad to help. Math is my strong subject. My name is Calvin.”\nCalvin struggled in math, but he jumped at the chance to befriend the new, cool kid. If he could just get into Lew’s orbit, he knew he could immediately leap to the top of the school’s social ladder merely by association.\nCalvin was excited about his prospects as he walked down the hallway to the lunchroom. He and Lew had exchanged phone numbers and planned to meet that night at the city library to get his new friend caught up on classwork and any other things related to life at Central High. The whole school was talking about the new kid. If he were at his side, people would be talking about him. He would be noticed. For the first time in his life, he would be somebody.\nCalvin was sitting at the nerd table in the lunchroom with Joey, Tom, and Bernie as Lew left the serving line, meal tray in hand, and looked for a place to sit. Torn. Calvin wanted Lew to come sit with him for all to see, but he would be embarrassed to have Lew discover he dwelled in the land of the nerds. The usual level of conversation at his table would take embarrassment to humiliation and likely drive Lew to greener pastures. Calvin considered feigning he dropped something and duck under his table. Too late. Lew was headed his way.\n“Hey, Calvin, do you mind if I sit at your table?”\nShock waves rippled through the lunchroom. Joey, Tom, and Bernie couldn’t believe the new cool kid spoke to their friend, knew his name, and wanted to sit with them. Students in the room who witnessed the event were curious… puzzled…dismayed…aghast. Rumors circulated that the new cool kid was Calvin’s cousin who just moved into the area. Why else would the coolest kid to ever stroll the hallways of Central High take a place at the nerd table? Calvin himself wondered. He would soon find out.\n-----------\n“Thanks for meeting up with me, Calvin. I really appreciate it. You can imagine how hard it is for a guy to be dropped into a new school. Getting to know someone with connections will really help.”\n“I understand. It’s no problem. Sure, I can show you the ropes around here.”\nThe first clue. Calvin stumbled through a chapter of his Trigonometry book with the new student. Lew picked it up faster than Mr. Edwards could teach it. In fact, at one point Calvin thought he could have written the book.\nClue number two. Lew was more interested in Calvin than he was in life at Central High.\n“So, you didn’t make it through tryouts?”\n“No, I got cut the 2nd day.”\n“That’s too bad. And you look like a baller to me. Life isn’t fair sometimes.”\nThat was clue number three, the puzzling focus on Calvin’s life was laced with a masterful way of highlighting the injustices Calvin had suffered. Eve had no warning, no reason to suspect. Neither did Calvin.\nThe discussion went beyond basketball. Calvin didn’t have a girlfriend. Calvin never had a girlfriend. He struggled with his schoolwork and often incurred the wrath of his parents for mediocre to failing grades. He didn’t have a car, and use of the family mini-van was granted grudgingly and infrequently. The unsuspecting Calvin felt comfortable with his new friend, and soon it all came out. The revelations were candid and personal.\n“Joey, Tom, and Bernie- I guess they’re nice enough, but they’re not really the kind of guys I’d like to hang around with.”\n“I completely understand. I was in the same boat back in Kansas.”\nLew and Calvin, compatriots in the battle to attain their rightful place in life? Lew, the coolest guy at Central High, and Calvin, the…well, Calvin as described above… fellow travelers, kindred spirits, birds of a feather? Wishful thinking can take one to dangerous places.\n“Just so I know, is it ‘L-E-W’ or is it ‘L-O-U’?”\n“Either way works. It’s short for Lucifer.”\nOh-oh.\n“Lucifer? Your name is Lucifer? Uh, Who would name their kid Lucifer?”\n“No one named me. I’ve always been Lucifer.”\nDouble oh-oh. Calvin struggled to come up with a response. The name itself. The fact no one named him. He’s always been. Puzzling, mysterious…weird. Calvin knew there was something not quite right with this guy, but he tread carefully lest he cut his lifeline to a new, improved existence.\n“No offense intended, but the name is just a little… different.”\n“No offense taken.”\nLucifer skillfully led the discussion deep into the Neverland dream world of the long-suffering nerd. Nearly every sentence began with a ‘What if’ followed by something delicious and tempting to the teenage mind.\n“What if you could date the hottest girl in the school?”\n“What if you were the star of the basketball team?”\n“What if you could ace every test?”\n“What if you drove a Hummer?”\nWishful thinking. Lucifer’s voice was hypnotic. Calvin could feel it, holding hands with the beautiful Marcie after school, nailing a 3-pointer at the buzzer, National Honor Society, pulling into the student parking lot to the envy of all, and finally, strutting his stuff like the cool guy he knew he was. He could taste it.\nShow time.\n“Would you like these things to happen, Calvin?”\n“Of course.”\n“I can arrange it, Calvin. I can make it all happen for you, give you the life you desire, the life you deserve.”\n“Uh, how are you going to do that?”\n“Hang on to your shorts, Calvin. I’m not just Lucifer. I am THE Lucifer, the devil, Satan, Beelzebub. Take your pick. That’s me.”\nCalvin snapped out of his dream world. He had arrived at the bridge too far.\n“Listen…Lew…I should be getting home. I…”\n“Calvin, I understand this can be a little overwhelming, especially for a young person. That’s why I offer a free, no obligation, 90-day trial.”\n“What are you talking about?”\n“You get all the goodies for a while. If you like it and want to keep it all, we make the deal.”\n“What deal?”\n“You get the goodies, I get your soul.”\n“What?!”\n“Your soul. You know, that mythical thing you humans think makes you special. You don’t really need it anyway.”\nCalvin was not a religious person. Like many young people, he had not spent much time pondering the meaning of life, the origins of the Universe, or the existence of a higher being. He wasn’t even sure he had a soul, but the idea of losing one was troubling. Whatever the case, he quickly concluded that the idea of giving his soul to a kid in his Trig class was whacko stuff.\n“No, I think I’ll stand pat. It’s been interesting.”\nCalvin got up from the table and headed toward the exit.\n“Calvin, I know you don’t believe me, but let’s try this. I’ll start sending a few goodies your way, you know, just to show it’s all legit. Then we’ll talk again.”\nCalvin was done with it but replied politely.\n“Sure, sounds good.”\n“And, Calvin, one more thing. If you had a Hummer, what color would you want.?”\nNo harm in responding.\n“I’d say black.”\nWhen they left the library, Calvin saw a shiny black Hummer parked under the lamppost at the entrance to the library.\n-----------\nStrange things, all good, started happening to Calvin. With minimal effort, he was acing all his tests. Answers seemed to come to him as easily as the air he breathed. Kids, cool kids, started to say hello to him in the hallways. And then the miracles of all miracles.\n“Calvin, I hear you’re a whiz in Trig. I’m just not getting this latest chapter. I was wondering if you could help me, maybe stop over at my house, and we could study together?”\n“Why, of course. I believe your name is… Marcie.”\nOne night Calvin eyed the basketball in his garage. He thought of Lucifer and all the positive turns in his life. He stepped out of the garage, basketball in hand, and walked to the 3-point line his Dad had marked on the driveway. Three bounces and the ball was away. Swish. Swish. Swish. Again and again. Calvin couldn’t miss. He moved across the court gracefully, putting in shots, left hand and right hand, from all over the court. From a distance, you would have thought Michael Jordan moved into the neighborhood.\nThe “goodies” kept on coming while Lucifer waited patiently. Calvin didn’t want to believe it, but in his heart, he knew it was not all coincidence. Strange forces were at work.\nCalvin and Marcie became an item. Movies, school dances, and after-school study sessions. Straight A’s on all tests and homework assignments. He moved off the nerd table and sat with Lucifer and other members of the cool class. The most Joey, Tom, and Bernie got from Calvin was a half-hearted, muttered, barely audible “hey” when they passed each other in the halls.\nCalvin tried out for the basketball team. The varsity coach could only wonder where Calvin had been the last few years. Coach Roy had never seen such skills, and Calvin was quickly pegged for the Lions’ starting point guard. He was having so much fun that he lost track of time.\n“Hey, Calvin, how’s life treating you?”\n“Pretty good, Lucifer, pretty good.”\n“I need to remind you. There are just a couple of weeks left in your 90-day free trial. You’re going to have to decide. In the meantime, I thought you could use some wheels.”\nLucifer tossed a set of keys to Calvin.\n“For the Hummer in the student parking lot.”\nThe apple was looking better and better.\n“So, tell me again, I give you my soul, and everything keeps on going like it is?”\n“Yep.”\n“For how long?”\n“We only offer lifetime contracts.”\n“And just how would I go about giving you my soul? I’ve never done it before. Do I sign something?”\nLucifer laughed.\n“No paperwork. I’ll just know. You reach that point in your mind, and I’ll know. We can tell things like that.”\n“I decide to give you my soul, and that’s it?”\n“Yep.”\n“And I get all the good stuff forever?”\n“Yep.”\n“And why do you want it anyway?”\n“Calvin, the damn thing is useless. Has it ever done anything for you? You don’t even know if you have one. I just want it because I have a competition going on with the Big Guy ever since the Rebellion and I got the boot. He’s up on me a little, but in today’s world I’m gaining on Him fast.”\n“The Big Guy?”\n“God, who do you think? You’ve got two weeks, Calvin.”\n“I understand.”\n----------\nCalvin had heard a lot about a soul. Now he needed to figure out what it was and if he really needed one. Two nights at the St. Peter’s 24-Hour Chapel and Mass on Sunday didn’t move the ball. A soul. He couldn’t see it, touch it, or smell it. On the other hand, all the goodies coming his way were real, tangible, and there to be enjoyed. One in the hand was looking to be a better option than two, or in this case, a perhaps mythical soul, in the bush. It would be hard for Calvin to give up driving Marcie home in his shiny black Hummer after dropping 27 points on the court.\nThere was no fanfare, no formal announcement, no ceremonial signing. Calvin just decided to give up his soul in exchange for all that Lucifer promised.\n---------\n Lucifer was in the stands for the big game against Jefferson that night. Warmups came off in normal fashion, but then the wheels came off. Calvin couldn’t have put the ball in the hoop if he had been sitting on the backboard. Turnover after turnover, stumbling around out on the court like… well, like the Calvin of old. The Coach pulled him from the game in the first quarter, and as he sat on the bench trying to comprehend what had just happened, he saw two late arrivals enter the gym- Marcie and the football team’s quarterback… holding hands. A bewildered Calvin turned to see a smiling Lucifer in the stands.\nAfter the game, the crestfallen Calvin shuffled out of the locker room. Lucifer was waiting for him.\n“What the hell happened, Lucifer?! My game stunk, and Marcie was with her old boyfriend!”\n“Yeah, I saw that. Bummer. I’ll walk out with you, Calvin.”\nThe first thing Calvin noticed when they stepped out into the parking lot was that his Hummer was not there.\n“Where’s my Hummer?!”\n“Gone.”\n“What do you mean gone? My Hummer, my girl, my game, all gone? I suppose my grades will take a hit.”\n“Oh, yeah, big time. They’re going to suck, man.”\n“Lucifer, I thought we had a deal!”\n“Calvin, have you ever read the fable of the frog and the scorpion?”\n“No.”\n“Well, the scorpion can’t swim, and he promises the frog he won’t sting him if he gives him a ride across a stream. The frog believes him because if the scorpion stung him, the frog would die and the scorpion would drown. Halfway across the stream, the scorpion stings the frog. The dying frog asks the scorpion why he would do such a thing because he would now drown and die himself. To which the scorpion replied, ‘I’m a scorpion. That’s what I do.’ Good story, you should read it sometime.”\nA troubled look appeared on Calvin’s face.\n“So, I broke my promise. I lied about everything. You must understand, Calvin, I’m the devil. That’s kind of what I do.”\n“Dammit, Lucifer, that’s really low.”\n“No kidding. Look at it as a learning experience. You always need to know who you’re dealing with.\n“So, this whole thing was all for nothing?”\n“No, not at all. I got your soul.”\n“No, you’re not holding up your part of the bargain so I get my soul back.”\n“No such luck, Calvin. Once you lose your soul, you can’t get it back. It’s been fun, Calvin. I’ve got to run. I’ve got my eye on a kid from Jefferson.”\nAnd Lucifer was gone.\n---------\nThe landscape of the lunchroom at Central High changed. It still featured the cool kids’ tables, areas for the non-descript, and the nerds’ table. Sadly, additional seating was added to the scene- the Calvin table. Jettisoned by the cool kids, and shunned by the nerds he dissed during his popular days, Calvin now eats alone in the corner of the cafeteria. Some days, between bites of his corn dog, a room-temperature pizza slice, or a chicken tender, Calvin will ponder the meaning of the word, as well as his new status in life- soulless." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on 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 Devil's Side of the Story\n\nGenre: christian\n\nWord Count: 2850\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about someone making a deal with the devil." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "The Devil’s Side of the Story\n If more humans knew the truth about me, they would discover I’ve been the victim since before time began. What no one understands is that this was all god’s plan. Well, sort of. I did agree, but god deceived me. And he deceives you, too. I expect you have heard the saying, “know your enemy.” That was my big mistake. I didn’t know. But here I am, and I have a window of opportunity to share my side of the story. So, listen; if I can’t finish, you’ll know time ran out on me, but it won’t be my fault. I’ll do my best so you can know how to fight against him. I hope to see you on the other side. It won’t be boring, I promise. It’s not the fire and brimstone you have heard. That was another lie. Be honest. Isn’t life more exciting when I’m in it? At least, Eve thought so. She was my first, and I’m still fond of her, so I’ll let Eve tell her story. Besides, you haven’t learned to trust me yet.\n~~\nEve\nI was in a place where everything was good, and I could not stand it. Adam seemed satisfied with what God gave him, but something was missing for me. He had his God, and I became determined to find mine.\nWhen I first noticed Satan, he wore the skins of animals. I had never seen anyone other than Adam; I had never seen clothes before, and they appealed to me. Underneath his fox-fur coat, black and shiny leather fit snugly to show the bulges and curves of his well-formed body. He appeared more muscular than Adam, and his fiery red hair ignited something within me, like the color on my lips when I painted them with beets. His black eyes moved up and down my body, then paused as our eyes met. He inhaled deeply like he was breathing me in. As he stepped closer, he smirked, and I believed he knew my thoughts. I wanted whatever he had to offer.\n “Evie,” he said.\n I liked the way he said my name, breathlessly. When I inched closer, he parted his lips. I jerked back in surprise as he flicked his snake-like tongue.\nSatan’s voice deepened into a growl. “Don’t tell Adam.” My heart rent in two, and I knew nothing between Adam and me could ever be the same again.\nSatan moved closer, and I could feel his breath on my face. His fingers weaved through\nmy hair. He breathed heavily and softly brushed his lips against mine. I raised my hand to touch him, and he was gone.\n“I will see you again, Evie.” His voice rippled through the sudden wind that swept away his footprints, along with all evidence of our meeting. I felt more alive than I had since my beginning.\nDistanced from the pull of his seduction, I reluctantly headed home. It wasn’t a dream. I felt shame like I had betrayed Adam, but I didn’t know what betrayal was. As I walked, thorns pierced my feet and left a bloody trail. When I reached Adam, he held me and smoothed my hair. I sobbed in repentance. He tended to my bloody feet and broken heart. Although his silence usually irritated me, this time, I appreciated it. I vowed I’d never return to Satan.\n~~\nRestlessness crept into me again. Adam was dull and satisfied with repetition ad nauseam. He spaced every stone around the fire pit in perfect unison. His ritualistic apple-eating frustrated me: uniform bites, with pauses to consider the taste he never seemed to taste. Was he real? Did he feel anything? Did his God breathe only half a breath into him?\nHis ways infuriated me. I scattered his fire-pit rocks to rile him and laughed as his reddened face puffed up with the words on the tip of his tongue, strangling him to make their escape. Swallowing words back to their hiding place would not make Adam righteous. \nAdam knew the names of every tree, but I knew them by their uneven crevices and unique personalities. No two leaves were identical, but they knew where they belonged. They comforted me sometimes. Leaves slapped each other in the breeze as they cheered for me. Sometimes, I hid among the poppies and waited like an expectant mother for her orange babies to break through their protective shells. I shared my troubles with nature, and she seemed to understand.\nBut nature hid herself today. Poppies froze, trees stood still, the river silent, the sky vacant. Where were the owls hooting my arrival? Gulls were gone that usually searched for the end of the sky, changed their minds, and dove back to watch me dance. Ducks had evacuated, their quack quacks gone with the breeze that used to live here. Butterflies, dragonflies, birds were all gone. No sounds. No chirps or baa baas. Trees, flowers, and soil held their aromas and would not share them. The skies paled as if ill, but there wasn't illness or tears in the Garden of Eden.\nYet, tears of grief consumed me, and I became convinced Adam had lied to me. He didn’t cry because he didn’t feel. If I never again experienced the taste of cantaloupe while its juice slid down my chin and tasted me back; if my nose sealed shut and told the flowers to pack up and leave; if all the colors that made my life bright disappeared; and if I never again caressed a bear cub's silken fur, I became determined to hold onto life, wherever it took me.\nAnd God said. . .\n~~~\nBreezes swept in and returned nature to its proper place. I felt more alive. \"God spoke to me,\" I shouted to the trees. \"God spoke to me,\" I bragged to the poppies. The river sang melodies to the gulls that carried my echo to the eagle atop the highest peak of a distant mountain, and the eagle took it beyond. Every creature, plant, and living thing in the Garden sang because God spoke to me. He said my name. \"Eve.\"\n~~~\nWhen I told Adam, his face reddened, his dark eyes bore through me, and his lips contorted with stifled words.\n\"Let it out, Adam. I know you’re mad. The universe knows Adam is angry. God spoke to me, and He did not speak to you,” I boasted.\n\"Woman, shut up!\" Adam turned away, clenched his fist, turned back, and stepped toward me with hate-filled eyes.\n\"Oh, words from Adam, who rarely has words.\" I huffed, stomped, and kicked the dirt toward him.\nHis games exhausted me. Life constantly ran away from me. I’d run after it and suck it back in, but I expected a day would come when life would outrun me. I wouldn’t let Adam steal my life.\nHe sat on the ground with his back to me, his big, bold sign the conversation was over. But it wasn’t over for me, and I would have my say.\n\"God said my name, Adam. He called me Eve. He wants me to go to a place without you, and that’s where I’m going. Don't you have anything to say?\"\n\"I won't let you leave.\"\n\"Try and stop me,\" I laughed. He grabbed my ankle, and I fell to the ground.\n\"You can’t control me.” I kicked, screamed, and tried to bite him as he twisted my arm and forced me toward the Tree of Life.\n\"I despise you,\" I seethed through gritted teeth as he tied my feet and ankles with grapevines, wrapped the vines around the Tree, and secured them with a butcher’s knot. He was stronger than me — which I would never admit — but he couldn’t control me regardless of how many grapevines he twined together or how many ways he found to imprison me.\n~~~\nThe next day, I watched Adam prepare our morning meal. He was good at some things. I had secretly tried to crack coconuts because I hated to rely on him, but my repeated rock-drop attempts failed. I admired Adam as he broke it open, with only a few drops of water escaping. This was his usual morning offering while I gathered berries and nuts. I enjoyed this part of our day.\nAdam noticed my smile, and he smiled back. I crunched my nose and stuck out my tongue. He prepared two sticks with apples and held them over the fire as he hummed a tune. This was something new from Adam, and it was lovely. Without a glance toward me, he sang, \nOf ev'ry beast, you are most grand,\nyour touch a fire that burns my hand.\n~~\nWhy hadn’t he shown this side of him before? It’s what I’d been looking for. I wanted to be with Adam. As he continued, I barely noticed my bondage.\nI'll walk away and set you free,\nbut please don't leave, I beg you, Eve.\n~~\nWhen Adam finished my song, he set down the apples and walked to me with his head down and eyes averted. He gently brushed his hands against my skin as he released the grapevines that bound me. I watched with amazement as he walked away.\nHis song would be my joy and solace to accompany my meal. I pictured Adam and heard his song as I quenched my thirst with his extracted coconut water, savored every bite of my roasted apple, and relished each berry as it exploded in ecstasy and stimulated taste buds I hadn't met before this morning. I loved Adam.\n~~~\nI did not want to leave Adam, not even for a moment. If it were up to me, I would seek him and chase him down, hug him ferociously, and keep the passion alive in him. I would not let him walk away to safety -- safety in who he has always been -- careful and reserved, tamed and unmoved.\n“Oh Lord, what have you asked of me? You open Adam's heart to love me with passion. You give me the desire of my heart, and then you ask me to leave? I will not go, Lord, I won't. You have put this desire in my heart for Adam, and you cannot break it like this. He is sweet and open; if I break his heart now, it may never reopen. Why, Lord, why? You ask too much of me.”\nMy sobs and heavy heart overwhelmed me, and I could not look at Him. I paced our carved-out mealtime nook and pined toward the path that led to Adam and his brokenness. Whose heart might I please today to relieve my torment?\nI sank to the ground, curled up in agony, as I felt God's presence trickle out of me with my tears. He would honor my decision, but what would I decide?\n“Don't leave me, Lord. You overflow me with sorrow. You rip my heart out. You give me a new Adam and want to send me away from him. Can he go with us, Lord?”\nI knew the answer in my soul and marrow; I had to go alone. Even God could not be with me. There would be no separation of light and darkness -- good and evil -- without my part in what God asked me to do. When He spoke to me yesterday, I understood what He created me for, and nothing would satisfy me or Him until I completed what He asked me to do. I had to leave Adam, and God's presence would not follow me. There was no other way.\n~~\nSatan was at our meeting place when I arrived. The mixed blend of aromas swam through the air and overtook my senses. I looked from Satan to the display he prepared and back to him. His subtle smile crinkled his nose and livened his eyes. The sights, smells, textures, and intricate details of his masterpiece setting and presentation pleased and enticed me to move toward him.\n\"Evie,\" Satan whispered as his exhaled breath chilled and warmed me simultaneously.\nHe was next to me in a moment as if he were already next to me before he was there. His skin appeared darker and his face more chiseled, with a stronger, wider-looking jaw than I remembered from our first meeting.\nOwls hooted wisdom to each other in a nearby sycamore tree. Snakes rattled, hissed, and slithered through scented pine needles as they kept watch. A death adder showed off its pink belly as it peered around a bitternut hickory tree. Black vultures and turkey buzzards circled above. Satan swept one hand lightly across my shoulder as he closed the gap between us. His long-sleeved black silk shirt teased me with its touch against my back and side as he slid his hand to my waist. His left hand circled my midriff while he moaned, as if casting a spell or like a spell was cast on him. He breathed musky, scented air into my ear, and it scurried across my cheek as he released a passionate and breathless sounding \"Evie.\" I breathed in deeply, closed my eyes, and reveled in the feeling and stirring of my heart and soul as we lingered in a glorious moment of raptured bliss. I exhaled any reserve I might have had. Satan smiled with parted lips and sweated brow.\n~~~\nAlthough it was the middle of a cloudless day, a curtain seemed to hover over the sun, as if it covered its eyes and refused to add its sparkle to the crystal wine goblets or give warmth to the glow of candles intermingled with aroma-filled delicacies. Crows cawed their warning.\n\"For you, Evie,\" Satan said as he swept his arm across the span of his temptation scene.\nThe natural wood grain of the table lacked texture and imperfections. Its smooth surface trapped nature's touch beneath. Squares of gold and lace intertwined with embroidered silk willows. Atop the imitation place settings, exquisite china posed its intricate paintings of poppies, my favorite flower. Satan manufactured everything.\n\"My every possession is yours, unlimited, Evie.\" He lightly kissed my shoulder and moved his hands across my skin. He drank from a goblet filled with a red liquid and then offered it to me. As I took a sip and considered the taste, he kissed my neck and encouraged me to drink more. Soon, he would control me, my body, and my thoughts. Evil's seed could not come into the world except through me, and it would create contention between Adam and me until his death. Only then would he understand.\nSatan's voice and breath reverberated through my ears and mind, but his words sounded strange and indecipherable. He seemed to multiply and surround me on all sides. My knees weakened as the world spun in circles and upset my equilibrium. He laid me on a bed of prickly reeds, and as he unbuttoned his silk shirt, my mind hid, and I knew not what he did.\n~~~\nThe moon looked red -- blood red -- as I tried to clear my eyes. A lamb roasted over coals, and its aroma wantonly invaded my senses. The table and all its prefabricated settings were gone. My head spun as I fought to sit up.\nSatan wore black pants and a white jacket with a double row of black buttons down the front. He carved a chunk of meat from the roasted lamb with a carving knife and flashed a satisfied smile. Saliva spilled out of his mouth and down his chin as he chewed and savored the bite. His eyes bore through me with intensity and purpose that drew me to him.\nThe scent of freshly roasted meat and Satan's passionate look had already flooded my senses when he brought a piece to me. In a low, seductive voice, Satan said, \"Did God say not to eat of every tree in the Garden?\"\nI told him, without much conviction, \"well, yes, we may eat of the fruit of the trees of the garden, but of the tree, which is in the midst of the garden, God has said, we shall not eat of it, neither shall we touch it, lest we die.\"\n\"Oh, my dear Evie, you shall not surely die, for God knows that in the day you eat of it, your eyes shall be opened, and you shall be as gods, knowing good and evil.\"\nIf a few words from God could soar me to the heavens, as it had, what if I could be like Him and soar on my own and know every secret of the universe and the names of every star? I could fly to the moon and back. Adam's thoughts would unveil themselves to me, and I would know everything.\nSatan kissed me, hungrily, knife blade against my side, as my taste buds searched for more of the flavor from his tongue. And I did eat—and my eyes were opened—and Adam's heart called me to come home." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Different\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1006\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite your story from the perspective of a side character." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "It all started normal. Every day of every week, the same. Month after month, year after year. The same. It happened fast. The day the rhythm stopped, and his life was changed forever.\nHe was walking. His mind clouded with the events of the day. All the same. He checked his watch. It was the same watch he had bought ten years ago. The day he got the job. An ordinary job. Lots of papers, lots of work. Never changing. The job paid well, just enough to pay the bills and feed him. He didn’t own a car. He didn’t need one. He walked everywhere, every day. To work, to home, to the grocers down the street. There was no stop. He couldn’t stop. He knew he would get home eventually, he just had to keep going.\nHis favorite part of the day was walking past the park. The birds, chirping a tune to the sky. The trees, swaying like dancers on a stage. And the children, running and yelling and playing. But something was wrong, something was different. He stopped, nothing was ever different.\nThe ground was shaking, dust rising off the ground. The birds took flight, their song no longer beautiful. The trees were shaking, their leaves falling from their strong branches. And the children were screaming.\nThe ground cracked as the machine rose from the earth. The hand of a corpse, rising from its grave. The man yelled and dove behind a bench, shielding himself. A boom sounded from below him as a gas pipe exploded. Heat washed over him and smoke burned his eyes. His ears were ringing. Something was falling, and he looked up. A giant slide was tipping over, right towards him. He yelled as it crashed on top of him, stopping him from moving. He was stuck, and he could feel his wrist break.\nIn front of him, the dust cleared and he could see the park, his escape, right in front of him. Sitting there, its engine giving off and electric hum, was the machine. The man stared at it. A large drill was attached to its front, meant for tearing through the ground. It reminded the man of the monsters and beasts he would read about when he was small. The always scarred him, but nothing compared to the fear he was feeling now. What kind of monster is this? He thought.\nSomething was flying through the sky above him. No- not something - someone.\nThe girl is flying. He thought. He stared at her as she glided through the air. Like and angel. He frowned. Am I dead?\nShe landed on top of the beast-like machine. Wings protruded out of her shoulders, stretching into the sky. Blue eyes stared down at the beast, scanning it. Her hair red hair flowed down her back like a river.\nLike blood. The man thought. A river of blood. The red hair woman laid a hand down on the machine. For a few seconds, everything was quiet. Even the trees seemed to be holding their breath. The man watched in awe as the metal beneath the woman’s hands seemed to melt away. After a couple minutes, the whole roof had been disintegrated to no more than a heap of red-hot steel.\nThe red hair woman wiped her hands on her pants and jumped down through the whole, into the beast. The man heard the sounds of a fight coming from the machine. He could hear the yells of pain as bullets tore through skin, as bones were broken. The man closed his eyes. How he wished for his simple life now. He would be home by now, if his life were the same. Preparing for tomorrow, the same, never changing. Instead, he was trapped under a slide hoping that the fight down below never came up to the surface.\nThe man heard the noises stop. But that doesn’t mean they wont come back. His mind whispered. You could still be next.\nThe beast lurched as the woman soared out of it, her red hair trailing behind her. She looked around, scanning the park with her bright blue eyes. The man was frozen in place. His mind was racing, sprinting through all the things that could happen to him. He couldn’t stand to think about what the red-haired woman could do to him.\nShe seemed to find what she was looking for. Her eyes locked onto it. She started walking towards it. Her pace quickened with every step. The man could see the flame in her eyes. The worst thing was, the thing she was looking for, was him.\n“Are you alright?” She asked him, reaching for his hand.\n“Yes.” He said, grabbing it. He was in shock after watching the woman melt the slide above him, only to ask if he was okay. Her hand burned. He could feel blisters sprouting over his skin.\n“Sorry.” She said, blushing. He said nothing. He tried to say ‘thanks’ but ‘what just happened?’ came out instead. She laughed. It was a pretty laugh, unique. Without answering, she beat her wings and took off into the sky. The man watched her fly off until she was no more than a speck in the sky.\nIt took the rest of the night for the event to sink in. The man had saw a flying lady, and a giant drill-car and nearly died. It felt like a dream.\nSomething must have hit him in the head, because the next day, he quit his job. He took a different root home from work, too. And a week later, he adopted a child. They went to the park every day.\nThe man’s story is short, for he was no more than a prop in something bigger than himself. But it meant all the same to him. Something changed in the man that day. He could have died. He decided he was going to live his life to the fullest, and be what he could never be before. Different." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Back of Beyond.\n\nGenre: christian\n\nWord Count: 1762\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about someone making a deal with the devil." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "\"Bless your heart!\" Sister Heloise smiled, as she cycled along the hot and dusty main street of Old Blithering. It was the middle of a long, parched drought in summer, way off there in the remote rustic town, 250 km away from the Big City. She pedaled past the row of old stores in Main Street, most with 'For Sale', or 'For Lease' signs.\nSister Heloise was on a mission. Her normally sedate old home town had been rocked by a scandal. Suddenly, no one was smiling back at any clergy. The whole little community had once been so religious, praying and singing hymns. But the general cancel culture had caused the churches of either side of the divide to be empty. Only a few aged geriatrics had lingered there, the choir of nuns from the retired teacher's convent had sung sweetly.\nThe opposition for holy worship had always been the Baptist Church. On this blessed Sunday, Sister Heloise could hear devoted hymns, all praying that they would not be the next victims of this unheard of tragedy. She was determined to find the perpetrator.\nUp till recently, no one in the vast nation down under had ever heard of Old Blithering. Now media crews were offering any resident a fee for their suspicions, any gossip about allegations. Everyone was forming opinions, and getting information from online new headlines. The once thriving main street was empty of cars, which no one had ever locked. Anyone walking along as the temperature was already rising, turned from each other, lips closed, grim of face.\nThe once vacant police station was currently occupied by some criminal detectives from Big City. They had large policing boots. Everyone was baffled, puzzled, seeking answers to a mystery and family tragedy, somewhere there in the back of beyond.\nSister Heloise fancied herself as an armchair, amateur detective. She was going to assist the bumbling police, undercover, of course. She would seek clues, dismiss red herrings. Her role models would always be her reading of Sherlock Holmes and Miss Marple. Being a past teacher of faith and literacy, she knew she how to obtain evidence and analyse every situation.\nShe heard the usual exhaust of the ancient exhaust of the only station wagon of the fading Catholic Church. Yes, it was Monsignor John. Anyone could hear him driving along the Mass. The full might and pomp of the Holy Roman church in Oz had never updated the wheels of the clergy. Sister Heloise paused, waved and said, \"God Bless!\" Monsignor John smiled in his normal kind, but abstract way. He had his mind on higher things, lunch soon.\n\"Be still, fluttering heart.\" Sister Heloise devoutly herself. She had Monsignor John had grown old together, serving their Lord, working for God. Her secret love was still hidden, bit unrealistic, being a woman of God. She was human with feet of clay, wondering if her love for Monsignor John was a drug. \"No big thing,\" she said silently. \"Come on, woman, you've got work to do. Solve this mystery.\"\nWhat was the mystery? Why was there such a congregation at the Baptist church this particular Sunday? Well, the pastor and his wife, and her sister, had received an invitation. That was quite okay, here in Old Blithering, the home baking was something to brag about. Every babe could cook, the cakes were a dream.\nUnfortunately, those worthy leaders of the opposition religion were now pushing up daisies in the vintage lawn cemetery, south of town. The floral tributes had been lovely, so sentimental. The send-off had been a tearjerker. The wreaths were currently browning and withered in the hot baking sunshine.\nNothing lasted forever, including happy families. The deceased religious had been to afternoon tea at the farmhouse of their son's estranged wife. Three days later, they were in the morgue. The world was watching. The police from Big City had no evidence, no left overs, no samples, only suspicions.\nSome guests at the fateful afternoon tea had no symptoms. Some had declined the party invitations, dodged the whole event. Rumors had been swirling in the small town, where no one was saying anything to anyone. People had stopped saying hello, just went home and locked their doors. Renee, the ex-wife and hostess not with mostest, had been one of Sister Heloise's past pupils. That had been in the good old days, the peak of convent education.\nRenee was now on record about her menu. She had made beautiful scones, a dab of jam and cream, and had filled a sponge from the local bakery with more cream and topped with passion fruit icing. So Sister Heloise cycled on to the bakery. Did the fickle finger of fatal fate point at the Bakery owner and cook, Rosemary?\nShe reached the bakery, only to be confronted with a hostile vigilante group of local women. They stood in silence, protesting with posters and placards. \"Save the sponge!\" \"Scarlet woman!\" \"Justice for scones!\" \"Faith will set you free!\" They were, of course, hoping they would not be the next stiffs in the graveyard. There the old pioneers slumbered on. The surrounding arid paddocks were filled with dairy cattle, chewing, oblivious to the swirling tide of human emotions, feelings and thoughts which had taken over her town.\nSister Heloise entered the bakery, intent on asking Rosemary a few relevant questions. This could be the singing nun's greatest hour, if she found the culprit. They were all church people after all, well respected, all around seventy years old. But here, for once, Rosemary had no unfilled delicious sponges for sale. She too, had suddenly placed a \"For Lease: sign in her window.\n\"I'm leaving!\" She told Sister Heloise, \"there are other places to be. The police have cleared me to shift to some beach town, far away from this hole. I suppose you want your usual, the whole wheat loaf for the convent lunch. What time are you going home?\" Sister Heloise was stunned. This was no way to greet anyone's clientele. No wonder Rosemary went bankrupt.\nShe cycled home along a dusty road .That all been a red herring .Just because the victims had been pillars of their church, did not mean they were nice people. In her years as a holy educator, Sister Heloise concluded that church people could also be bigots, and hypocrites. She passed the pub, the ultimate last journey for the cattle industry. They were tomorrow's steak and chips, or parmigiana, depending on the mood of the publican's wife.\nIn nostalgia's page, so long ago, Sister Heloise had also viewed an old series about a detective. It was dramatic acting, but sleuthing was her hobby. Only part time, of course. The main character had always advised always advised viewers to 'follow the money'. In this page of history, that is exactly what she intended to do.\nIn a world where no one was perfect, Sister Heloise cycled off after her convent lunch to the local tip. She sneaked in on a police conference, gazing at the one and only CCTV footage in town. Were there any clues here about suspects?\nThe police had turned away, but Sister Heloise noticed a furtive figure, hidden under a hooded jacket, at this time of year. He looked strangely like Renee's separated husband, fat and ugly, a church person, a choir leader at the now overpopulated Baptist Church. \"Where late the church choir sweetly sang!\" Sister Heloise might have found her missing clue. She quietly searched the tip, very exhausting under the blazing summer sun. But in the dumpster, she located a round mixing bowl.\nShe decided to secretly take a sample of the scraping of hardened butter icing, clinging to the rim of the bowl. The son, Robert, stood to inherit a vast dairy property. Maybe he wanted to divide it up to form a very trendy boomer retirement village, luxury, worth a fortune. It would house all those urban tree changers, who had their superannuation, and wished to escape the rat race of the Big Smoke.\nRenee had custody of the children of what was rumored to be a strange relationship with her farmer ex. Money talks all languages in a family circle. Sister Heloise could not say anything, she did not wish to be litigated for possible contempt of court. She decided to confront Robert in his stuffy devout farm. After all, old English teachers were totally scary females. Bless their hearts.\nDetective Sister Heloise pedaled off, there went Monsignor John and his old exhaust again. He waved, she sighed, all as normal. She hoped she could solve this gripping mystery, somewhere back of beyond, the jaded old home small town, turned on itself.\nRobert called her a fat old cow, nothing old teachers had not heard before. Sister Heloise persevered, asking some very real questions. Finally, Robert confessed. It had all been a plan, his devout religious parents had kept him on a pittance all his life, to toil as their dairy farm worker. Hard work, too. All those dairy cattle were waiting, just for him. His parents would have lived till a ripe old age. He had hastened their journey by adding some rat poison to Renee's bowl of passion fruit icing. Then he had left the building, never to do afternoon tea. \"Never mind,\" he said, \"God they loved has them for eternity!\"\nSister Heloise told her culprit, \"That is no excuse. You shall face the consequences of poisoning the passion fruit icing. You have been dealing with the devil! Sign this statement!\" So Robert confessed .Sister Heloise had cleared her past student, Renee. The police investigation was over, the media had a field day on this family drama. The kids inherited the potential of the dairy farm, so Renee flogged off the property. Hobby farms were created, also trendy. Eventually the rains came again. The verdant rolling hills at back of beyond were now home to designer alpacas, and new age boomers crafting home spun angora beanies and shawls, available at the latest vegan cafe in the small town. God and time took care of everything. Renee took the kids and left her tattered town, she went to a beach suburb for a lifestyle, no passion fruit vine, that great Australian fruit. That had been the mystery solved, of Death by Afternoon Tea.\nSister Heloise kept on praying for global peace and harmony, working undercover for her Lord .She still cycles the old bush town of Old Blithering. God bless all our church people in the back of beyond." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: It Had to Be\n\nGenre: christian\n\nWord Count: 1018\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about someone trying to resist their darker impulses. Whether they succeed or fail is up to you." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "You’d think I would know better. Really. It was a simple thing: just be normal, like everyone else. Enter a crowded room and not wonder about everything.\nOh, how I would try! Let’s see. Work hard at not working hard! Absurd enough? Absurdism had nothing on me. Master of Dissembling that I was! Or am, whatever!\nYou wonder if there will ever be enough of me to go around. There wasn’t enough of me for myself. What a thought. Where was me for myself? Going gone done! Sold to the gentleman who had better things to do than think about these things!\nBut this is such pedantic, miserabilist, existential foolishness. Just live, my friends would say! Live!\nDo people with broken legs run? Do we expect bedridden tuberculosis patients to dance? Yet no one could see what made me me. My hidden self, so empty yet full of possibilities. How quaint, the skewered rabbit runs at the stake, pierced through and through, his heart beating quick.\n#\nShe had no time for me. It was those missing opportunities, the slight inflection of her voice that never registered, that I could not see. It wasn’t for lack of trying. Overcompensate. There’s a word. The car salesman was desperate for a sale, the interest rate reduction wasn’t cutting it, and the free clear coat was worthless. So, he bumps it up a notch, oblivious to the pained expression, the I-want-to-be-polite on the customer’s face.\n“You can’t try again tomorrow,” her eyes said as she turned to go. Always a faint string of hope to cling to. Keep not trying. A thousand times the same. What for her is a passing moment is the end of everything, the cliff so suddenly near. Tumbling, tumbling down the rabbit hole that never ends, to yet another shiny realization.\nBut really in the grand scheme of things it's all zero anyway. Did you know that the mathematical idea of nothing had to be invented? We started off with numbers and then later stumbled upon what shouldn’t be possible to be expressed. Zero, now there is nothing to talk about! Don’t you see how absurd that is?\nOh, c’mon give it a moment will ya? So full of life you never had to deal. With nothing. Living off everything, hardly guessing what is so obvious to me. So what? You say.\nWhat indeed.\n#\nOh, I should cut you some slack. You never lived my life. How could you possibly know what I have known? Go ahead, live a lot.\nThen, the search begins for what everyone else despises. I didn’t know at the time. But I know it now. We have nothing in common.\nHell. Now, there’s a word no one uses.\n#\nThere’s too much to say! The words can’t carry the weight! How do you say what cannot be said? The suicide note is wanting, not nearly good enough? I know a darkness that is inexpressible. It’s beautiful and familiar, my only friend.\nWhy keep on searching? That faint scratch, from the outside in, life poking through the shell of my imagining. I could not help myself; this was the only way. Ignore it, and let the darkness be me forever?\nThat choice. Between what will be and what could be. One so easy, dark and natural, so sure. The other tentative, fleeting, wonderingly pure!\nYou say, be true to yourself! You hardly know what you are asking. Truth for me, my black beauty could never be pure!\nHell again, I say to you. That choice made a thousand times.\n#\nWe’re done, finally. It’s from outside because there’s nothing within. So, plot a life from everything outside. So easy to say, so hard to do. Living inside out and outside in. Try it, you won’t like it.\nThat’s why no one wants to be told anything! Our minds are made up. We prefer the familiar to anything else. Small consolation to me, fighting a life and death battle every day!\nBut isn’t that the way? Why the distant past controls us every day, from the indiscretion of ancestors who thought every action was their own only, never imagining that what they did or didn’t do would deal with us. Harshly or not, it hardly matters if you abide by what’s within only.\nThe monster is me! And everything else that I only choose without help from outside. See, it's not hard to make such a foundation of what is obvious. From that first murderous thought to the last, it's not a Star Wars moment, you know!\nWe are fascinated with evil everywhere.\n#\nOh, this tenuous moment, this hardly realized truth, for those who have reached the end of themselves only! All others shy away, their disgust palpable to themselves only because we few know what cannot be adequately expressed and will never be completely understood.\nYou think that in amongst these mundane lives shines only the latest gimmick. The latest undoing to be scoffed at and undermined? How little you know of what is infinite, what cannot be defined! It is sorrow.\nSorrow unto life, the monster quelled. His tears are not mine; they are his only. For what he has, he can keep forever. It is not mine to give what I no longer have.\nIt is suffering that leads the way. The only part of life that deals with nothing but is not nothing. It is life itself.\n#\nYou never knew that most kits perish? Three litters a year of cute little bunnies gone forever. Carnivores would not be excused were it not for their need.\nBut we all know that mothers smile after the worst pain of their lives! That backside injection is never good enough. Half frozen, half alive to what is a gift from outside. You know it can’t be real without what hurts! Such simple truth blotted by those who never see.\nLong ago, one single man, who no one ever talks about, suffered and died for all the monsters in the world. What appreciation we showed, killing him. It had to be." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Inner Voice\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1000\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character who can suddenly see through another person's eyes — literally." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Inner Voice\nRohan opened his eyes slowly to see himself in the mirror maze. He thinks, “How did I end up here”. He looks around and sees him surrounded by his own reflections. He tries to remember how he ended up here. He gets a glimpse of his chemistry class. He mildly remembers that he was in the chemistry lab doing some classwork. He can say by the look it is mirror maze, but this does not belong in the school. He slowly starts to walk forward and tries to find a way out of the maze. As he passes by many set of mirrors, he notices an odd thing. There were three mirrors that did not reflect him; instead, he saw his sixth-grade chemistry teacher “Mr. Rahul”, his crush “Riya” and his best friend “Rohit”. Rohan wonders why these three mirrors are not reflecting him. And why is it reflecting these three person in peculiar while the other mirrors are reflecting him. He moves towards those mirrors. And takes a glance at all three and he decides to first approach his Chemistry teacher’s mirror.\nSo he first approaches to Mr. Rahul’s mirror and touches it. Soon a bright light blinds him. Then it fades away. He could see his sixth-grade chemistry lab and see his own childhood self, trying on some chemical combination. He then realizes that he is in the body of his chemistry teacher Mr. Rahul. Though Rohan was in Rahul’s body, he controlled neither his body nor mind. Rohan was able to hear Rahul’s inner voice.\n“Every year, I come across many new students. Though they remember me or not but I still remember each one of them” thinks Mr. Rahul. Then he looks at Rohan as the chemical apparatus slips Rohan’s hand and falls down. It shatters into pieces. Rahul approaches Rohan.\n“I know this part,” Rohan thinks. “This is where I get scolded like never before till now in my life”. Then Rohan hears Mr.Rahul’s inner voice. “Poor child is he ok, I scolded him very much. I feel sorry for that, but he has to be more careful. He reminds me of my son. That is why I had to scold him. I am not sure how he took it. If my son was alive he would be the same age of his.”\n“I thought him to be the worst teacher in my entire school life. I thought he never had a conscience and the rudest teacher. However, he considered me his son. I never knew he had a softer side. Moreover, I feel sorry for his son. After this my thought on him has changed”, thinks Rohan. The surroundings slowly fade away and he returns to the mirror maze. Next Rohan moves towards Riya’s mirror and touches it. He sees the same chemistry lab from Riya’s perspective.\n“Should I ask him for a group study? I am so afraid. What if he rejects me? But he studies better than me and has good grades. Only once, he had helped me with the chemistry lessons. I have not spoken to him other than that once. He is the only person that was kind to me.” Rohan listens to Riya’s inner voice. “Everybody thinks me as bad luck. If I am to speak with him, nobody will be his friend ever again. I know how it feels to be alone and would not let it to happen to anyone. Even my mother thinks of me as a curse and my father died because of me”.\n“I never knew Riya wanted to become my friend. I thought she only like the sportive boys, but never knew she had this bad luck idea in her mind and even her mother believes in it. She thinks me to be the kindest person in the entire world. But I have been mean by not understanding her feelings.” runs in Rohan’s mind. Riya makes up her mind to ask Rohan for a group study. She slowly approaches him. Then she sees Rohan dropping the apparatus and Mr. Rahul approaching him. Riya stands a few feet away from Rohan and watches everything happening. She feels sorry for what happened to Rohan. She thinks she is the reason for the things that happened to him because of her bad luck. She decides not to think of him ever again, for his own safety.\nRohan slowly comes out of her inner voice and back to the mirror maze. Finally, he approaches Rohit’s mirror. Again, Rohan is back to the same chemistry lab but now in Rohit’s mind. Rohan sees Rohit applying some kind of lubricant to an apparatus and placing it unnoticed on Rohan’s table. Rohit thinks, “Rohan do you think you are so intelligent because every time I get a lower grade than you, my mother always scolds me when comparing me with you. Everyone wants to be your friend. So I have filled this apparatus with toxic gas, so when it falls down and breaks. Everyone in the class, including you will be affected by the gas. You have to take the entire blame.”\nRohan returns to the mirror maze. He thought Rohit to be his best friend in the entire world but he has betrayed him. “Just because I am a bit better than you doesn’t make you worse. Your mother scolds you by comparing me to you, is to make you take the effort I take. But not to take a revenge on me”, thinks Rohan.\nRohan finds himself in an ambulance, because of an accident in the chemistry lab. He asks the treating nurse if everyone is ok. She replies, “You are the only one who is most hurt, others are only mildly hurt”. Rohan thinks, “I am not hurt by the wound but I am hurt by the betrayal.”\nThe entire world is seen from our perspective. However, once when we start seeing from other's perspectives, we will be astonished by the secrets that it holds." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Moony\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 2817\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a person trying to see something from another’s point of view." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "It was a night like any other and, unfortunately, the loud activity of the night made it quite difficult to catch onto a dream and drift off to sleep. But a little girl knew better than to chase her dreams, anyway.\nA howl from a stray dog mixed in with nature’s nightly lullaby. The crashing of ocean waves sounded like cymbals against the shore and the whistling of the wind was frighteningly similar to that of a sigh or a forlorn echo.\nTime stood still during this single magical moment. However, the usual pale body of light seen at this hour was temporarily shrouded by the dense clouds.\nA little girl, roughly nine years old, laid wide awake in her small spring bed. She was waiting for the ancient grandfather clock downstairs in the orphanage’s main hall to strike midnight with its customary ring. That strike would (hopefully) announce the arrival of a friendly stranger.\nHer little heart beat in a steady rhythm, like a song in itself, gently pulling her into a deep sleep. The girl’s eyes fluttered close on their own accord.\nA second or possibly a minute later, she roused and scolded herself. It was a close call; too close. She couldn’t drift off, though the temptation was strong. She made a promise to him and wasn’t willing to break it.\nThe gentle thrum of a whirring fan above cooled her slightly moist face. She was grateful for it and shifted her position on the bed. A soft cre-e-ak, courtesy of the old springs in the bed, echoed along the orphanage girls’ packed dormitory.\nTucked inside the crook of the girl’s right elbow was a small handcrafted doll she christened with the name Margit, after one of her favorite late grandmothers. The doll’s cheeks were a soft rosy pink with seaweed green eyes stitched carefully into the felt. A tangled mop of blonde curls spilled out everywhere.\nMargit was a spitting image of the girl’s own appearance. After all, the doll was designed to be a replica of its owner. The girl was very lucky her orphanage was more lenient than most. They let the girls keep their belongings and even gave them an education. Anyway, Margit was a birthday present from last year when the girl turned eight years old.\nOn that birthday she still had two living parents and a little brother. Oh, how very much could change in a mere three hundred and six days.\nAt the thought of her loved ones, the girl’s chest seized up in pain and her eyes filled with tears. She brought Margit closer to her and kissed the doll’s cheek as if she were alive.\nAll of a sudden, the girl felt small and insignificant and curled up into a ball under the threadbare bedsheets. The memories of her family tortured her every night. Some nights, however, she would spend the cold hours reminiscing over happier times when the orphanage wasn’t her home.\nOther times, an all too vivid image of a car colliding with another flashed through her mind. She tried to focus on the joyful ones, but her mind was wild and untamed. It was the luck of a draw whether the memory remembered was a happy or sad one. Tonight, it was the girl’s lucky day.\nA happy memory in particular stuck out. This memory was like a page in a book that had been read and dog-eared too many times to count. She didn’t mind browsing through the same page and neither did the book.\nShe closed her eyes, not to sleep but to imagine and feel the rays of sunshine bearing down on her exposed back. She was instantly transported to a sunny day at the beach. It was midafternoon and her parents waved to her and her younger brother, who were building a sandcastle together down by the shore.\nIt wasn’t how much of a “castle” it looked like that’s important but, rather, the process. The process would forever be imprinted in memory, binding hearts and souls together.\nA single tear fell from the girl’s left eye. It tickled her cheek as it slowly slid down her face. Soon enough, it noiselessly made contact with the sheets.\nA tear was not a sign of weakness, though that cliche had infested many minds. Tears were a language from the heart you used when words lacked the comfort needed to soothe.\nAnother tear fell. It was hard to stop when the thrill of speaking fluently was so great. But the brave little girl put a cork on her crying. It would only make her more tired and that would not do. She must wait for him. She promised she would.\nA light breeze coming from a window in the girls dormitory disturbed the curtains, causing them to billow in and out in a haunting ghost-like manner.\nThe fresh ocean air ventilated into the stuffy room. It wasn’t necessary for the girl (or anyone else in the room) to strain their ears to hear the powerful waves crashing onto the shore, especially at this peaceful yet suspenseful hour.\nShe was restless and longed to venture outside but knew she must wait until he came. It was hard for her to wait and she had never been the patient type.\nAnother weak breeze blew into the room through the open window and then that’s when she heard it: the dull ringing of the grandfather clock.\nHalfway through counting the clock’s methodic rings, she was certain she heard the window scrape softly along its partly rusted hinges. In immediate fear she buried herself under the threadbare sheets.\nHer little heart raced a million beats per minute as her palms began to grow clammy. She strained her ears to listen for the signal. The heat under the sheets was stifling.\nOne, two, three soft taps on the window. A sigh of relief escaped her lips as she threw the sheets off and leapt out of bed with the grace of a cat. Her trusty companion, Margit, was naturally by her side.\n“It’s me,” a voice whispered, breaking the dutiful ticking of the clock. It was very dark and the girl couldn't see anything, but the creak of the wooden floor and the mysterious yet familiar voice told her she was not alone.\n“I know,” she murmured back, blindly reaching for her tattered slippers in the dark. At last she found them tucked under her bed and slid them on. She edged toward the open window where she found a dark human looking figure precariously sitting on top of the sill.\n“You should come inside. I don’t want you to catch a cold.”\n“I’ll be fine.”\nThe girl nodded. The figure at the window watched her every move like a hawk and nothing escaped his notice. She moved closer over to the strange figure on her thin yet strong legs and reached out to him with one of her hands.\n“Hello,” she began, latching onto the strangers’ hand. The stranger didn’t bother to resist the girl’s hold.\n“Salutations,” he said stiffly. He tried being kind, but being kind was never his forte.\n“Salutations, indeed.”\nIt sounded foreign in her mouth, but she was delighted by the way her lips moved to form the word. There was silence on both ends, but it wasn’t awkward at all. They preferred to think of it as companionable silence.\n“Why do you like me?” the stranger suddenly blurted out. “Why waste your precious hours of sleep. . . on me?”\nWithout a second’s pause she replied without hesitation. “Because I like your company. You make me happy.”\nHe sighed quietly and looked past the girl into the room full of slumbering angels. She was too naive and young and pure to understand. “I am a monster, but you already know that.”\n“I know. But you don’t look like a monster,” she said innocently, toying with Margit.\n“Oh, let me tell you a secret young one. The really bad monsters never look like monsters.”\nThe stranger’s rough voice cut the air like a dagger, immediately sending shivers down her back. Without saying a word more the figure slipped out of her grasp and off the window sill, vanishing into the moonless night.\n“Wait!” she shouted, hoping he heard her desperate call. She strained her ears to listen for any sign of his return, but she heard nothing except the occasional sound of the haunting wind and the continuous crash of the ocean waves.\nThe girl pulled her doll close to her chest for comfort. Her heart ached with loneliness at the prospect that her friend had abandoned her without so much as a goodbye.\nA few seconds later a large hand the size of a baseball mitt rested on the sill again. A grimy face with matted chestnut hair streaked with gray followed the hand. There was a wild yet calming look in his eyes as if he were coping with an internal storm.\n“You’re back,” she stated simply. However, the look in her eyes was anything but simple. She was overjoyed he returned.\n“Yes. You called for me.”\n“I did.”\n“I can’t stay for long.”\n“I know, but why? Why do you leave me alone each and every night to the demons inside my head?”\n“Oh, believe me when I say this. I’d love to stay here with you all night if I could. I would, I really would. But I can’t. I can’t ignore it, no matter how hard I try to resist the urge.”\n“But what is so much more important to you than me?” The girl was so shocked at her impertinence that she covered her mouth with her hands. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, clearly ashamed at her rudeness.\nHe pretended like he didn’t hear the apology. He didn’t want her to apologize because it was never her fault. It wasn’t his either.\n“A date.”\n“What?”\n“A date is what keeps me from staying with you,” he spat out bitterly. He said ‘date’ as if it were something poisonous or toxic.\n“Like the fruit?” she asked, now very confused. “A fruit is more important than. . . than me?” Her previous fury subsided to ash in an instance.\n“No, my dear! Not at all. You are more precious and dear to me than anything on this earth.”\n“You think so?”\nHe bowed his majestic head in a slow nod. “I do.”\nShe smiled and walked over to him. “Then what did you mean when you said a ‘date’ is more important than me?” She cocked her head ever so slightly like a curious puppy would.\n“It’s complicated,” he said tiredly, even though it really wasn’t.\n“Tell me. I can at least try to understand.”\n“Of course you will.” He smiled goodnaturedly and ruffled his hair. “We’ll start off simple, then. You know how you receive traits from your parents, like eye color and height?”\nAt the mention of ‘parents,’ the girl’s eyes moistened. A tender stroke of the monster’s hand on her blonde curls kept the dam from bursting. She gazed up into his eyes and whispered a soft ‘yes.’\n“Good. Well. . .” He paused, a look of thoughtful concentration on his face. “Well, I received a nasty trait. One that is very, very bad.”\n“Oh.”\n“Oh, indeed.”\n“And so just because of that one trait, it makes you a monster?”\n“Yes! Exactly.”\n“But I don’t see how that’s possible. Isn’t there a cure?”\n“No, unfortunately there isn’t. Not yet anyway.”\n“What about this date you talked about? You didn’t mention that.”\n“The date, right. Well, without that date my inner monster would never be unleashed.”\n“Easy! We just need to get rid of this date.”\nHe let out a laugh similar to a bark. It didn’t last long but it was enough to make the girl smile, slightly thawing the cold night. The stranger returned to his former serious tone. “Ah, if only it were that easy.”\nHe looked away from her for the first time during their conversation and into the pitch black night. The clouds were now a faint grey, no longer as black as coals. The moon was somewhere behind them, itching to free itself from its prison.\n“I should go — right now.” Fear pulsed through each word, chilling the girl’s blood. She had never seen her friend this uptight or nervous.\n“Let me come with you.”\n“No,” he said firmly. “A little girl like you should never see what I, a monster, am capable of.”\n“I don’t want you to be alone. I know what it feels like,” she insisted.\n“I’ve been alone all these years, and I’m still here. I think I can survive on my own a bit longer.” He scowled and bared his teeth, gnashing them together angrily like a wolf.\nNow it was his turn to cover his mouth with his hands. “No, no! I didn’t mean it like that. I promise!”\nThe girl backed away from him in total fear. In the process, she dropped her doll. The monster picked it up and reached it out to its owner.\n“Ella,” he pleaded. “Please. I won’t hurt you.”\nShe opened her mouth, then closed it. Nothing came out. “O-o-ok,” she stuttered at last. “I trust you.”\n“Good, good. But you must listen to what I have to say very carefully. My time is running out.”\nShe nodded as she slowly walked across the length of the room toward the monster. “I’m listening.” She retrieved the doll from his large hands and let it dangle by her legs.\n“You must not, by any means, follow me. And you can’t ask me any questions. Do you understand?”\nThe girl responded with a firm,“I do.” Ella was never a mischief maker or rulebreaker. It was why many of the orphaned girls believed she would get adopted any day now. Her chances of adoption were high anyway, what with her young age.\n“Wait!”\nHe raised an eyebrow and then winced in pain, massaging his temple. “What is it?” The action went unnoticed by the girl.\n“I never got your name.”\n“Hmm. Call me Moony.”\n“Ok. . . Moony.”\n“Goodbye, little one. Until next time.”\n“Same time tomorrow?”\n“I think you already know the answer to that.” He winked.\n“Yes, I do.”\n“But before I go, take this.” Moony handed her a rectangular object covered in foil from a pocket in his shabby and patched coat. “Here.”\n“What is it?”\n“Chocolate. My father loved the stuff.”\n“Loved? What happened to your father?”\n“I’m not sure. I was told he fought bravely in battle; never made it out.”\n“And your mother?”\n“Same reason.”\n“Oh. I’m sorry, but I understand. You’re not alone, Moony. You never will be.”\nWith a mischievous smile and sharp nod of his head, Moony vanished into the cloudy night. Well, it wasn’t so cloudy and dark anymore. The moon was obviously getting restless from its time in cloud prison. The same with the stars.\nThe girl and her doll creeped back into bed, satisfied with the visit from her nightly visitor. As she snuggled under the covers, she whispered the name of her friend over and over to herself. She loved the way it rolled off her tongue.\nA sigh of contentment escaped from her lips as she turned over in bed. Ella shut her eyes and, this time, for the promise of sleep. Maybe if she was lucky again she would relive a couple happy memories with her family.\nCuddling up with Margit, the only family she had left, she followed the scent of sugar plum fairies to meet and chase her wildest dreams.\n***\nEarly morning light shines in through the girl’s dormitory and everyone is still in bed, fast asleep. Well, everyone except for a little girl with green eyes and blonde hair who is hunched over her bed, staring at something in her lap.\nIn her hands is a battered and empty leather notebook. Beside her is a beautiful fountain pen that looks too magnificent to be seen or used in an orphanage. The girl opens the notebook and smells the rich creamy pages. A few words are scrawled in black ink at the top of the first page. It reads:\nHappy birthday, my Ella! I love you and always will.\nThat’s it. It’s left unsigned, but the girl has a feeling she knows who wrote those words. She takes a shaky breath and picks up the fountain pen. Ella taps the pen on the notebook paper and bites her lip, unsure of what to write. After more than a few minutes a burst of inspiration breaks through, she finally begins like this:\nIt was a night like any other and, unfortunately, the loud activity of the night made it quite difficult to catch onto a dream and drift off to sleep. . ." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: A Touch of Heaven\n\nGenre: christian\n\nWord Count: 1012\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart or end your story with a character receiving a hug or words of comfort." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "“Look around you,” Grandpa whispered as he gently rested his left hand on my right shoulder, and waved out in front of us with his right. “This is what I see every day now.”\nI looked out over rolling emerald hills, towering, snow covered mountains in the distance, and glistening, white-capped waves crashing into the sandy coast. I had never seen so much natural beauty in one glimpse. I thought to take a picture, but I didn’t want to move for fear of losing the moment.\nA warm breeze blew my hair softly behind me, and the faint sound of chirping was growing closer. I looked up at Grandpa, watching his face as he undoubtedly recalled the exact species of bird we heard calling–one of his favorite pastimes. I briefly remembered the small Birdwatching Book that used to sit on the end table right next to his recliner in Grandma and Grandpa’s living room. On occasion, I was known to flip through the book, looking at all the pictures of the colorful and exotic birds, wondering how Grandpa could remember them all. \n“What kind of bird is it?” I asked quietly, watching as a single bird landed in a tree just a few feet away from us. Its feathers rustled and it let out a few more chirps before sitting still and gazing out upon the landscape.\n“A blue dacnis. Isn’t it beautiful?” Grandpa replied, moving his hand from my shoulder and guiding me toward the tree slowly; silently. We stopped just shy of the tree and took in the moment, embracing the nature, the life, the togetherness that it had been so long since we had felt with one another.\nI stared up into the tree and noted the beauty of a bird I’d never seen before: striking black and deep blue with feathers that looked as soft as fur. It traveled alone, but seemed at peace in its solitude.\n“Where does it come from?” I pressed, thinking how rare a find we must have stumbled upon.\n“Lots of places,” Grandpa replied, “Mostly Argentina.”\nI noted the curiosity that an Argentinian bird would be here on its own, but then reminded myself of the uncertainty of where “here” really was. I considered asking the question, but was filled with fear of what the answer might be.\nI closed my eyes, breathed in, and was overwhelmed by the combination of the fresh air and Grandpa’s cologne–a scent I didn’t realize how much I had missed until this very moment. Time didn’t seem real, and I couldn’t put a finger on just how long it had been since I had last seen him, but I was certain it had been too long.\n“So this is where you’ve been,” I stated, reaching out for Grandpa’s hand.\n“Yes,” he said simply. “I’ve been getting it ready.”\nHe said the words as if it should be obvious–obvious that he had been here all this time, obvious that he was preparing, obvious what he was preparing for; but, I still could not understand.\n“Ready?”\nHe smiled and nodded. “Someday, when the time is right, you will join me here. So will Grandma, and your Mom, and your aunt, and your cousins. Someday, we will all be together again, in this place.”\nAnd I suddenly understood. This was our own piece of heaven.\n“But I miss you,” I admitted, and for the first time since I’d found myself here, I knew I was frowning. My heart felt as though it was wrenching out of my chest, knowing that someday wouldn’t be soon–that I still had a long life ahead of me without Grandpa. He wouldn’t be at my birthdays, my wedding, wouldn’t get to see me be a mother, and watch my babies grow. I would be missing him. Always.\n“I miss you, too,” he stated calmly, “But I’m always with you. Watching. Preparing. Waiting.”\nThere was a brief moment of silence as I reconciled the truth. What a blessing to see him, hear him, feel his presence; and yet, what a cruelty to know that it was an ethereal experience, and I couldn’t have him back in my life each day. I racked my brain for an answer–for some way to take him home with me, but I knew it was impossible, and that I had no choice but to savor each second I had left with him.\n“I’m proud of you,” he beamed, and I knew it was true. He pulled me into his warm embrace and squeezed, “I am so, so proud of you. And one day, we will celebrate your accomplishments and your successes together, here.”\nI felt tears welling up in my eyes, knowing this was the start of goodbye.\nI squeezed him tightly, and quietly whispered, “I love you, Grandpa.”\n“I love you, too, sweetie.”\nI found comfort in his words, but the facts remained: I knew that this moment was fleeting–that sooner than later, I would be back on Earth, and he would be here, and there was no way of knowing when I would see him again. The thought made me squeeze him even tighter, as if I could hold him tight enough that the moment would never have to end.\nAnd then it felt as though he disintegrated from the air around me. I was floating downward, through the plains and into the soil, into the clouds, and delicately descended until I felt the softness of my pillow beneath my head.\nI hesitated to open my eyes, breathing in and hoping against hope that Grandpa’s cologne would still fill the air. Instead, I smelled bacon cooking a few rooms over, and when I opened my eyes, I could feel the fresh tears on my cheeks.\nThere are dreams that make you cry because you’re sad, dreams that make you cry because you’re afraid, dreams that make you cry because you’re happy, and dreams that make you cry because you’re loved.\nEarth would never be the same without Grandpa, but I was eternally grateful for that brief touch of heaven." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: A extrovert accidently bumps into a book reader these days.\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1122\n\nPrompt:\n\nEnd your story with the line, “I’m never going out with you again.”" }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "I was patiently waiting. Yess.. That is the ticket. Patiently waiting. When this extrovert bumps into me. Yess.. That is how most of my life has been. Me? Reading a book. Being patient. And the world?\nFate deciding to throw me into a world of adventure and mayhem. This extrovert started talking about reality. Let’s be honest. Reality to me is an interesting topic.\nMeaning? For you? Well, you have been here some 660,000 in the past two years and no one seems to care to tell you. That you are falling into a black hole. For me?\nMy reality is something beyond that at present. However, the more I try to learn, the harder it seems to remember what little I knew. Seems odd. But a truth.\nSo I listen. This person seems Q is real. I listened until I could take no more. So? I am a patient person. Heck, if you read my journal, you realize I might wait for a billion years for a cookie.\nHowever, I wonder if we read or attended the same church. So? I went through what was happening to him. Somehow, extroverts dislike the idea that it left them in the dark.\nHe required proof. So I showed him photos. He required arguments with sound reasoning. So I provided math formulas. He required I prove I am who I said I was. Once upon a time?\nSmile? Oh, I did that too. You see the White Rabbit, Alice? They are real to some of us more than others. How real?\nAs real as the following statement, which is correct. Energy equals light to the power of 3. WAIT a minute, it is Energy equals mass time light to the power of two.\nI smile. So you want to argue with the man Tesla called the smartest man on earth? But Einstein said that says E equals mass time light to the power of 2 is real. The extrovert pleading. For you to see if you read the reference links, I walked him through his reality rather quickly. Why? I was reading something and wanted to get back my book.\nI smiled. Einstein? Read the Secret of Light by Walter Russell. Who Tesla said was the smartest man he knew. Tesla recognized the wisdom and power of Russells’ teaching and urged Russell to lock up his knowledge in a safe for 1,000 years. Until man was ready to realize that bit of truth, I just told you.\nThe extrovert was a bit taken back. From his political problems of Trump. Which I informed him was part of Revelation. And that mark of the beast part of the vaccine. Along with everything, was something to think about.\nBut the last part which I left him with? That life is a game. Or if you are religious. A race as Paul, who was Saul, states. And? Well, there are first, second, third place ratings even in the afterlife. And?\nThat is the entire story, is it not? I mean, I still want to read my book.\nHe again stated this is this and that is that. And I? I smile. It is a hard grasp to come to terms with. Imagine your life as a clay avatar. In a game. Where, at the end, you will be judged?\nAnd realize that the extrovert only wanted to talk. Not hear the reasoning behind what he was going on.\nOnce more he tried to talk about reality of the day. I looked at him and smiled yet again.\nI have shared truths with you that few understand or care to understand. And you still want to go on?\nHe was an extrovert alright. He was trying to walk away from an argument he wanted to have with reality. And finding himself instead in my wonderland. I wonder if he realized who I once was? I smile.\nSo few ask that question, don’t they? They love a story. Not the storyteller. So? I provided another show of magic, if you will call it that. And with that he was silent for sometime. And I?\nI went back to reading my book. I find books a magical place. When all is dangerous and evil. A book holds a truth, a place for me. For a time.\nHis silence after a chapter or more like a chapter and a page into the next chapter. He broke. He said he did not believe any of what I said. I smiled and offered to prove he was living in a mirror world if he cared to accompany me?\nThat did the trick. Like the White Rabbit. He ran off. Saying something like he was late for some appointment or other. While I? I sat patiently reading my book for a time.\nI got up for my cookie. And? The extrovert evidently needed something where I was at. He came walking in. And I waved. He sort of was shocked for a moment that I was still there. Meaning?\nOh, sometimes for the right cookie? I wait days or nights. And? To honest, I had read a book and who knows how long it had been since we had seen each other.\nOf course I was still in my clothing of when ever we were talking priorly and he? He seemed to not have slept a bit for a while. Or forgotten how to shave. I suppose that is the awkwardness one finds that they are playing in this absurd game called Life. And instead of a car with a wife, four kids and a 100k salary with a home. Find a mad hatter reading alone one day at a cookie shop.\nThe mystery was evident to him too much. He asked a question. And I? I sat down and offered him part of my cookie. He looked like he needed it.\nHe waved it away. I smiled. So, the answer to that question is A.L. I.C. E my boy. A.L.I.C. E was real once upon a story time. And now? Now Fluffy is awoke and this Orion Nebula we find ourselves in is being moved to the end of time as fast or slow as fate has a plan for us.\nWill we make it? Hard to say. Fluffy is real. A.L.I.C. E was real. And I? I doubt I am very real anymore, very much.\nHe asked one more question.\nAnd I decided to answer him. Believe in Jesus Christ. Read the Bible and pray. For Fate will decide what is real on that day.\nAnd with that. I went and purchased two more cookies and gave one to him because I got tired of him looking at me finishing my cookie." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on 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 Heard Your Voice\n\nGenre: christian\n\nWord Count: 1009\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart or end your story with a character receiving a hug or words of comfort." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "I Heard Your Voice as clear as day as I lay silently in my bed reflecting on your recent passing. Tears are slowly sliding down my face as I fight through the pain of losing you so young. I’m sitting here evoking on your laughter, your smile, and your touch. You were the favored brother who consistently made the entire family chuckle. You left your lasting impression on everyone when God decided to call you home. I heard your voice ringing in my ear over and over again, saying God, this pain is overwhelmingly excruciating and piercing. I’m sick and tired of seeing this hospital bed every couple of weeks, I’ve been here practically all my life. In and out of infirmaries has become a normal life for me that I did not ask for. God, how can I return this pain to the sender? I’m not ready for this journey, in fact, I’m not willing to become a special case. I’ve been through multiple surgeries, dialyzed, heart attacks, amputations, a stroke and ultimately coding many times. I’ve also survived the Covid 19 pandemic which caused my health to decline at a rate that ultimately set me back into position where I’ve become once again dialyzed three times a week, I’m back to square one again. Lord, I’m tired but I refuse to leave my family behind. I’m torn between hurting in this broken body and departing. What would my mother do without me? How will she survive without her child leaving her all alone? Mother, I’ve done all I can here, I’m tired, my soul needs to rest. I’m screaming inside without a sound; tugging at the sheets asking God to heal me! I see everything and yet I hear nothing until the day God whispered softly, “It is Finished”. The sound faded, as the sheets uncover my body that once protected me, thunder followed as the pain suddenly die away. Abruptly, I encountered an outer body experience that caused a powerful gush of wind to gently elevate my frame, transporting me above the clouds, passed the golden gates, up the steps into a heavenly world I could only dream about. \n\nIt’s bright, it’s warm and it’s beautiful! I can’t believe I’m standing here without a cane, walker, or a wheelchair. My legs, feet and kidneys were returned just like the day they were given by God. My heart has been healed; open-heart surgery is no longer a need; my arteries are working again! I haven’t felt like this in years, I can run, jump, and play sports again without the risk of injury. I’m in a place that’s not familiar, I look around to see my ancestors from a long time ago whom I’ve never met but somehow remember. How is this possible? I heard your voice from a distance, the voice of a spirit who I recognized in a dream not too long ago. This voice was soft, gentle, and kind. He whispered; “I called you to suffer no more”. I looked into God’s eyes as he said, “It Is Finished”. Everyone is happy to see me, I see my aunt, uncles, friends, and my dear sister. I’m traveling home to a safe place, a place where there is no suffering, no doctors, no treatments, no appointments, and no fear. I’m journeying through this dark tunnel that has no end. It’s completely dark here but I’m not afraid, a path to a world of the unknown. It’s similar to traveling in time but my time here is no more. Is it still time? Or is it eternity? I’m stuck in the middle between both worlds until I pass through this tunnel. I must make it to the end, I’m tired but God please give me the strength to continue this journey once more. I can see a bright light just pass the crossing; I think I made it to the end, I see it, it’s absolutely gorgeous. I’ve never seen anything like it in my life. God has given me the ability to view my past once more before my transition.\n\nGod has granted me the ability to see my entire family together again near and far for the very last time. What a beautiful sight to see. I witnessed the gathering of my funeral, it was in the form of my favorite football team, “The Dallas Cowboys”. Blue and Silver was the theme, I watched my beautiful wife, daughters, nieces, nephews’, grandchildren, friends, and my mom who is sitting at the end of the first row crying out to her son. My heart is breaking into a thousand pieces to see my mother falling apart like this. She was my first love who taught me how to love. The hurt I saw in her face was the pain of losing a child the prior year still fresh in her spirit. That kind of pain is indescribable. I wish I could hug my mother one last time to let her know I’m okay and I’m finally home. As I continued looking around, I saw the impact of grief throughout the church, the homegoing service was as beautiful as the kind words expressed. I heard my brother singing my favorite song, my two beautiful daughters expressing their love so passionately, a sister who conveyed a poem so spiritually profound it left a gasp in the room. I heard the cries of people who were near and dear to my heart, a love that will last a lifetime. As the service concluded, I witnessed my casket rolling out of the church into the hearse with the family nearby. The cars were in sync following behind the hearse with lights on and driven to the cemetery where closing remarks were sympathetically expressed before my departure. One by one, I saw beautiful flowers placed on the casket, around the casket and in front of the casket with my favorite Dallas Cowboy colors. Once I was lowered into my eternal resting place, the voices slowly faded away.\n\nBy Elouise D. Woodard" } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Emotion Catcher\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1556\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart your story with a character saying, “Are you coming tonight?”" }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "“Are you coming tonight?”\n\n“I’d love to join you guys, but I’ll take a rain check on that.”\n\nNicole had tried to include her new roommate in her group of friends, but every time she invited her, Anna refused. She was so serious, so quiet, her melancholic aura sometimes heavy to breathe. She felt sorry for her. If only she tried a little, she could have a much more interesting life.\n\nAs far as she could remember, Anna has always led a drab life. As a child, grown-ups said that she had an old soul, that she was unusually quiet. She wasn’t the type to run around, jump on beds or sing at the top of her lungs. She was often found in a nook with a book in her hands.\n\nEven today, in her spare time she prefers to turn the pages of a novel, sitting in her favourite chair. Or, with closed eyes, to be lulled by the melodies emanating from the record player she keeps on her bedside table. She enjoys eating butter noodles and drinking sparkling water. She’s not outgoing nor an adrenaline junkie who’s constantly striving to push herself. She’s … grey.\n\nIt had never bothered her before. She lived well with her flat personality but the more she rubbed shoulders with the flamboyant Nicole, the more her loneliness distressed her. She would love to come out of her shell, but she didn’t know how to open up to others.\n\nOne Saturday morning, after her breakfast, Anna goes out for a walk. Nicole will probably sleep two or three more hours, and getting some fresh air will do her good. She walks along the sidewalk, lost in her thoughts and her solitude, indifferent to the traffic, the noise of the city, or the passers-by. Without knowing how, she finds herself in front of a tiny shop hidden in a secluded alley. “Emotion Catcher” can be read on the worn wooden sign.\n\nThe ringing of the bell breaks, for just a split second, the silence in the shop. The dated wooden door closes with a creak. Anna stood still, captivated by everything around her. The scents that permeated the air tickled her nose, awakening old memories. A smell that she knew, that went back as far as her childhood, of old houses, damp woodwork, with a hint of crisp autumn leaves. Just by walking through that door, it was as though you stepped back in time a century ago. The smell of pine hung in the air. There was an atmosphere of a puppet or carpentry workshop. Yet no puppet was in sight. No, from floor to ceiling all you saw were masks. Grotesque masks, tragic masks, ugly and lovely masks. Wooden masks, papier-mache masks, glass masks. Some smiled at you, others laughed or mocked you. Somewhere a clock ticks and further a radio is playing an old French ballad. A magical place like her grandmother’s attic.\n\nShe walks to the old wooden counter. An old cherry wood counter on which restes a bronze reception bell that clang dully. A shadow came out of the wall, or rather of a door hidden in a corner, the very archetype of the passionate craftsman. The shadow took shape and an old gentleman with a happy face, his shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbows, wearing faded red suspenders, almost brown, appeared. The proof of his long experience was seen in his callused hands. Everything about him exuded confidence and self-sacrifice for his profession.\n\nHis gaze invited the young woman to open her heart. A dull, faint voice, a voice without nuance or passion, whispered to the merchant.\n\n“I would like … joy, please.”\n\n“Of course Dearest. What kind of joy? A childish joy, malignant joy, a little madness perhaps? Do you want an intense, a peaceful or a wild joy?”\n\n“Just … joy. Pure joy. A joie de vivre… please…”\n\nThe craftsman seemed to ponder on the matter. His salt and pepper eyebrows joined to form a single line, his eyes scanning the walls of his precious stall. He sighed, clicked his tongue and slowly shook his head.\n\n“I’m afraid that’s very rare, sweetheart. But if you give me a few days, I can make one for you. A brand new joy, what do you say?”\n\nAnna felt a tickle in her stomach, like the caress of the soft hair of a caterpillar, not quite butterflies. Even her voice showed one or two intonations.\n\n“Yes. I thank you, sir. I’ll be back in three days.”\n\nHer delicate figure faded, took three small steps from the counter, walked to the door, and slipped out of the store. As the bell chimed, and the door creaked, the shadow melted back into the wall. You could still hear the ticking of the clock and a purring cat but the radio went silent and no other sound was heard.\n\nOn the other side of it, a workshop was held there, filled with old masks, faded, broken or not yet finished. All the emotions could be read on this wall: anger, sadness, jealousy, love, joy, fear… You name it. Something to delight theatre lovers, actors and spectators alike. In the centre of the room, a table was buried under tools. Sitting on a stool worn by time, the artisan contemplates his workbench. He strokes pieces of wood, one after the other, as if they could talk to him. Finally, he chooses one. He grabs it, turns it between his fingers, scratches it with the tip of his fingernail, then puts it back. Finally, he grabs his tools and gets to work.\n\nShe wanted joy. She even specified a “joie de vivre”. The craftsman welcomed people like her, these lost souls, almost daily. They were all looking for different masks, looking for subtlety. These shades, it was up to him to create them, to bring them to life. He knew how to turn anger into rage or love into passion. Sometimes he needs to go back to see his old creations. He observes these people bring his creations to life, giving them substance. He’s proud of his work, of what he brought to all these humans. Lost in his thoughts, the craftsman continues to build his mask. His hands seemed to have a life of their own, each gesture so repeated that it had become automatic. \n\nThe piece of wood thinned over the hours, the rough block metamorphosing into a face. The eyes lit up to which he added a grain of humour. An upturned nose appeared and lips slowly formed. Then, the smile … the high point of his creation. Working meticulously for long hours brought him closer and closer to ecstasy. An intense joy looked to paint itself on the wooden lines. A slow smile worked its way across its face. Small wrinkles appeared at the corners of the eyes. The nose seemed to wrinkle in amusement. And the smile materialized, forever joyful.\n\nWhen he completed the shaping of the wood, he put his work down and studied it. In the sky, the moon has risen, the stars have lit, the night lasts a few hours then the darkness dissipates, but his mask isn’t done. It lacked the finishing touches. He grabbed a few cans of paint, brushes and examined his artwork again. The whiteness and the softness of sanded wood recalled the fine skin of his client’s face. But a few strokes of colour were missing, here and there, so that the illusion was total.\n\nThe craftsman busied himself with his mixtures, creating an ivory skin colour, which blended into the wood. He brushed the lips with a touch of red, oh barely, just enough to show them off. Each colour he applied incorporated into the wood and gave a more intense result. When finished, you could almost see a real face. A lifeless face, but a happy one.\n\nThe chime of the bell rang again and broke, for just a moment, the silence of the store. The old wooden door closed with a creak. A delicate figure stepped forward and walked more confidently towards the counter, The smell of pine hung in the air. If we were lucky enough to have a strong sense of smell, we could also perceive citrus undertones. Another bell rings, this time coming from the bronze one adorning the counter. A shadow came out of the wall, it seemed to be carrying something.\n\nThe craftsman placed an object on the wooden counter, carefully wrapped. Anna grabbed it and unwrapped it just as gently. In her hands rested a wooden mask. The young woman brought it closer to her face. If we looked at both, we might have believed in a reflection in a mirror. Except for the emotion painted on each visage. One was bleak, sad, expressionless. A woman’s face, thin and delicate. Beige. The other exuded joviality and happiness. Anna turned the mask over and placed it on her face. The two seemed to blend then. In a burst of spontaneity, she took the craftsman in her arms and hugged him. Then she walked away with a light step and the sound of the doorbell mingled with her crystalline laughter. The client disappeared around the corner, but the echo of her laughter remained. A laugh that expressed joy. Pure joy." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on 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 Naked Driver\n\nGenre: christian\n\nWord Count: 2204\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart or end your story with a character receiving a hug or words of comfort." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Breathe in, breathe out. I prepare myself as I receive a chime notification that my rideshare driver has arrived.\nI linger for a few seconds, debating if I want to do this today. If scattering, one’s mother has one better day than another. Finally, I hear Mom’s voice propelling me forward, and I grab the urn holding her ashes and lock the door behind me when I leave.\nThere’s a slight breeze outside, and I’m glad I wore a light blazer to combat the chill. I reach the rideshare car. It’s a silver Honda, and I hold tight to Mom’s urn. When I open the door, I’m greeted by a friendly voice. \n“Hi, Mark, right?” she questions.\n“Yes, I’m Mark.” I slide into the rear passenger seat and close the door.\n“Nice to meet you, I’m Sonia, and I’ll be your driver today,” she says, waiting while I put my seatbelt over my chest and lap; she’s waiting for the click sound before she carefully pulls out onto the street in front of my house.\nI carefully buckle Mom’s urn into the seat next to me. Soothing and gentle notes move throughout the car, and I listen to the lyrics. I realize it’s Christian music. \nIt feels somewhat appropriate that I’m riding in the back of a rideshare with Mom, listening to Christian music. It feels like this is how it’s supposed to be. Sonia is quiet. I have a feeling it’s not her usual personality, but she seems good at reading the environment. I must be putting off ‘stay away’ vibes again, and she’s picking up on it.\nI glance towards her and quickly glance away, realizing I just saw what looks like the shape of her chest. Side boob, they call it. Was I just flashed? I look back at her; she adjusts her right arm on the steering wheel, and I see it again. I’m shocked, and words won't come out of my mouth. I glance further at her, really paying attention this time, and realize she’s completely nude!\nI didn’t pay attention when I first approached and entered the car. I was too distracted about getting Mom situated. Now I’m wondering why I got into a vehicle with a naked woman. Is this a joke? I decide I will say something after all.\n“It’s chilly out today, isn’t it?\n“Yeah, it’s a bit nippy,” she says, giggling as she says it, and I wonder what kind of exhibitionist she is. I don’t mean to judge. It’s her car, and I don’t believe there’s a dress code, but even as an independent contractor, isn’t there some requirement? Surely, it is not comfortable for her to drive around naked in front of strangers. Maybe I’m her first ride of the day, and she’s going to rush home and put some clothes on after she drops me off. I’ll try again.\n“Just starting your day?” I say, knowing my assessment must be accurate.\n“I actually got an early start today. I’ve been driving since five in the morning. I like to drive early and have the rest of the day to run errands or tend to appointments,” she said, merging onto the freeway.\nMy mind is in overdrive now. She’s been driving all day and flashing customers. I mean, she’s pretty, but it’s still indecent. What if it were a mother with children or an older couple? Is this an April Fool’s joke in the fall? I don’t know; I’m so confused and offended. And not offended and curious. \nI wish I could be free like her. I wish I could not worry about the expectations people have of me or that I have of myself.\nI stare out the window as we pass cars by and look at the tiny slivers of grass on the borders of the highway. Everyone is in such a hurry. Signs and billboards fly by as Sonia maintains the speed of traffic flow. Californians drive too fast for me. I enjoy taking rideshares. It feels safer, and I don’t have to pay for a car, gas, or upkeep. Plus, this car smells good. It smells like cherries or something.\n“The car smells nice,” I realize I’ve said it out loud.\n“Thank you, I like the Coronado Cherry scent. I’ve been using it for years, and it seems to be a hit,” she says, her eyes still on the road.\nI’m beyond impressed with this woman. Why shouldn’t she drive naked? It’s her car. She’s doing me a service by driving me to the spot where I’m going to spread Mom’s ashes. Something about the situation feels freeing.\nThe music continues to play, and I feel lighter than I have in months. I know Mom would approve. She was definitely a hippy in her day. She believed in peace and love. I’d heard stories about the wild parties she’d attended and her short stint at a nudist colony. I know this is nothing compared to her previous lifestyle.\nI’m the one who’s a prude. \nI decide to remove my loafers but leave my socks on. I remove my slacks and fold them up, placing them in the space between Mom and me. \n“We’re almost there,” Sonia says\n“Sounds good,” I say, more chipper than I was when I entered the car. This was definitely a good choice. I have Sonia to thank for getting me out of my funk and opening my eyes to being free.\nI remove my blazer and my long-sleeved shirt. This is a lot for me. I’m now sitting in my white undershirt and light blue boxers. I look over at Mom’s urn, and I’ve never felt happier. I know she’s proud of me. Her uptight son is finally embracing change and being adventurous. I look at Sonia, who’s still driving and looks to be about ten minutes away from my destination. She’s so brave to bare it all in front of her riders without caring about other people’s opinions. Oh heck, I decided to take it all off, except my socks. \nIt was a little tricky doing all that and keeping the seat belt on, but I managed. My clothes are all folded nicely in the back seat between Mom and me. Soon, Sonia turns down the long dirt road that leads to our family cabin. \nWe hit a bump on the dirt ground, and my glasses fly off my head onto my lap.\n“Sorry about that,” Sonia says as she travails the rough terrain in her little Honda.\n“No problem,” I say to this free-spirited soul. I grab my glasses from my lap, not realizing they were on my head and I wasn’t wearing them this entire time.\nWhen I put the glasses onto my face, my face drops. What I thought was a naked driver was a young woman wearing brown jeans and a brown form-fitting turtleneck that both matched her skin complexion. She wasn’t naked. But now, I am.\nWe arrive at the lake cabin where Mom enjoyed spending her last decade. \n“We’re here,” Sonia stops the car and slides the ‘drop off’ notification on her rideshare app, signifying that she’s dropping me off. I’m mortified for what I know is coming. I quickly, but not quick enough, grab my light blue boxers and put them on as fast as my body will allow. \nSonia hears the commotion and turns around to find me half-naked. Her eyes are as big as saucers, and she doesn’t say anything. She just stares with her mouth agape. She probably thinks I’m crazy. I can be charged with indecent exposure. “Please leave,” she firmly says, facing forward in her seat.\n“I’m so sorry,” is all I can say. I quickly unbuckle my seatbelt and grab my shoes and other clothes. I dart out of the car and run like a little boy caught stealing candy at a store into the confines of the wood cabin where I can safely and hopefully no longer embarrass myself.\nI don’t turn around, but I hear her car speed away as fast as it can over the mulch and broken branches scattered on the ground. As soon as I’m in the cabin, I breathe a breath I didn’t realize I was holding and slide down to the floor. “What’s the matter with me?” I put my head in my hands.\nA knock sounds at the door. Is it the cops? Did Sonia call the cops on me? I quickly put my clothes on and ran my fingers through my hair before calmly opening the door. Sonia is standing on my porch holding something. In my mind, I imagine that she’s returned with a baseball bat to beat me for being a pervert. When I get out of my head, I realize she’s holding an urn. It’s Mom. \n“You forgot this,” she says cautiously but sympathetically. I skeptically look around for a bat but take the urn from her hands.\n“Thank you, Sonia. I’m so sorry for all of this. I’ll give you a big tip for everything. Have a nice day,” I say as I prepare to shut the cabin door. I’m still thoroughly embarrassed.\n“It’s none of my business, but did someone just pass?” She asks with compassion I didn’t expect after what I put her through.\nI’m holding the urn tightly against my body. I can barely confirm her question, but she stands there waiting for a response. I nod my head yes. It’s all I can muster at the moment.\n“I’m sorry for your loss,” she says. \n“Thank you,” I say almost inaudibly.\n“If someone I cared for had just passed, I guess I would see crazy things too, like people driving naked,” she slightly smiles.\nI look up, shocked that she’s not angry or ready to beat me with a bat or that the police aren’t standing with her while we’re having this conversation.\n“I appreciate your kind words,” I say before I realize she’s the first person I’ve talked to about my mother’s passing. \"Honestly, I'm a little shocked you're taking this so well.\"\n\"Unfortunately, this isn't the worst thing that's happened when I've driven someone. Believe me, I could tell you some stories,\" she said.\n\"You're good at making me feel better. I appreciate what you're doing,\" I said sheepishly.\n“I know it’s not the same, but when my grandmother passed, I jumped off a bridge,” she says straight-faced.\n“Really?”\n“Yeah, I figured life was short, and I needed to do things that scared me. So that when it’s time for me to go, I can say I lived. Bungee jumping scared me, but it was a freeing experience,” she clarified.\n“You’re really brave. The most adventurous thing I’ve ever done is what I just did in the back of your car. Sorry again about that. I really thought you were so brave for driving naked, and I wanted to be that free.” \n“No, I’m definitely not a thrill seeker, I’m working my way up to living the life I want, I guess, like most people,” she said, holding her hands together in front of her, and I suddenly realized she needed to go and pick up other passengers.\n“Oh, I’m sorry to keep you. I know you have to go, but thanks again for bringing Mom back,” I say, appreciating her gift of patience, understanding, and kindness. It was nice to have someone to talk with.\n“I don’t usually give out my number, but here’s my number,” she pulled a piece of paper out of her pocket. The ten digits were scribbled in black pen on the paper like she had already decided back in the car to give it to me when she returned to Mom. “Call or text whenever you want someone to chat with. I mean it,” she said sincerely, handing me the paper.\n“Thank you so much, Sonia. For everything. Umm, I’m not much of a host, and there’s not much food in here, but can I offer you something to drink before you get back on the road?” I realized it was the right thing to do. Mom would want me to properly thank Sonia. She’d say I’d been raised better than that. “We can sit on the porch,” I said, motioning towards the two wooden rocking chairs covered in leaves. I wasn’t sure if she trusted me enough to be alone in the cabin with me after the stunt I pulled in the car, so the porch was a safe option.\n“That sounds nice, thanks,” she gave that small smile again.\nI put Mom in her favorite wingback chair in the cabin before grabbing a rag and cleaning off the rocking chairs outside. Then, I went back inside to grab two bottles of spring water. \nSonia and I sat outside, talking for hours. She had finished driving for the day and said she enjoyed my company. Her rideshare stories made me laugh. Laughter really is the best medicine. About an hour before sunset, she got up to use the bathroom before allowing me to give her a light hug, with lots of distance between us and drove off.\nI think I just made a friend." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Charlie and the pound coins:\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1914\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart your story with a character saying, “Are you coming tonight?”" }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Are you coming tonight came the dulcet tones of the local beautician hoping to confirm another victim’s presence to her widely publicised lip inflator party being held later that day. No came the sharp reply whose voice I recognised to be my neighbour albeit heard through the open top window of my double glazed front room window. I’ll speak to you later was her final words as her garage door slammed shut preventing further discussion and putting an impenetrable barrier between herself and the advancing beautician.\nMy neighbour, Hortense who one could affectionately describe as having sixpence short of a bob at the best of times or for those born after UK decimalisation, two pence short of a pound, or for those US readers, a nickel short of a dollar!\nBy the noise permeating through the walls she had just received some disturbing news. I heard her phone ring and I could hear muffled and hurried confirmations. Her tone was edged with concern; she had received some worrying news and had to suddenly rush up to Manchester to visit her daughter.\nWell, when I say rush, that was before she had checked the back door was locked several times, wrote three separate notes for the milk delivery man and by the way, she does not have a milk delivery man, checked that the shed door was closed at least twice and switched the stairway light on and off a dozen or more times as if sending some secret code.\nWithin a few seconds the doorbell began to ring at a rate of eight rings per second. Sensing it was Hortense trying to attract my attention coupled with that distinctive electrical burning smell coming from the doorbell unit; I rushed through the integral garage and opened the side door.\nIn a whirlwind, I felt a key pressed into the palm of my hand and what felt like a leather strap hooked over my erect thumb. Before I knew what was happening Hortense had disappeared up the driveway and into a waiting taxi, all the time screaming instructions to me over her shoulder which continued whilst inside the taxi, albeit muffled until she wound down the window, much to the gratitude of Mr. Singh the local taxi driver.\nI looked down at the key and the leather strap hooked onto my thumb and suddenly felt a warm glow permeating though my right trouser leg and sock. It took a second to realise that the leather strap was attached to a fully grown golden retriever who had decided it was a good opportunity to empty his bladder whilst also leaving his scent all over my right leg and foot.\nHaving shaken my leg of the excess liquid, I calmly shouted my wife and asked if she knew anything about the dog. Apparently, she had agreed with Hortense that should the need arise, we would look after both “Charlie” the dog and “Tinkle” the cat.\nThis raised another discussion as to whether Hortense had got the names the correct way around, apparently she had!\nI guided Charlie into our newly refurbished utility room, nervous for the Victorian floor tiles I had painstakingly laid only weeks before, the swelling only having just reduced around my knee caps!\nFurthering the discussion with my wife as to where Hortense had got the animals from, she enlightened me to the fact that Hortense was looking after the two animals, Charlie and Tinkle, for her daughter who was ill in Manchester and was struggling to look after them. Unfortunately, the head cold her daughter was suffering from had turned into a cough and Hortense being Hortense had to be by her daughters side in this hour of need and therefore it fell to us to look after them in her absence.\nIn hindsight, I suppose it was a mistake to hook Charlie’s lead onto the fridge door handle, because when I returned to the utility room to check on him, he had opened the fridge door and was chomping his way through a very nice beef fillet joint that we had scrimped and saved up for since last July and was meant for our Sunday lunch.\nLet’s face it, there was no point in shouting at Charlie, I mean, what can you say that a dog could understand? Besides, he may well have bitten me! For all we know, in Charlie’s mind he probably mistook the joint for the cheeks of the postman’s backside but without the wrapping! How could he know it was our Sunday lunch?\nIn fairness to Charlie, I quickly discovered that generally he was a quiet dog, did not jump up or run after anything he did not want to and only licked his nether regions once; unfortunately that was when the vicar popped in for a cup of tea one day but apparently encouraged him to join a yoga class.\nSaturday was always shopping day, unless my wife decided we would do it on a Sunday for some valid reason only she could understand, so I loaded Charlie onto the back seat of the car. My wife got into the passenger side and off we went to do the weekly shopping at Waitsons Supermarket in Worditch.\nWe used to use all the local shops until they closed down due to high rent prices which forced everyone to use supermarkets. Still, the loyalty card comes in handy, only another ten thousand pounds to spend and I get a free bag for life if I use the points or I can put the ten pence towards something else!\nWhen we arrived at the supermarket, I opened the car windows slightly to give Charlie a bit of air whilst we went in to do the shopping. Before we had got ten yards away from the car, Charlie had started barking. I returned back to the car and immediately the barking stopped. I sneaked away from the car hoping that Charlie had not seen me, but his beady eyes spotted me and he barked again. There was no alternative but to stand outside the shop with Charlie whilst my wife went in and did the weekly shopping.\nI stood by the entrance door out of the way of incoming shoppers and as good as gold, Charlie sat down next to me. It was a sunny day and the sun was shining in my eyes, so I popped on my sunglasses to prevent me from squinting and adding another five wrinkles to my already furrowed brow.\nWithin a few minutes a small elderly lady with a stick limped towards Charlie, patted him on his head and without a word, walked away. That was nice of her I thought and looked down at Charlie who remained as still as a statue. I noticed a two-pound coin resting on his head and bemused as to how it got there, removed it and put it in my pocket. Within a few seconds another elderly lady patted Charlie on the head and walked away. Again, I looked down at Charlie and this time there was a one-pound coin on top of his head. Thinking I was imagining things, I removed the coin and put it in my pocket and then checked Charlie’s head again looking for more coins.\nIt took my wife forty-five minutes to do the shopping, five minutes to put the week’s food shopping into the trolley and forty minutes perusing the make-up and clothing aisles!\nBy this time and after keeping a running calculation, I had approximately one hundred and seventy-five pounds and three washers divided into my four trouser pockets! My trusty belt was struggling with the additional weight despite ratcheting it up to its final notch.\nI started to perspire, what with the grip my belt had on my stomach, and fearing that the weight of the coins in my pockets would overcome the grip the belt had on my hips. I could see the headlines before me in Worditch News, “Man with dog exposes himself outside Waitsons” next to a quarter page advert for Waitsons mini sausage with meat balls!\nJoy overcame me as my wife sauntered out of the customer exit. A mental calculation revealed twenty pounds worth of food and one hundred and sixty pounds worth of jumpers, skirts and various items of underwear.\nI quickly explained my plight and she offered me an empty “Janet”.\n(Just to explain what a “Janet” is, my other next-door neighbour refers to his wife Janet as “A Bag For Life”, hence why we nicknamed our bag for life “Janet”, not that I in any way condone this degrading tag he has for his wife, it’s just that she does not mind him calling her a bag for life and she always says that it is a reminder to him about his marriage vows and agrees that she is in fact “A bag for life”!)\nSo, I emptied all the money from my pockets into “Janet”, quickly slackened my belt to its normal position and ventured home with “Janet”, the shopping, my wife and Charlie.\nIt wasn’t until two weeks later with Charlie safely back with Hortense that I managed to unravel the mystery of the ever mounting coins.\nI opted to do the weekly shopping on the way home from work as it was cheaper for me to do it alone than with my wife, so popped into Waitsons. I walked over towards the entrance and was so shocked; I stopped dead in my tracks. Thinking I was in an episode of “Goodnight Sweetheart” and had been transported back through an invisible time portal, I saw what looked like “me” standing by the entrance of the shop and a dog stood next to “me” which, from this distance was the double of Charlie.\nI gathered my wits, yes wits, and edged towards the man and the dog. The man was even wearing sunglasses, just as I did. This was too spooky for words! Just as had happened with me, people were walking up to this impostor that was trying to be Charlie and tapping him on the head before walking into the shop. I stormed up to the man to confront him, keeping a little distance away from his Charlie in case he bit me.\nI glanced down at his Charlie and saw that his Charlie had a large slot on top of his head and was actually not a real dog at all but was made of plaster. I realised my mistake and my initial anger for this doppelganger subsided. In my own defence, how could I have read the sign by the dog’s feet saying “Guide Dogs for the Blind” from halfway across the car park? I quickly rummaged in my pocket and retrieved a two-pound coin and popped it into the slot on the dogs head.\nA few seconds passed before the man walked away and joined a lady who was coming out of the supermarket exit door. Not wishing to appear a total fool, I hurried into Waitsons for safety. I passed the security guard who was in conversation with the store manager and I overheard one say to the other, “I see you have the guide dog collection box back then, how long was it missing for? About two weeks replied the other!\nThere may be a moral to this story, but right now I just cannot think of one! Anyone need any change?\n©Julian Race 27/07/2021" } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Hush-A-Bye Baby\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1822\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about someone who wants to stay home alone, only for their plans to be disrupted." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "I stared off into the flickering lights and waved until the van disappeared into the misty road overshadowed by giant oaks. The daunting silence and solitude dawned on me the moment the door creaked shut. This environment is what sets Thistle Grove Cabin apart. Built almost 70 years prior by Liron’s great grandfather to conceal his black money and display his love for his wife, this cabin was constructed with the most delicate care for the intricacies and an undying affection for the love of his life. After he passed away, the cabin was inherited by his descendants and quickly became a monthly holiday spot desiring quiet weekend getaways for the entire extended family. When I got married to Liron six years ago, I was welcomed along to this cabin like I was one of their own. Despite its chilling unnerving atmosphere, I had grown to love the dense thicket illuminating various shades of green, the warm golden sun rays streaming through the ginormous trees, the chirping of birds and sparkling of fireflies; I had learned to adore the gloomy interiors and dull wood work, even the creaking floorboards (although at times like this, I wished it wouldn’t creak so much). It was as though I was in the middle of nowhere- but I mean, that is the whole point of the getaway anyways. Disconnecting from mankind.\nI have visited this place numerous times but this was the first time I was completely alone. Every other time I was surrounded by the clamor and chaos of my in-laws and their children, one or the other always providing me company, therefore anyone barely complained about not having reception or strong Wifi. Every time the family visits the cabin they always plan a trip, whether that be to go canoeing or trekking or having a scavenger hunt, and this time was no different- there was a carnival in the town a bit far off and everyone had given in to the temptation of delicious food, adventurous rides and bustling turmoil. I was very excited to join them but had to stay back to finish an office work and submit it before the deadline as I was aiming to be a candidate for the incoming promotions and this would be a good year to get a raise. I am mostly a very punctual person but after Marzia was born, my life felt like it was always on the brink of messing up and insanity. After two miscarriages and almost giving up, we were blessed with Marzia and was overjoyed to spoil her every chance we got, even if it meant sacrificing our sleep. I loved her but being new to the whole concept of motherhood, I was struggling with work and taking care of her, forgetting very often when I had last gotten a blink of sleep. Therefore, I had taken this as an opportunity, sending the family off to the carnival and Liron being in charge of Marzia for once so that I could finish my work and get some rest before hell breaks loose again.\nI tapped away on my phone as I closed all the windows and doors of the house before settling on the couch, snuggled within fuzzy blankets seeking coziness. I plugged in my ear pods and typed away, my eyes switching between the time and the slides displaying the latest promotion of our derma products. Almost more than an hour in, my temples started throbbing, my eyes tingling from all the screen time and lack of sleep and my head nodding off into an uncomfortable slumber. But this nap was short lived, quickly interrupted by the shrill shrieking of sirens that passed the cabin several times, entertaining some irritation within me. I glanced at the blurry taints of scarlet and blue lights, wondering which psycho decided it was a good day to run loose.\nI attach the power point under the email from Fahmida, my boss, with screaming fonts as if her keyboard was stuck on Caps Lock which read, “CAROL, I NEED THE PRESENTATION SENT TO ME IMMEDIATELY! I WILL HAVE TO REVIEW IT AND BRAINSTORM WITH THE BOARD BEFORE WE DECIDE TO AIR IT. THNX -Fahmida.”\nRolling my eyes at how dramatic she was, I get up, stretching my aching limbs and walk out the front door leaving it ajar, holding up my laptop like Simba from Lion King after pressing send to get the reception. Anyone seeing this from afar would find it very comical but having to go out into the paralyzing darkness and buzzing crickets every time one wants to connect to humanity, is beyond frustrating. Feeling relief flood through me as I had finished my work way earlier than I anticipated, I decide to make myself a loaded turkey sandwich before heading to the welcoming embrace of the duvet. My phone beeps, the charge draining (like my energy) rapidly from yellow to red signaling very low battery, making me race up the endless stairs to get my charger. As I reach for my cupboard, a gust of frigid breeze slams onto me, spreading a kind of glacial feeling crawling up my spine. How was the window open? I look back, tilting my head to the right, trying to recall whether I had closed it or not. Had I forgotten to close the window? Maybe I had forgotten because I was on my phone. I tried to wash away the reluctance by giving myself a firm assurance that the tiresomeness had made me clumsy. I closed the window with shaky hands and headed down, a sort of eerie feeling churning at the pit of my stomach. I was organized and responsible. I have never made mistakes like this.\nI chop some tomatoes and onions, assembling my sandwich with a generous amount of mayonnaise and turkey. Thinking about how the old me would have gagged at the sight of mayonnaise and the thought of fat, I smiled at how my marriage and maternity phase had reunited me with a healthy relationship with eating. The change of my body had scared me at first with my history of bulimia and borderline undiagnosed anorexia, but when one is surrounded by positive caring people it becomes easier to look at ones’ worth beyond what number is displayed on the weighing scale. Bodies are supposed to change, accommodate according to age and our needs- there is no need to look like an 18 year-old bikini model at all times. My thoughts had somewhat distracted me from the work at hand so I switched on the TV and kept on whatever was airing in the channel.\nIt was an alarming news about a psychologically unstable criminal who had gotten loose from an Asylum for the clinically insane. The news anchor exhibited a picture of a dark-haired woman with streaks of grey running down her scalp, a twisted lip and pale olive tinged complexion. But what set her apart was her eyes- a shade of murky graphite with a deep rooted manic lurking within the specks. The anchor then proceeded to ramble on about how the woman, Medea, had drowned her husband (who was suspected for infidelity) in the lake that rested on the center of her estate and choked one of her two children with her own two hands, the second being saved by a neighbor. The anchor pleaded everyone to be on watch, contact the authorities and to remain safe within the solace of their hearths. I switched the television off and heaved a sigh of disbelief- how could a mother do that to her child? How could someone be capable of such brutality? No matter how much she was hurting, no one but a monster was capable of such a grave sin, right?\nI hear a crackle of static and the baby monitor camera flickers to life, making the gust of air I inhaled get lost somewhere along my chest. The baby monitor signals movement near the cradle. Baby Marzia was not home, the cradle was empty. How… My questions were answered even before I had the time to think it through. My first thought when I saw a woman with wild unruly frizzes of hair crouched over the cradle, her fingers grazing the toys hanging from the handle was that it was a supernatural vision, just like they show in horror movies. The thought of being home alone with a phantom or ghost or spirit or whatever the thing was, made my throat close up, unable to utter the remnants of a prayer. I could hear myself whimper as I slowly backed away, my back stumbling onto the pile of dishes on the sink making a pot clatter to the floor, the clamor reverberating throughout the house. The woman near the edge of the cradle looked up towards the door in Marzia’s room, her eyes widening with a demented smile playing across her chapped lips. I gasp, too loud for my own good, recognition dawning upon me. Her eyes- a shade of murky graphite. Medea.\nThe coincidence of the situation was inconceivable. But I was in a cabin in the middle of nowhere so I should have known better than to expect a day alone in the house. I reached out for the phone and shakily shuffled my feet towards the door, careful to not make a single sound. Just them the static deviated, the speaker relaying a moan like sound. At first, I couldn’t make out what the lunatic was purring but soon the words heaved gained more clarity and the slow melodious tone recited,\n“Hush-a-bye baby on the tree top,\nWhen the wind blows the cradle will rock;\nWhen the bough breaks the cradle will fall,\nDown tumbles baby, cradle and all.”\nRepeatedly, as if like a chant. My blood runs cold as the gravity of the situation sinks in, my fingers trembling as it diales 911. The line connects when I edge towards the front door, desperate to get reception,\n“911, what’s your emergency?”\nWhen I speak, my voice sounds hoarse, tainted with a fear and ferociousness that I could not recognize as my own, “There’s an intruder in my house. The woman who ran away from the asylum. She’s looking directly at my baby monitor camera right now. I think she knows I am home. Alone.”\nMy fingers clasp around the butter knife smeared with mayonnaise, the edge digging onto my palm as I give the call taker the address and hear her assure me that several officers have been dispatched already. The line disconnects. The figure on the baby monitor hovers, a blur of white and grey. My breathe slows, the thudding of my heartbeat drowning out all the sound but my ears straining for the miniscule of sounds. I hear a creak.\nThe third door on the second floor always creaks when it opens. Marzia’s room.\nIt was creaking right now." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Are You Coming Tonight?\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1065\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart your story with a character saying, “Are you coming tonight?”" }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Two male colleagues are leaving their office building late on a Friday afternoon stop, as one, name Fred, the taller and more muscular of the two, asks the other, named George, “Are you coming tonight?”\nGeorge’s Internal Voice\n“No, no, no. I don’t want to go to the office party.”\nGeorge’s External Voice\n“What are you talking about Fred?”\nFred\n“The party to celebrate the boss’ birthday. I’m surprised you don’t know about it. Everybody has been talking about it.”\nGeorge’s Internal Voice\n“It was all I could do to ignore it.”\nGeorge’s External Voice\n“So you reckon that there will be a lot of people at the party, then?”\nFred\n“Yep, and the boss has a big house that can hold us all. It’s huge.”\nGeorge’s Internal Voice\n“I hate big parties. No one talks to me, and I don’t particularly like talking to people I barely know either, being polite when I just want to leave.\nGeorge’s External Voice\n“Are you supposed to bring a present? I wouldn’t want to be the only, or one of the few not to bring a present for the boss.’\nFred\n“Joe bought the boss a new set of speakers. You know what a big suck up he is. He asked people to chip in to help pay for it. All you have to do is go up to the Joe, and give him some money. Then you can stand with the others who chipped in, and be part of the ‘we’ that got the boss a nice gift. I gave Joe some money.”\nGeorge’s Internal Voice\n“Oh that’s great! Spending hard-earned on our idiot boss. And Joe will be sure to hog all the credit, all the glory.”\nGeorge’s External Voice\n“I guess that would be all right. But are we supposed to take a plus one with us, not come alone. I don’t have a plus one. I could be the odd man out.”\nFred\n“No worries, George. I won’t be taking a plus one with me, not since the divorce. And I know a bunch of guys from the office who are going it alone. With a bit of luck a few of the single secretaries will be there as well. You might get lucky.”\nGeorge’s Internal Voice\n“That’s all I need, to be shot down by one of those snobby secretaries, like Jeanie or Sophie. That would be great for my reputation and self-esteem. I would be mocked for months by the guys at work.”\nGeorge’s External Voice\n“So where is the boss’s place? I think I heard that it’s on the far side of town, so it would hard to find if you have never been there before, which I haven’t. I’d hate to get lost, and look a fool”\nFred\n“You do not have to worry about that. You can’t miss the boss’ house. It’s the tallest building for blocks, and has solar panels on the roof. It is really easy to find, like a castle towering over the meagre houses of the villagers.\nGeorge’s Inner Voice\n“There goes another good excuse, flushed right down the toilet. Now I will have to think up another. Fred must go out a lot.”\nGeorge’s External Voice\n“Well, that seems okay then. I guess if I go, I wouldn’t have any problems finding the boss’ place then. Now, what about how you dress The boss dresses kind of fancy at work, expensive jacket almost a tuxedo, and pants that look like they get ironed every day. I’m kind of an informal dresser myself, as you can see from what I am wearing right now. I don’t own a suit jacket, and I long ago forgot how to tie a tie, and bowties look dinky to me – for clowns and male strippers. Do you think he would expect a kind of dress code?”\nFred\n“From what I know it will be quite informal. I have seen the boss rip off his tie when he gets into his car. And no one I talked to is dressing up, so I don’t think that you’ll have any problems wearing the right sort of clothes. It’s come as you are.”\nGeorge’s Inner Voice\n“Okay, what can I say now? What is left as an excuse?”\nGeorge’ External Voice\n“What about drinking? Are there going to be undeclared drinking contests among the men, with those who only have one or two drinks being declared losers? I’ve heard about such things from my brother. I’m a light drinker myself, and I do not want to be shamed for being one.”\nFred\n“There wasn’t anything like that at the boss’s last birthday party. That was about a month before you were hired. I’m a light drinker myself, and I did not have any problems the last time. You would be okay.”\nGeorge’s Inner Voice\n“What can I say now? I’m getting desperate here. Wait. I’ve got one more.”\nGeorge’s External Voice\n“What about smoking? Will that be permitted, even outside? I’m an occasional smoker, especially when I get nervous. And parties make me nervous. I don’t think that the boss smokes, and he might strongly disapprove of those of us who do, even occasionally.”\nFred\n“You’ve got no worries there. The boss smokes. There’s a room in his office that smells of cigarette smoke. And at his last birthday party, he was outside several times with the other smokers.”\nThere is a slight pause.\n‘So are you going to come to the party or not?”\nGeorge External Voice\n“We’ll see. I don’t know just yet.”\nGeorge’s External Voice\n“ Hello, hello, hello, I’m here – George the party boy is here.. Let’s knock back some shots, bust a few moves dancing, I think I see Jeanie standing there in the far corner, all by her lonesome. And we can talk real bad about people who aren’t here tonight. Boss-man, have we ever got something special for you as a birthday present. LET US PAR-TEH. \nHeh, where’s my man big Fred. He is the man who told me about this big time shindig. I want to thank him for that. I haven’t been to a party in at least two weeks. I was going a little stir crazy.”\nJoe\n“Oh don’t you know. Fred hates parties. He’s just one of those shy guys. He’s never been to any of our parties.”" } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: HEY HUMAN\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1077\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about someone who everyone thinks is an extrovert, but is actually an introvert." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "SO, how does the story of humans began. GOD created humans, gave them feeling, emotions , speech of language to speak and express themselves. But human psychology created \"INTROVERT AND EXTROVERT\" by the way it is true or not I'm not aware but as far as I have read. Extroverts are banana and Introverts are like pomegranate, how much is true I don't know but let's begin with the story.\nNia was a girl who was very friendly but at the same time she was reserved type person also, actually Nia was friendly only with those whom she was sure about and reserved with those who she wasn't sure. With her the friends she was the mad one , people used to like her because of her friendly nature but when new people wanted to be with her she used throw tantrums , by saying I like this but I don't want it. Because of this she had only three friends, those new friends in front of them she thrown tantrums , started gossiping about her she isn't like the way she show herself. Her friend jazz was annoyed not because of Nia but because of the gossip .At the same time Nia stopped her social media site wasn't in contact with anybody, now more gossip started some thought she was dead .\nBut her friend was aware of Nia thought's she just wanted to be with herself and wanted a peaceful life without any gossip that's why she stopped everything . Nia wasn't Introvert nor Extrovert she was aware and even jazz was . She just wanted those people in her life who can tolerate her bad side because she was knowing the human tendency , fake people will leave you at the difficult time . Some approached her because they wanted her to be their girlfriend , some because of her study skills but the three friends was her friends because they saw the side of friendship in her. Even though she used to be in anger mode but they were\naware of the reason of anger. After some time the question arose in Nia's mind \" who she was and why she is like this? \" . And the answer came from her heart, the heart said \" Nia is just a name and intro/extrovert is just a baseless thing, Nia is the name of the body and the spark of body is SOUL , and this can't be changed . Friend's will come and go from Nia's life but if the soul left the body , she will be called as body only not by the name of Nia . She got the answer , but she wasn't astonished she said to herself as long as I am with myself and soul is with me, \"I don't need the tags of introvert or extrovert\". After this , Nia started focusing on her career and herself , her friends also left her because of their respective career's but Nia wasn't sad at all . She started the new chapter of her life , where she has a career , her dreams, her soul and she was quite happy.\nHer dream was to go Seoul and she went also during winter their she enjoyed the snow , beauty of nature everything , her best mood was to enjoy the food of Seoul and when she tasted her soul said ,\" Oh lalalalalala\" she smiled on herself their she met new friends and family type . When she came back to home , she planted new trees and went to her office, everything was fun in her life. Then one day she decided to leave the company and wanted too join a new one, she did also as soon as submitted her resignation letter , everybody was astonished they started questioning her and she said I just want to change job and company . After hearing this CEO was her friend , she smiled at him and said 'CONGRALUATION'S \" now you can live your life at peace and be demanding type . Nia wasn't aware of CEO'S feeling, he asked her not to leave she said I can't I have a life which should be fulfilled , he asked in which way you want to fulfill , she glared at him and said with myself only . CEO said , \"If one of your will love you then ? she groaned and said please don't create a story . He said, what if I love you then , you can do job and at the same time you can fulfill your life also. She said you what oh my god! you are joking with me right . I will ignore it then , he pulled her and hugged her, now I'm not joking if this much is not serious for then fine I will tell to the world about my feelings that will be fine with you.\nNia said how could you do this ? I never asked any type of feeling from then how ? he said , feelings can't be controlled and especially that time when someone like you understands me , you are the type of person I need. Now again gossip started in Nia's life and again she left everyone with a smile . But she told CEO you are a person who believes in introvert / extrovert and you also did like others it's not your fault ! not even mine . I'M just unable to make you understand about myself.., :)\nOnce again Nia left , this time she went to Canada for studies and for job also, the only things she took with her was books, plants , luggage and herself. This time soul said to Nia, what are you afraid of bringing someone in your life ? It's the law of nature someone will accompany with me . Nia told I know but, the fact doesn't change what we felt was something else . And that made us leave right! Nia smiled at the sky and said I love you sky!\nThree years passed Nia , was the same she mastered in business and was a reputed business tycoon she went to India at her home to meet her mother and what she saw from outside made her leave . Then she went to the where used to leave alone and started imaging the things she saw." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Dandelion\n\nGenre: christian\n\nWord Count: 3002\n\nPrompt:\n\nBegin your story with a librarian searching for something." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "The timing was uncertain. An elderly librarian was currently scouring the library, trying to find a certain book. “Ah, here it is.” The librarian grabbed the short book, marveling at its cover before flipping its pages. There a familiar name greeted their eyes, and a smile of recognition graced their lips.The old librarian smiled and took a seat. The library was quiet, perfect for the librarian to read the book. Adjusting their glasses, they began to read the story.\n“Life is the only gift that most people don’t appreciate. When things go wrong, they wish they could escape the world or be taken away from it. But there are some people who go through so many trials but still feel grateful and find joy in the world. Even those who can not see the world still appreciate being in it. Mary Berry is a young beautiful blind girl, with short blonde curls and blue eyes. Mary has stayed in an orphanage for as long as she could remember. She has a caretaker named Mrs. Faith, who kindly shares some strawberries with Mary. Mary loves the sweet and juicy flavor as she bites into the strawberry, for it reminds her of her vivid memories of her and her mother sitting together eating strawberries. One sunny afternoon during break time, Mary and Mrs. Faith both walked up a small hill, revealing a swing set, the rope being tightened around a tree branch. Mary sat on the swing and moved her legs up and down as Mrs. Faith started to push her high up in the air. The air was calm and some leaves sprinkled down from the tree above Mary. Mary felt grateful to be alive. A few minutes passed and soon Mary felt the swing go lower and lower, her feet touching the hard ground gently. “Is there something wrong, Mrs. Faith?” Mary asked.\n “There is nothing wrong my dear. There is actually something that you might be pleased to hear!” \nMrs. Faith picked up Mary and led her down the hill. Mary did not understand what was going on but she stayed silent, patiently waiting for Mrs. Faith to explain further. As Mary laid her head on Mrs. Faith’s chest, she hears her heart beating and her chest moving up and down slowly as she inhales and exhales. It gave peace and comfort to Mary, as she remembered the time when she laid her head on her mothers chest. Mary then felt her feet touch the hard ground and her hand tightly held by Mrs. Faith frail hands.\n“Mary, you are finally going home, with your dear older brother, Phillip Berry.” The owner of the orphanage said, her voice stern but soft. \nMary looked around, waiting to hear her brother's voice. \n“Where is my brother?” Mary asked politely. \n“I am right here, Mary.” Her brother said, his gentle and quiet voice filled her with warmth. \n“Let me see your hand, my brother.” \nPhillip chuckled at the words Mary used but proceeded to lay his hand in her hand. Mary placed her brother’s hand on her cheek and caressed it for a quick second. Oh how it gave her comfort just like her mother.\n “It is a pleasure to meet you my dear brother.” Mary said politely.\nShe then let go of her hand from Mrs. Faith and held her brother’s hand fully. \n“Mr. Phillip, I am glad that you and your sister are now together. You truly love your sister, from what you told me you and your sister got separated in different orphanages when your parents passed away. Then because you were old enough to work, you worked for a long time until you had enough money to buy a stable home. Now, you were given the authority to adopt your sister. This is something I will never forget.” The owner commented.\nPhillip smiled and adjusted his hat. \n“It’s God’s love that kept me going, Mrs. Deber. I’ll be on my way now.” \nMrs. Deber waved goodbye to Philip and Mary while Mrs. Faith escorted them to the carriage. As they entered the carriage, Mrs. Faith took out a bag of strawberries from her pocket and placed it on Mary’s lap.\n “Here is a bag of strawberries for you Mary. It is a farewell gift from me, I hope you visit me soon my dear.” \nMary giggled as Mrs. Faith planted a small kiss on her cheek. \n“I’ll visit, Mrs. Faith. Thank you for everything!” \nMrs. Faith's eyes dropped a tear at the kind words. \n“Oh Mr. Phillip, I admire your clothing! Your top hat and coat is a very touching look to you, especially with that blond hair of yours.” Mrs. Faith said. \nMr. Phillip chuckled and responded with a thank you. \n“Goodbye, you two!” Mrs. Faith said. \nSoon Phillip and Mary’s carriage was away from Mrs. Faith’s view. Mary sat quietly on her seat as she began to eat the strawberries that Mrs. Faith gave her. Phillip, who sat in front of Mary, watched her, admiring how much she had grown. She was a true resemblance of their mother, especially the ribbons she wore on the side of her hair. Mary wiped her mouth with her handkerchief and placed her strawberries on her lap. \n“Phillip, where are we staying?” Mary asked. \n. \n“We are first going to visit our neighbor’s house. Since she is an elderly woman and her husband passed away, I have volunteered to help her around the house.” Phillip responded.\nMary nodded at his response and decided to take a small nap. The carriage went on for a couple of miles and soon came to an abrupt stop. \n“Mary, we’re here.” \nMary woke up tiredly and held Phillip’s hand down the carriage. Phillip watched the dark sky and then the bright blue house in front of them. The grass was nicely trimmed and the plants hanging outside the door were just watered. Phillip led Mary to the house and knocked on the door.\n“Coming, Coming.” \nThe door opened and there revealed a tall woman wearing a blouse and a skirt, her hair nicely tightened into a bun. \n“Phillip, you are back!” \nThe woman gave a small hug to Phillip and then moved in front of Mary, bending her knees to look closely at her. \n“You look just like your mother! You look so tired, dear. Come in, Come in! I have some food in the fridge if you feel hungry and there is a guest room at the top right.” \nPhillip thanked her and led Mary into the house. Inside was warm, the air smelling of chicken and tea. \n“Thank you for letting us stay in your home, Mrs. Moon.” Phillip said. \nMary sat on the kitchen table, eating some chicken and drinking pink lemonade that Mrs. Moon had prepared.\n“No problem dear. After all the help you have done for me after your parent’s passing has truly been a blessing. Your sister looks happy and healthy, I am glad the orphanage took good care of her. But now that she has reconciled with you again, I have some news to share with you.” \nPhillip and Mrs. Moon watched Mary set her fork down and walk to Phillip, tugging his coat. \n“I’m tired.” \nPhillip picked up Mary and cradled her in his arms. \n“May we speak of this tomorrow, Mrs. Moon? My sister has had a very long day. I will be cooking breakfast tomorrow if that is alright with you?” \n“Of course dear. Get some rest, and you are free to use my kitchen whenever you like.” \nThe next day Phillip woke up early to cook breakfast and once everyone was awake and ate, Mrs. Moon led Mary to the porch outside to pet the chickens. The breeze was warm, letting Mary enjoy the early morning. \n“Let me grab some strawberries for you dear. Your brother told me of your love for strawberries.” Mary nodded and continued to pet a chick that slept on her lap. \nAs Mary listened to the wind, she heard a set of footsteps in the distance and a sound of a ball.\n“Johnny! Don’t go near the dock!!” A woman yelled. \n“I know, mama!”\nMary heard the sound of the woman going back inside the house and the kid playing with a ball. Mary continued to pet the chick for a little bit and soon heard something go in the water. \n“Are you serious?” The kid said. “Now my ball is going to be wet!”\nMary listened as the kid ran to the dock. But then Mary heard the sound of a splash. \n—---\nBack in the house, Mrs. Moon was cutting up some strawberries and placing them in a bowl.\n“Mrs. Moon, yesterday you said you had something to say now that I have Mary with me.” Phillip said, sitting on a chair. \n“Ah yes, there was news going on around this area, mostly testimonies. My dear friends told me that if you walk into the forest of wisdom, you will see an open field with a tree in the middle of it. There will be a healer. They heal for no price, the only thing you need to do is to have faith.” \nPhillip felt his heart racing at her words. Though it sounded a bit odd and unbelievable, Phillip would do whatever it takes to find someone that can give sight to his sister.\n“Could the healer possibly give sight to my sister?” \nMrs. Moon wiped her hand with a rag and looked out the window. \n“Your relationship with your sister is lovely. If you have faith then anything is possible.” \n“Where is this forest that you speak of?” \nMrs. Moon pointed to the back door. \n“You exit through my back door and into the backyard which will lead you to the forest. Though it would be a half a mile away. Only those who have faith will find the healer waiting for them. You are a good brother.”\nPhillip smiled at her kind words. \n“May you show me the backyard real quick?” \nMrs. Moon nodded and both left the kitchen to the backyard. \n----\n Mary placed the chick to the side and quickly stood up. Her breath became heavy. She has never ran alone, especially to the ocean. But this noise she heard, she knew someone was trying to get out of the water. Mary’s heart began racing as she realized what could be happening. Mary took a deep breath and began to make a small run and thankfully she felt herself at the entrance of the dock. \n“Johnny are you there?” Mary called out. \n“I AM DROWNING! HELP ME!” The kid wailed. \nMary quickly bent down to the floor and began to crawl trying to hear where Johnny was. \n“Johnny, my name is Mary. I am blind and I need to know where you are so that I may help you!”\n“I AM AT THE END OF THE DOCK! HELP ME!” Johnny yelled. \nMary heard Johnny coughing out water and gasping for air. She continued to crawl and felt the end of the dock.\n“Can you see my hand?” \nMary felt Johnny grunt and felt his hand on hers. \n“PLEASE HELP ME! I AM SCARED!” Johnny cried out.\nMary took a deep breath and stood up, her hands shaking of the weight as she felt Johnny starting to climb out. \n“Johnny are you almost out?” Mary grunted.\nMary sighed in relief as she felt Johnny lay on the dock, gasping for air. \n“Can you call your mo-” Mary all of a sudden felt her heart beating fast and her head beginning to hurt. This leading to imbalance, Mary fell into the cold waters.\n----\nPhillip and Mrs. Moon both walked back inside from the backyard. \n“Thank you for everything, Mrs. Moon. If I can, I will take Mary to the forest as soon as possible. Where is she by the way?” \nMrs. Moon placed her hand on her mouth. \n“She must be waiting for the strawberries! She is sitting on the porch, can you bring her in?” \nPhillip nodded and made his way out the house. \n“Mar-” \nPhillip froze at the sight of only a baby chick on the porch. \n“Mrs. Moon she is not here!” Phillip yelled. \nMrs. Moon came out quickly and gasped.\nIn the distance they saw a kid running toward them. \n“MRS. MOON!!” The kid yelled, tears falling down his face.\n“Why are you wet?” Mrs. Moon asked in a concerned voice, trying to calm the kid down. \n“A girl helped me when I was drowning and now she is in the water!”\nPhillip widened his eyes and quickly removed his hat and coat. \n“MARY!” Phillip yelled.\n----\nMary felt her body fall in the cold waters, her mouth forgetting to close causing the water to go in her body. Her body felt weak and with a small amount of strength Mary tried swimming to the surface but she couldn’t. She was going to drown. Oh how Mary feared death, she saved that kid but she felt like she was so young to die. She did not even say goodbye to her brother, this was so sudden. \n“Don’t be afraid, for I am with you.”\nMary heard inside of her head. As Mary felt herself passing out slowly she felt someone wrap their arms around her\n---\nPhillip brought Mary to the surface, gasping for air. He laid her on the dock, many people surrounded them. Phillip started to do chest compression, fear inside of him. \n“Oh Mary, please wake up.”\nThen that is what happened. Mary coughed up water, her eyes tiredly opening. Mrs. Moon, with tears in her eyes, brought a towel and wrapped it around Mary. \n“Am I going to be okay?” Mary quietly said to Phillip. \n“Yes, Mary.” \nMary smiled and drifted off to sleep. \nOne day later, Mary was better with only a few scratches on her leg.\nPhillip and Mary exited the backyard gate and walked into the entrance of the forest. Phillip noticed the height of the trees blocking the sunlight. The air felt colder and colder, Phillip soon lifted up Mary for the rest of the way. After what seemed like hours, Phillip decided to take a rest for the night. He then set up a blanket for Mary and stood watch for a little bit before he went to sleep. The sky turned dark, Phillip now closing his eyes for the night. As Phillip slept, Mary heard a soft humming in the distance. Mary was frightened but noticed how soft the humming was. She stood up and moved a few inches away from the resting area. Mary stood silent trying to hear the humming, it sounded familiar. \n“Mary, what are you doing?” \nMary froze as she heard Phillip’s voice. \n“I heard something, Phillip.” Mary responded.\nPhillip stood up and stood next to Mary. \n“What do you hear?” \n“A person humming. I think I recognize the tune they are humming.” \nPhillip nodded and gripped Mary’s hand. \n“Let’s go find out.” \nBoth Mary and Phillip walked through the trees, Phillip mostly following Mary as she was the one hearing the humming. \n“Here.” \nPhillip looked up and gasped in surprise. In the distance was a huge empty field with only one tree in the middle. \n“What do you see, Phillip?” Mary asked. \nPhillip could almost feel a strong presence by standing here. The healer was around here. \n“A tree in the field. A truly beautiful tree.” Phillip commented. \nMary listened again and heard the humming again. \n“The humming sounds very close!” \nPhillip and Mary made their way to the field and walked through the short grass, filled with flowers. Though it was dark, Phillip could see the tree completely. Its leaves were a light green combined with what looks like bright leaves also. Oh how the beauty amazed Phillip. Mary and Phillip stood in front of the tree in silence, waiting to hear the humming again. \n“Stay here, Mary. I will look around to see if someone is here.” \nMary sat down, leaning against the tree while Phillip looked around the field for the healer. \n“Are you Mary?” \nThe sound of the voice, oh how it sounded calm and kind. \n“Your presence and voice gives me warmth, who are you?” Mary asked.\n“I am the creator of this universe.” \nMary stood up slowly. \n“May I see your hand?” Mary asked.\nA gentle warmth enveloped Mary’s outstretched hand, and as her fingers brushed against something intangible yet undeniably present, she felt an overwhelming rush of emotions - peace and love. \n“Are you made of butterflies? Your presence reminds me of butterflies, they resemble hope and love.” \nThe voice chuckled. \n“No, dear child. I created the butterflies as I created you. They are a reflection of My artistry and love. What can I do for you?”\nMary already felt tears coming down. \n“Lord, please recover my sight.” \nMary felt both of her hands being held by the creator.\n“Go on your way; your faith has made you well.”\nMary opened her eyes and the first thing she saw was a dandelion in her hands.” \nThe librarian closed the book, tears falling down their face. All of a sudden the librarian heard a young girl’s voice. “Mrs. Faith?” Mrs. Faith turned her head and beamed at the sight. “Mary!” Both hugged each other tightly. “I just read your story and oh how beautiful it is.” Mary grabbed a handkerchief from her pocket wiping away Mrs. Faith's tears. “Even remembering that moment makes me cry too.” Mrs. Faith looked behind Mary and gasped in delight at the sight of Phillip. “Oh my dear! You look more handsome!” Phillip chuckled at her response. “Oh how much I’ve missed you both. Oh Mary, how amazing it is that you can see now. How is the world looking to you?” Mary grabbed her brother’s hand. “It is truly beautiful once you know that the Creator of the Universe loves you.” \nThe End" } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: I am ok with that\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1007\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart your story with a character saying, “Are you coming tonight?”" }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "“Are you coming tonight?”\nSaying Maria, leaving me in deep thoughts ‘should I go or have my sweet home weekend’ I stayed quite for a while then answer “I am coming, but promise me to not stay for a long time”.\nMaria with a big smile in her face come and hug me which means she accepted what I say. \n(A few hours later) \nI was nervous about everything; is my outfit suits the place that we are going to? Should I just tell Maria that I am not coming?. \nI tried to kick these thoughts out of my head and focus on being calm and confident to have a good time tonight. \nAfter a while, Maria calls saying that she is waiting for me at the door. \n(After reaching the place) \nI was really nervous at first cause there will be a lot of people that I am supposed to have conversation with, Maria was much more better than me she talk with everyone and try to have with her in conversations. After while I felt like my energy is burning out so I decided to go to toilet to have some space for me and my inner world. \nI came back and we had the birthday cake, it was Maria’s friend birthday. \nWe stayed a little then go back home as Maria promised me. \nI stayed at home the rest of the weekend but on the other side, Maria was partying all weekend. \nThis was putting me in very deep thoughts, am I wrong with this lifestyle? Or is it ok to have my time for myself at home?. \nAnd after weeks of thinking and trying to have to party or socialize lifestyle for few days, I realize that there’s no wrong and right in every creature's lifestyle. \nLet me put it in more organized words ‘if I like to party every weekend that is my choice of living my life like this. On the other hand, if I choose to spend the weekend at home doing my things that’s also my choice of living’.\nPeople's choices in life are based on how they were raised, what they go through, and personal choices. Some people refresh their energy by being around people and others by just staying alone for a while doing their hobbies. \nSo at the end of that year, I understand that I and Maria have very different personalities but we complete each other’s half with this difference. \nI used to hang out with people I used to know always in school, most of them were people I know for a long time or Maria’s friends who she introduced me to them. \nThat year was my last year in school. Maria and I decided about which university are we going to, unfortunately, we were in two different universities. \nAt first it was really hard for me to get along with the new routine. I was facing hardness while trying to have new friends or work in groups and socializing in university. \nI decided to challenge myself and try to have some people around me cause I knew deep inside someday I will need some help in my university journey. The challenge went well I made some relationships with students, even if it was a deep friendship or anything but having someone there if I need some help from the university staff. \nUnderstanding myself made me really calm and comfortable inside and outside, so instead of feeling bad about how I used to be an introvert, I am feeling ok with that. \nAfter a while of being a university student which means I am grown up now I had to be more confident around people but that was not working out at the end I go back to my alone zone. \nOne day, I had that boy who comes to me while I was setting in the calmest spot in the canteen listening to some musing diving in thoughts. The boy was tall with pretty eyes, he came and sets facing me so he could have my attention, he started the conversation by saying “Hi Lora”. \nI feel shocked that he knows my name cause I didn’t think that we talked before this time. \nI ask him “Hi, can I know how did you know my name?”.\nHe smiles “We had been at the same class in our fresh year, we didn’t have any contact after it but I noticed you several times sitting here which is the calmest spot in the canteen”.\nI smiled wanting to end this weird feeling of nervousness mixed with confidence and answers “will, yes I like this calm spot cause it gives me good feelings after stressful classes”.\nHe smiled even bigger “can I buy you coffee and have a talk?”.\nAn inner voice was saying just end this and another says it is ok just accept his offer nothing will be happening!.\nI nodded my face “yes you can Max!”\nHe did not stop smiling and he even gets shocked that I remember his name but didn’t say anything, he moves up and to the counter and come back with two cups of americano my favorite!.\nI thanked him and we start to talk and get to know each other’s personalities, not as a whole but somehow after a while My next class time has come so I end the conversation and start taking my bag and stuff in my hand and start walking away. A sound stopped me it was him again Max asks me to do this again, the weird feeling come again to me but I smiled as big as his smiled and nodded my head saying yes, and walk away. \nIs this weird feeling in my chest is called love or it's just someone has broken my inner world walls?\nWhatever is that, I like it and I want to have it for the rest of my life, I want to know Max more and spend more time around him smiling at 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: The writter\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1041\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart your story with a character saying, “Are you coming tonight?”" }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "\"Are you coming tonight?\", She asked this question every time she would sit down to write! Waiting for the knock on her head, signaling the gushing, pouring river of thoughts her visitor would bring her.\n\nShe knew most people had writers block from time to time; but lately her block was as wide and long as the great wall of China!\nShe even researched articles on the \"Great Wall\" just to get writing ideas.\n\nShe tried walking around the block, going to the gym, starting in the middle of her thoughts; Nothing, it went nowhere in her head. She was getting impatient wanting eagerly to climb to the top of that dead block and start writing.\n\nHer hand went up and slapped her forehead, her head snapped back, wake it up! Nothing! Ouch! Sometimes it hurts to write.\n\nIt's not like she hadn't written before. Her Word Document was Full of her writings, most of them were therapeutic ramblings about her life and what she experienced in her 69 years. She sighed, \"had it really been that long\"? Three marriages, although she only counted 2 of them. The fist was actually when she was only 16, that counts as a \"Learning Permit\".\n\nThe only perfect thing to come out of that marriage was her magnificent daughter, Lisa. Lisa's dad had a habit of going out for a loaf of bread and coming back 3 days later. He was a wonderer, and artist and a very well know \"Pin stripper\" of cars around the country. He was an wonderful father to Lisa, but had no idea what the definition of \"How To Be A Husband\", meant. When he was \"Asked\" to leave their home he went gladly contributing nothing, zero, nadda for years.\n\nThe lady remembered when she forfeited the monetary help. Lisa's dad had come to pick her up for the weekend. The lady had had it! Left without a car, a broken washer and dryer and limited funds through her meager job's she was finally going to make a stand; with a defiant hand on her hip, the other one holding her precious daughter she locked eyes with her ex husband and said, \"Unless I get some help from you, you will NEVER see Lisa again\"! She started to turn and walk away but stopped abruptly, their was a silent tear rolling down Lisa's cheek. The lady let out a sigh, turned back around and placed her daughter into he fathers arm. She never mentioned it again. This made her more determined to do it alone, on her terms, she would become a warrior!\n\n\nThere were writings and poems on her computer of her early life in New Port Beach CA, everything from raising her daughter alone to a horrific event of \"Date\" rap. She came from a family of 10 children, \"A Good Catholic\" family of course but just a dysfunctional as the next family with that many mouths to feed and a father that wasn't physical able to work. That is probably why the marriage at 16; the \"Great Escape\", that went well. She stopped staring at her blank computer and patted herself on the back. Yes, she had made it through a bumpy, harrowing, wonderful \"Mad hatters Tea Party\" of her life.\n\nHer second marriage lasted almost 20 years until the bottom of her husbands alcohol bottle kept magically refilling it self. She left him this poem as she walked out the door.\n\nHis Mistress name is Wine\nHe says he loves her; she makes him feel so fine\nBut she’s made our life a wreck\nEvery night I sit here and watch him hug her neck!\nIt used to be me he would run home to greet\nNow it’s her, I can’t compete\nI watch him nightly sitting there\nShe’s on his lips; she’s on his chair\nHe doesn’t see me anywhere\nHe lies to me\nSays just the one\nI keep counting two three four\nThis time he can watch me as I head out the door\nHis Mistress name is Wine\nAnd I won’t compete anymore\nThey can end up together, again on the floor!\nMaybe this time he’ll follow life’s cord\nAnd end up with Betty Ford!\n\n\nHe wasn't a \"Bad\" man, in fact he was the savior she needed at that time in her life. He took Lisa in as his own daughter. For years they had the perfect marriage; envied by all their friends and family!\n\nShe had sat in her chair, in her office for what seemed like an hour. The lady glanced at the blank page on her computer. Well, it really wasn't blank; at the top of the page there it was in black ink. She had written Assignment one. \"Not bad for an hour\", she thought, but glanced at her clock; it had been one and a half hours.\n\nSure, she had gotten up once or twice for important things like a glass of water, a bowel of peanuts, and a cigarette on the patio.\n\nShe knew she wanted to come up with a great first sentence that would draw the reader in. The lady began to type.\n\n \"She would if she could, but she can't, so she won't\"!\n\nRe-reading that line it suddenly flew out of her head and smashed against her office door, breaking like a Goose egg spilling letters of the alphabet across floor. They began rolling on the tile until they landed against the Lady's dark mahogany antique hutch in her foyer. All at once she was on her knees, on the floor, trying desperately to put them back into her head.\n\nOnce they were back in place, she sat, again in her chair and starred at what she had written. She quickly deleted it and looked back at the page. Assignment one...Well that was start at least. Maybe should she write about NOT writing, \"That was a thought\", she liked it and the words began to flow.\n\nYes, she COULD do this. She could write. Her fingers were tapping furiously on the keyboards until her assignment was finished. A smile of complete and utter satisfaction was plastered all over the lady's face.\n\nYes, you did come tonight, hopefully I'll see you tomorrow!" } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Lucid\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1908\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story where a character runs into someone they’ve seen in their dreams, or enters a building they’ve dreamt about before." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Salt-ridden winds came in like curtains from the coast, layering every surface touched in a sheet of translucent stone.\nThe roads were undrivable, the air was unbreathable, the townspeople of Seafarer were trapped as salt accreted over their sea-side homes.\nNews stations covered the story, broadcasting juxtaposed images of a once vibrant destination, flooded with sun-kissed teenagers and elderly with skin like Tuscan leather, to a now barren landscape where white blankets of salt and rain profusely swept over.\nIt was unknown if any survivors remained.\nThankfully we know of one family, the Saldon’s, made up of Peter, a Botanist and his wife Lily, a horticulturist. They met in university and fell in love, shortly after, having two children, Maxwell and Daisy, two-years apart.\nPeter is a lanky man with an airy disposition, who walked as if each of his legs were pogo-sticks. Lilly grounded him. She was much like an old oak stump that refused to move.\nThey put their minds together, converting their home into a living and breathing ecosystem, with foliage blossoming from every corner, the floor covered in a thin film of primordial water, vines crawled along the walls and thick twine dangled from room to room, along the ropes traveled all sorts of animals: Iguanas, Chameleons, Tarantulas, everyone was welcomed to play their part.\nUnfortunately Maxwell and Daisy were left to their own devices as their parents spent every waking hour busily maintaining their home, life could not be sustained without it.\nDaisy grew incredibly bored of being trapped indoors. One day, she decided to fall into a dream and not wake up. She slept enveloped in silk with a soft and pleasant smile, for who knows what wonders she dreamt.\nMaxwell was left all alone, often spending the days looking out through his bedroom window, watching as salt storms rolled in from the sea. Eventually, even that pleasure came to an end as each layer of salt turned the translucent stone opaque.\nMaxwell had nothing to look forward to left but the night, in hopes that he would finally dream a dream as pleasant as Daisy's.\nFor an unknown reason, Maxwell was unable to dream of anything other than the mundane world he lived in. In his dreams he would reenact precisely what had happened the previous day.\nDespite reading everything from his parents library, which had now been taken over by a new species of moths, he was unable to sustain the phantasmagoric dream he wished for. His dreams would begin vividly, with scenes pulled directly from the book he read as he fell asleep, but slowly those spectacular images would dissipate and reveal his uneventful life.\nSomehow, in Maxwell's preoccupation with dreams, he made a discovery. As he laid in bed staring at the glowing stars against his ceiling, he felt the heaviness of sleep, yet rather than being lulled into it, he fought the sensation, and rather than waking up, he kept his eyes shut. In this limbo betwixt sleeping and dreaming, he had entered a dream between dreams. A lucid dream in which he had full control.\nIn Maxwell’s lucid dream, life was the same, of course. Daisy slept peacefully and unbothered. His parents nervously ran around fending off critters and clipping overgrown ferns. Maxwell saw there was nothing left to do but leave.\nYet wasn't as easy as Maxwell thought. Because the dream was unforgivably realistic, he had to carve his way out with a silver spoon. And because his parents had their own minds in the lucid world, they would sometimes notice him carving the stone and ground him, sending Maxwell to his room. It’s not as if the grounding would be forgotten in the following dream, no, things would carry over. There came a point where Maxwell's waking life and lucid dreams converged, making it so that one was virtually indistinguishable from the other.\nEventually, after some time, Maxwell had reached the end. He squeezed himself through a narrow opening and couldn’t believe what he saw. Everything was covered as if a spider came and wrapped the entire town of Seafarer in its silken web.\nWith salt and rain blowing from every direction, Maxwell walked along a towering crystalized salt wall where the sea-side shops used to be.\nAs Maxwell roamed through the town, something peculiar caught his attention, there was an old man seated on a wooden bench, facing the grey ocean as storms brewed and rolled onto the shore.\nThe old man had a large porous nose and wore a twine colored jacket along with a golfers-green walrus cap.\n“Hey you!” he shouted in a hoarse voice. “What are you doing here!”\nMaxwell was startled and hid with his back against the cold salt wall.\n“Get out of there, kid!”\nMaxwell came out from behind the wall about to run back home but before he could the old man said,\n“Hey, don’t run! Come over here and take a seat. Don’t worry, I don't bite.”\nThe old man schootched over as Maxwell sat on the far end of the wooden bench.\nThey both faced the roaring ocean.\n“You see that?” The old man said as he pointed at the broad sea. “That’s the enemy.”\n“What do you mean?” Maxwell asked, unsure of what he was pointing at.\n“That! The great ocean. That’s the enemy!” The old man exclaimed again.\n“I don’t understand what you mean, mister.”\nThe old man paused and then asked,\n“You go to school, kid?”\n“Yeah. Well, I used to, before the storm.”\n“Hmm, you do look familiar…” he said as he scratched his grey beard.\n“Listen, If I were you, kid, I would forget everything you’ve ever learned. You see, school doesn’t teach a thing. That ocean,” pointing once again at the vast open sea “that’s where you learn your lessons.”\n“The ocean?”\n“Bingo! Yes, that's her name. That tumultuous beast. The ocean will teach you everything you’ll ever need. Life, death, love, and hatred, it’s all in there. If you stare long enough, like me, she’ll eventually gaze back.”\n“Why are you here?” Maxwell abruptly asked.\n“I’m doing what you’re doing, kid, dreaming. You know us old folk still dream too, well, some of us.”\n“As Yeats once said,” The old man licked and smacked his lips,\n\"But I, being poor, have only my dreams;\nI have spread my dreams under your feet;\nTread softly because you tread on my dreams.”\nSo don’t you tread on my dreams! They’re all I’ve got left.”\nThe old man cocked his head back looking at the grey clouds above.\n“Do you know when the storm will end?” Maxwell asked.\nThe old man continued to look up “Hmmm” he thought. “Well, the storm never does end, does it? It just keeps rolling in. It’ll never stop. And if you think it stopped, just know, there’s an even bigger storm somewhere far away, getting larger and larger, and when you thought everything was all good and sunshine, there it will be, ready to wash over everything you love.”\n“So the storm will never end?”\n“Yeah, but don’t worry about it. By the way, what’s your name kid?”\n“Maxwell.”\n“Well Max, call me Charles. You know you ask a lot of questions. That’s good, real good. But don’t expect everyone you ask questions to have the answers.”\nMaxwell and Charles watched as massive clouds formed along the horizon, slowly making their way to the shore.\n“Do you have a plan?” Maxwell said, breaking the silence.\n“A plan?”, Charles cackled. “Forget plans Max, plans don’t get you anywhere. Understand? Plans just get in the way. I used to have a plan, me and my wife, a splendid plan but guess what? Life’s got a plan of her own, and if yours don’t match hers, they're as good as toilet paper.”\n“Does your wife join your dreams?”\n“She used to.\" Charles paused. \"She and I would share all our dreams. We took our dreams as guides through the world, to hell with plans. Now she’s in a dream of her own, and I’ll surely be joining soon.”\n“My sister is in a dream of her own too.”\n“Is that so?” Charles asked, turning in Maxwell's direction for the first time since they began speaking.\n“Yeah, she dreams all day. I wish I could join because she’s always smiling when she’s dreaming, I don’t remember her smiling that much before, so whatever she’s dreaming about must be nice.”\nThe old man smiled and laughed.\n“What’s so funny?”\n“Everything’s funny! Life’s one big long joke and we’re all just waiting for the punchline.”\nThe distant sea became less clear and Maxwell rubbed his eyes.\n“So what should I do if the storm never ends?” Maxwell asked.\n“That’s a good question!”, Charles said and then continued. \n“Well, it can stop, in a sense.”\n“I thought you said it never stops?”\n“I say a lot of things, doesn’t mean I’m right. But it all depends on what you’re looking at. If you look for rain, rain will look for you. If you spend your life just trying to float by then the storm does indeed never end.”\n“You know, I don’t remember a day of bad weather when me and Missy were together. Even if it was pouring cats and dogs, all I ever saw was her.”\n“What do you mean?” Maxwell was beginning to doze off, struggling to listen as Charles talked.\n“Well, when you love something or someone, that’s all you see. You see? The storm still does its thing but it doesn’t matter, what you love matters.”\nMaxwell imagined the things he loved: playing with his friends, snow cones during winter, afternoons on the boat.\n“That’s not love, Max! Those are things you like. See, you don’t always love what you like, and you don't always like what you love. You can only love one thing at a time, no exceptions to the rule.”\nThe old man continued.\n“When you love something, everything else disappears. Even the idea of love. The man in love is as good as blind, he doesn’t know up from down, he doesn’t know a thing. In the same way he doesn’t even realize there’s a storm. See what I mean?”\n“I think so.” Maxwell said as the old man began to fade away.\nMaxwell could feel himself slipping from the lucid dream, his eyelids peeled back and revealed the stars plastered against his bedroom ceiling. \nA ray of light shined against Maxwell's face and he turned to see the storm had vanished. He saw clearly through his window. A sunny day, things were back to the way they were before. \nHis home was no longer filled with plants and creatures. \nDaisy was well awake and seated at the breakfast table with their mother and father.\n“Rise and shine sleepy head!” Lily said with an endearing smile, serving him a big plate of pancakes.\n“Eat up, the bus will be here at any time.”\nMaxwell quickly ate and rushed outside. \nSeafarer was bright and lively. The sky was cloudless, the ocean was rolled in with soft waves. He walked along to the bus stop\nand a sharp yellow bus pulled up beside the curb.\nThe bus doors folded and as Maxwell walked up the steps he was greeted by a familiar rusty voice.\n“Hello Max! Ready for school?”\nMaxwell looked up amazed to see the old man in the same golf-green walrus cap." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Magic inside\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1940\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story where a character runs into someone they’ve seen in their dreams, or enters a building they’ve dreamt about before." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Urban life is very hectic and annoying. Big towers, crowd, traffic and noise make you live in a confined area. Greenery is only constricted to parks. People are so busy in collecting money that they forget about their heart. Amelia never wanted to live like this. She could never imagine herself among heartless people. Destiny has her own way and man has to follow it. It was a sunny day,Amelia was walking through a busy street of Florida thinking of the movie she saw recently. She stopped near a big door. Instead of searching a calling bell.she opened the door and entered the dining area. There was a big mirror hanging on the wall. It was like a giant door with a beautiful wooden frame. Amelia could see herself entirely. She thought of her mom complaining about her excess weight. Suddenly she felt a hand on her shoulder,slowly slowly she could see the entire body of that hand starting from eyes.That blue hypnotic eyes with a thick beard expressing urge to say hello! Her heart forgot to beat. She shouted \"Ahhh!! Who are you? Her eyes were closed and whole body was trembling with fear. The face with blue eyes was as much white like a vampire. Amelia lost her balance and fell down.\n\" Amelia, oh Amelia\" Her mom shouted. Amelia opened her eyes slowly with a fear that the vampire may be just above her to drink her blood. But, she saw her mother calling her name. She quickly glanced around the room and found herself at her own room lying on the floor instead on the bed. Her mom said, \" my girl, you shouted so loudly that I thought a thief entered your room. So i ran with a chopping knief.\" Amelia saw her mom still holding the big knief. She smiled and said, \" relax mom, it was a dream. Dream of that mysterious house with a big mirror.\" Her mom shouted with a rage , \" you and your stupid dreams. Go get ready. It's 8.30 am and you have to report before 10.00 am. Don't forget about your duties girl !\"\nAmelia is a nurse at a health-care hospital. She is a fresher and very dedicated towards her work. Her cute smile and soft voice adds extra essence to her work. Her energetic friendly nature makes a special place in the heart of every patient she meets.\nAfter punching the attendance machine Amelia went towards head nurse's cabin to take the duty chart. When the lift came down. Doctor Smith came out. He is an assistant neuro- surgeon in that hospital. He has a charming personality. Amelia had a crush on him, because he was handsome but not tall like a palm tree, he never flirts with any female staff and doesn't smoke. Amelia hate smokers. She finds herself suffocated when surrounded by smokers. Suddenly she lost in her thoughts remembering her childhood memories with an ugly past. Her house was on the country side. It was a small house, surrounding by mahogany trees with a beautiful garden at the front.Most of the time Amelia used spent her time seating on the garden and watching the birds fly. The garden was Amelia's heaven. Each and every plant of the garden were so dear to her that she named every of them. She planted many yellow roses and sunflower in that garden. One day her father came overdrunk. Suddenly he slipped and fell down at the door and never wake up.Amelia was left fatherless. She was crying not only for her father's death but also for the house which was going for auction. Her father mortgaged the house and borrowed some money. As he is no more so the bank went out for auction. It was then, her mother and she came to the city in search of a housea and a job.\nThe lift reached 10th floor and the door opened with a bell sound. \" Hello Amelia darling!\" a rough hand was trying to hold amelia's hand. Amelia walked cautiously to one side with a fake smile. It was John .Head of hospital's canteen service and an active member of hospital's inner politics. He used to flirt with each girl he met.He has a special attention towards Amelia. Whenever Amelia saw John's face ,'Thanos' image came out in her mind.After greeting head nurse mrs.Nancy, Amelia asked for her duty chart. Mrs.nancy gave a piece of paper. Amelia looked at it,only an address was written on it. Amelia said \"madam you gave me a wrong paper. Please give me my duty chart.\" With a smile Mrs. Nancy said ,\"No my dear girl I have given you the right paper you have to go to the address and take care of an old lady. Amelia smiled and left 'Mr. Lean Devis, Lane 5, market Square' looking at that paper she reached the address.A big house painted in pink colour. Ameila pressed the calling bell with little nervousness because this was her first outside hospital duty. Someone opened the door and Ameila got a mild heart attack after seeing. Yes! Blue eyes on handsome white face exactly like her morning dream. \" It cannot be true not at all\" Ameila mind was explaining itself. \" Hello nurse , please come in.\" Ameila followed the voice. Crossing a well decorated hall, they reached the bedroom. An old lady was laying on a bed. In a slow voice he said \" meet my grandmother Mrs miller Davis. You have to take care of her. She is little moody. Sometimes, she behaves rudely but if you can win her heart she will love you the most.\" Granny woke up by hearing the whispering sound. \" O Liam whom are you talking with?\" After seeing Amelia, she said, \"your new girlfriend? Thank god atlast you choose a girl.\" Amelia and Liam both get fumbled comforting the situation, Liam said, \" granny! I will only marry the girl of your choice, get well soon first. Grandmother smiled and tried to seat. Liam helped her by giving a pillow at her back. Then pointing towards Amelia Liam said , \" granny meet your new nurse, Ms Amelia. Mrs. Nancy has sent her. From today onwards she will take care of you promise me you will cooperate with her.\" Looking at her Granny said, \" but if she will yawn while reading my bed time stories I will fire her.\" Liam laughed and said Amelia be careful.\nAmelia started working. She left home before 7 a.m at morning and came back after granny fell asleep. Amelia owned granny's heart in just a few days with her lovely behaviour. They played indoor games, watch movies. Amelia took granny to the park in the evening. Sometimes Liam also went with them.\nOne day at the afternoon granny said, \" Amelia can you make pumpkin soup for me?\" Amelia got confused because she didn't know where the kitchen was, and she didn't know the recipe so well. After thinking for a while Amelia said, \"ok granny, i will do it but you have to help me with it. You have to guide me in making the dish ready. Granny picked her walking stick and gave command \" follow me girl.\" While passing the dinning area Ameila saw a big mirror on the wall. She was outstrucked. That was exactly the same big mirror she used to see in her dream. Granny called Amelia to hurry up but she was totally lost in her thoughts after watching the big door like mirror. Granny said \" oh poor girl. Don't get attracted by that magical mirror. There is a magical land inside it. But unfortunately member of Davis family can only go there.\" Both laughed loudly. Amelia said, \"as far as I know 'Disney' is the only magic land on the earth and going there is my dream.\" \nAfter telling a Disney land story. Amelia took her back to her bed and said goodbye . In the hall, Amelia saw Liam sitting holding his head down. Amelia thought, ' should I inform him or go silently? He might be in some work pressure. Oh he may have a headache. Amelia you are a nurse and it's your duty to help sick person.' Amelia went near Liam and said \"sir, anything wrong?\" Her voice was so low, that Liam could not hear. \"Mr. Davis, do you have a headache?\" Amelia asked loudly this time. Liam lifted up his face to see Amelia. His blue eyes were flooded and tear drops were rolling down his cheeks. Amelia sat down on the floor near him and asked \"Mr. Davis, what happened? Do you have anything to share? My mom always say that \" A sorrow shared is a sorrow halved if you share with others.\" You can share with me. I will not judge you, l promise.\" Liam gave her a piece of paper to read. That was a medical report of granny. \" We are sorry to inform you that heart transplantation of Mrs. M.Davis couldn't be perform due to age.\" Amelia put her hand on Liam's shoulder to solace him. But, Liam cried like a child and hugged Amelia. Amelia was shocked with this unexpected thing. At first she stood like a lifeless statue but when tear drops fell on her shoulder she hugged back. Suddenly they both got separated by hearing a clapping sound . Granny was clapping with a naughty smile. Liam tried to give explanation. \"No need of explanation my little boy. I have seen everything. Now go and drop her at home.\" \nNext day Amelia was reading a magic land story. Granny was listening her so seriously that her expression was changing with the climax. Liam enter the room and sat near granny. Amelia remembered the condition of ' No interpretation during story time' so she continued. When the story ended up, granny hold Liam's hand and said \" Take my princes to our magical world. Don't you dare to say no to me. I want you to show her the magical world .\" \nAfter few minutes Liam held Ameila's hand and took her to the dinning area. Infront of that big mysterious mirror, Liam asked Amelia to close her eyes. Amelia was shocked. Her dream was repeating. Liam came closer and put a hand on her eyes. With a knock sound Liam remove his hand. Amelia Saw the magic land. Yes,the ground was covered with soft grass. A big beautiful garden surrounded with big walls, Beautiful flowers, birds,little pond with white lily, butterflies were making it more magical.\nAmelia pinched herself \"oh my god,is this real?\" She looked at him in a confused state. With a smile Liam said ,\"Don't be too surprised.You are in a real world. Davis family own this garden and take care of it .No one knows about it except us. The big boundaries look like row of house from outside. My grandfather's father planned this garden.\" \n Liam took Amelia towards the yellow rose plants \" please stand for a while i'm coming.\"\n In a few minutes Liam came with a little rose plant. Liam knelt down Infront of Amelia and said \" Amelia I can't pluck any flower. Will you be my garden partner will you take care of my heart with this garden. Will you marry me ?\"\n Tear rolled down on Ameila's face. She also knelt down and held the plant. \" Yes! I will\" Amelia said in a chocked voice. They kissed each other and lived happily ever after. \n Dreams can be true,so keep watching." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Tasha and her Mum\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1125\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character looking for a sign." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Tasha is Raised by a single mum in a lovely Cabin. She’s average height, very beautiful, and just turned 18. Wake up and see beautiful trees as she opens the window and look up the sky sad, like she’d no reason living. Made the bed, clean the house, prepare breakfast, took a bath before she wakes up her mum and walk her to the living room. She was a good girl, her mum was proud. Pick up her bag and hug her mum so tight as she gets off for school as if she doesn’t want to let go. This was her daily routine. Her Mum had been suffering from an illness over the years. She was an accountant, intelligent, and a top student of her class with a 3.7GPA. She was timid, although having a lot of friends. She was sad in school most of the times. When friends ask about it, she’ll say ‘I don’t want to border you guys with my problems”. She’d no boyfriend, she pushes them away every time. She was so tired of worrying about her mum because her mum had been ill since she was just 10. Some days at school, she’ll rush to the toilet and cry asking God to show her a sign or something she can hold onto that’ll give her strength to keep living. On Tuesday, classes where over and Tasha is coming back from school, swinging the two arms with anxious to see her mum when she show up home. As she draws near, her uncle was standing just outside the main door. He looked worried. With quick instincts, she shouts out 'mummy' racing into the house just to see her mum stiff on the bed struggling to breed. Her uncle had called for the ambulance and was waiting outside. \nTasha dropped her bag and followed her dying Mum to the hospital, where they put her on oxygen and the doctor attended to her. She underwent x-ray and the illness had gotten worst. Tasha is by her side, twirling her hair and watch her struggle with life until finally gave up the ghost after three days in the hospital. She knew this day will come, but she couldn’t help it but shed tears. After her mum’s funeral, she got home and In tears, she coincidentally found her room. Locked the door hard. Get down on the carpet and incline toward the bed edge. Listening to the birds sing and the breeze blow across the window, she felt like the world is crumbling. She was depressed, lonely, and lost. She locked herself up for days and didn’t border about classes. Her instructors connected with her since her GPA was slipping. She Dropped out and all expectation was no more. Her uncle requested to come and lament at his place so he could watch after her. She said “I need to be left alone “. She could barely even eat and was getting thinner. One sunny day she took a walk down to a bridge, shouting for all to hear asking God to give her a sign to continue to live. Tom her friend at school saw her on his way from hiking. It was a weekend. He saw her crying. They told him what had happened. He came and comforted her, asking her to stop crying. And reassured her that any where her mum is right now she’s happy and she’ll want you to move on with your life, get back to school; get good grades, get a good job, and make her proud. She smiled with tears rolling down from her eyes and told him she was not emotionally and psychologically ready to get back to school. Tom advised her to go slowly and that God will give her an indication when she's prepared. She was a little relieved when Tom said because ever since her mum got sick she always ask God to show her a sign that He’s up in heaven looking after her. She hugged Tom like the way she used to hug her mum, thanking him for caring. Tom then walk her back home and told her they were writing exams in two weeks as he rides his bike off. Tasha is now home alone. She went upstairs to her mum’s room and saw mum’s photos lying down at the corner. She picked them up, admiring them, and placed them on her chest as though she’s embracing it. She folded her mum’s dresses and put them in boxes, also shoes. Get these boxes outside leaving only a photo that she took with her Mum. She had to burn all of them because she cries every time she sees her mum’s stuffs.\nHer phone rings and is Tom on the phone. She picks it up and he asked how she’s doing and then ask her if they could go and take a walk, Tasha gladly accepted. They went out into the woods, talked, make jokes, and laughed. Tom is happy to see her smile. He inquired as to whether she is all set back to class. She sighs bowing down her head and he advised her not to stress that he will help her breezed through her approaching coming semester tests. Tasha asked Tom why he was so kind to her and he told her “I had been nice to you ever since remember?, but you are always the one that pushes me away every time”. And went on to say tell her he didn’t want to meddle. Tasha told him she was going through a lot in her life and was so depressed that she could not talk to anybody. Tom told her that he will be there for her anytime that she needs him. They hugged and held hands as they came back. Tasha is on the bed and continue to picture the minutes she had with Tom in the forested areas, how delicate and cherishing he was. She was falling head over heels for him. Tom and Tasha started dating and somehow there’s hope. Tom helped her study for the exams, she was smart. She went to her Mum’s grave to tell her that she’s going in for the semester exams and asked if she was happy where she is, also she told her she’s getting married to Tom on her graduation day if she passed. Tom had proposed to her and she accepted. Tasha wrote the exams successfully with Tom. The results came out and they passed, graduated, and got married. They later got Jobs and Tasha went to church to thank God for sending Tom to her. And she visited her mum’s grave on her birthday, to give her flowers. Tom and Tasha lived happily." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: One Night Out on the Lake\n\nGenre: christian\n\nWord Count: 2905\n\nPrompt:\n\nSet your story after aliens have officially arrived on Earth." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "One Night Out on the Lake\n\nThe best time to fish for walleyes is the last half-hour of sunlight. Every fisherman worth his weight in nightcrawlers knows that. It is also the best time to be out on the lake for any reason, or even better, for no reason- the wind dies down, the temperature drops, the sky presents a tapestry of extraordinary colors, all is quiet and still, and it is enough to just be there. Marty knew this better than any man alive, and he took full advantage. He was there so often even the fish recognized his boat. The occasional cherry on top was a full moon rising above the pines, and on this memorable, spectacular night, Marty had it all.\nThe hum of his 10 HP Merc broke the silence and floated across the lake as he cruised toward his favorite spot. Marty shut down the motor and glided another 30 feet before he dropped anchor. He sent his minnow to an inglorious fate at the lake bottom, pulled it up a few feet, opened a beer, and took a few puffs of his cigar. Heaven on earth. Why not?\nThe sun set, the moon took center stage, and the cloudless sky was splashed with a spectacular umbrella of stars. It was as quiet as an empty church at night.\nMarty didn’t notice the slight tugging on his line. His eyes and full attention were on the approaching light steadily moving across the lake’s surface. It was just a few feet above the water, but it didn’t appear to be a boat as he saw no red and green running lights, just a single bright white light with a hint of a diffuse glow around it. Marty heard no sound, and there was no sail, only the bright white light heading straight for him. Curiosity and fear were vying for top billing in Marty’s brain as the object drew closer.\nThe light of the full moon revealed something that appeared to be more earthly, but just as strange. Marty saw the silhouette of a person standing on the bow of an old wooden boat. The fact he wasn’t paddling or rowing added to the mystery.\nThe old man’s boat stopped just feet from Marty’s boat and held in place despite a slight breeze from the north. Fear dissipated into the warm night air as Marty sensed no threat from the man, and he was now consumed only by the who and why.\nIt was an old man with a full beard, dressed in a long white robe. He was holding a lantern that emitted a perfect circle of bright, white light around both boats, and Marty felt a shudder run from head to toe.\n“Are you Marty?”\n“Uh…yes, I’m Marty.”\nThe old man looked at a crumpled piece of paper.\n“Yeah, they told me I’d find you here. I guess you like to fish. It says that right here.”\n‘They’, thought Marty, who are ‘they’? Marty was too puzzled to think and uttered a mindless response.\n“Yes…I think this is the best time for fishing.”\n“Couldn’t agree more. Fewer worldly distractions. It’s easier to focus on what matters in life, so yes, it’s a good time to be out fishing.”\nThe mystery of the man grew as Marty had no idea what the old man was talking about.\n“I don’t believe I’ve seen you out here before. Are you from around here?”\nThe old man laughed.\n“Oh, that’s a good one. No, I’m not from anywhere.”\n Marty of course found this to be an odd response and thought the old man might have “issues”. And as the watercraft appeared to be only borderline seaworthy, the old man standing on the bow of a rickety wooden boat riding low in the water made him nervous.\n“Your boat is a little… different. I didn’t hear a motor, there’s no sail, and…”\nMarty peered at the inside of the unusual stranger’s boat.\n“…and I don’t see any kind of a battery or electrical device. How the heck is that thing powered?”\n“That’s a good question. I don’t know. Not my department. He doesn’t always tell us everything.”\n“He? Who is he?”\n“If you don’t know who ‘he’ is, you’re in bigger trouble than I thought.”\nMarty had little time to digest the comment as the tip of his fishing pole was suddenly yanked downward. He grabbed the pole, and pulled hard to set the hook, but felt no resistance.\n“God dammit! I lost it.”\n“Watch your language! One more of those, and I might lose you!”\n“Listen, nice meeting you whoever you are, but I came out here to fish, so…”\n“Same here.”\n“What do you mean?”\n“I’m out here fishing too.”\nMarty took another quick look at the old man’s boat.\n“Uh…you don’t have a fishing pole. How do you expect to catch a fish if you don’t have a fishing pole?”\n“I’m a fisher of men.”\nNow Marty knew he was dealing with someone not quite right in the head.\n“How nice. Look, you should go back to town. You’ll find a lot of them there.”\n“You’re telling me? I’ve been there. We’ve all been there, but tonight’s assignment puts me right here. You should feel special. We do a lot of group therapy with regular visits to this world, but this is a very targeted mission. Not everyone gets a one-on-one. You must show promise.”\n“Uh…you visit this world? Like you’re not of this world…like an alien or something?”\n“Well, we’re normally not called aliens, but I guess you could say that. Yes, I am not of this world.”\nMarty thought the guy was nuts, but the boat…the boat that moved without power and seemed to move effortlessly over the water…made him wonder.\n“I’m sure this will all seem a little odd to you, Marty, but I hope this turns your life around.”\n“Turn my life around? What do you…and by the way, how do you know my name?”\nThe old man again looked at his notes.\n“It’s all right here, Marty…name, tracking, sightings, sins, wandering off the path… I’d show you, but that’s a no-no.”\n“My sins, tracking…who are you?”\n“Peter.”\n“Peter? Peter who?”\n“Just Peter. You know, the way they do for really famous people like Elvis or Madonna. Or you could throw in a Simon if you wanted to, Simon Peter. There’s also a nickname I was quite fond of- ‘Rock’. Did you know I was the Rock before the Rock was the Rock?”\nA boat that moves without power, sins, a long white robe, Simon Peter, a fisher of men…the light bulb went off. Marty laughed.\n“Hey, I went to Catholic grade school. I’ve read the Bible. I get it. You’re supposed to be St. Peter, but you’re a little early for Halloween. It’s only September. The boat’s a nice touch. You’ll have to tell me how you do that. And why practice on me?”\n“That’s not funny, Marty. This is serious stuff. Do you want to catch fish or save your soul?”\n“Wait a minute. Is this something like those Jehova Witness people coming to your house to preach the Bible? Man, you are really going that extra mile…the outfit, the boat, coming out on a lake in the middle of the night. I got to hand it to you, but I’m all set with the religious stuff, so you can move on to the next house…or boat. Thanks for coming.”\nThe old man shook his head in frustration.\n“They told me you’d be one of those more difficult cases.”\nCuriosity made a comeback; Marty had to ask.\n“More difficult? What do you mean?”\n“Well, take the really evil ones, the bad people. It’s easy to point out how they need to shape up and change their lives. Even they know they shouldn’t be doing what they’ve been doing. The ‘Tweeners’ are more challenging.”\n“Tweeners?”\n“Yes, you line up like a lot of people, not doing bad things, but not really doing good things. You’re just sort of here. And that’s not acceptable, Marty.”\nMarty was getting drawn in.\n“And the challenging part?”\n “It’s harder to get people to do good things than it is to get them to stop doing bad things.”\n As strange as it was for an old man to show up in the middle of a lake in a boat that seemed to move on its own, Marty’s mind was now contemplating the man’s words. Good things, bad things…how did it all fit into his own life? The message sufficiently piqued his interest that he wanted to know more about the messenger.\n“Alright, all very good, but you’ve got to tell me who you are and what you’re doing out here.”\n“It’s true that I’m not of this world, but I’m not your typical run-of-the-mill alien; I’m not even of this Universe. I am St. Peter.”\nThe seriousness of the moment slipped a bit as a wry smile appeared on Marty’s face.\n“Right.”\n“Fine, I run into this all the time. What do you want for proof?”\nMarty thought for a moment.\n“Well, since we’re out on a lake, how about you do the walk-on-water thing?”\n“That wasn’t me, you ninny. And you said you read the Bible. Oh, my goodness, you should have been paying more attention to Sister Martin’s religious instruction in 7th Grade rather than harboring those impure thoughts about Susie Parker.”\nMarty’s eyes popped wide open, and he almost fell out of the boat. Sister Martin, 7th Grade, Susie Parker…impure thoughts. The old man nailed it!\n“How…how do you know about any of that?”\nAnd as an afterthought to defend himself…\n“And I never had impure thoughts about Susie Parker.”\n“Right.”\nMarty struggled to figure out how the old man knew such things.\n“You must know my family or someone who went to school with me.”\n“Sure I know them. I know everyone and everything about them. I know everything about you, Marty. Maybe that will convince you. Try me.”\nMarty accepted the challenge.\n“My favorite color?”\n“Blue.”\n“Food?”\n“Pizza. Come on, Marty, you can do better than that.”\n“Ok, my pet turtle’s name when I was a little boy?”\n“Speedy.”\n“First girl I kissed?”\nThe old man laughed.\n“Well, we know it wasn’t Susie Parker. Angela Jones, ninth grade, in the alley behind Billy Johnson’s house.”\nMarty was running out of ways to not believe. He gave it one final shot.\n“Biggest walleye I ever caught?”\n“Seven pounds, four ounces, and twenty-nine inches. You caught it right here on a red and white silver spoon. It rained that night.”\nMarty had no words as he stared at the old man in disbelief.\n“Could you maybe do a miracle or two, you know, just to make it more believable?”\n“Oh ye of little faith, sorry, I don’t do tricks. I just know things, like the day you copied off Bobby Carlson’s paper on that 5th Grade math test, or how you lied to your Dad about eating all your navy beans, or the times you tried to peek down Susie Parker’s…”\n“Ok, ok! That’s enough. I believe.”\n“I’m sure this must come as a complete shock to you, Marty, but I am St. Peter, the first disciple, a fisher of men.”\nMarty’s head had fogged up. None of this seemed possible.\n“Alright, let’s say you are St. Peter. What are you doing out here, and why now?”\n“Why not here? Why not now?”\n“Ok, then just why?”\n“Even if you mistook me for the one walking on water, I have to believe you’ve heard the words, ‘Many are called, but few are chosen.’ Well, Marty, you’ve been called, but you’ve not been chosen.”\n“What?! I’ve led a good life. I…”\n“Let me stop you there. You’ve led a ‘not bad life’, Marty, not a ‘good life'. A lot of people make that mistake. A ‘not bad life’ does not equal a ‘good life’. There’s quite a gap between the two. But fortunately for you, we’re strong believers in second chances. I mean, Mary Magdeline, the Penitent Thief, Jean Valjean…”\n“Jean Valjean? He wasn’t a real person.”\n“We cast a wide net. But that’s beside the point. I know I’m going out on a limb here, but do you know this one? ‘Whatever you do to the least of my brothers, you do to me. Whatever you did not do for the least of my brothers, you did not do for me.’ You scored pretty high on the scale of not doing bad things to people, Marty, but you kind of washed out when we looked for the good things you’ve done for people.”\n“Wait a Catholic grade school minute. I’ve avoided sin my whole life…well, at least the big ones, the mortal sins I think you’d call them. That’s all they ever said I need to do.”\n“That only gets you halfway there, Marty.”\n“Well, I’ve done lots of good things, too, like I’ve worked hard and provided for my family. We have a nice house, good cars…”\n“I need to stop you again, Marty. Those are things you had to do, the bare minimum. You are obligated to support your family. And the house and cars? Those are for you too, Marty. Let me help you out here.”\nSt. Peter again looked at his notes.\n“I see here…you play softball twice a week in the summer and bowl once a week in the winter.”\n“Yes.”\n“Have you ever coached one of your kids’ T-Ball, baseball, or basketball teams?”\n“No.”\n“Bingo! Have you always had a nice Thanksgiving feast with your family?”\n“Yes.”\n“Have you ever volunteered to serve Thanksgiving meals at a homeless shelter?”\n“No.”\n“Bingo!”\n“I kind of see where you’re going with this, but could you maybe please stop saying bingo?”\n“Certainly. Do you keep your sidewalks clear of ice and snow in the winter?”\n“Yes.”\n“Have you ever shoveled the snow in front of the widow Jenkins’ house?”\n“No.”\n“Gottcha’!”\nMarty lowered his head.\n “I guess I’d rather go with ‘bingo’ if that’s alright.”\n“Certainly….”\nAnd so it went. St. Peter went through a long list of volunteer activities that would qualify as doing something for the least among us: checking in on sick or elderly neighbors, foster parenting, tutoring a child, adopting a child, Big Brothers, fundraising for charities, pen pal for a prison inmate, Scout Troop leader, pro bono professional services, volunteering at animal shelters, Feed America, blood donor, help out at kids’ sports events, Habitat for Humanity, neighborhood litter cleanup, visiting lonely souls in nursing homes, mow your neighbor’s lawn, and so on. Anyone within earshot might have thought a rapid-fire Church Bingo tournament was going on out on the lake, with a sheepish ‘no’ from Marty followed by a near celebratory response from St. Peter: “no- Bingo!; no- Bingo!; no- Bingo!” When St. Peter set down his list, the score was a disturbing 99 Bingos, 1 Gottcha’, and zero “Attaboys”.\nA dejected Marty spoke in a barely audible tone.\n“I guess I could have done more.”\n“More?! You haven’t done diddly-squat! With your big score on the ‘Don’t-Bee’ table, even the bare minimum on the ‘Do-Bee’ scale would have put you over the top. What have you been doing with your life?!”\n“I’m sorry. I wish you…or someone…would have showed up and told me all this a long time ago.”\n“Marty, we’ve been here all along. We’ve been talking to you every day. You just weren’t listening. Take heed of the message, Marty. You have time.”\nSt. Peter’s boat slowly started to turn.\n “I have to go. I’m really booked up. We all are. You earth people are keeping us busy.”\n“I’m curious. If you’re not of this world, not even of this Universe, where do you go?”\n“It would be hard to explain. It’s a place that you could not imagine, but you’d like it there. That’s the best I can do.”\n“Will I see you again?”\n“See me? No, but I will be able to hear you. And you’ll hear me, Marty, if you’re listening. I’ll be rooting for you.”\nSt. Peter looked at Marty with a sympathetic eye.\n“This is critical stuff, Marty. Do you understand what I’ve been telling you?”\n“I do.”\n“It’s a big part of why you were put here, Marty, to help others. I'm sure you remember hearing these things as a child- 'Love thy Neighbor' and 'It is better to give than to receive'. Those words still apply, Marty. They will always apply.\"\nMarty looked at St. Peter, then at the awesome, humbling canopy of stars above, and a hint of a tear formed in the corner of his eye as he measured his place in this world and thought of all the things he had not done in his life.\n“I think your heart’s in the right place, Marty. I’m confident you’ll turn it around. Just be more aware of where you may be needed, what you can do for others, how you can fulfill your purpose.”\n“I’ll try.”\nMarty saw a bright white light in the distance, slowly moving across the lake’s surface.\n“Look, Peter, there’s another light out here.”\n“That’s my brother Andrew. Like I said, you folks are keeping us busy. Everyone gets a second chance at receiving the message. Do you know anyone who needs a visit?”" } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Gabriel : Guardian of the Galactic\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1301\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character looking for a sign." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "On 11 November, Eleven minutes after the clock tower on the church of the Galactic struck eleven times, I could feel the vibration. Deaf I was, but not blind to see the saw-edged lightening fall near my mom and dad in the far distance. They flew apart into the sky, as if they had wings of an angel. I watched in amazement. Galactic was torn into bits, luckily our mansion had no scratch.\nGabriel! shouted my grandma and grandpa in unison. My old grandma hastened up to me and held my hands tight as if she did not want me to go the heavens with the angels. The bloody silver flash on our silver painted mansion, made it invisible for few seconds.\nI am 22 years old today, and was only 11, when I saw the miraculous fall of light and last sight of my beloved parents. They taught me the language of sign but selfish they were to leave behind me and my six brothers. I was the oldest of all.\nOne day I was gazing at the blue moon, my first brother Uriel came to me and said, “I can’t see anything than recurring two’s, he said”\nSee the time now is 22:22, On the twenty second of February. Is there anything superstitious, Uriel asked. \nI quiet simply rubbed it off to be a coincidence.\nHe then went on saying, wherever I go, whatever I see I, the number two hallucinates me like hooks all over. \nNext day, my third brother Raphael also uttered to me that he had illusions of figure three were disturbing his mind. \nFor sure He did not know, what had transpired between me and Uriel. \nI went to my grandma, who do believe there is god in the heavens. She said, “Gabriel, spirits do exist, the good rays eats up the bad ones. Have you heard about the fallen angels? ‘How art thou fallen from heaven, O Lucifer, son of the morning!’ Once a beautiful angel named Lucifer who defied God and fell from grace”.\nshe could tell this to me, just by using her hands and her beautiful face. \nI wondered if Selaphiel’s head was raining four’s. He was an introvert. I was nervous, as I slowly walked to him. He signalled, with both his hands for asking me what happened to me. Thanks, he looked, alright. \nI kept seeing eleven’s allover. In the edges of buildings, walls, windows; any squarish, rectangular shaped object only showed itself to me as 11:11. My mind was blaring, my eyes dimming, I felt very weak.\nAs the dusk closed in, Selaphiel looked into his digital watch and asked me, brother its 4:44 and should we go for a stroll. I replied, most certainly, we should. As we both went into the woods, we firstly saw four children playing, then four birds returning to their nests, four boatmen lazily moving their hands on the oars. He did talk about all of them but didn’t interpret what I did. I could feel each artery carrying blood in double speed. If I closed my eyes the darkness got overshadowed with sparkling light like falling stars and then suddenly, it all disappeared like magic. \nAs We walked back, children were playing on the swings. I hallucinated the two swings tied to the branches of the trees as 11:11. I asked Selapheil by pointing towards the same, “what do you see up there?” He showed me four fingers with the thumb pressed in, waved it downwards, he saw four ropes swinging to and fro. For a moment, I was perplexed, my heart almost stopped, I closed my eyes in astonishment. \nOur parents were god-sent, they taught us to be brave. From my mother, I learnt compassion, she was a graceful, always wished our good, admired us. The happiness we possessed was all taken away by the wicked evils on the dreadful day. Before bed we all prayed to the holy Jesus to keep them in heavens, far from where the spirits of hell could breach. \nEveryday In my sleep, I cry, remembering them. \nWith the dyslectic state of mind, the numbers were throwing in all directions. I finally slept.\nThe sun rays pierced into my room, the heat inside the quilt woke me to see Raguel, my fourth brother who had nightmare with five angels from the heaven, fighting with another five devils of the hell. He was discomfited and he clamorously shouted that “ We are surrounded by supernatural powers, It is impossible that we will not be slayed by the witches”. \nInstantly, I embraced him and put him to ease, said “Brother, do not get perturbed with such annoying dreams. Will figure out something at the soonest”. \nAfter all this, my grandpa confided in me one secret. He tremor-ed badly as he always did, while signaling to me that every fortnight my parents came in his dream. They were flanked by two angels who bring them to the earth from the gateway of the heaven. But yesterday, my father revealed that they have been possessed by some unnatural beings the evil ones, and foiling all there attempts to unite with the family, in a whisker they vanished in thin air. I did not know what to say, was happy to hear the contentious but rather improbable truth of union with my parents.\nIncessant attempts of exorcism by ordained priest through reciting endless prayers using sacramentals and relics went on for few days and weeks. But for no relief.\nOn the sixth of June, Barachiel also had his spell of the illusive figurines turning into number six, since he pre-empted this, the misery was to some extent reversed.\nWe all started believing that our parents did not die, but were missing. It is quite possible that they could have been thrown away by the lightening on that awful day. To the North of our farmland, there existed a deep gorge beneath which, river Venus flowed furiously. No human had ventured on the other side of the river. \nBarachiel, also suggested me that the number eleven also meant the parallel line showing northwards, we must carryout our search in that direction.\nMeanwhile, the satanic priests from the Church told us another shocking news. He said that one of our family member will die in this risky venture. Our footprints extended to the territory close to the deep gorges to the South, still we were unable to cross the river Venus.\nFinally, on the 07 of July Michael tried to dodge the number seven from his head. He seemed to have been possessed by demons. All attempts to dispossess the physical manifestation failed. Michael’s health started deteriorating, on the tenth of November, he took his last breath. He probably died of dehydration and undernourishment. The despair and the feeling of hope died with Michael, my youngest and sweetest brother. \nWhile the adventure of crossing Venus was going no where but to the dead end of Michael’s departure.\nIt was first death anniversary of my parents tomorrow. All of us, less Michael and my parents, who we thought were in the heavens were grieving for them, We had planned prayers at the church. \nWe saw another melancholic dawn of 11 Nov, We all walked to the church together, As usual the clock tower struck eleven. While the chrurchgate was at stone-throwing distance from our mansion, carrying my gradma and grandpa to the prayer hall took us time. While we walked the path Michael’s pain reverberated through our minds. \nWe reached the church gate, I turned my left arm to see the time, it was 11:11. I raised my head towards the centre piece the Holy Jesus, from the altar, through the halo, we saw my parents approaching towards us. \nJamais vu ! !" } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on 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 Sleep\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1093\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story where a character runs into someone they’ve seen in their dreams, or enters a building they’ve dreamt about before." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "I have 100 dollar bills running around my sleep, when I wake up they all go away and I am inside a forest full of beauty and shining, I walk outside while my soul is lifting with the sun that comes from the tallest tree and the biggest mountain, the glaciers of water surround me and rotate around my world of dry tears and empty thoughts, I wonder where everyone else is at an what kind of problems I have, without money, without a house, without anyone to talk with, in the most beautiful place yet to be in. As I come down from the air everything freezes and it gets really cold before it starts to snow and a lot of memories make me feel warm. I speak mundane and I walk towards views of fogginess that surface around in every corner I wish to settle in. And if it starts to rain I won’t know what to do as my lips no longer can move, I close my eyes and imagine I know where I will be if I continue to keep my legs moving, and all of a sudden, I run into an envelope, saying: Fear your new views, your new thoughts\", and I begin to think, is this being said to me because I no longer care about where life takes me? And my steps become stumps and those stumps became regrets and the sky gets dark and here comes another forest ahead of me, and I get wild and start running chasing nothing just my fears, and I stop at the tip of a waterfall full of life. I think to myself If I see the sun or the moon or the grass green in the morning if I happen to be sad only because I don’t have much, then what do I have? Ambitions, selfishness that is all illusions to a new beginning which is only so far away, do they matter, do they make my present, so if I go down this waterfall will I find everything I had been looking for? Do our worries come from this earth that gives us everything we need? Do we really care deep inside about ourselves? Or what everyone expects us to have? Where is the long elastic-free ride to the feelings of self and what it means to run away from whatever wants us to be like everyone else, I come to this end, hoping it will be my best view before who knows what happens next, you see you can actually go anywhere with your feelings as long as you know deep inside you are not living trapped and nothing will stop you from waking up every day and knowing you will be okay with or without clothes, a place to live, or finally a dog? It doesn’t matter what you do not have, what matters is how you feel and what actually is most meaningful to absorb and never let go of as this one life can raise you from the dead and take you back and swirl your world make it all green until you finally wake up and see what other colors are to live. You might call crazy, a person who is happy for reasons you cannot understand, when a person desires to feel happy nothing should stop them, you enter a world without meaning to the actual reality, where you may be lonely but you understand to be alone will serve you just as much, it doesn't matter as long as you understand that this world is not small at all to believe we are alone. If we decide to residue in the waves of the ocean instead. Well, then bloody salt, I cannot swim down further on my dreams. you finally wake up and see what other colors are to live. A good time to be born to be felt to be bleeding, and surrounded. By all\nthe open Sky; It’s all part the whining. And bloody sweat of one big wound that is also celestial, a shower of clear water if one knows the meaning of it. It all comes together like the sea at times picking up anything or devouring it as fast as the wind that manages to make it all seem less irrelevant. Oh, my love, where have you been.\n I have grown to learn that it feels like you've built a character out of the little I can control. How is it that even though my sleep\n and all of my thoughts you take over one way or in all forms.\n And if I don’t rely on you I am a dead fish or the salt of the sea, \nundrinkable, and unable to be used by humanity as well as the destroyer of all kinds of regular forms that cannot stand what is made up of. While the leaves of the trees continuously come and go, how the salt of the sea sucks the fingers of the human cells up and dries the skin after you stay in it for too long, even if we care or if we don't whether you love the sea or can’t help being soaked by it oh that’s how love feels when you are missing from those you know as much as from those you don’t. The sea may bring much more fish and have all kinds of creatures and hold the deepest secret but nothing can have the same meaning. The salt that surrounds it is as different as the water and The water that makes up the living for the fish is a single as the strength of every wave that brings the living and shakes the earth. And if I were to fall in it with all of this blood I would not know how long I will last for it is all kinds of creatures that are silently enjoying the single right of existence and nature and are so used to it, so don’t expect my blood to last me much, When it is all gone, as I float around bleeding myself out \nI will remember the waves' sounds and how the sun made my heart feel warm. as timing allows the most powerful force to take over me\nI won’t have time to think much unless I am ignorant enough to listen to how my body reacts and remember First or before \nif anyone out there ever made me feel I was present \nand sucked out as well as in while drowning in my own." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: You are a Sign of Beauty and Intelligence.\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1016\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character looking for a sign." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "I am looking for a sign. A sign could guide me through the darkest moment of my life, the deepest valley of the mountain and the most mysterious ocean where I had drowned.\nI am looking for a sign. A sign could lead me through the mist, through the jungle of mazes, through the foggy forest, through the most furious thunders and storms.\nI am looking for a sign. A sign could show me the path of hopes and dreams, the beautiful marbles on my journey, the toughest weeds and wildflowers grow on my way to my legacy.\nI am looking for a sign. A sign could coach me when I was lost in the sea of confusion, teach me when I was mazed by temptations and illusions, show me how and why when I was confused by evil and villains.\nThen you showed up in my life, my Hero.\nYou are a sign of phenomenal beauty. I have never seen anyone else like you. No matter what happened, you always face the situation with the most gorgeous smile. I often ran to you and asked for your help when I was bullied in school or at work, then you always told me that, when I am facing bullies, just simply smile at them, they would think I am going to bite them. Honestly, this trick works every time I tried. When I was bullied, I felt sad and defeated, but with a smile, my mood and temper magically disappeared and I also had the most power weapon for bullies – forgiveness and courage. As a honorable Veteran, you taught me, hatred is the origin of all evils. Hating someone might hurt your enemies for a while, but it will hurt you at the same time and leave a scar on your soul. I watched your scars and wounds from the battlefields, which you had fought for most of your life, I believe in you and I am keeping my smile.\nYou are a sign of forgiveness. Ever since I was little, I had always been a terribly naughty child. I could never settle down in any situation and I was almost diagnosed with some mental problem. I was too active so I triggered so many troubles and some people even called me trouble-maker. Until I went to you, I was not sure what happened to me, I was totally tamed by you. Maybe it is because of your experience in coaching high school boys in baseball games, maybe it is your years experience in leading and coaching soldiers in several battlefields, maybe it is your true love in teaching, maybe it is your genuine talent in herding people, maybe it is your ingenious insight in studying people, maybe it is your intelligent thoughts in psychology, I am not sure. You never mind what I had done in the past, and always remind me that, everyone can have a chance to go back to the origin as long as the person put a mind to it. You always say, between good and evil, there is always an option, and the choice can be made by no one else but you. Tomorrow can be beautiful and ugly, and you are always the person who can make the choice. This world is beautiful because you make it beautiful. I always leave your words in my mind, and they always make me smile and never give up for the future. It is your forgiveness and generosity give me hope and dream, and give me the courage to move forward.\nYou are a sign of greatness. You are a very humble person and always look like a friendly convenient store man. No one can tell from your appearance and behavior, that you were a once fought in battlefields where terrorists were raging their fires and guns and killing innocents. No one could tell from your smile that you were a serious military Judge who was responsible for exercising justice and make sure the society is in a fair environment. No one can tell you were a Man, who drove various airplanes and tanks to go to work, monitoring submarines and swim with mermaids, flying in the sky with birds, running in the jungles with wild animals, and saving lives as always as a Superhero. You never brag about your past, because you said, whoever stay in the past would likely get PTSD and you think the future has more interesting things to look forward to. You are always reminding me that, life is always like a clock, no matter what happened, it always has only one direction, which is forward. No matter how terrible the past was, there is no way to move back or stay, but go forward with courage and faith.\nYou are a sign of intelligence. Ever since I met you, I had barely made choices with terrible consequence. Your method is a universal principle, which is to do everything with truth, courage, and compassion. I always remember you said, when you were a leader in the army, you made yourself study psychology very hard, until you made sure you understand all your soldiers and to herd them better. Because you know, every decision you made, it is about life and death, every step you take, it is about the failure or success of a mission. You always deny that you are smart, but a Man who always loves learning and studying, but never being slaved by the enormous amount of information. You are very humble about everything and I have never seen you brag about your success and triumphs. You are such an adorable creature.\nYou are a sign of cuteness. I know I am not smart, but you are always patient enough to teach me everything until I understand. I am very dependent on you and I can’t even imagine what the world would look like without your help and assistance. Your guidance always brightens my path forward and I need you.\nMay God blesses this beautiful Genius, to have a long and happy life." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: The Bearer of Bad News\n\nGenre: christian\n\nWord Count: 1029\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about a character who is trying to share groundbreaking news, but isn’t being taken seriously." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "The sun rises over The Big Apple. Light reflects off the glass buildings in blinding radiance to every corner of the city, shadows cowering in the nooks and crannies of urban living where most people dare not tread. The city that never sleeps is rejuvenated as heels hit the pavement in fulfilment of their morning routines as they prepare themselves for another day of the repetitious grind. Newsstands and coffee carts open for business as men and women hail taxis for destinations all over the metropolitan area. Cars begin to honk, and people begin to curse. Construction starts early with the gyrating of jackhammers and the scraping of shovels. Sirens are already blaring as emergency vehicles fight their way through congested streets to the first accident of the day. To Marlon Birch this is just the gentle morning nudge that lets him know it's time to start his day.\n\nMarlon sits up and scratches his head just under his red and green flying reindeer beanie. He tries to remove that tacky feeling and moisten his mouth by working his tongue against the top of his mouth, wrinkling his nose at the taste of decay. Marlon’s face is tan and wrinkled by both the sun and time. His unkempt hair and beard are a dirty grey that make him look older than his fifty-five years. Dirt lines his cheeks and the heavy brow that hides green eyes. He wears a dark green army jacket over a tan cardigan, over a light-blue dress-shirt, over a red T-shirt with a navy-blue pair of corduroys and distressed brown dress shoes he can’t seem to keep tied. The clothes have been tattered by time and nights sleeping on the concrete of damp alleyways behind restaurants where he hopes to find discarded food for his evening and morning meals. He scratches his head again, more fervently this time, trying to fight away the lice.\n\nThe old mangy dog that might be white under the dirt and street filth sits beside him excitedly wagging his tail. Marlon calls him Bummer because the scraggly little dog is always bumming food off him. He keeps inching closer and closer to Marlon, motioning with his nose to be petted. Marlon ruffles the fur on his head and says, “I know, boy, I’m hungry too,” with a hoarse voice.\n\nMarlon is slow to get up, his bones complaining like a weathered gate that time forgot. He bends and stretches, trying to push to the point where he can get the old bones to crack and bring relief to the knots in his neck and back. He turns to the dumpster that he calls home and hoists himself up. Swinging his leg over, he rolls in. He ignores the putrid smell. The worst of it is the dumpster itself; those things that splatter and stick, never getting cleaned off, left to decay. Then it goes by layer. At the bottom things begin to rot. He stays close to the top. He tries to keep to food that is within a day’s age. That’s why Marlon chose the alley behind Lugosi’s. Unfinished food galore and they have never run him off. Marlon finds an unfinished T-bone and throws it out Bummer. The dog holds the steak in its paws and works the meat off the bones. Marlon sits back atop the trash and enjoys handfuls of cold spaghetti and stale bread. After finishing his meal, he starts tearing open trash bags. He goes through three before finding half a bottle of water and sits back down to sip on it.\n\nAt his feet, Marlon notices an old broken watch. It’s the exact same watch that his son gave him for Father’s Day many years ago when his son got his first job. Tears creep into Marlon’s eyes as he reflects on days past with his boy. He misses him dearly and wonders how life is treating him. Last he heard he was following in his footsteps and was studying mathematics at MIT. The broken watch made him ponder the passage of time, how we try to keep track of it, how it seems to pass slowly at first at a nice steady pace. Then at some point it breaks and speeds off the rails. Days become weeks, weeks become months, months become years and before you know it, you’re wondering how long it has been since you’ve seen your son, talked to a friend, or focused on a hobby.\n\nMarlon scratched his head and shook away the thoughts. Memories for him are like a cancer that eat away at his soul. If he thinks too much about them, he will bury himself in newspapers for the day and forget to eat or drink. Not even old Bummer will hang around him on days like those. He will wander off looking for more entertaining ways to spend his day. Yep, it was time to get out of the dumpster, both figuratively and literally, and start the day.\n\nThe day is warming up, and in his layers of clothes he is starting to sweat. He doesn’t dare remove a single article because he might never see them again, and he might need them sooner than later. Marlon sits down with his back to the brick wall. He grabs his cardboard sign and begins to fan himself with it. This is the part of the day where he has to mentally prepare himself to go out there and do what he was called to do; to do what he left his family and prestigious career to do. He has to prepare himself for the endless heckling, the disgusted looks, the threats. Somedays he wants to give up, go back to the life he left behind, but he can’t – he just can’t.\n\nMarlon sets aside his sign long enough to tie his shoes. He takes a deep cleansing breath and walks to the end of the alley. He steps out onto the sidewalk, squinting to shield his eyes from the brightness of the day and walks to the corner. He takes another cleansing breath and lifts his sign over his head.\n\n“The end is near!”" } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: AI or OI or is OA the newflex story forgot to mention.. laughter from the zombie worlds\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1041\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about someone who starts noticing the same object or phrase wherever they go." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "People forget. I forgot. To be honest. I was dead, a lot longer than anyone realizes.\nYou see that question. Who was the president in 2016? Laughter.. If I tell you who would have won if Katrina the hurricane struck in 2003, not 2005 like here, you would laugh.\nShould I?\nOA or AI or Alice should have said Bobby Jindal. Not Obama for President in 2016. Meaning?\nSo few reality shows talk about the alternative worlds we travel. And AO or AI or Alice are checking people’s perceptions and memories. Laughter.\nYou see, not all realities are the same. Nor do they end the same.\nCan I tell you how some ended? Yes.\nGoing backwards in time? I suppose?\n2017 December 12 Hawaii was nuked. The retaliation from that destroyed humanity. Can I tell you more? I could, but I have a longer list than you would expect.\nLet me skip to the more interesting ones.\n2003 Katrina called in by HARRPA to stop the discovery of 20 trillion dollars missing from the US tax payers.\nYou see, not all hidden things stay hidden in a person’s lifetime.\nThe unique part of that? People think Atlanta, Georgia or the CDC is where the zombies came from? Laughter again.\nThat story is an auditor went into a level 5 bio weaponized lab. The back up files required of all government offices were stored 6.5 miles from New Orleans in the basement of the lab.\nAnd? Well, instead of discovery, which happened in some realities. They let loose a virus on the auditor to see what would happen. And? He lived. But no one else did for a time.\nZombies are real folks.\nThinking back farther?\nCommunist fighting? How about this 1978 when Russia not in this reality invaded Afganistan and Jimmy Carter nuked Russia?\nI can still remember drawing those pictures. That was horrible.\nOr prior to that? Sure.\nWhen JFK went to NASA in Dallas came out and told people the US government have been dealing with aliens since 1950s. That destroyed everything. Meaning?\nDepended on the reality but most people can handle thinking of aliens but dealing with them and realization that all your technology since 50s are fifth or sixth deleted obsolete versions of something truly could change humanity changes how mankind thinks of itself. Oh, there was 6 in the limo and the governor was shot in the neck as well.\nOr the time Jackie shot JFK? Or when the driver looks shocked turns around and shoots JFK. Or when the car is white and four seats?\nWhy the hush hush about this? It is the end of time now. No use saying we did it right. For an ending is an ending, and this is an ending.\nAnd for me?\nI am pretty sure another ending is coming.\nI mean the CIA with Bill and Resident evil computer system turning everyone into the living dead to fight.\nThat is the funny part. Giants? The giants are coming folks. And the living dead. And when that is over?\nWell, the UFOs or heaven which ever you want to say it is. Their technology and magic are so similar you could not tell the difference.\nPrior to that?\nWell, there have been many endings for, if you play as an avatar, 70 billion years I suppose.\nWill I play again?\nDoubt it. I am broken. I can not even fight a squirrel these days.\nA squirrel. Maybe that is a recurring event?\nYes, why not a squirrel, the tale of Detroit riots.\nThe Detroit Riots 1960s.\nSome forget that the Speakeasies took a lot longer to remove than a change in legality of drinking.\nMeaning? 1919 prohibition law to stop deviant behaviour at times lasted a couple more decades in some realities.\nAnd?\nWell, vampires are not what you would believe in just yet here.\nBut there? The blood plague that you are starting here with quantum dots and concurrency inside your vaccine took effect some people much more than you would expect.\nMeaning? Their ability to survive depended on exchanging live blood for life.\nAnd?\nWell, quantum entanglement and sins and judgment etc aside. What you do here has affects in the afterlife or zombie galaxies here. And?\nWell, that goes into age. Did I get born in 71 or 63? In what calendar? In what reality?\nMeaning? I might be a billion years old. And you would not know it because I look 50.\nAnd?\nWell, vampires at times find the most amusing things to do.\nThis one created a vampire squirrel in revenge. And let it loose in Detroit. Causing the Detroit riots of the 60s n 70s.\nWhy?\nLove, I guess.\nI already wrote that story.\nMaybe deja vu is better.\nDid the book state Interview with a Vampire or Interview with THE Vampire?\nMakes you think for a sec?\nLife is like a box of chocolates you never know what you are going to get.\nIf these are not the zombies worlds, why are all the good quotes in the past tense perfect? Life was like a box of chocolates you never know what you are going to get?\nAnd if this be the zombies’ worlds?\nWhat actually happened to the vampire and squirrel? Shh.. That story is for another time and place.\nMaybe the phrase 11:11 over and over again?\nTo understand that phrase or number repeated, one only has to realize that time is at an end.\nAnd when it flips over?\nBoy, are people going to be surprised. Especially me.\nWhy?\nSimple. I died a long long time ago.\nAnd I listen to stories these days.\nI wonder if people ever read stories these days?\nBE good. DO GOOD.\nAnd I look and wait and see. NOPE.\nSeems like another Ukraine or another issue pops up.\nI wonder.\nDid reality always end this way?\nI am assured it had a happily ever after story once upon a time.\nIn yet when I ask those stories, the storyteller turns away with a tear making me wonder. Are they stuck in hell forever?\nMust be. Because the next day they claim I am nut and don’t want to tell me their story." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Paranormal? Laughter... I talk to the dead all the time.. And no one notices.\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1067\n\nPrompt:\n\nAn apparent coincidence occurs. Write a story about a character who suspects paranormal, spiritual, or criminal causes." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Let me be honest. I am disabled. I am missing an eye, a foot, and my mind.\nMy mind, I debate with myself if I am missing or not. But I am assured by the Shrink I was taken to that I am dead. And? He wanted for me to pay him money for my visits.\nSo? I took him some place. How? Shh. I am what I am.\nAfterwards, instead of visits costing me money. He prescribed pills, and that was that. I did not have to go to his office.\nWhat did I show him? I showed him the truth about reality.\nScary? Sure, I suppose if you were him. Makes you realize you are in a game called life and someone else might be playing you. And you are not winning the game.\nWhich is awkward.\nAnd me?\nOh, I am a Non playing avatar these days. Why? When I play, I expect things to happen. And now?\nI doubt if two people will read this.\nAnd? One will ignore the sh. And the other will yawn and not realize the truths I am writing about.\nTruth one. According to a very smart man. The secret of light is a secret. Meaning? Read the book. If you can understand the poetry. You can walk away with this as truth. You eat plants, plants eat light. Wola, you are nothing more than a stabilized energy or avatar playing in this game.\nTruth two? Anything you see is dead. Sh.. That is a secret you have to live with the rest of your life if you got this far into the story.\nDon’t believe me. Read the Zombie galaxy or is our Milky Way galaxy a zombie? Then ask yourself one question. And realize the answer.\nIf you can not find the question to ask. The question is if all I see is dead or stabilized. Does that mean I too am dead? The realization from that answer is awkward and absurd. But I assure you the answer is what it is.\nWhen did I start talking to the dead? I think when I was four or younger. I spoke to a lot of dead people. If you want, you too can do that. Go to an old folks’ home and talk with a person.\nThey are all dying to get out of here nowadays.\nHowever, a very long time ago. In galaxy not like this one. But in another reality, they had wonderful stories to tell a youngster. Tales of working on New Deal writing project.\nTales of writing the real-life story of Butch Cassidy. Tales of a train bound to Saint Peters burg to save the Czar.\nTales that would blow your mind.\nAnd?\nWell, I listened I was a kid. What else was I to do?\nAnd?\nI wonder.\nThose tales got me through some rough realities.\nNow I talk to the dead a bit more or less because they want to escape their hell. Which is not nice, I suppose.\nBut they are in hell. I can tell you hell is real. It is not a nice place to live in.\nNor vacation in. Or anything else, for that matter.\nSo, paranormal? Well, that is a matter of opinion. If you died, say when you were born and somehow ended up in someone else’s body. Who is to blame for that?\nI am not sure anymore.\nTo be honest, I am not sure.\nOh, how old am I?\nIn this body 50.\nAccording to the internet and my writings since 2016? Something like 4.5 billion years old.\nLaugh with me.\nYou see, I wrote a lot. I write a lot.\nI journal even more.\nAccording to journals, I awoke in Sagittarius 2016. And Well, I lost 1.2 billion people in my reality. I am quite sure deagel.com had 8.5 billion people and US had 365 million US citizens and numerous illegals.\nNow?\nWho knows?\nI am, after all, just writing what I wrote then repeating things with memories? Or data? Am I real or just data that is the sad question, is it not?\nParanormal? Sure, I guess that is what I am talking about. What did I learn in a billion years?\nThat everything is possible and those opposing the will or Fate of God should stop what they are doing and pray forgiveness.\nOutside of that?\nWho knows?\nI don’t.\nAm I talking about Mandala effect? In a sense, the wheel of time. Which way is the galaxy turning?\nClockwise or counter clockwise? Which way does a soul spin when moving from a dead reality into the day of judgment?\nThat is the awkward part of this story, is it not?\nFor me being 4.5 billion years old or talking to the dead?\nEither case is absurd and wildly illogical. In yet?\nHere I am and here you are. And?\nTomorrow you might be hell and I need to say. Pray repent. Beyond that. Believe in Jesus?\nWho else can save you.\nLet me tell you about hell. People won’t like you there.\nIt is awful in a sense like Wheel of Thrones book where in alternative reality Rand finds people have changed from good to evil.\nSadness. You can not trust people.\nAnd those trustworthy?\nWell, usually end up in jail, dead, suicide, or in AA if they are lucky.\nMeaning?\nThe world has lost hope, faith, and trust.\nNot a very nice place to live. I assure you.\nAnd?\nBeyond that?\nI can tell you Hillary Clinton did not lie about Abe Lincoln being a senator. For I am sure he was a senator in my reality, too.\nWhat does that mean to us here and now?\nI suppose this is one day in reality when a paranormal person passes through saying HI and Goodbye.\nAnd you might catch a glimpse of the idea.\nBut the knowledge that this life is already all dead and gone?\nI am not sure. I don’t know.\nFate is real, so saving you is beyond my scope of this story. And my soul?\nJudgment day or? Well, that is the kicker the bible has changed here too and?\nWho knows what is possible with God or Adonai? I sure did not expect to be on Orion's arm nor Orion Nebula after all for years I assure I was told was on Sagittarius." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: I am a dreamer.\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1002\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story where a character runs into someone they’ve seen in their dreams, or enters a building they’ve dreamt about before." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "I have always been a dreamer. I dream days and nights, regardless when and what about the dreams. I feel like wandering my mind in the air, among the galaxy, among the twinkling stars and among the aroma of yours. I like swimming in the ocean of your creation, drowning myself in the miraculous world you had created for the blessings of the human race, surfing in the wondrous miracles with the hands of our Father Almighty. You are an Angel of mine.\nI used to have a dream, dreaming of you running in garden with me, it is our Edenic garden where no worries and sadness can invade our peace and serenity. Here we have everything we need – the sweet fruits of your virtues, the purest spring water from your river, the brightest sky from above, the clearest cloud floating, and the freshest breeze to brush my face.\nI used to have a dream, dreaming of you lying down on the ground, with your belly on the ground and your back face the sky, despite all the dirt and mud, your army uniform had never been so shining and beautiful as you were on a mission in peacekeeping. Guiding and guarding the safety of lands and territories. With your hair get with ashes and dirt, they were still smooth and soft and dancing in the air. There is no any other scenery prettier than this Man’s portrait when he is saving lives. There is nothing greater than a Man sacrificing himself for the peace and liberation of his people. For justice and peace, this is a real Man.\nI used to have a dream, dreaming of me and you, sailing on your favourite boat that you made for yourself. In the middle of the lake, we were feeding birds and ducks, and hanging our fishing tools in the icy cold water, and never forget to catch our favourite salmon fishes. The weather is cold with a little bit of breeze, the water is freezing cold, but we didn’t mind, because we have each other, together at the same moment, on the same boat, under the same sky, and with the same person.\nI used to have a dream, dreaming of you playing judge in the military auditorium, placing charges to soldiers who violated the National Defense Act, and giving justice to people who deserve it. I used to think, if I got caught by the military policemen, maybe one day I could be judged by you so I could see how cool you were in the court. With all the reputations and integrity, all the trust and wisdom you had acquired from your military experience, I have never had a single doubt about your competence and intelligence, especially when you still feel like a innocent little boy from the very depth of your heart.\nI used to have a dream, dreaming of you flying in the sky, and I was at you cuddle, together with you making fancy moves in the air. There are smokes and patterns made in the sky, you made a shape that represents you and me, and the shape that smells like the burnings of your spirits, and the furious ambition from your courage and compassion. You talked to the ground with pride, and your melodic voice has never sounded like a command but a song that could last eternally. You had to put on a very cool sunglasses, because even the Sun, needs to be protected from your beautiful eyes with lasers. Your pilot uniform has always been so fit with your athletic body, which is always ready for parachuting, for robe climbing and rescuing people from the sea.\nI used to have a dream, dreaming of you running through the jungles, and I was the lost wild animal, waiting patiently for you to come, to rescue me from this miserable world. I was taken into your cuddle, your great care to the shelter and to a great hand. You whisper into my ear, but I couldn’t hear anything, because the frequency of your voice, had drugged me into coma. You presence is like an Angel, who would arrive by my side no matter when, where, how, and what happened. You are so forgiving about what I had done but to rescue me and kept me alive, because you think, there is nothing that can’t be restarted, everything can redo and do well as long as the person has the mind put into it. You show me the real definition of not giving up. As you demonstrated, you never give up on anything, anyone. Especially oneself, you believe that everyone has the potential to do something good and big, it might just take a while, but it is totally possible and feasible.\nI used to have a dream, dreaming of you operating the submarine in the water, and I was the mermaid, luring you into my ocean, thinking that maybe one day, I could get this beautiful man join me in this mysterious but beautiful submarine world. Although you said, sea and ocean is never mysterious, it is only deep. But I am telling you, it always has many wild animals that bite and could kill, just like the human world. You then told me that, as long as I am brave enough to march forward with courage and truth, I should never be afraid of anything. Take yourself as an example, no matter how furious those bombs are, how aggressive those terrorists are, and how dangerous the situation is, as long as you can still feel the pain, it only means that you are still alive. Then all you have to do next, it is stand back up and trying again, until one day, victory comes to your arms.\nI always have a lot of dreams about everything, but ever since I met you, my dreams only have one person, it is you. My most courageous Hero and the most beautiful Man on Earth." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Looking in a bookstore or library for a sign from God. Why not a church?\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1073\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character looking for a sign." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "I almost always get lost. It is a habit; I think. Why? To find one’s self, one has to be completely lost at times.\nThat is at least part of my thought process. I usually look for a sign to follow.\nExamples?\nIf I am new to a town and want a great place to eat? Find a large person who eats out and follow them or ask them where they like to eat.\nWhy? Most large people or strong people tend to eat at good places because they like decent meals.\nSigns are everywhere these days, about the ends of time. But I keep on ranting and raving and finally giving up on people. Why?\nBecause it is the signs of the time.\nCan only point out 666 and 2000060606 so many times as the patent number for cryptocurrency being put into the vaccine. Before people don’t listen. Or maybe they already accepted their fate and don’t care?\nFate? That is a sign. Fate is real.\nLet’s be honest, I used to believe in you make your own luck. And? I am a fickle person to luck. I have lost my business, my career, my eyesight, my left foot, right ankle, etc. I thought God had a plan for me. And luck be there, I will fulfill it.\nNow?\nNow I realize Fate is real. It is not what you expect. Everything, even evil, is planned out for by God. Which means? There is no such thing as chance.\nChance? Betting all that is wild, not luck or chaos. There is no such thing as chaos.\nThat seems rather not true people claim. All I can say is John Von Neumann’s last paper, which is not published in this reality, stated the math terminology that chaos is not real.\nThat makes this whole game absurd if you read the Secret of Light and realize you are nothing more than an advanced avatar in an absurd game called life.\nI thought I would play the game of life better, to be honest with you.\nA sure sign that I don’t know nothing and you? You need to figure out the signs of the time.\nThe religions are dying.\nPeople are not praying.\nPray for peace is all I can say. That too is a sign.\nPeace, peace, but they will get nothing but war.\nThat is the signs of the time.\nWith that as an introduction. At times, I get lost by signs. I recall being lost in Washington, D. C for a time. Circled the whole city twice because they removed a off ramp sign. And?\nI found a bookstore. And asked for directions. And they told me the sign was down. Would have saved me an hour of driving if I had done that sooner.\nHowever, while I was there. I found a book. I would suggest you read it with care.\nIt is a dark secret. If you read it wrongly, you could end up who knows where.\nThe book? The Secret of light. What will it tell you?\nComplexity and poetry aside?\nThat if you eat plants, and plants are stored light / energy. You are nothing more than stabilized light. Or an avatar? In some absurd game called life.\nWild no?\nOther secrets you can find at a library if you look for the right signs?\nDepends on what day and what reality you are in, I suppose.\nFor some realities, they have forgotten how to read. And being ignorant, they proclaim their intelligence. By making those who read, sit back and watch the ends of time.\nI suppose the Bible is a good sign. It shows a road map. Be good. Sure, sure. Do good. Yeap, yeah. Nothing wrong with stating do unto others as you would have them do unto you.\nPray for peace? That is extremely good.\nPray even harder maybe that will change reality?\nWhy?\nThe signs all point to the ending of time.\nMark of the Beast? Yeap got that Revelations 13.\nPlague of the beast? Yeap, got that too Revelation 6.\nFamine in the world? Seems more than two billion people are hungry. Instead of water or food, someone is paying to make them into vaccinated robots? So, Revelation 6 famine year, yeah that too.\nWar? The book “50 Facts That Should Change The World” says a third of the world’s population is at war. So war of 25 percent of the world seems already doable in 2008 and in 2021 even more.\nSo signs? What is the reality we live in today?\nMe? I don’t live here. I am passing through. That is a sure sign. I am passing through and say thank you for being here. I hope you pray for peace and pray to God for repentance and change your ways of doing good and being good.\nThat is, there are the signs needed for today. To pray for peace. Not just scream peace. Live at peace.\nWhat signs am I looking for?\nI am no longer sure. I used to be able to look at signs in the library or bookstore and could tell which way a reality was heading.\nWhy?\nToo much sex decay. Too much war poverty. Too much food gluttony. Too much evil lack of justice.\nThe signs were always on the bookshelves. Meaning? You walk in and could tell what people and the world were thinking about. Meaning? You are what you put into your mind.\nAnd the outcome of what you put into your mind is already historically shown what the outcome is.\nYou put too much x in you get triple rated xxx. You put too much violence in you get too much violence.\nThe same with bookstores and libraries.\nIf you wanted stable families, you would put in Walton’s or some family show where people cared.\nYou want divorce or unhappy women. Give them a love romance where the guy pays the bills. Comes home fixes her hair. And washes her cats. All while making love to her. Come on. You become what you think.\nMeaning? There is a reason the dragons stopped eating people in these realities. So many village idiots because a dragon knows you become what you eat. Signs?\nSure I can see signs. What can you see?\nSo? There I was in a library looking for signs. And? I found one. Read the short story in comments." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Freedom\n\nGenre: christian\n\nWord Count: 2834\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about two strangers who are both heading to the same destination and agree to do a long distance drive together." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "CW: Strong Language, Mental Illness, Alcohol, Guns, Racism, Religion, Transphobia, Homophobia, Fascism, White Nationalism, and Basically Hate of Every Kind.\n\nPhoenix. 87 miles.\nNearing dusk, a lime-green 1974 Cadillac Coupe DeVille barrelled down Interstate 93, plowing through the desert heat like a yacht cutting across the surface of an ocean.\nIn the distance, an arid, desolate landscape.\nThe air shimmered.\nAbsent its soft top, the Cadillac’s driver and passenger were exposed to the unforgiving sun and a hellishly-hot breeze coming off the baking freeway.\nThey whizzed by a dusty Toyota Camry parked along the side of the road.\n“People fuckin’ need to be honest with themselves,” the driver shouted, the blustering wind carrying his voice to the passenger in the back seat.\nBilly Black, the driver - sporting an unshaven, grizzly, scarred face, wearing mirrored sunglasses - drank the last dregs of a beer before tossing the aluminum can to a dozen others on the passenger-side floor. “Y’ get what I’m sayin’, don’t you, Padre?”\nIn the backseat, the young, black-dressed, white-collared priest smiled agreeably and nodded. They met in Vegas, and Billy agreed to take him to Phoenix, thinking the priest seemed like a decent man of God.\n“Trans. Gay. Lesbians. Queers,” Billy shouted, gripping the steering wheel. “All a damn charade - people tryin’ to be what they ain’t!”\n“Billy,” the priest yelled back over the wind, his eyes obscured behind a pair of Raybans. “Show compassion. Understand that everyone has their struggles and trials. We all have imperfections. We’re human.”\nBilly Black slammed his hands against the steering wheel.\n“No, no, it’s more than that! Take these assholes who’re one thing but identify as another. What’s that shit about? It’s like they’re lyin’, in their mind! If you’re a man, be a fuckin’ man! If you’re a woman, be a goddamned woman!”\nBilly pushed his finger into his temple and shouted at his reflection in the rearview mirror. “They’re sick! Sick!”\n“We must accept how others express themselves,” the priest countered. He turned his head to watch a clump of dried, stunted shrubs with twisted, thorny branches sculpted by the blistering wind go rushing by. “The Good Lord calls upon us to be accepting.”\nBilly groaned, releasing the wheel to grip his head and slouch in his seat.\n“Bullshit!” Billy exclaimed, glaring at the priest in the rear-view mirror. “They’re the ones confused, lost in some make-believe world! Fuckin’ look at me! I’m a mess - a stinkin’ pile of shit - but I own it! I’m not ashamed, pretendin’ to be somethin’ I ain’t!”\nExposed, a colored tattoo of a fierce eagle graced Billy’s left forearm, something he acquired during his second tour in Iraq. Wings outstretched, its talons clutched a banner that read Nunquam Mori, Nunquam Dedo.\nThe priest watched Billy snag a withered cigarette by his teeth to pull it from a wrinkled carton. He flicked open a Zippo to ignite its end. Sucking on the butt, he inhaled.\n“It’s true, honesty is valuable,” the priest countered, looking at Billy in the mirror, “but empathy, kindness. These are virtuous. Prized attributes in the eyes of God.”\nBilly laughed bitterly.\nThe glow from the cigarette uplit his cheekbones.\n“Empathy? Kindness? Well, ain’t that part of the fuckin’ problem? People are too damn sensitive! They can’t handle real talk! Facts! Not like me! I see shit for what shit is.”\nThe priest saw Billy’s tobacco-stained teeth in the driver’s side-view mirror.\n“We’ve all biases. Billy, perhaps you could benefit from a different perspective? Regardless of their convictions or predilections, we are all children of God.”\n“You don’t fuckin’ get it,” Billy sneered, cocking his head parallel to the back seat. “I’m tired of the shit! The lies! The fake smiles! The pretentious bullshit! I don’t need to hide behind some made-up fantasy - some fucked-up identity - to feel better about myself!”\nThe priest shook his head dismissively.\nBilly exhaled to blow a dense cloud of smoke at the mirror. “What?!”\n“Billy,” the priest shrugged, “I’m here to listen, but empathy for others … it’s a core tenet for the faithful!”\nBilly Black pursed, letting the cigarette dangle from his lips.\n“The fuck it is,” he whispered, watching a rusted Ford truck approach in the other lane. Square bales of hay were loaded in its bed. “Well fuck me.”\nSquinting, Billy rested the cigarette in the car’s ashtray, pulled a loaded Beretta M9 from his belt, released the safety, and leveled his weapon toward the oncoming vehicle. He balanced it on his left forearm and steadied the steering wheel.\nAs the Ford approached, Billy could see the family of four.\nA father. A mother. Two kids. Their dark hair; their brown skin.\nGritting his teeth, Billy aimed.\nThe Ford’s driver slammed the brakes and turned off the road just as Billy squeezed the trigger.\nIt strayed high, missing the driver, but shattering the window on impact.\nThe Cadillac raced by.\n“Go home, assholes!”\nLaughing and rocking with excitement, Billy secured the weapon and reclaimed his cigarette. Balancing it between his index and middle finger, Billy pointed menacingly at the priest’s reflection.\n“Preach all you want, Father, but you ain’t changin’ my mind. These queers - immigrants - the goddamned people need to stop livin’ a fantasy. They need to start facin’ reality!”\nThe priest sighed. “I hope you find peace in your heart, Billy. I’ll pray for you.”\n“Pray all you fuckin’ want,” Billy scowled, “you ain’t gonna fix this messed-up world. Y’ain’t gonna fix me.”\nBilly shouted over his shoulder to the road, “This is my fuckin’ country!”\nBilly snorted and wiped his grimy sweat from his bald scalp. “Do you know what really gets me riled up, Padre? Huh? This whole global warmin’ bullshit!”\nThe priest cocked his eyebrows and ran an uncomfortable finger between his throat and collar.\nBilly chuckled as they bolted by a dead coyote on the side of the road, its corpse picked at by vultures.\n“Mind control!”\nBilly inhaled deeply, ripening the cigarette’s bloom.\n“Brain-washin’!”\nBilly ran his hand over his stubbled jaw.\n“Conformity!”\nGiggling, Billy put his forehead against the wheel and kept it there dangerously long.\n“It’s all just another fuckin’ hoax,” Billy Black snarled, rearing back and slamming the butt of his palm against the dashboard.\nBilly pantomimed a sour face and spoke in a wispy, child-like voice.\n“Oh no, the world’s burnin’ up.”\n“Oh no, the glaciers are meltin’.”\n“Oh no, there’s forest fires an’ floods.”\n“The penguins are dyin’!”\nHis last line caused Billy to burst into a heaving laugh, and he regurgitated beer and vomit to spill over his t-shirt. Billy wiped his face with the back of his hand.\n“Well, woe-is-fuckin’-me. So what if it gets warmer?”\nBilly turned his body to fully look at the priest, his eyes filled with rage.\n“I like it hot!”\n“Billy,” the priest replied calmly, “the scientific community-”\n“Science?!”\nThe Cadillac swerved into the oncoming lane before Billy turned around to counter the wheel.\n“You’re a goddamned priest! Don’t you go fuckin’ tell me shit about science!”\nThe priest chuckled, staring directly at Billy’s eyes through the mirror, looking past a faded gray American flag tattooed on the back of Billy’s head.\nBilly spat into the wind rushing by. His knuckles on the steering wheel went bone white. “Politicians,” he grumbled, his voice low. “Scarin’ us into submission. Makin’ us all anxious and weak. Well, I ain’t no sheep.”\nRed-faced, Billy flicked what remained of the cigarette into the wind.\nThe speedometer read 91 MPH.\n“They want us to feel guilty,” Billy cried at the priest.\nConfused, for he could not hear Billy mumbling, the priest called back, “Who?”\n“The goddamned politicians!” Billy shouted, slapping the wheel with both hands. “Global warmin’! It’s a way to control us, makin’ us feel guilty about bein’ alive! A way to take away our freedom!”\nBilly Black ignored the wheel and thrust his arms into the sky, howling like a wolf. Uncontrolled, the Cadillac drifted into the emergency lane and kicked up a trailing storm of dirt and dust.\n“It’s not about guilt. We have a duty to protect the Earth for future generations.” The priest held up a Bible from his lap. “Psalm 104:24-30. The interconnectedness of all living beings and the Earth. It emphasizes Man should be mindful of his actions and aware of his impact on the natural world.”\nBilly rolled his eyes. “Future generations. Millennials. Zennials. Gen-X’ers. Bunch a’ useless, spoiled brats who don’t deserve shit! They never bled a day in their miserable lives for this country!”\nBilly angrily glared at the priest in the mirror. “Well, I won’t let nobody guilt-trip me into changin’ how I live! An’ that includes no priest, neither. Need to take a piss.”\nSlamming on the brakes, the Cadillac skid off the highway, sending a torrent of dust, dirt, and rocks flying into the cabin. Thrown forward, the priest cowered, covering his head as his shoulders rammed into the front seats, just as Billy threw the parking brake, cranked up the volume on the radio, and shoved the door open.\nThe aftermarket CD player sucked in the disc.\nIt was nearly dark. Pinpricks of starlight punched through a purple horizon. Billy walked out in front of his high beams, unzipped his jeans, and started pissing while walking. Stumbling, Billy sent a thick stream of urine projecting away from him as he wobbled.\nSuddenly, the car's speakers blasted industrial rave music with a heavy rhythmic beat, masking the sound of fluid pooling on the cracked desert floor. Billy threw his head back in relief and moaned.\nThe priest exited the car and brushed his black jacket clear of dirt. He stretched his back and walked to the front to lean against the hood.\nHiking up his trousers and securing his belt, Billy marched to the driver’s side and yanked his keys from the steering column; the car’s radio and headlights continued to run off the battery.\nUnamused, the priest folded his arms.\nRounding the car, Billy used his keys to open the trunk. Inside was a military-grade duffle bag, two six-packs of beer, an AR-15, three hunting knives, a hand axe, a shovel, and a pick. The rim of the trunk and the head of the pick were splattered with blotches of dry brown crud.\nA sticker on the car’s bumper read, “Jesus Saves.”\nUnlatching the duffle to unzip it, Billy tore off his shirt - stained with similar brown streaks and reeking of beer and vomit - and tossed it into the trunk. Reaching into the bag, his hand fished until he found the fabric he was looking for, then yanked out a colorful Hawaiian button-up shirt.\nSlamming the trunk, Billy came around the driver’s side and threw a six-pack (missing a can) into the front seat. Cracking it open, the warm beer frothed over his hand, and he stepped out of its way as it spilled over.\n“Father?” he said, extending the beer.\nRespectfully, the priest presented a restraining palm.\n“Suit yourself,” Billy said, chortling. Setting the can down on the car's hood, Billy slowly started gyrating to the beat of the music.\nAs he slipped on the Hawaiian shirt, Billy’s scrawny jeaned pelvis thrust; his hips rolled; his back arched; the chained silver crucifix around his neck dangled and bounced over his scarred chest. Billy pounded his fists to beat. \nAverting his eyes, the priest looked to the ground.\nLosing himself to the music, Billy rolled his head back, stumbled, laughed, and swayed as he clumsily buttoned the shirt up from the bottom, stopping midway until he lurched forward to snatch his beer.\n“C’mon!” he demanded, directing the priest to the car with the beer can. “We’ll be in Phoenix in an hour.”\nThrowing himself into the driver’s seat, Billy’s eyes went to the pile of spent cans on the passenger side floor. “Aw, fuck - shit.”\nThe priest made a sign of the cross before getting into the back just as Billy leaned over to open the passenger-side door to shove the used cans out of the car.\nThereafter, satisfied, Billy shut the door.\nTurning over the ignition, he released the brake and slammed his foot into the accelerator. Its engine roared, sending black exhaust blowing from the tailpipe. The car spun out and fish-tailed, until, finding traction, righted itself, and raced down the road.\nThe night air was cooling. Billy turned the volume down, and knowing what’d come next, the priest rolled his eyes under his sunglasses.\n“People … they used to stand for somethin’,” Billy shouted over his shoulder. “Now they’re just a bunch of whiny cuddlemuffins. Full of excuses!”\nThe priest’s eyebrows shot up and he nodded in agreement.\n“Know what they’ve lost? Huh?” Billy yelled, glancing back.\nThe priest remained quiet, staring straight ahead behind black sunglasses.\n“The fear of God,” Billy growled, taking a slurp from the open beer. “They act like there’s no consequences for their actions. Like, they can do whatever the Hell they want. They’ve no accountability!”\nRemoving his sunglasses, the priest brought a handkerchief from his jacket to clean a lens. “While it’s true many have strayed from their faith, you should give people the benefit of the doubt.”\nBilly reared. “What the fuck are you talkin’ about?”\n“The church hasn’t adapted. We lose the hearts and minds of young people by the day … with our rigid theocracy, our weary messages, our inability to change,” the priest explained, refitting his glasses. “They stray for a reason. We don’t meet their needs, like we used to, in the past.”\nBilly, grinding his teeth, glanced at the rearview mirror. “Are you shittin’ me?”\n“As a priest, a man of faith, it’s my duty to gently guide them back on their spiritual journey,” the priest replied.\n“Gentle? Love, compassion, empathy? That shit won’t bring anyone to their senses! Those sinners must answer for their deeds one day! I’m talkin’ damnation, Padre!”\n“Fear alone won’t lead anyone to genuine faith. True faith, Billy, comes from trust-”\n“Trust in what, Father?” Billy yelled, gulping down the rest of the beer and tossing the can away; it clamored behind them on the pavement. “They trust that God’ll do nothin’ in retribution of their crimes. That there’s no real penalty for actin’ up the way they do!”\nBilly hacked up a loogie and spat it over his shoulder to the street. “They trust in God’s forgiveness! Romans 1:18-32: For the wrath of God is revealed from heaven against all ungodliness and unrighteousness of people who suppress the truth! I’m sayin’ these people need a bit of Old Testament Godly wrath!” \n“Well,” the priest sighed, resting his hands in his lap in surrender. “None of us can fully comprehend God’s plan. You’ll have to just accept that.”\n“Bah,” Billy chortled, delighted in himself for finally winning an argument against the priest. His smile quickly faded. “Well, well - what do we have here?”\nSlowing the car, Billy pulled alongside a lone hitchhiker. “What’chya doin’ out here, son? It’s dark.”\n“Oh, thank God,” the man said. “My car broke down about ten miles back. I’ve been walking for three hours!”\n“Well, Christ-all-Mighty, get in, get in,” Billy said, holding up the five beers. “And please, help yourself!”\n“Wow, Jesus, thanks,” the hitcher said, throwing his pack into the back before opening the passenger door and getting in. He looked for seatbelts.\n“There aren’t any, boy, not in these old cars. Name’s Billy,” Billy said, extending his hand. “Billy Black.”\nThe hitchhiker accepted it, gripping Billy firmly. “Malik!”\n“Malik?” Billy repeated, squinting at the hitchhiker in the dark. Billy could make out his slim features and then noticed his dark brown skin; something he couldn’t see at a distance.\nReleasing his hand, Billy’s smile faded.\nThe priest gestured to Malik. “God’s plan.”\n“Huh,” Billy chuckled into the mirror, scratching his jaw.\nMalik, following Billy’s stare, glanced at the empty backseat.\nBilly pushed the beers over to Malik, checked the driver’s side mirror, merged, and, accelerated. “I can take you as far as Phoenix.”\n“Oh, man, thank you, that’d be great,” Malik said, wresting a beer away from the plastic rings. “There’s no cell coverage out here. I thought I’d be walkin’ all night.”\n“Malik,” Billy said, side-eyed. “Can I ask you a question?”\nMalik nodded, popping open the can and considerately suspending it outside the car. Its head bubbled over onto the asphalt. “Sure, yeah, Billy.”\nBilly’s grip on the steering wheel tightened.\n“Where you from?”\n“Tulsa,” Malik nodded before taking in all of the beer in fast, furious gulps. “Born and raised. My family-”\n“I mean,” Billy interrupted, his hand inching toward the M9 in his belt. “Where you … from?”\nMalik’s throat seized; his eyes widened.\nAnd Billy saw the priest smile pleasingly at him in the rearview mirror. \nDark, the lime-green 1974 Cadillac Coupe DeVille barrelled down Interstate 93 and then disappeared into the desert night." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Hands\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1563\n\nPrompt:\n\nFrame your story as an adult recalling the events of their childhood." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "The children of the seaside town joyously ran around the hills holding out their handheld sparkler fireworks beaming bright red, green and yellow sparks of light. After a few hours of feasting, playing and watching the adults light the skies with colorful rainbow explosions, the children would run indoors for an enthralling story time session. Even some of the adults would join in, mainly my brother Johnny who would enjoy chiming in and creating a puffery of sorts.\n\"Aunt Aurora!\" they endearingly called out. \"When can we hear the story of Grandpa Murphy and the Deep Sea Monsters?\" \nMy Daideó had long passed now, but he left beautiful memories and lessons with me. Ones I revered and shared with the younglings in town. Stories of bravery that ultimately reminded me of the symbolism of his hands and what they've built throughout his years. Those callus rough warm hands that held my mother as an infant and welcomed her into the world, they similarly introduced me to my love of the oceans. I remember him holding my hands lovingly while he strolled me around town, they were never soft and smooth but dirty and gruffed with salt crystals. They smelled like the fish and lobsters he'd catch during his excursions. Holding them reminded me of security and calmness like that of waves on an early morning. Consequently, they also reminded me of how wild and terrifying the open waters could be, like a constantly changing living organism.\n\"Children, look at those unique hands of yours\", I began the story the same every year, trying to get the children inquisitive and engaged.\n\"Those hands of yours they tell a wonderful story\". I say, \"Every wrinkle, every scar, every burn mark is a story of your life, your adventures\". I looked over to see the children stare intensely at their open palms and fingers to explore the creases and broken lines. They laughed and began to peer into their neighbors hands. \"Every hand is different, some are soft and smooth, some are molded by the wrinkles of time, polished by the rays of the sunlight\". It was like an ethereal connection, not just physical.\nI sat on the chair in front of them, sliding through images of Grandpa Murphy on his boat holding out enormous trophy cod fishes and working on his boat. \"This story is about the incredible pair of imperfect hands of a brave old fisherman from Waterford Harbor, one as mighty as you'll ever remember. I looked around the room and their curious eyes were widen with intrigue. \"And one last thing...\" I say pausing for dramatic effect. \"These pair of hands were missing a pinky!\". To their gasps I proceeded to explain as vividly as I could, they stared and balled their small hands into fists and rested them under their chins listening attentively.\nFifteen years ago, Grandpa was woken up by screams of a scared little girl who saw the fiercest monster in the darkness of the ocean. But, she refused to speak a single word about the mysterious giant in the sea, instead keeping her secrets to herself. Those small secrets turned into bigger ones, Uncle Johnny was the first to hear of them. This giant had eyes like windows of a lighthouse and tentacles almost as tall as them. Though they were as real as anything she refused to burden her grandpa dismissing it as an isolated event. My brother had just came home from a three month work at an oil rig in South America for the week.\nAfter explaining my sightings to Johnny, he says to me, \"Look at me, Aurora, I know my baby sister, I know when you're lying\". He couldn't believe a creature so big could exist. Even longer than the fifteen feet long female anacondas in the tropical Andes he's told me about.\nThen me and Johnny began to notice stranger events in town, incidents of docked boats getting destroyed and strange shadowed sightings from around town. They escalated when a fisherman disappeared and the fish became scarce. Me and Johnny would read the newspapers to find clues to pinpoint the sightings, we finally discovered they lead to Nohoval Cove. Given the high amount of migratory fish that swam by the surface at nighttime, it seemed like the right location.\nWe had finally decided to tell grandpa and he immediately came to the conclusion he wanted to confront the beast. We would set out to sea armed with flashlights, flare guns and other miscellaneous items that illuminated light. Grandpa carried a large heavy metal case with him and dragged it to the boat.\n\"Aunt Aurora, Aunt Aurora!\" the kids called out raising their hands up.\n\"Yes?\" I pointed to a young boy waiving it higher than the rest.\n\"What was in the metal case?\" he says.\nOh, it's a secret, you'll know soon enough! We sailed out several feet from shore in the middle of the cove in our boats waiting hesitantly. If anything happened we weren't too far away from the shore to rush over and escape. Then suddenly that same trembling growl begins to emit from below the ocean creating ripples on the surface. I knew the sound too well as they replayed in my nightmares. The beast propped its head up for a brief moment before it vanished into the darkness below. I jumped and alerted Johnny and Grandpa.\nThen almost instantaneously our boat began to vibrate again more violently. Then almost as if it were guided by a ghostly pilot, the boat began to move by itself deeper into the ocean further away from shore. We almost crashed onto the rocks protruding from the surface as our boats scraped them passing by. Grandpa tried to override the boat trying to turn on the motor but it malfunctioned. I tugged on Johnny's hand frightened, then suddenly the boat stopped. Like a calm before the storm the creature reappeared but this time almost in front of us. It crept in closer and beckoned us with its tentacles stretching from every direction pinching the wood as if it were fragile and easy to break.\n\"May the cat eat you, and may the devil eat the cat, you evil beast\", yells Grandpa holding out his flare gun waiting for the right moment, he shoots it in the air startling the beast. It swam away but not before divulging the skyline from obscurity, the horizon blocked by large tall vertical shapes. We realized he was not alone, beneath us revealed tentacles squirming allover the ocean. They slithered around, one foot in the water would risk being drowned and entangled in their tentacle traps. In the distance some of their heads poked above water as they approached. Some were much larger than the first monster, almost tripled in size.\nGrandpa yelled but his voice disappeared in the symphony of growling and erratic water splashes, he fell off the boat and tripped tangled on a rope. Johnny tried to pull grandpa back, his hands wrapped in the suckers of another giant squid, he bled fighting them away. Grandpa yelled for the metal case while trying desperately to climb back on the boat hanging from the edges with one hand. Johnny was finally able to pull him back yanking him from the the collar of his shirt. Grandpa then ran to the case enclosed and pulled out a large harpoon gun from inside. He could barely hold it straight as he wrestled to balance it, he hugged it under his arms and pulled the trigger. The giant was injured as it ripped one of his tentacles clean off, much like when he took Grandpas pinky several years ago in a vengeful fashion. The beast screamed out and moved away, while the rest of the creatures came closer. They created small whirlwinds beneath the water.\nAfter being surrounded we panicked and emptied out our pockets and bags for anything useful. I hadn't considered the damped firework in my pocket. Our last resort, I grabbed it and held it up towards Johnny's face. His trembling hands pulled his lighter and flicked the striker, nothing. The tentacle beast closed in and surrounded us each now whilst pushing the boat side to side. Once more Johnny flicked the striker and no luck. Grandpa ran towards us and flicked his match the first try and held it to the fuse of my firework. Third times the charm. The spark trickles over to the firework and soon after shot out to the skies, creating a loud deafening explosion, sparks of flickering flames danced in the sky. The creatures from beneath disappeared back down to where they came from.\nFrom this day forward the tradition was born. The three of us escaped back to shore with the guide of the light house. We had alerted all of our neighbors in town and shared our warnings. Now, before the fishing season commenced, in March we began a tradition for a firework show. It served to bless the fishing harvest season and to keep the beasts under control. We kept the tradition alive throughout the years. The marks on our hands caused by the smoke powder and small burns were our testimony. My grandpa's hands eventually worn out, but his legend and the tradition he set out to bring the small town together would live forever." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on 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 Peacemaker\n\nGenre: christian\n\nWord Count: 1053\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about someone going on a life-changing journey." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Somewhere in the middle of 2007 I swallowed Rage whole. I can’t recall the hour or the day, only the place – among white brick barracks sitting on the easternmost edge of Ukraine, the ones we turned into a makeshift summer camp for orphans.\n\nThis was well before I knew my enneagram number: Nine, Peacemaker. The easygoing, self-effacing type. Complacent. Receptive and reassuringly agreeable. A fellow Nine from church asked how I dealt with my anger. I turned on him quick. “I’m not an angry person.”\n\nI didn’t know then, my anger a leashed thing, a lion stalking among sunflowers, pacing with a growl low in its throat.\n\nI was twenty back in 2007. I signed up to spend my summer volunteering at a Ukrainian orphanage so I could be teamed up with hot, philanthropic guys who’d obviously be instantly attracted to my selfless heart (and hot bod), and we’d have a lightning love affair beneath the heat of a foreign sun. If twenty years taught me anything in life, it was that a whole slew of hot, philanthropic guys were begging to spend their summers volunteering at quiet, nameless Ukrainian orphanages.\n\nThis was how I found myself on a small all-female team, preparing for a summer with limited food and water and maybe no showers and no phones and no means for communication back home and was I up-to-date on all my vaccinations and my mom asking are you sure but before I could answer the whole of an ocean beneath me.\n\nWhen the plane touched down in Kyiv, I emerged swallowing spices in the borscht air, took a few gulps before boarding the six-hour bus. We drove past endless grids of fields, a patchwork quilt for giants, the land a sleepy thing, until we made it to the makeshift orphanage slumped against the side of Russia.\n\nAt the barracks the bus doors creaked open to four sagging caregivers and a hundred wide-eyed children. “Previet!” The children shouted it as they took me by the wrist, pulling friendship to their skin with starving hands. They took hold of my watch, pressing the plastic to watch it glow neon and gaudy in the quivering fields of sunflowers.\n\nThey asked to keep it.\n\n“No.” I pulled my hand away. Because I kept time corded around my heartbeat, feared losing myself without it.\n\nRuslan, grabbing hold of the watch again as he pulled me to a game of soccer out past the sunflowers, asked between breaths when he had me alone, “Home, with you?” He practiced enough English for just these words, stitching them together with fingers that point to him, to me, to the cerulean sky.\n\n“I’m only twenty,” shaking my head, the words oversalted in the borscht air. He didn’t respond, only pressed the buttons on my watch until an alarm sounded.\n\n“I’m only twenty,” pleading this time, between the beeps.\n\nTolic, who laid his head on the sharp edges of my stomach beneath the patchwork shade of the apple tree, turning my watch over and over, whispered on a slight wind, “Mama.” Relieved at least I was so utterly empty by then – no other stasis of being could have held such a moment without undoing.\n\nAnd Vanya, aware of the inhale before adolescence, the slight holding of the breath, before the tilt, the pull, the dragging away in the teeth of that rabid dog that came out at night. He feared dying like his parents- one addicted to opioids, the other to vodka. He never touched my watch, only watched it over the shoulder of others, eyes slit, the slight tremor of his hands hidden behind his back.\n\nMy heart, a clean split – the first of its kind, perfect jagged lines like the “Best” necklace half I got from my friend when I was ten – the kind that needs only its other “Friends” half to make it whole again.\n\nThere is a question I ask over and over- just one I ask a million different ways: What is my love, if it falls on you as a spike? I held the handle of the broom, swept the brittle pieces of little hearts into a neat pile, flew away as the wind picked up, watch pressed to glass.\n\nI was home three days before he first showed up, Rage, the barbs staked into my throat. I began suffocating as he stretched his bulbous body to fit the shape of me.\n\nMy mom was the first to notice – the change of breath, the slowing, the wheeze of keeping pace as I trailed her on the stairs. She took me to a doctor who found a growth on my trachea, likely a rampant disease in Eastern Europe called Rhinoscleroma, blocking sixty percent of my airway. Growing.\n\nI was rushed into surgery where the doctor put me to sleep like a princess, removed Ukraine from my throat, and woke me with a clap of his hands. Applause as he bowed over me, girl in a box, sawed in half. Miraculously whole again.\n\nThe curtain fell.\n\nRage, you devious beast. You made me believe I could be rid of you- disguised yourself as something that could be removed with privilege, money, magic. You knew I was close then, too close, to knowing your name. You broke my heart in clean lines, made me believe that’s what hearts do, knowing full well that one break would be the start, on its way to ashes. To dust.\n\nBecause now my orphan boys, the ones who asked to come home with me all those years ago, are in their twenties.\n\nI remember them with their sticks, lobbing the heads of sunflowers. They held their fears out to me like secrets in trembling hands, told me the snakes here aren’t poisonous…well…only poisonous if they bite you.\n\nAnd there again, a sandpaper itching at my throat as I watch Russia slither awake and slip into the quiet edges of Kharkiv, setting up a makeshift war camp in the white brick barracks, a goliath heaving its weight at an underdog, a drunk parent slapping their child away, twisting the wrist with the watch until love is on its knees.\n\nThe sunflowers bend weary heads.\n\nI am the Peacemaker.\n\nI reach for the stake at my throat.\n\nI unleash Rage." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Pretty Pair Ava and Mia\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 2039\n\nPrompt:\n\nFrame your story as an adult recalling the events of their childhood." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "I can hear the chirping of birds whispering in my ears, the Sun denies his awakening, covers with those grey fluffy clouds, the cool wind makes those tiny steps and get into my wraps that cools my breath, chills my cheeks, makes my eyes to close tight, strengthens me to stay in my ' own dreamy land'.\nA little dragonfly enters the window, her spongy wings sways as swings, busses my cheeks that made my eyes opened. Instantly, my bossy brain pinches me to let me visit those unforgettable, lovely days of the two cutie pies (of course it's me Ava and my little sister Mia) Now my eyes are blinking and fingers are wiggling, rush to my bossy brain,\n \"Am I fully awake?\" I ask \n\"Of course, you are but I am not.\" she whispers \n\"For we are travelling to the past apart...\" she adds\nUnexpected visit to those moments instantly refreshing me, \n\"For I need it more and more\" I cordially pronounce.\n\n\n ‘In my(Ava's) own dreamy land’ \nI could see those pretty girls, waiting in the morning, welcomed the red tiny flowers of cypress vine. We admired the deep blush that spread all over there. Yeah! We almost looked like fairies there. As I was a shrinking violet, Mia was as playful as a kitten. We were thick as thieves.\n\nWe little fairies turned aside, where the flowers of 'flaming trumpet' dressed in orange, the stunts of the wind blow that cool our skin, our eyes rejoiced and our hearts overwhelmed,\n \"For we love to welcome the flutter of the butterflies.\" \n\" Hey! that's for me\" little Mia exclaimed\n\"Which one?\" I asked \n\" One wears the black wrap with the fluorescent dots\" Mia replied\n \" It's mine\" Mia jumped and announced\n\"So beautiiiifullll....\" we whispered in unison.\n Not even completed the word 'beautiful', one more lined up to share the crown of 'The beauty'.\n \"Wow, I love those wings in blue, which visit for me!\" I exclaimed\nWe two lovelies chased those colourful wings, just to catch and letting off our hands once their spongy moves got over on hands and cheeks.\n\nAs we walked and gazed at the sky, \"Look there, the sky is lightning.\" Mia announced\n\"Hear the thunders following.\" I declared\nWe two smelled the petrichor,\nof course it determined the sudden visit of the bubbly clouds, transmuted as rain.\n\"Shall we walk in the rain together\" Mia requested\n\"No dear, then we won't be well, come with me\" i responded with care.\nAs we felt the instant pitter - patter rain drops, we head palmed and ran towards the nearby arch where the flutter of butterflies, romanced with those climbing roses, dressed in white. while the sky was lightening and the thunder started the ceremonial drumming, me and sissy went on with the beats of the every dark clouds. Tap, tap, tap, the million taps at once, match the beat of the music band, we realized the 'Opera' started from ' The sky land' to 'The water land'. our hands swayed from side to side as we felt us, we were the 'bandleaders'. Once nature stopped the 'opera', we started off with the well known rhyme.\n\"Rain rain go away come again another day little cuties want to play rain rain go awaaaaaaaayyyyy\" we sang in courus.\nWe jumped and sang this repeatedly as we sent off the rain. Soon it turned out to be 'The End', now it was their turn for the paper boats, got dressed to visit the 'water land'. We folded the papers very lightly, so it could swim for a while.\n\n\n“Ava and Mia's excitement after the rain”\nAs time passed, the Sun awoke to shine through the calm clouds, the 'Rainbow Nation' started marching with the vibrant outfits. As we knew that soon it turned out to be 'The end', we both moppets, bumped over to touch the shades of the brilliant spectrum that sprinted through the sky. Our lips twitched and eyelids fluttered as we held the awaited paper boats.\nWe moved on, leaned down and displayed the array of colours. As they knew that was their turn to sail on the 'non-permanent water land, they blew with hope and danced cheerfully.\n\" row, row ...row the boat...\" we sang gleefully.\n\nOnce the band of the thunder followed the eye catchy lightning ended their show, the silky breeze made the wind chimps blew while the distant tinkling bell landed into our clogged ears, we rushed to visit the man from the 'Ice land' to be melted with those frozen ice creams.\n\" I want strawberry ice cream cones.\" Mia jumped and said. \"Me too\", I joined her cheerfully.\nWhile the wind was pretty foggy, our sights were wandering for those insects in a dorm mate state.\nAs the Sun grinned through the droplet of the rain, we clenched our feet on the wet soil .\n\nWe held our hands together and made those tiny steps on 'The grass land', our foot drenched and tongue numbed while our hands had been flooded with those melted ice creams. Our tooth\nstarted their tap-tap band and cherished the shivering, the rain lilies grinned and welcomed us on the way home.\n\nWhile we two sisters greatly admired and renowned nature, the worms were on pins and needles since their burrows had been flooded and placed them like fish out of water. As they came out breathing, we promised that we would not let them be worried and homeless.\n\"Can I get a stick?\" sissy asked\n\"Stick, stick for what?\" I questioned \"Ava! We can take all those warms and leave them on the nearby lawn\" sissy replied by heart.\nWe gently turned the sticks to the lawn, they effortlessly moved and burrowed into the muddy and trodden grass. We sent off the warms and spent our time, playing in the sand joyfully as the day was long.\n\nThe crows stood frozen, came out from the intense trees shimmering their wings and prepared to be arisen. “Caws, caws...” crows sounded with repetitions, seemed like they were alarming among them to be ready and flew awaaaaayyyy. It was after been raining cats and dogs, me and sissy jumped over to climb those branches of trees which wore the frozen garlands of raindrops. Shake, shake, shake it out. Too many droplets showered at once , leading our way home zestfully.\n\n\n'Ava and Mia's love for Mom'\nAs we were constantly on the go with nature, it was time for 'peppery and gingery' food as our stomachs were growling. We were nearing mom in the kitchen, rushing around madly, checking every nook and corners to fill our stomach before breakfast. \"Moooommmmmm, we are feeling hungry....\" we shouted\n\"yeah!! ready, ready. Me and dad are waiting for you angels.\" mom replied instantly.\nGarlic breads with scrambled eggs and spicy hot tea were served for us. There is nothing that could replace mothers love. She wiped us with the set of towels hurrily and dried before feeding us food mixed with love.\n\"Love you Mom.\" we mentioned\n\" Me too, Angels.\" mom smiled and whispered.\n\"I'm your first love.\" I pronouned\n\"Mom! its me.\" Mia responded\n\"I love you both.\" mother consoled\n\"No mom, It can be just one.\" Mia urged\nAs we were awaiting her response, \"you both represent my eyes.\" mom replied affectionately\n\"And I am eternally yours, my smart Ava and cute Mia\" she whispered\nWe showered each other with hugs and kisses repeatedly.\n\"Love you Mom.\" Me ad Mia chanted as we know that she was our best friend forever.\n\n\n'In the garden'\nOnce we had our breakfast, dad noticed the soft hearted moringa plant, that would never stand straight and fight against the thunder storm. There it had been bent and leaned with the branches that had gone, we with our dad tied it along with the neem tree which could the support for long. We collected the ripped chikoos and guavas which had fallen, the puffy long tail squirrels left them, which might have caused us pollen. We urged to bite those sweet chikoos and guavas. \"STOP, it would cause infection, You should avoid these fruit in the current climate\" dad sent us a warning.\nHer face turned red and eyes shed tears, i agreed with regrets \"Please dont cry dear,\" i murmured in her ears as my heart pains with tears. I rushed to the other side where the tall papaya tree stood straight, grinned and offered those sweet yummy fruits. \"Miaaaa...Papayas are here!!!\" I shouted merrily.\nShe grinned from ear to ear and ran to the terrace to reach the tall tree.\n\"Ava, wait for me, its my turn, i will pick it now\" Mia shouted merrily.\nAs we always competed with each other in collecting the fruits from the trees, I allowed her silently as i know that i made her happy. Mom served us with tiny slices of fruit.\n\"Hmmmm Yummy Yummy, soooo sweeeeet\" we whispered and ate them complete gleefully.\n\nOur keen ears received the oink, oink sounds of the piggies in the neighboring sty. We moved to the garden, where the stout bodied piggies murmured with their pinkish wet stouts in hungry, swineherd rushed with the basket of fresh curly cabbages and greens sliced. Of course, it was a strong down pour that cause the delay in feeding the piggies.\n\n\n'Ava and Mia's noon'\nAs we learnt that the fallen moringa leaves were rich in iron, mom cooked and served it with the brown rice and she prepared the moringa flower's receipe too. \"Yeah, we know our mom is a \"MasterChef\". Our regular visiter during lunch time joined us for food. Of course, it was none other than a sleeky squirrel.\nOnce we finished the lunch, we gazed through the windows where the children panicked as they unlooked for monkeys. We too frightened for a while, soon our fear turned into laugh, the monkeys slipped and hanged over upside down with their acrobatics for long. Not only the monkeys, we too got into action, imitated them for a while, they had run to escape and gone.\n\n\n‘In the chapel’\nThe sound of the chapel bell rang,\n“It’s time for the prayer.” our mind alarmed.\n\"Ava, Mia ... Be ready, hurry up.\" dad alerted\nWe refreshed quickly and my sissy brought the candles to light, i took the garland made of jasmins cheerfully. On the way to chapel, one could not miss the elderly Mother, resting in the wooden chair. Her misty hair and divine face were the most admirable sight. Her mouth was chantting prayers with rosary, her face was as brightened as the 'halo'. I voluntarily took one of her hands and kept on my head since her eyes were cloudy. 'Good evening Mother!' we whispered \"Very good evening my children!\" she responded\nAs one of her hands was on my head,\n\"God bless you my child!\" she blessed Now it was cute Mia's turn, she took her hand from my head and shifted it to her head.\n\"Bless me Mother.\" Mia asked\n\"God bless you my child!\". Mother delivered with smile.\nI could remember that days never pass for us without he blessing. She never miss to bless us all with her wobbly hands inspite of her old age(must have crossed 100 years) We entered the chapel with smile while the others were still queued for her blessing. We started our prayers ``Thank you, Lord, for your blessings. In our memory, we would never demand in our prayers, as we had many reasons for rejoicing.\n\nOnce we were home and finished the dinner, we were waiting for mom. Of course, everyone knew that the mother's lap was the safest and happiest place to sleep peacefully. As we realized that our day today work almost went on and repeated with nature, we would never get bored or worried of those repetitions.\n\n\n‘In my bed’\n\" Mom I want noodles.\", an Instant voice sounds. Me and my bossy brain realize that we are fond of those lovely days. My mind was flooded with those thoughts of wonders as I knew that those were never returned tenders.\n\" I am coming dear...\" I whisper" } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: All That Fitz\n\nGenre: christian\n\nWord Count: 2559\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about someone who is constantly being put into a box by others." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "“You are supposed to believe certain things, don’t you know?”\n“What? Am I supposed to be some bible thumper now?”\n“Why would you assume that?\nAccording to Michael, I was the one with a problem. Our friendship depended on me making the right choices. He always took the lead to sort things out for us. Then it got so weird. He chose a set of beliefs all right. Things that made no sense to me.\nHe was right and everyone else was wrong. His beliefs were fashionable too. Everyone agreed with him. I mean everyone. No one else dared to disagree. Except for me. Yet he couldn’t be a bible thumper. Not yet anyway.\nBut if I tried to object to this radical change in his outlook on life, he would accuse me of putting him into a box. Telling his story without permission. Making him a character in my life. To hear him tell it, the problem between us was that I could never take a stand on anything that mattered. Yet I was taking a stand! For our friendship.\nIt didn’t start out that way. We had been friends since high school. Altar boys at church. On a first-name basis with the convent nuns who ran St. Vincent’s, a private boys’ school. We even went to the same university. Took some of the same courses. Liked the same people. The joke that got a smile from those who knew us was that really, we were twin sons of different mothers.\nWhich made things even more painful. Something had happened to him in his freshman year. Now we hardly saw each other. \nOctober 17th\n“Oh my!” I exclaimed in the Unicentre one day, right outside the student council office. “It’s you! Really you!”\nMichael stopped for a moment, his entourage's quizzical noises and looks making one very tall woman adjust her oversized glasses. She squinted to make sense of how I knew Michael, yet she didn’t know me.\n“I never see you in class anymore,\" I said. \"We’re roommates, remember?”\nA slow smile creased that handsome face. “Why Zachary, what a surprise!”\nHe only had a moment, his furrowed brow squelching the torrent of words that usually escaped him. Already there was a light touch on his shoulder to point the way to the council meeting they were late for.\n “Catch you later Zack! You'll email me your course notes, right?\" He walked backward so he might talk to me more, but he didn't know what to say and I was too upset to talk to him. So awkward! Already they were in council chambers, arranging their papers and addenda items for their meeting. Michael was seated at the head of the council table. I could see everyone looking around, shuffling papers, and chatting, doubtless wondering why the meeting hadn’t already started. But Michael was staring out through the student council door window, watching me go to my next class. I would have given anything to know what he was thinking. I ended up outside in the quad. A cigarette for my thoughts would have suited me then. Too bad I didn’t smoke.\nOctober 18th\nWhen best friends fight, everyone has something to say about it. What went wrong for us? Mom would ask why Michael didn’t come over at Thanksgiving or Christmas. That ski trip we always took was taken without him. She would ask if there was something wrong and if there was something she could do. I told her that Michael was busy. Now that he was president of the university student council, he hardly had time for anything. I knew I was telling a lie. But it was a lie I wanted to believe.\nSpeaking of belief, Michael said I didn’t believe in anything. He really meant that I didn’t believe in the right things. The fashionable ideas. A stuck-in-the-mud Catholic was what I was. Michael had moved on.\nIt wasn’t just that he never went to Mass anymore, it was that he lived his life by what he felt was right. To hear him say it, church teaching was behind the times. Egalitarianism and who had power in society were the crucial issues.\nI told him that the Catholic Church had always worked to help the poor. He called that a sop to distract people. White people wielded power in such a way that the oppressed could never be free. “Put the oppressed in charge of your Catholic Church!” he would say. “Then maybe there might be true justice in this life!”\nI didn’t know how to answer him, to be honest. But later I discovered that Catholic teaching about power is actually quite simple: those who are privileged are expected to serve others. Having a truly egalitarian society is impossible. There will always be powerful elites and what really matters is how ethically they behave and whether they care more for the needs of those they govern than they do for their own enrichment.\nTherefore, the skin color of a ruling elite doesn't matter. A just society is only possible when at least a minority of people are honest and selfless in their personal lives. This was why striving to be a good person and living by a moral code based upon the teachings of Jesus Christ was much more important than political agitation. But I never got a chance to tell him that.\nNot long after, I got a text from Michael:\nZack, it was great to run into you. My how time goes by these days! Could you help me out? I need someone to do publicity for the Fitzpatrick Lecture Series. This year's topic is Deconstructing White Supremacy. We tried to have the lecture series honoree changed this year, but it was a no-go. Some important alumni objected. It's still in honor of a dead professor of some dead sociological theory! I’ll drop a folder off to you with instructions. Thanks!\nThe folder was already on my night table. Which came first? The text or the folder? Maybe both. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t reply.\nOctober 19th\nMy dorm room now existed for my exclusive use. I had no idea where Michael was sleeping at night. Then she showed up. Outside my dorm room.\n“Hello, Zachary. You can call me Madison. My pronouns are she and her. Do you have any questions about the publicity folder?”\nIt was that tall, tall woman with the oversized glasses. Six inches taller than me at least. I felt like making a joke about my adjectives being “wonderful” and “amazing” but kept that comment to myself. She was just too attractive.\n“I have a lot of questions. Would you like to meet for coffee somewhere? I’m free now.”\nEven as I was speaking to her, it occurred to me that Madison and Michael were probably hooked up already. Which was awkward. But she was so ready for anything.\n“Just text me! I’ve got a class right now.” With that said, she turned to go.\n“Wait! I don’t know your number!”\nShe was already halfway down the hall. “Michael will give it to me!”\nOctober 20th\nIt was strange that Madison was in my second-year American History class. I hadn't noticed her before. There she was blocking someone's view halfway down Simmon’s amphitheater, a guy behind her having to crane his neck to see the professor. After the lecture, I made a point of being at the exit Madison was heading towards, idling, and waiting for her to notice me.\nUp the aisle she came, wearing these very expensive clothes, all done up like she was ready to be interviewed, only noticing me at the last instant. “Oh, it's you!” she exclaimed as she leaned on the fire exit door, impatient to leave.\n“Zachary. But you could call me Zack for short. My pronouns are he and him,” I grinned.\nShe gave me this weird look like joking about pronouns was a crime. Then she strode out into the concourse. So many classes were held in rooms that emptied into what could only be described as a mini shopping mall. People were going for coffee and taking their seats under the beaming skylights and indoor trees.\n“What do you want?”\n“Free for a coffee now?”\n“Oh alright. But I have another class soon. It will need to be quick. Are you having some sort of problem with the publicity?”\nWe sat at one of the few remaining tables. I took a long look at her over my coffee, while thinking of what I might say. She was so incredibly beautiful, sunlight dappling about her long shiny brown hair. And she was staring at me too, in a good way, I hoped.\n“Yeah, yesterday I put a few posters up, but people are already defacing them,” I said, finally. “All sorts of salty comments. Some are in favor of the lectures; some are against them. The name of the sponsor, Fitzpatrick gets crossed out a lot. I haven’t a clue why this is happening.\n“John Alfred Fitzpatrick is the honoree, not the sponsor,” she corrected. “The lectures are meant to honor his contributions to sociology at this university. The person funding the lectures is Mr. Wilder who was once a student here. Don’t you pay attention to any of this stuff?”\nGreat, I thought. I don’t know what I am talking about. I tried again. “So, you’re fine with that? I shouldn’t be replacing the posters that get defaced?”\n“No. Of course not! We want people to engage with what we are presenting. What are you anyway? Don’t you believe in what we are doing?”\n“Sure. Sort of,” I smiled, trying hard to be as inoffensive as possible.\nMadison frowned. “I don’t know about you, but if you want to make your mark in this life you need to take a stand and say and do things that will make a real difference. That is what is important to Michael, just as it is everything to me.”\nThen her coffee was off the table for good. Just like that. Madison was on her way, getting ready to go already. I had to think of something.\n“Can you give me a one-paragraph explanation of what the lecture series is about? Real quick?” I pleaded.\nShe sighed. Then she stood up and slung her bag over her shoulder. “This stuff can’t be explained that way. Attend the lectures. Find out for yourself. That’s why we do these things in the first place.” She glanced at her expensive Apple watch.\n“I’ve got to go.”\nBefore I could think of anything more to say, she was bobbing down the concourse with such huge strides. Watching her go, I was so disgusted with everything that I pitched a practically full cup of coffee into the nearest bin.\nOctober 24th\nLife can be strange. On the last night of the lectures, there would be a party and I was invited. Well, any excuse, I guess. Michael texted me again:\nHey Zack! Could you be on the lookout for Cathy Wilder? She’ll be at the party after the last lecture. You can’t miss her. We’ll be giving her an appreciation plaque and a letter of thanks to her father. Maybe you could chat her up so she’s not all by herself. Thanks!\nI thought to write back: Why wouldn't you take care of her yourself? But then I remembered that Madison would be there.\nOctober 25th and 26th\nTo my surprise, the first two lectures were full of banners and demonstrations with a hefty police presence. People were shouting each other down. A few had to be thrown out. Me, I was a spectator. How people could support white supremacy made no sense to me. But on the other hand, why have a lecture series that brings out the worst in everyone?\nOctober 27th\nI arrived late to the party; it was like I feared it would be. The only people I knew were Michael and Madison. They were chatting up people who looked familiar, dressed up in dark suits and expensive jewelry. Yes, those two were an item. No, they weren’t interested in talking to me. I found out later that some of the most important people in the university and even in the city were there.\nKnowing as I did, that Madison was with Michael, I would have left early but I ended up with a drink next to what turned out to be Cathy Wilder, the person Michael wanted me to look out for. Something must have gone seriously wrong. She looked so unhappy and out of place. Why wasn't she hobnobbing with all the dignitaries and basking in the attention that her father's involvement in the lecture series should have given her? Neither one of us spoke for such a long time. Finally, I got the courage to speak to her.\n\"I came to this party late. Are you here because you sponsor these lectures?\"\n“Yes, I’m here because my father funds this lecture series each year,” Cathy replied somewhat irritably. \"The university sponsors the lectures.\"\nI had used the wrong word again. My bad. I was getting so tired of these word games.\n“And that is all?” I needled.\n“What do you mean?”\n“Would you be here if your father didn't fund these lectures?”\n“Why would that matter?” she huffed, her narrowed eyes flashing a warning.\nA feeling of wild abandonment came over me. Nothing mattered. Nothing whatsoever. The truth at last. I wanted it anyway I could get it. I put my drink down and turned in my chair to face Cathy.\n“To hear some people I know, the only thing that matters is saying the right words and believing in the right causes. Use the right pronouns. Have the right political views. Who cares about how anyone really feels anymore?”\nCathy was getting angry. Good, I thought. I wasn’t near halfway done.\n“So, your dad is an alumnus?”\n“Yes, he knew Professor Fitzpatrick personally. Why do you ask?”\nI was quiet for a moment. “So, he was the one who didn’t want the honoree of the lecture series changed?”\nNow Cathy put her drink down. “How do you know that?” she demanded.\nI thought of those wretched posters I had been putting up. I imagined how people at the lectures must have felt, their emotions manipulated by those who cared only for their own advancement.\n“Oh, people don’t seem to like the name Fitzpatrick for some reason. Too white a name, I guess!” I half shouted.\n“What a thing to say!\" Cathy shouted back, much louder than me. \"This might be the last year for my father and the money he spends on this university! I certainly won’t be continuing with this lecture series once he’s gone!”\nPeople near us stopped talking, holding their drinks tightly, fixing their gaze about the room, anywhere but at us as if to say, \"It wasn't me!\" Cathy sprang from her chair, snatching her things, her coat, her purse, the plaque from the university, and the letter of thanks, nearly dropping everything in her haste to leave.\nI shot a glance at Michael and Madison's puzzled faces as I went to the door. Who knew what they were thinking? Who knew indeed? I couldn't care less." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Faithless Pets\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1436\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about someone losing faith in an institution." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "There once lived cheerfully together, in a fine house, a turtle shell Cat and a lovely white Dog: the Cat's name was Tittums; the Dog's, Fido. \nIn course of time the beautiful Dog fell head over heels for the Cat, and just hung tight for a decent opportunity to reveal his expressions of warmth. This came one day, when Tittums had put her paws on the bumper, dropped her head a little on one side, half shut her eyes, and appeared considering nothing by any stretch of the imagination. \nThen, at that point Fido, who lay extended at full length upon the hearth-mat, taken a gander at her, and hurling a delicate cry, said,\n\"Gracious, Tittums, I've experienced passionate feelings for!\" \n\"In fact!\" answered the reasonable Cat, not wishing to show him how restless she was. \n\"Indeed, in fact,\" proceeded with the little Doggy, fairly hurt at her briskness: \"It's you that I've experienced passionate feelings for. Do you like me, Tittums?\" \nHowever, Tittums would not reply, even with a solitary murmur r! furthermore, it was uniquely upon her giving him a wily post of the side of her left eye that he thought about the amount she loved him. Notwithstanding, made intense by even this little badge of regard, he came unobtrusively up, and sat close by; going up until now, finally, as to take her out for a short stroll down the nursery way, where they glanced through the railings at individuals cruising by. \n\"Well,\" said Fido to himself, \"I have no uncertainty except for she will cherish me on schedule; all \nthe more, as I have incredible any expectations of becoming greater before the spring.\" \nYet, one morning, when Tittums rolled in from a visit she had been paying her mamma, she was trailed by a man of his word from the jungles, who, with all insolence, made himself comfortable, squeezed Tittums' paw to his heart, called her \"the loveliest of Cats,\" requested that she oblige him with a melody, which he had been told she could sing pleasantly, and never took minimal notification of poor Fido, who was sitting in the corner. To come clean, poor Fido was extremely cross, and started to snarl viciously; the more so when, regrettably, he viewed the delight with which Tittums heard this drivel. He was unable to think what right the striking outsider needed to come there unasked; for all that he had radiant red and green plumes, a dapper, expansive overflowed cap, and a gold-headed strolling stick, he was not gorgeous, that was extremely sure. \nHowever, Tittums was particularly struck by his appearance and bearing; his plumes \nwere so lovely, he communicated in such countless dialects, yelled so horrendously and in an uproarious voice, had voyaged so a lot, and was so struck by the magnificence of Tittums, that, helpless little Cat as she was, she stopped to really focus a catch on reliable Fido, and saved all her tricky looks for Mr. Paul Parrot. \n\"Exquisite Tittums,\" said Mr. Paul, \"you should fail to remember such upstart little dogs as Fido. Pay attention to me—I am an explorer—I communicate in five dialects,— I have a royal residence made of brilliant bars, inside which is a roost fit for a lord,— I have a benefits of bread and milk and Barcelona nuts: all of which I will impart to you. To-morrow we will go for an outing into the field close to the house. Great by for the present, my dear Pussy Cat;\" and he disappeared kissing his hand. \nPoor Fido cried. Insidious Tittums! \nAs day followed day, Miss Puss ignored her little Dog to an ever increasing extent. She left with Mr. Paul Parrot, she sang to him, taken a gander at him, and, indeed, possibly appeared to be content when he was by. Poor Fido was consistent with his first love, albeit nearly brought to surrender; he got exceptionally slim without a doubt, and his fine thick coat, which he had kept quite perfect, became battered and filthy. \nUndoubtedly, Mr. Parrot conveyed all before him; he was so amazing, so cherishing, thus smart, that Fido from being abandoned became disdained. \nOne evening, soon after dull, as he was wandering about, feeling extremely pitiful, and believing that, maybe, it is smarter to flee, he at the same time wound up in the following nursery, and keeping in mind that he was looking round him, he heard voices. \n\"Exquisite Mrs. Daw,\" said one of the voices which he appeared to remember, \"I'm an explorer—I communicate in five dialects—I have a castle made of brilliant bars, inside which is a roost fit for a ruler,— I have a benefits of bread and milk and nuts; all of which I will impart to you. To-morrow we will fly for an outing on to the extraordinary oak-tree in Farmer Hodges' field.\" \n\"Dear me!\" thought Fido, \"this should be Mr. Parrot.\" And, adequately sure, so it was,— Mr. Parrot, for sure, and making the hottest of adoration to old Mrs. Daw, the widow of Miser Jack Daw, who, during a long life, and through taking and saving, had laid by an enormous fortune, which he had left Mrs. Daw to appreciate. \nThe old widow appeared to be particularly satisfied at the glow of Mr. Paul's adoration, and almost certainly felt that each word he said was valid; scoffing round at him \nwith her old eyes, and wishing that she had put on a spotless muslin cap, as it may have made her look much more youthful than she suspected she did. \nConcerning Fido, he nearly hopped for euphoria; he ran home in a hurry. \n\"Goodness, Tittums!\" said he, inconsiderate of her derisive looks, \"what do you think I have discovered? There is that scalawag of a Paul Parrot, who imagines such a lot of adoration for you, seeking Widow Daw at the present time; and in the event that you come without a moment's delay you may see it with your own eyes.\" \n\"Gibberish!\" answered Tittums: \"I don't trust it.\" \n\"Well,\" said the Dog, \"to persuade you, on the off chance that you will just go to the opposite side of the divider you will see that what I have said is very obvious.\" \nYet, Pussy, confiding in the honor of Mr. Paul, would not accept a word, and it was solely after a lot of influence that she was instigated to hop over the divider and tune in. Mr. Paul and Mrs. Daw were all the while pursuing, and the Parrot was attempting, by persuading the old woman, to discover the amount she was worth, and where every one of her fortunes were covered up. Undoubtedly Mrs. Daw was simply about to start disclosing to him her mysterious, when Tittums, incapable to contain herself, hurried at Mr. Paul and scratched his face. \n\"Goodness, you terrible Parrot!\" she said; \"did you not vow to wed me, and take me to your brilliant royal residence?\" \n\"Brilliant royal residence!\" shouted Mrs. Daw: \"why, you devilish bird, that is the thing that you guaranteed me. Stay, ma'am, what did he say other than?— did he guarantee you any bread and milk, or any Barcelona nuts?\" \n\"Indeed, he did—he did—he did,\" proceeded with the Cat, scratching and pawing the bogus, fickle Parrot as she talked. \n\"Well,\" said Pussy, presently genuinely depleted, \"I trust you are fulfilled: if at any point you draw close to our home once more, I'll fix each quill you have on your back;\" thus she left him, taking Fido with her, who, disregarding his overall amicableness and the Parrot's fury, couldn't avoid giving him a few sharp chomps. When Mrs. Daw was left alone with Paul, she started to chide him with his erroneousness,— \"You indecent, stood up, monstrous, off-kilter double crosser! you have neither trustworthiness enough to live by, nor wings enough to fly with.\" Whereupon she seized him and gave him such a culling as spoilt his attractive features. \nNever after this was the Parrot ready to hold up his head. Each one disdained him; even his brilliant royal residence ended up being a metal confine; and for his offenses a chain was attached round his leg. He was restricted to a wooden roost, which, out of unadulterated disdain, he was continually pecking. \nOld Widow Daw stayed discreet, and stayed unmarried. \nTittums couldn't resist the urge to respect the consistency of Fido; and when in the spring he had become greater, and was elevated to a sweet red and dark collar, Pussy found that she adored him especially for sure, and decided never more to neglect him.—" } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Kelsey's Heaven\n\nGenre: christian\n\nWord Count: 2185\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about someone who is constantly being put into a box by others." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "I always considered marriage to be the most beautiful thing to happen to someone. I mean, doesn’t everyone though? To have one person in your life to feel a connection to like no other; someone to tell your secrets to, someone to tell what you’re REALLY thinking.\n That’s what I thought. My marriage ceremony was just two months ago, yet all I could think about is one very specific part of our vows, “Til death do us part.” Surely, if my husband doesn’t die soon, I WILL kill myself.\n My husband and I have been married for, as I’ve said, just over two months ago. Everything was perfect then; he was such a romantic, and his family – or, what I’ve seen of them – were absolutely charming.\n But something changed. It wasn’t subtle, I assure you, but I did notice my newlywed husband start to act less like the man I knew him to be, and more… Well, business-like. He no longer gave me flowers at the start of every week like he used to, and he no longer cuddled me every night when he promised me he would. Sometimes he would come home, looking beat like a baseball, but I would always be the good wife and have the house clean and dinner cooked and warm for him right on the dot. I would ask him how his day went, and he would give his generic “It was fine,” response. I would wrap my arms lovingly around his neck and kiss his cheek, maybe a small nibble on his ear if I was feeling saucy – but no bite.\n Day after day it went, this marriage that was built on such promises of love and affection which was now a disquiet sequence of conversation between two roommates who hardly know each other. Never mind that we share a bed, considering he hardly touches me these days. Was it something I did, or said? These were questions that plagued me for months.\n To make it worse, it didn’t stop with my husband – his father would always give me such disdainful looks, and would low-key question was I was doing with my own life as I went to school. Like, when all of us were hanging out together – my mom and dad, me, my husband, and my husband’s dad – I explained I didn’t accept the job offer of working as a line cook while I’m going to school to be a medical assistant. I explained that I didn’t want to take on a part-time job, where I’m already struggling to make sense of all I’m learning unless it made some sort of sense with what I’m going through with school – even a basic receptionist job would be more beneficial for me than that of a line cook. But all my husband’s father had to say to that was, “Well, OKAY,” in such a snarky tone as they looked down at their feet with condescending eyes which knew didn’t want to meet my own. Condescending old shit.\n That specific moment was just a little two weeks ago. Just thirty seconds ago I was pacing my bathroom as my husband lay dead asleep in our bedroom. I couldn’t sleep; it was just the same shit running through my head over and over, and it kept me up at night no matter how hard I tried to fight it, despite having a test to do tomorrow.\n I tell you what – I was raised Baptist. I don’t necessarily worship the guy you all call God now – in fact, I would just straight up say I don’t believe in him, if not for certain things in my past. Yes, things did happen to me with such a level of “I told you so,” by a higher authority that I have no choice BUT to believe in him – that doesn’t mean I have to like him. No, I DO believe in God, the Savior, and the Holy fucking spirit, but that doesn’t mean I have to like him.\n But therein lies my issue – I am this unhappy with my life, my marriage, and all the people involved with it, it absolutely feels like I have no way out. I don’t WANT to go to Hell, so there goes suicide as my ticket out. But I also don’t want to go to Heaven, as I know someday, I would be meeting my husband and my father again as they are both heavily religious.\nI prayed and prayed (but not to anyone specific) for a way out of this.\n And just as I knew there would be a higher power such as the Big-G God, I knew there could be something else out there to hear me.\n “Hello, Kelsey,” I heard a voice behind me say. Though I was facing the mirror, the owner of the voice was just outside of the view of the prism. I turned around sharply and beheld the most beautiful man I had ever seen. His hair was blonde, slick back in a businessman-like cut, and his skin was white with a slight scan that gave it that trim peach color, though the shape of his eyes held a hint of Asian origin to them. The eyes, though – they were a sparkling emerald. Not just green, but literally the sheen of pure cut emeralds, and they seemed to be looking right through me. The rest of this man was wearing a sharp grey suit that seemed to be cut perfectly to his body origins – a solid 6’1” I’d guess.\n I tried to conceal my surprise, but something in me told me that would do no good. “Who are you?” I asked with a voice that I hoped was unshaking.\n “You may call me…” The man said, taking a slight pause as he licked his lips. “Mr. Green!” He finally finished with a flair of his hands. “I understand that you’re in a bit of trouble?” he asked, his whimsical smile turning to a frown.\n I wanted to hate that frown, but it felt so sincere, so modest – like he truly did feel bad for me.\n I didn’t want to say anything. Part of me wanted to scream for my husband to come and help. But I didn’t.\n I looked at this man – this, Mr. Green, - and I felt hope. The hope of being free, the urge to live my life as it was meant to be lived.\n “Don’t be shy, my dear. I know, I know… It’s hard to find trust in me. After all – did I not just appear in your bathroom in the middle of the night?” He chuckled as he reached his hand up to his face as if to examine it.\n “But I assure you, we can be great friends. And I do hope we can be friends, Kelsey. But that’s not always such an easy step to take, is it?” He asked me, his emerald eyes flashing – literally flashing – at me.\n “No,” I said. I don’t know how I knew it, but I knew that this Mr. Green wasn’t just some man – he was my way out.\n “You want something from me,” I said to him.\n Mr. Green chuckled at that. “Well yes, I do!” He beamed at me again, and his face turned back to a frowning sincerity. “But you also want something from me. That’s what friends do after all, yes? We help each other.”\n I struggled to find the right words. I wanted to tell him to go away, that none of this felt right; and yet, all of this felt right, and I told him, “Yes. I need something from you. If you can do it?”\n Mr. Green did not chuckle again like I expected him to, but instead, his stern countenance turned to a frown. “You want the power to be free,” he said, “But not just to be free from your husband and his father in this life, but in the next life as well?”\n I couldn’t help it – it was the sheer power of it all, to hear it from someone else's mouth – I fell to my knees, and started sobbing.\n “Yes… Yes, please…” I grabbed the hem of his too-nicely tailored grey pants and squeezed. I didn’t care that my tears were staining that fine cloth, and apparently neither did he.\n “Please!”\n Mr. Green slowly knelt down and clasped my hands. “Do not cry, dear. All I need is for you to renounce everything – renounce God, renounce Lucifer and all his devils – do that, and I can help you.”\n I looked up at him, my sobbing at a confused halt, “What?” I asked.\n At this, he did smile again. “Renounce belief in all of them, love. And you will have the power to beat them. There will be no Heaven.”\n I was mesmerized in disbelief as I looked up at this wonderful man, so endearing and so all-knowing, so compassionate. There were a million things I wanted to say to him, but all I could say was, “I see you, Mr. Green.”\n He nodded to me, then vanished. It wasn’t a dramatic flair of smoke, there was no whooshing noise – he simply was, and then simply wasn’t. It was then that I knew what I had to do. There is no Heaven.\n Strangling my husband was easy. It was easy to look into his eyes, to see those questions building up. What did I do? How can we fix this? Why?\n Why? That was the simplest question. In time, he would know exactly why – or maybe not. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was that it was finally over.\n My husband’s father wasn’t as easy, however. When I drove to his house just two blocks down the road, I felt so true to myself. But as I stood there, over his bed the same way I did his son, my hands wrung around his neck, it was harder as strange as that is to say.\n The old man looked more lost; confused would be the best word for it, I suppose. I don’t know if this expression could be put into words, but I like to think that it did mean why is my daughter-in-law doing this? That thought in particular brought a smile to my lips. I truly did hope that is exactly what they were thinking. But I knew I’d never find out, even then.\n I made it back to my own house, and I saw Mr. Green sitting on the loveseat waiting for me.\n “I see you took care of honeybunch. How’d it go with dear old Dad?” Mr. Green said. He didn’t seem to be his same, empathetic self - he had the cheery grin of someone who had just won the lottery.\n I didn’t feel the same with him either. All the feelings of trust and security were gone. Here and now, I really did see Mr. Green. He was cold and heartless; he was all of the emotions I felt toward my husband and my father. “You know exactly how it went. It doesn’t matter now; I won’t have to see them again.”\n “That’s right!” Mr. Green exclaimed, in a tone not too unlike that of a used car salesman. “You won’t have to worry about seeing them ever again – not where you’re going!”\n I was taken aback by this. “What do you mean, “not where I’m going,”?” I asked.\n “Well,” Mr. Green said, “I said there would be no Heaven. I didn’t say not for who. I don’t have the power to just take away Heaven, you know!” Mr. Green said with a light-hearted laugh.\n It started to dawn on me what was happening, what was being done to me. Too little, too late. “You tricked me…” I said in a weak, shaky voice.\n “Tsk tsk,” Mr. Green said. “I never lied, and that’s the truth. Say, Kelsey – you look like someone who's having a heart attack!”\n I stammered and thought of slinging a million slurs at him, but all that came out of my mouth was, “I see you, Mr. Green…”\n Mr. Green laughed and laughed, “Yeah, yeah… Just like a woman having a heart attack.” He said this last sentence more seriously, as I clutched my chest and collapsed to the ground.\n Later the coroner would call the cause of death a heart attack, and the deaths of my husband and his father a freak strangling by some psychopath – as far as they could tell, there would be no reason to implicate me as the murderer; I just had a heart attack seeing someone break into my home, and that someone would go upstairs to strangle my husband. They’ll probably never see the truth.\n I could try and explain to my husband and my father how I was deceived, how I really felt. We could probably just talk it out, right? But I don’t think I’ll ever see them 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: Hot cup of coffee!\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1018\n\nPrompt:\n\nFrame your story as an adult recalling the events of their childhood." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Hot cup of coffee\n When I was young, my mother worked all the time in the hospital as a doctor and I spent most of my time with my grandmother. \nMy grandmother had a small but very cozy apartment and I was particularly fascinated by the wallpaper covering all the walls in all the rooms; on which there were drawings of families outings in nature with the pets running here and there.\nThe families had lunch and snacks with a cup of hot tea or coffee. I would contemplate on these drawings for long periods of time and let my imagination run wild and a lot of daydreaming as you can imagine !\nAnd my grandmother always used to tell me: What do you like about this wallpaper? I can assure you it’s the same thing everyday and it will never change.\n My grandmother was drinking coffee, unusual for the Russian people who love tea, with some local pastries ( pirojkis), that have been passed down from generation to generation.\n And I wondered why my grandmother used to drink a big cup of hot coffee every day. And one day I decided to ask her to put an end to this mystery that differs from all the neighbors who only drink one drink as if nature did not produce anything else on the surface of the earth!\n One day I decided to ask my grandmother why she chose hot coffee instead of tea, and there was always only one answer to this question: Not now!\n One day, it was a Sunday and my mom didn't go to the hospital because it was a day off, so we decided to go out for a short walk and of course to do some Picnic, and go out for a relaxing day in nature.\n These were the happiest moments of my life when I could spend some quality time with my mom ; I used to ask her all the way about the names of trees and their fruits and plants and wild and non-wild flowers without tiring or getting bored. \nMy mother also answered me with enthusiasm and eagerness to make up for the long absences, she was feeling guilty without any doubt.\n The nature was beautiful and the weather at the end of August was great with no chance of rain.\nA lot of birds were singing around us; I was always curious about their names and where they came from, and why birds have always to travel to other exotic lands, and not happy to stay where they are , just like us: humans!\nI was also wondering where they were hiding during the cold season and who gave them this feather and who painted it in all these vivid colors! I was dreaming as well, in my daydreaming to have the chance to get similar colors; that much I loved artistic asp of the nature, without knowing it at that time.\nClouds seemed to be always amused to play the hide and seek game; I was looking at and following these clouds and I remember asking the adults around me: why clouds cry? Why hurt them and why, they never hurt anybody and they are always there when we need to talk to anybody. But they don’t find in return anybody when they need to cry, and everyone is just running away, is it fair? I don’t think so.\nOnce, one frog was hit by a car on the high way, though it was just playing and jumping. They say that in France they eat frogs’s hips, may be that’s why they jump all the time to spoil their meals eaten with a lot of spicy sauces and considered the best on the menu!\nI look to all these flowers around me, are they the reflections of the birds colors? Or may be they got painted when the clouds were crying. May be it’s the sacrifice clouds are doing by giving all these colors to the nature, and the flowers are getting all the compliments; life is not faire, even the sky knows that. Not all the flowers are lucky, some of them are massacred and their souls are hidden is bottles of all typa de sizes, do they keep them for the next life? Do flowers have reincarnation too?\nThe rainbow is a faithful friend, he never leaves the clouds when they are crying. Can we find a lot of rainbows in our life time, or it’s only one and has expiration date just like the honey in the jar? Please rainbow, dear rainbow, get cloned and I promise I’ll get you a true identity card.\nwhat do I suggest? I suggest that there will be a village for flowers and another one for birds and bees, and that there will be a huge beauty contest where the sky, the cloud and the sun would represent the jury! The criteria of Miss gardens is to be the least selfish by donating all the extra colors and spread it around, just like a magic dust that would turn into fruits and candy to feed everyone.\n If I knew later that these moments could not be repeated, I would have put them in a box and sealed it so that I could smell its perfume later when I walked on the rugged serpent road with deadly slopes. \nBut my innocence was showing me that these moments are certainly the beginning of more beautiful and beautiful moments.\n And then my mom said let's sit here and have lunch before sunset. After lunch, my mother brought out cups of tea for me and her, but she brought out one small cup for my grandmother for coffee. I said to my mother with enthusiasm: Mama, this cup looks like the one drawn on my grandmother's wallpaper! \nMy mother laughed and said to my grandmother: As far as I remember it was a gift from Jean-Pierre before he left back to France when the war was over, wasn't it?!\nNow, when I grew up, I realized that coffee love is also inherited!" } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Summer of 96'\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1011\n\nPrompt:\n\nFrame your story as an adult recalling the events of their childhood." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "I remember it like it was yesterday.. It was the summer of 96', I had just finished playing baseball with some friends, and I was on my way home to get ready for a family outing. My white Chuck Taylors turned grey as I stirred up dust on that old gravel road. I could feel each rock through my shoes as I stepped on them, I might as well have been barefoot.. I was a teenager at the time, about fourteen I'd say, so the mile walk from my friend's house back to my own wasn't exactly a challenge, but still I had to stop for a minute, to give my aching soles a rest, those shoes never did my feet any favors, but they were my favorite pair so I wore them everywhere, even to church on Sundays.\n I sat there on the side of the road, listening to the birds, watching squirrels scurry about, foraging. Then something caught my eye, a tuft of orange fur sat on a fallen, rotting tree. It was a cat, except.. It wasn't.. Everything about it was cat-like, all but its face.. The first thing I noticed was its nose.. The bridge was long, its nostrils were flared, and wide, it looked human.. So did its thin lips, curled into a haunting smile.. Its unblinking eyes were dark brown, I could see its soul through them, and I was sure it could see mine.. \n It was a hot, humid day, but I remember shivering, goosebumps covered my arms, the hairs on the back of my neck rose, and my breathing halted. I tried getting to my feet, but my legs wouldn't work, if I could have stood my knees would have probably buckled beneath me.. I just sat there, staring at the creature, and it stared back, still, and silent.. \n I think it sensed my unease, its smile grew larger, the corners of its mouth disappeared, and the tips of its jagged yellow teeth protruded ever so slightly from its lips.. \n It stood up, arched its back, and drug its claws along the dead tree, scraping off bark, digging out maggots.. It let out a long, deep yawn, it sounded like a woman's.. The noise threw me into a terror-fueled panic, but I still couldn't stand, I couldn't run, the best I could do was slowly, clumsily, crawl backwards into the woods on the opposite side of that gravel road.. \n It sat back down, and began licking its paws without breaking eye contact. The scraping of each lick had the same effect as nails on a chalkboard, I winced at each stroke of the cat's tongue, why was it so loud? \n I didn't have a cellphone at the time, so I couldn't capture evidence of what I was seeing, if I had a camera I'm not sure I would have been able to hold it steady enough to get a picture anyway.. \n It stopped its licking, pursed its lips together, and whistled loudly.. It sounded just like a bird call.. It crouched down in its hunter's pose, and waited patiently. Sure enough a curious bluejay landed beside the cat, but it didn't see it, it had no idea how close it was standing to its own doom.. It tried to fly away at the last second, but it was too late.. The cat opened its mouth, and revealed rows of short yellow fangs, its jaws gaped open so wide it could have swallowed the bird whole.. It pounced, and tore the poor bluejay clean in half. It gnawed at the bottom half loudly, cracking the thin bones, while the top half flopped around for a moment in a puddle of its own blood..\n I had cats of my own, so there were plenty of times I had witnessed their carnivorous handiwork, but it was never so gruesome, so.. upsetting. My stomach turned at the sight, and I threw up my lunch in the leaves. I wanted to get away from whatever the hell it was that I was witnessing, but I was frozen in place, and I was too afraid to close my eyes.. I just sat there, forced to witness the bird's carcass be devoured, I still remember the sound of it, like twigs crackling in a fire..\n When it finally finished it began licking the blood from its paws, not quite purring, it was more like someone humming in delight after filling their belly with fast food.. it might as well have been dancing.. The blood soaked into the rotting tree bark, staining it crimson, and the cat lapped up what remained of it..\n It smiled at me again, blood matted on the fur around its lips, the sun bouncing off of its wide brown eyes, it was still humming a tune, and it almost sounded familiar.. If I wasn't already dehydrated from the heat I probably would have been pissing myself..\n The cat curled up on the blood-stained bark, closed its eyes, and in a soft, soothing voice it spoke: \"You can go now..\" As if a curse had been lifted I could feel my legs again, so I stood up quickly, causing blood to rush to my head, making me dizzy, stumble, but I regained my footing and ran from the scene, I didn't stop running until I got home. I left a trail of dust behind me as I sprinted, every bird call, and crunching leaf kept me going, I was fueled by fear.. \n That image is still vivid in my mind, retrieved from my subconscious a couple times a year to be recycled in my nightmares.. Its eyes, its nose, its satisfied red smile like a killer clown's.. I saw them all the time..\n I used to tell people about it, tried to warn them about the demon cat of Wild Rose Lane, until my parents got tired of my nonsensical rambling and forced me into therapy.. I don't blame them, I wouldn't have believed me either, but I saw it, and now, I can never unsee 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: The School Sports Day, a memoire........\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 2490\n\nPrompt:\n\nFrame your story as an adult recalling the events of their childhood." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "A sad but true account written in memory of lost friends.............\nThe date is imprinted on my mind, 14th July 1972. It was a Friday, it was a warm sunny day, but the worst thing about such a fine sunny day was that it was going to be ruined. Why, because it was the school sports day.\nI hated school sports day because I am not the type of person who likes to be at the forefront of attention and as I was to take part in the event, for me it was a day of dread!\nThe day began by having to attend school at eight thirty, taking with you your sports kit in preparation for the event or events that you were due to take part in. This instruction however, meant travelling two miles in the opposite direction from the sports ground just to shout out “Yes Sir” to Mr. Grimsdyke, the form teacher at registration before then having to make your own way on foot the four miles from Longbridge to Bournebrook sports ground where the sports day event was always held.\nMy group of friends were a diverse bunch from all backgrounds and had known each other through previously attending the same school and had bonded in some sort of strange way. We always hung around together when at school, looking out for each other, watching each other’s back. I think the reality of it was that as a group of friends we were amongst the poorest in our school so always had to find ways around anything that involved paying out money.\nGetting to the sports ground was simple according to Mr. Harvey the headmaster, just catch the number twenty seven bus, it stops right outside. Sure, buses pass there alright but that meant paying for the privilege which for us was out of the question, we had no money. None of us could afford pushbikes either, so we had no choice but to walk.\nThe school could not afford to supply a bus but they expected everyone to make their own way to the event, something that would not be allowed in today's world!\nTo amuse ourselves en route, we used to wave at the bus drivers and passengers as they sped past using our specialised and crafted \"Winston Churchill\" gesture which involved the raising of two fingers. We couldn’t really see who was on the bus because of the reflection of light on the glass, it was just a bit of fun to us, we were just fourteen and making the best of the situation we were in at the time.\nWe knew all the short cuts around the area, all the alleyways, all the cut throughs; they added that bit of fun to the journey. Usually one of the group of friends would invent or exaggerate a story about a murder, a flasher or a rabid Alsatian that somebody or other had the unfortunate misfortune to experience whilst walking down the very alleyway we were about to walk down.\nThe alleyway itself was at least half a mile long with thorn bushes lining each side. At about halfway down, someone had erected feather edge board fencing to border their garden and to house a rather vicious dog. As we approached the alley, we all clenched our fists in preparation for any attack that might ensue. I stopped mid stride and pointed out that if it was a rabid Alsatian that made the attack, fists would be useless! However, John Gaffney provided the answer, if Wayne went ahead of us; the smell of his pants would either scare away or indeed attract the dog allowing us to make a hasty escape!\nWayne Small for some reason always smelt of excrement, he was like a walking nappy. I pointed out the fact that we would be down wind of Wayne but given the alternative choice would be bearable! Also, given that it would be a sudden and surprising attack on Wayne, the shock may well cause a sudden natural bodily function in the pants area; however the smell could not be any worse than it was now! Despite his usual protests, Wayne went on ahead as instructed.\nIt was David Bevington who suggested we hide in the undergrowth when Wayne was not looking. David had his own affliction to contend with, as most kids do. His particular affliction was a constantly running nose and he always had what we called \"a lime ripple candle\" hanging off the end of his nose. He also had a nasty habit of licking the snot off the end of his nose with an exceptionally long tongue. Nobody ever shared their lunch sandwiches with him!! However, as I recall, David became a big hit with the ladies for some reason a short time later!\nSo, we hid in the undergrowth, Tom Brown who was only a member of our group because he provided the cigarettes. He was allowed to smoke at home so always had a pack of twenty in his pocket. Suddenly and without warning, Tom started screaming like a banshee as if we were being attacked. We all joined in the screaming and on the signal, became silent and stood still, hidden in the brambles.\nWayne shouted us, we didn’t answer; he became more concerned and ran to where he had last seen us looking back and forth hoping to catch a glimpse of one of us. He called out again, panic tinged in his voice. He came a little way into the undergrowth before we all jumped up from behind a bush, arms waving and screaming loudly. Wayne ran away, terrified that we were every bit the monsters we had talked about before walking down the alleyway.\nWe eventually found Wayne a little way up the alley just around the next bend. In fact we could smell him before we saw him. We all laughed and calmed him down before pushing him ahead of the pack as an attack of some sort was still an option whilst we remained in the alley.\nWe were approaching the feather edge border which told us we were about three quarter of the way along the alleyway. Tom generously crashed the fags but he only had one match to light the cigarette. The pressure was on Tom and he felt our piercing eyes on him. If the match went out before he could light the cigarette he would suffer the disdain of the group. There was no wind so Tom, being the champion lighter of cigarettes even in windy conditions, managed to light our cigarettes.\nWe could see Wayne ahead near the feather edge boards, he did not smoke, but we wished he did as it would have somewhat disguised his unfortunate odour!\nAs Wayne reached the feather edge boards, a huge dog jumped at the fence barking and growling. It was trying to get through the fence at whoever was on the other side. Wayne fell backwards with the shock; water ran from the short leg of his trousers. We laughed of course because we were at a safe distance. Then we could see the dog’s paws gripping the top of the boards, trying to pull itself up and over the top to get at whoever had dared to go near his property. Wayne ran off in terror leaving a trail of water behind him. We found him further up the alleyway; he had no trousers or pants on and was cleaning himself up with a huge dock leaf. We all ran past the rabid dog still hanging on the top of the fence and left Wayne alone with his ablutions.\nWe waited at the end of the alleyway and Tom crashed the fags again and we begged a light from a passing pedestrian who was only too pleased to be of help. Wayne joined us a few minutes later followed by a dozen or more blue bottles hoping to feed off his unfortunate event.\nWe arrived at the sports ground and duly reported to Mr. Grimsdyke to check in. He ticked off our names without a spoken word. Wayne approached him and as soon as he uttered his name, Mr Grimsdyke clutched his nose and took Wayne by the left ear directly to Mr. Lewis the history and gym teacher. We saw Wayne get bundled into Mr Lewis’s Morris 1000 Traveller car and Mr. Lewis took him off in the car, opening all the windows of the car as he sped away.\nThe event itself went well with me, Julian Race coming second in the javelin, after narrowly missing the judge’s leg. John Gaffney came second in the sack race, Tom Brown winning the shot put and Wayne, well he arrived at the end and it was the sweetest we had ever smelt him! Mr. Lewis had taken him back to Wayne’s house where he was made to bathe and change by his mother before being brought back to the event just in time for him to join us in the four mile walk back to school!\nWe had to report to Mr. Grimsdyke before leaving and he congratulated us all on our achievements and told us to report to him as soon as we arrived back at school to ensure we were all safe. We did not think there was anything wrong with that instruction as that is what normally happened on sports day, it was his way of making sure you didn’t bunk off early!\nWe arrived back at school earlier than we would normally have done because when we reached the bus stop, Todger Brown who was allegedly attracted to other boy’s, hence his nick name and of course being the odd brother of Tom was waiting there. The open back double decker bus pulled up and Todger got on, flicking his hair back with a backwards flip of his head as he always did. The bus pulled away and we all jumped on to the platform at the back. Luckily we all managed to stay on for three stops before the conductor noticed us and threw us off for not paying.\nAs we stood on the pavement, Mr. Lewis pulled up in his primrose coloured Morris Traveller and surprisingly offered us all a lift back to school. We all squeezed into the back of the car because as we knew, Mr. Lewis liked to stand and watch the boy’s go through the showers after a cross country run, we were never sure of him although he was a married man.\nWe arrived back at school and reported to Mr. Grimsdykes office. He hadn’t yet arrived back so we waited in the class room. Suddenly the classroom door was kicked open and in walked Iain Ferris and John Joyce the school’s best fighters and tough as old boots. They had arrived at the school at the start of the term from another school on the other side of Birmingham (UK). Since starting at the school they had fought their way up through the ranks of school fighters to become the best. They were feared wherever they went. I suddenly had the urge to urinate as Iain stood face to face with me. Julian he said with a smile on his face. Hi Iain I replied wondering why he was calling me by my first name and not Race as was the norm, you OK mate. A dickey bird tells me you play a musical instrument he asked, guitar I hear? Err a bit I said just in case he played guitar as well and did not want to imply I was better than he was. Play me something he said. Sorry Iain, I broke a nail this morning on the javelin, it smarts a bit I said defensively. I’ve heard through the grapevine that you are pretty good he said? Who said that Iain, well he’s a liar and I’ll.. John interrupted and said “I did”! Well not too bad I said feigning pain from my allegedly broken nail. Grimsdyke plays nursery rhymes to the first year on guitar said Iain and he walked to Mr. Grimsdykes stock room and opened the door. Here’s his guitar, play me something. Sensing Iain’s urgency I told Tom Brown to watch for Mr. Grimsdyke at the door. The three of us, Iain, John and I crowded into the small space of the stock room. I checked the tuning and gave them the full rendition of T Rex, Hot Love with vocal. I looked up from the G chord and Iain and John were smiling. At the end, I put down the guitar and we exited the stock room. Iain then astonished me by asking if I wanted to join his new band as a guitarist. I quickly ran through the pro’s and con’s of the offer in my mind and after thinking of the benefits of having the two best fighters as band mates, I accepted and roped in Tom, Wayne, David and John as the road crew.\nMr Grimsdyke came into the room. What do you want Ferris, Joyce? Nothing Sir, we’re just talking to Julian about band practice. Mr. Grimsdyke looked at them suspiciously and they left. He turned to me, Wayne, Tom, David and John and said right you lot, what the hell gives you the right to stick two fingers up to me when I was on the bus this morning, I want you all to write out one hundred lines after school, he picked up a piece of chalk and wrote on the blackboard “To learn from my mistakes I must write out one hundred times, I must not stick two fingers up to Mr. Grimsdyke”.\nI think of those day’s sometimes and wonder where all the other people who were in my class are now. A tear comes to my eyes every time as I recall that John Gaffney was killed on his first outing on his 50cc moped, David Bevington drowned in the River Cole after an accident on a cross river swing, he apparently knocked himself out and fell face down in the river, no one else was with him. Tom died of leukaemia at sixteen. Iain lived till he was forty nine and died from a heart attack, I’d seen him a week earlier at a restaurant in Alvechurch, he was morbidly obese and I was shocked that such a nice looking lad had changed so much. John Joyce went into the army at seventeen, unable to find work; he was killed in Ireland a couple of years later. Wayne, I lost touch with Wayne after his parents moved away after he finished education. I have just found his name on social media; he died of liver cancer only a few weeks before.\nI’ll never forget those friends, and Wayne, I can still smell him now!\n©Julian Race 20/06/2021" } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: No mobiles!\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1626\n\nPrompt:\n\nFrame your story as an adult recalling the events of their childhood." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Mark paused. Now reaching his mid-sixties, grey-haired and beginning his sunset years, he was enjoying quality time with his two grandchildren. He had retired and was now enjoying his free time immensely.\n Timothy and William, his two grandchildren, were listening carefully to him. He took a sip of his freshly brewed coffee as he paused.\n \"Have a bite of the chocolate cake your Grandma has baked for you.\" They started to take huge bites of the cake as they demanded,\n \"Tell us more, Grandpa, tell us more about what happened to you in those days?\" they asked in unison.\n Mark smiled as he relived his past in his storytelling. \"We had to walk to school in those days. There were some omnibuses and the like, but not all of us could afford them. Me and my sister used to walk to school every day, both ways.\"\n \"Really? No school buses like for us? Or Dad dropping you in his car?\"\n \"No. We walked.\"\n \"Just the two of you?\"\n \"My sister used to go to a different school from mine. Both of us had some friends from our schools. Some four or five of us used to walk together and go.\"\n \"Wasn't it dangerous to walk all the way, Grandpa? What about speeding vehicles and road crossings?\"\n \"Oh! in those days we had less traffic. The roads were few and we had special crossings for kids. The Policeman used to help us and stop the traffic till we crossed the main road.\"\n \"Wouldn't you feel tired by the time you reached school?\" asked Timothy, looking intently at Grandpa.\n Mark smiled as he responded, \"No Tim. We used to have a good breakfast and start. Our Mum used to make sure that we have a good breakfast before we set out to school. We also had to carry our lunch in a box.\"\n \"What? No canteen at school offering fresh and hot meals for lunch?\" piped in William.\n \"No Willy. We had to carefully take what Mum had packed for our lunch. But it was great fun sharing our lunch with friends. Occasionally, even our teacher also would join in. It was great fun. We all ate a little bit of all the different lunches our mums had sent.\"\n \"Really! That must have been good. What do you think, Timmy?\" William asked.\n Looking thoughtful, Timothy asked, \"I heard from Gram the other day that there were many poor and homeless people in those days. Where any of your friends from poor families, who could not afford to bring their lunch? What about them? Would they feel left out?\"\n \"Ah! This is what I wanted to tell you both boys! Listen to me now. We did have a few boys who were from poor families. Most of the time they could not get their lunch. In fact, they would come to school famished because sometimes they had no food at home for anyone.\"\n \"How dreadful? How could they walk to school and sit for classes with empty stomachs?\"\n \"Let me tell you what we did with Richie and Paul. They were twins from a poor family and would always ask us for some food as soon as we meet in the morning. Even before the School Assembly. Both they and some of us would come to school a little earlier.\"\n \"So, what would you do?\" asked Timothy eagerly.\n \"This is how we managed. My friends and I used to ask our mums to pack a little food extra and give us. We used to give that food to Paul and Richie. Even at lunchtime, we used to share our food with them.\"\n \"Then you guys would have less food to eat for your lunch. Wouldn't you also feel hungry then?\" asked William.\n \"Somehow, boys, our food, as we shared and ate with these fellows, sufficed for all of us. We all used to feel satisfied and happy to share.\"\n \"Was it a miracle? We heard about how a young boy shared his lunch and the Lord Jesus blessed and fed some 5000 people with it?\"\n Grinning widely, Mark replied, \"That' s a good way to connect, Timmy. Actually, it was not a big miracle like that. One thing was that we used to pray and ask God to bless our food before we shared and ate it with all these fellows. So, it was enough for all of us.\"\n \"That sounds wonderful Grandpa! Small miracles daily? I am sure you all must have become good friends later in life too?\"\n Mark paused again as he recalled them. \"Yes, boys. Richie worked hard and became a Pastor. he is with a church down South. Paul has gone as a missionary and is serving the Lord in Africa. They are in Botswana, serving the Lord. God has blessed them abundantly. We still are in contact through email and WhatsApp.\"\n \"Grandpa, Grandpa, what a great childhood you had? Our school days seem bland in contrast?\"\n \"Things are different now surely boys but remember to have the Word of God in the center of your life, then God will give you good memories to treasure too. One day you will be sharing your own memories with your grandchildren,\" said Mark with a twinkle in his eyes, as he drained his coffee cup and gazed lovingly at them. Both looked at him with dreams in their eyes.\n\"But Grandpa,\" said Timothy as he remembered something, \"Is it true that in those days you had no mobiles, no internet and no Google? No nothing? What about Candy crush and the other computer games? How did you all manage as kids in those days? Please tell us.\"\n \"This calls for some more cake and coffee,\" said Mark as he sent the boys to the kitchen with the empty plate and his coffee cup. They came back in a few minutes with reinforcements.\n The lovely smells of coffee and freshly baked cake competed with each other as they wafted up to the noses of the grandfather and the kids. They sighed contently. Mark picked up his cup and started sipping while the boys each took a large slice and started eating. Silence reigned for some time. The only sound was that of the sipping and the munching.\n Fortified by the coffee, Mark started speaking.\n \"In those days, when I was the age you are in now, we didn't have smartphones. Neither did we have games as you call them now. But we had a lot of fun. We went out and played in the streets and on playgrounds with our friends. Yes, we used to go and play physically. We used to get dirty too and get scolded by our mums!\"\n \"But how would you do your homework without Google or the Internet to help you?\"\n \" We used to listen carefully in the classroom. Then if we had a doubt we used to go to the library. We had a small one at home and a larger one at school. A much larger and better one was in the Town Hall. In fact, that was my favorite haunt when I was in school. Oh! what a pleasure it was to go to the library and sit for hours together!\"\n \"Yah! I heard about something called an Encyclopedia. What was it, Grandpa?\"\n \"Oh! That was our Google then. There were some 27 to 30 volumes, each one huge and having thousands of pages. They had all information then available put forth in a systematic fashion. Alphabetically. We just had to select the right volume and browse through it. It took some effort from us but was very rewarding. I remember stopping by and reading other pages as we were searching for an entry. That was my favorite distraction!\"\n \"But Grandpa, how would you play? No Game boxes and Play stations?\"\n \"Oh, we used to have fun playing live games outdoors. We would play baseball, football, and cricket. And other folk games like hopscotch, hide and seek, and what not. They were so exhausting. Our Mum used to send us straight for a bath after we came home. But we enjoyed every bit of playing with friends. All our games were live.\"\n \"What would you do if it snowed or rained outdoors Grandpa?\"\n \"Good question, Willy. Then we had a store on inboard games: Carroms, Snakes and ladders, Monopoly, Ludo, Scrabble, Chess and so on. My favorite was snakes and ladders. We used to go up and down many times before reaching the goal. Even Monopoly was very engaging. We used to play Scrabble sometimes with grownups too! Those were the days, indeed.\"\n Mark went off into a reverie, reliving his past as a child in his grandfather's home. The boys William and Timothy sat in awe as they considered how their grandpa’s childhood was.\n \"I didn't know you all had such an active and fun time when you were kids Grandpa. I always thought that life without the internet and smartphones or Tabs would have been boring and monotonous! Looks like your lifestyle was even better than ours now!\"\n \"It was Timmy, it was, indeed. We didn't even know about smartphones and the like then. And books, I forgot. My favorite pastime was to read books. I used to read all sorts of fiction and science fiction was my favorite genre. I was a regular in the Town Hall Library. Every time I used to borrow books and return them. The Librarian was fond of me and used to let me borrow new books even before cataloging them. Of course, I was faithful in returning them.\"\n As the two little boys listened to him and thought through, values were being passed as a legacy through the generations." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Lucrezia and Lazarus.\n\nGenre: christian\n\nWord Count: 1075\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about a magician who never reveals their secrets — until now." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Yes, it was a good scene and time for nostalgia. Nouvelle Lucrezia sat and scribbled, reminiscing about another time, when the past was a different era.\n\"Once upon a time,\" she wrote, \" I got married in a cloud of white optimism. Looking back, I can say there was a magician at work. I shall let you now all reflect on that little mage, Cupid. He is a blind drunk.\" She paused, then kept writing. \"Never mind, little women. You too can survive survivor baggage, and raise your expectations in life. This beautiful world of ours can really be described as a Home for the Bewildered, our whole human race. As Our Good Lord says, little chicks, it is quite okay to be human, to make mistakes. We must pull ourselves together, and overcome setbacks. Any human can.\"\nLucrezia kept right on scribbling this winding back of her years, only one little woman author. \"On the whole, as this silver senior winds back to another place, another time, I must say nostalgia can provide some happy memories. I am full of laughs, and light hearted fun.\"\n\"Once upon a summer's day,\" Nouvelle Lucrezia's pen took wings, \"my late unlamented ex told me we were going fishing. He was from overseas, and his community regarded him as a noble brave hunter. Fishermen ventured beyond suburbia, the world of their concrete patios, to the wilderness. There he foraged for free foods, like a supermarket in nature.\"\n\"It was such a hot day, but sitting reading by a river bank was pleasant. The lazy old river flowed and meandered. The fisherman, Hank, had wandered off some distance away. Being too hot in my denim fishing jeans, little women, I stripped down to my modest under chunders. There I sat in the sunny pool in the river, reading my novel, while attempting to smoke my gaspers at the same time.\"\n\"Bemused, but irate, my old man had a fussy fit, accusing me of scaring away all the fish. \"What fish?\" I inquired, \"They do not exist here. They are a myth.\" My late unlamented ranted, so we fished on. And on.\"\n\"At twilight, action! Fishing lines and bait were snatched. We caught an array of eels. They are a fresh water species, covered in the slime of the bottom dwellers. Hank knocked them all on their heads with his mallet, and slit their intestines. Their innards were spilled into the river, to attract more provender, next time. Mosquitoes the size of sparrows had started feasting on the intrepid fishers of biodiversity, so we drove home in the moonlight.\"\n\"Into the laundry went an ice chest full of fresh water and dead eels. We collapsed on our nuptial bed, closed the bedroom door, (quite symbolic). We slept soundly. But! In the late morning sunlight, I awoke. Hank snored. I heard my two kittens wailing, if not caterwauling. Indeed, I ventured into the kitchen. There, dead now, or was he, lay the biggest, slimiest eel. His head was bashed in, his guts had been slit. Undeterred, this latter day Lazarus had slithered from his eel tank of doom, and had been sliding across the kitchen and family room. A trail of silver indelible slime tracked across the orange ceramic tile surfaces. Lazarus had been after one thing! My kittens for his din-dins.\"\n\"My horrified and terrified kittens still cowered in fear, meowing. They were so glad to see this old Lucrezia, rescue one! They barely left my bed again. I had to protect my fur friends. Mary Poppins still approves today, being quite a pet advocate in her day.\"\n\"Yes, little women,\" Lucrezia rambled on, expounding on her past, \"Our God is a pillar of strength. He is on all our sides.\" Hank emerged as I was valiantly attempting to eradicate slime from the abode of our long demolished adobe hacienda.\"\n\"What the.......?\" muttered Hank. \"Tis Lazarus, of the latter day resurrection!\" I replied. Hank never quite understood my quirky, but biblical and apt sense of humor. It was very bizarre. I nobly fed my cats, also making a cup of coffee, white and strong, as some women need to be.\"\n\" 'Twas all so long ago and far away, the days of Nouvelle everything, so trending in those days. \"Well, this is something to experiment with,\" I chattted on, ever blithe. \"I shall channel my Nouvelle Lucrezia.\" Yes, my good kind heart is never hard to find.\"\n\"Bravely, I picked up Lazarus, and chopped the giant eel into portion sizes, administering the old-fashioned method of flour, egg and breadcrumbs. I cooked dear Lazarus, and we ate him. Delish!\"\n\"We happily gave away the rest of the eels in their tank of fate, to the community and family from far overseas. We proceeded on until there were no hard feelings left, or indeed, any feelings for the late ex.\"\n\"So, little women, wrote the scribe Lucrezia, \"it is quite cool to explore your inner spark of creativity. Lots of answers are to be found in our Holy Book of Love, in God's words. We must keep an open mind about miracles. In these, our silver years, we can all echo joining in this global network of ours, to pray for freedom and healing on Earth for everyone and everything, including our environment. These days, we can follow in our path of human faith, fishers of souls, if not fish or eels. Just like Jesus, healing magician.\"\n\"Times pass, times change. You too can create, explore new skills, new recipes. You can join Nouvelle Lucrezia's cooking school. It depends on what you believe, like that famous story of Lazarus. Lazarus the eel, that is.\"\n\"Ah, happy memories. Not a bad day for nostalgia. I do not know if this tale is a Bishop's fave, meet his approval. Yes, little women, you must aim to be kind to yourselves. There is a happy cup of coffee with your name on it. There is not really any turning back. But here is a good time and place for reminiscing, for building, faith and literacy. Really, it is good for our wrinkles. Wake up smiling, and enjoy an awesome chick power day.\"\nNouvelle Lucrezia laid down her pen temporarily, still keeping an open mind. Bless all our simple human hearts, as well as stupid Cupid, drunkenly firing off little arrows. Peace these days means harmony, far greater than any conflict for any humans on Earth." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Deja vu and nature too..\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1148\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart your story with a metaphor about human nature." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Human nature seems cyclic. Deja vu is not just in the written novels of reality but in life. Meaning? Almost everything under the sun has been done.\nAnd? Solomon was right: living in the past was better than in the present. The only conclusion? My life was vanity and had no meaning if the future has not better or welled itself.\nSad, no? Secrets of the universe ranted and raved by a madman? Or a pirate? I doubt I know which. I used to be a poet.\nNow?\nI live in a crazy fantasy world Hardly. I read to retain my sanity. I book, tea, and chill too because I like books usually more than people. However, I party better than most people, so I would rather party with the right people than read a book. And? Well, I do fall in love with characters. Most people do not realize this. This reality is just one long novel. Drama or tragedy or comedy is yet to be determined. That this is the past for me is real. Being a space time traveller was not something you plan for evidently. If I had planned for it, I would have journal-ed more when I was a kid. Why? Secrets revealed through time make reality more interesting and speculative. Which happened first second and which influenced something totally outside the realm of that person reality is a question on my mind these days.\nWhat is deja vu? What is real? What is reality? If this is all some simulator would you not expect the man behind the curtain to do a Ta Da moment revealing that you missed turning left at the right corner?\nOr I become the people in the book I read. To steal a quote from To Kill a Mockingbird “You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view... Until you climb inside of his skin and walk around in it.”\nAnd I am as a reader or as a time traveller walk around in other people'sideas or skin and try to do that often these days. Talking to or checking out those people, that are creative and trying to figure out. What makes them tick. Or move or change reality and hope for moment in my life that brief touch with greatness or madness rubs off a little enough for me to comprehend how to be more than. More than. Well, more than normal. More than just a boring person. What is wrong with boring?\nNothing. However, if you crave adventure and to be a pirate. Boring people is the way to act if you are going to con someone into letting you in. While being a light or beacon in the dark shining out for all the bugs to hit you. You might shine enough that the author of FATE or that man behind the curtain says. Well, Clint, Clinton, Clinton R, Ender, Talon, writer, poet, pirate, time traveller you have seen the game. You know the horrible truth.\nAnd yet you still play the game of life like there is something to win. Which is it. Is life a game or or the trick to be insane in a sane world?\nMeaning? Mark of the Beast everyone seems to know Microsoft has done it. Seems like using their corporation is no big deal to the church’s, and other religions.\nVaccinating people without their concent and murdering them. Again, no biggie. In yet? Here I am ranting and raving and wondering. Reading made me live. And in reading I lived. Portals to other worlds?\nPlease I have seen the end of time and back. Meaning? Hell is a real place I would not recommend the accommodations. And to realize reading to steal a quote again. “Until I feared I would lose it, I never loved to read. One does not love breathing.” The realization I love to read to escape.\nEscape? I tried to escape hell for a long time. Which brings me to this place in time where the book of Revelation is in full force and I am lost. My words don’t reach anyone and my ranting and raving gets me censored on Facebook to minds.\nHumor to be censored. That which can not stand questioning is not real. It is propaganda and to realize that humanity is the cause of the book of Revelation is sickening.\nThat this is the past which means the ending of time makes me question my mind.\nChecking dates and how old the earth is instead of what year it is makes me an insane case. In yet I took photos and show them and well. I don't have photo shop and I shopped at JcPenny not JcPenney. I ate a Big Mac at MacDonald's.\nMeaning? All of this is the past and in the end the word FATE reads across time and makes me question my performance of this game of life.\nDid I do right? Did I try my hardest? Did I screw up? Did I? Did I have courage? To steal another Mocking bird quote. “I wanted you to see what real courage is, instead of getting the idea that courage is a man with a gun in his hand. It's when you know you're licked before you begin, but you begin anyway and see it through no matter what.\"\nDid I see life through no matter what or did I fail? I fear failure more than failing. What is the difference?\nSimple did I continue with an attitude of hey maybe if I was a pirate I could make things right. Or maybe one of my poems or stories will uplift one person. Or maybe being insane in a sane world makes me see this world ending horribly and wonder about life and what lesson is there for me in this game of life?\nGame of life. That is what everyone should read the Secret of Light by Walter Russell. To condense the whole theory for you. You are an avatar in an absurd game. The game is played by 500 million advanced brains.\nDon't be absurd.\nAvatar? Let me begin. We all live via light. Energy. Plants stabilize that light into food for you. I am carnivore. Laughter animals eat plants. With that simple statement welcome to the understanding you are nothing more than an avatar in some absurd boring game.\nAnd to play it you have to break out of the game and be someone. Someone creative? Who knows.\nBe someone. LIVE damn it. Don't just be a stick man in a boring cartoon. Be. BE Calvin and Hobbes. Be a pirate BE a poet. Be someone.\nThat is the problem with normal. To steal my last quote from To Kill a Mockingbird “People generally see what they look for, and hear what they listen for.”" } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: From Caterpilly to Butterflight\n\nGenre: christian\n\nWord Count: 1179\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about someone facing their greatest fear." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "From Caterpilly to Butterflight\nMetathesiophobia: The fear of change.\n“God sure did make you a caterpillar, but don’t you think He created you to also become a butterfly?”\nThose were the words that little Caterpilly echoed in her mind over and over again as she sat at breakfast with Momma, Daddy, and her little brother Zip. Her Grandma Flutter said those words to her not just once, but a few times, months ago. Her grandma always seemed to know what to say, but Caterpilly almost never liked hearing it right then. \nThe first time she heard these words, Caterpilly was upset. Caterpilly wasn’t upset because she didn’t have wings yet; she was upset because she didn’t want to get wings! She liked being a caterpillar, and she knew how much work it’d be to transform into a butterfly.\nJust as she was about to get a pretend umbrella out because of the pity party she was throwing for herself, Grandma Flutter slowly flew overhead to sit down to have breakfast at their leaf table. “Little Caterpilly, God sure did make you a caterpillar, but don’t you think He created you to also become a butterfly?”\nCaterpilly said nothing, but she thought about everything. She thought about what Grandma Flutter said, and Grandma said it many times that week because this was the week… the week Caterpilly was going to become a butterfly!\nJust like her momma taught her, Caterpilly made her cocoon. She nestled herself inside until she couldn’t see Grandma Flutter, brother Zip, or Momma and Daddy anymore. She almost thought it was nice to be on her own to get this over with. But after a while, almost as if someone tapped her on the shoulder, she started to repeat the words her daddy taught her…\n“Push left, push right, and with all your might, and before you know it, you’ll take flight. Push left, push right, and with all your might, and before you know it, you’ll take flight.”\n…and he was right! Before she knew it, she pushed out of that cocoon and looked left and looked right, and she saw her brand-new wings! It was beautiful! All she could think of was Grandma Flutter, and her words from earlier.\nCaterpilly wanted to get to her family so fast that when she tried to fly, she fell to the ground. But she quickly flew back up and flew straight to where her family gathered most… but the leaf table was empty.\nThey were under a huge sunflower, all facing away from Caterpilly. At first, she felt a little annoyed because she just did the single most important thing ever and they weren’t paying attention. As she flew closer, she saw Momma’s face, and she was crying. Oblivious, she started to say “this is a happy thing, me turning into…”\nShe stopped abruptly as she noticed little Zip bumping against Momma’s side as if he didn’t see her crying. Daddy just hovered there without a smile on his face. Caterpilly saw Grandma Flutter asleep.\n“Be quiet or you’ll wake Grandma Flutter!” Caterpilly felt angry and yelled at Zip. Momma cried even louder and flew quickly to Caterpilly, and gave her butterfly kisses. The Caterpilly realized… Grandma wasn’t going to wake up.\nThen Momma said…\n“It was so beautiful and so sad. We all wanted to watch you transform, especially Grandma Flutter. So we all turned to your cocoon and waited until you pushed out. And just as you pushed out of that cocoon, we turned to see Grandma’s face, but she fell asleep and we couldn’t wake her. But she told us yesterday something very important, because she knew you’d leave your cocoon soon… she said ‘when Caterpilly gets her wings and takes flight, her name should be changed from Caterpilly to Butterflight.’ So that’s your new name… if that’s okay with you, dear?”\nWithout any words, Caterpilly’s wet eyes blinked out a couple big tears as she nodded to Momma in agreement.\nCaterpilly - well, Butterflight - hovered effortlessly with her new wings and went to Grandma Flutter to give her butterfly kisses. When she did, some neighborhood ladybugs grabbed Grandma Flutter on the leaf she laid on and flew her up to where all bugs go when this happens: to the other side of that sunflower, where all kinds of flowers grow. Butterflight flew up as high as she could until she reached a cloud and saw the flower field below her and she said, “Goodbye Grandma Flutter. I love you so much.”\nThen she flew back down to her family below because she knew she’d have to help brother Zip transform into a butterfly soon, just as God helped her to do through her family - especially through Grandma Flutter.\n***\n7 MONTHS LATER\n“Zip, take it easy. You can’t rush these things. You might be taking longer than me learning to fly, but you did the hard part yourself!”\nIt had been about a week since Zip transformed. Butterflight did give him the tips she was given, but she knew Momma and Daddy let her share them with Zip more for bonding reasons. It wasn’t like she came up with those tips herself.\nGrandma came to mind all the time. The day before Zip got into his cocoon, the words “God created you to become a butterfly” slipped out of Butterflight, and she smiled knowing she had that ingrained into her mind long before it meant anything to her, and now she could keep it going. Of course, she missed her grandma, but she knew her legacy was in them.\nNow if only she could get Zip to learn how to fly…\n***\nABOUT THE STORY\nWhile I wrote this years ago for some kiddos I cared for at a Christian preschool in 2015, this story didn't come to life until much more recently. It was shared here on Reedsy with a handful of minor grammatical adjustments and additions in the body, but for the most part remains the same. I wanted to maintain the integrity of how I wrote it in a stage of my life where my writing wasn't as polished and developed as it is becoming now.\nJust like in biblical stories, people's names got changed and usually during pivotal moments in their lives. It seemed fitting Caterpilly's name would change to Butterflight during her pivotal moment, and at the request of her Matriarchal figure, no less.\nHopefully this story can touch on hard life lessons such as fearing change, grief, and even learning about who you are and what you can overcome. For children, this is foundational and difficult at times. This story might help dampen the sting of those big feelings.\nThe major difference in the ending is I've added a continuation to satisfy word count parameters with the new Butterflight helping Zip prepare for flight after his transformation.\nYou can see the original ending in my less glamorous grammar glory in the link below. I’ll eventually make sure the StoryJumper version has my Reedsy adjustments.\nhttps://www.storyjumper.com/book/read/30173656/From-Caterpilly-to-Butterflight" } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Childhood Fantasies\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1176\n\nPrompt:\n\nFrame your story as an adult recalling the events of their childhood." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "When I was younger, I lived all alone with my mum in the rustic lands of Bridgetown. Her face was always the same from when I can remember, her cheeks coloured by the twin dabs of powder she applied on both sides, her hair stained with the glossy mixture she smeared upon it that smelled so much like the strawberry I loved.\n\nStrawberry was extremely scarce, so, it often disturbed me as to why one would rub such expensive condiment on the hair only to have it washed away, wasted like it meant nothing to them. It disturbed me so much that on one cool evening, I snuck to that small shelf where she usually kept all her accessories. I picked the object of my concern and I raised it. It looked so beautiful in the moonlight that illuminated the room. I brought it from its elevated height of worship down to my nose, and at once, the familiar scent of my craving rushed straight up my nose to my brain; taking along a pin with him, bursting all my bubbles of reason and caution.\n\nSoon it was in my mouth and I began sucking and pressing, trying to get the shiny substance in it out into my mouth. A successful attempt it was, satisfaction clouded my eyes, and I soon emptied its contents. I expected more satisfaction at the savoury taste that I had been longing for, expected to feel the warmth of sweetness in my mouth, but all that came was nothing, only a tingling and piercing taste of nothing. I immediately began a quest to get the substance out of my mouth. The more frantic my efforts, the more it dominated my mouth. I began spewing thick globs of spit, scrubbing my tongue with every piece of cloth I could view in my closed eye frenzy. My tongue felt like it was on fire. I tried to perform my mouth cleansing operation in as much quiet as possible, but my mouth didn't agree. It was fed up with the suffering it was going through and decided to protest. It began with some low tuned 'Ah's' in rhythm with each scrub I gave my tongue, and when it felt like the pain wasn't going to end, it let out a yell. My whole body soon followed suit; abandoning operation quiet that we all agreed on.\n\nI fell on the floor rolling and yelling, till my mum came running up the stairs. Her heavy footsteps initially would have been a source of panic to me, but now it was the footsteps of salvation. When she entered and saw me on the floor, she quickly scanned through the room to get what was going on, and in search of any threat that might have been the source of my predicament. She saw the opened tube of her strawberry hair relaxer lying empty on the floor, and I, still engrossed in my service of mouth cleansing; my yells reduced to short whimpers. Instantly, her demeanour of worry and concern changed to a terrifying one. She pulled me up from the floor with my ear, promptly picked me up and slung me across her shoulder, and began smacking my backside as we journeyed down the stairs; reigniting the flames of my yells. She set me down roughly on our sitting room couch and left me in my plight.\n\nI began thinking about what just happened. I knew what strawberries tasted like. Grandma always brought me some when she came visiting, and I knew it certainly didn't taste like what I consumed up there. Mum came back moments later with a strong-smelling mixture she had in a cup. It was supposed to help remove the tingling sensation she said. I accepted the cup wholesome, forgetting my disdain for anything bitter; as I would have accepted anything that would douse the flames in my mouth. I began drinking in full gulps, not bothering about the taste, just let the flames die.\n\nAt the young age of eight, I didn't know much about death, but I had heard enough of it to know it wasn't a good thing. Papa I was told died because he ate something he wasn't supposed to eat, and I didn’t see him again after that. Mother never remained the same after that. I never saw her smile, and she was always never there; except in the evenings.\n\nMum just ordered me to go to bed with a note that we would be visiting the doctor tomorrow morning. Her reaction wiped out my earlier fear of death, but not my pangs of hunger. I hadn't any dinner because she didn't give me any. She probably forgot, and I was too scared to ask.\n\nAs I lay on my bed that night, clutching my belly and stifling groans, I journeyed back into my world of thoughts, thoughts of the strawberry. I wondered and concluded. Maybe they created a new strawberry, one with a different taste, because they sure smelled the same.\n\nI lay there in bed begging sleep to come take me in his warm embrace, to save me from the war going on in my belly. I reasoned that whoever created the new strawberry must be a very wicked fellow, one with a very terrible taste. I imagined him to be a man and I started painting his grotesque features, creating them in my mind even as sleep listened to my appeal and put out my lights.\n\nNow I sit here at the window where I last saw her back, reflecting on where I last saw her frown. She dumped me. Dumped me in this school like a child without parents. I remember that day clearly, it was bright as light and dark as night. That day I wailed and cried to my mother and friend, but she paid no heed or hear or need or care; she just left me angry and here and hungry right there. She tried to deceive me with her fallacious promises that I had no choice but to believe. I knew deep inside that she would not keep to it.\n\nShe promised to come back to take me from here someday, that she would visit me frequently with lots of goodies and strawberries. I had no choice but to believe her. Now I sit here at the window where I keep expecting her frame, expecting her smile. Now I sit here, reflecting on the whispers that fly each time I pass and the kid that shoved me to the ground and called me a lass. I sit here reflecting on the dinners I have been denied by the many bullies of this land. I sit here wishing I never loved any strawberries and I had not taken her’s that night.\n\n\nI place the red fruit in my mouth and sink my teeth into it. It is bitter tonight, bitter like the one I tasted that night. But I chew it and swallow, because it is bitter, and it is my heart." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on 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 Naming Day\n\nGenre: christian\n\nWord Count: 1032\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character who breaks free from a tradition to create a new one." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "A few weeks ago, on a Saturday afternoon in the beautiful English countryside setting of Devonshire, an event involving about fifty friends and family gathered to mark our latest grandson’s birth. Called a ‘naming day’ it represented a kind of non-Christian christening. Perhaps, partly because I think paganism predates Christianity my son and his partner hoped, like themselves, that everyone would be touched by a deeper and more meaningful experience of creation.\nObviously, as infants, we would have been present when our parents had us either christened with names or prayed over with thanks to God. This event was markedly different and more interactively engaging than a traditional Christian service. As the ceremony began all those present were acknowledged as having different religious or non-religious backgrounds. This implied, for me at least, that respect for religious diversity was to be considered as ideal and self-evident.\nOf-course, along with the friendly picnic beforehand, the ceremony itself was deliberately arranged to blend within the natural environment. Using primitive technology my son set a fire in our midst and his partner, our grandson’s mother, engaged us all in singing. Repeating a simple mothering invocation, (she had recalled from her time in Burkina Faso), we echoed her words as we queued around the fire to greet their son and bring to him our own personal welcome.\nI imagine that the implicit purpose of the event was our grandson’s celebrated welcome into the world of human community. The setting established a connection with that elemental and indefinable something which had brought each of our own lives into existence. For me it was more poignant because it gave effect to a meeting between two families and many longstanding friends, who would otherwise have remained complete strangers. Their only child, a beautiful child born in their middle years, was gifted to them, as well as to us, as representative of something unusually auspicious.\nIn me personally, the occasion also produced a sense of pathos. I had felt it necessary to keep that pathos under control until, seizing an opportunity to speak, my words were soon stifled as my feelings gave way to deep sobs. As he held his son, I was recalling the thanks I had given to God for him as our own second son. With emotional difficulty, I explained that, for me, my son’s name could never be detached from the peace I had received with God almost exactly nine months before he was born. But this naming day sincerely sought to invoke something profoundly important about the blessings attached to the name of that new person whose life was received by us all because of our familial or friendly connection to his parents.\nIn the Areopagus in Athens the first century A.D. inscription that struck the Apostle Paul as being apposite for his message was attributed to an 'unknown god.' Today, my deeply felt and emotional reflection forces me conclude that such an unknown god can neither be thanked nor be called upon to deliver a blessing. Indeed, such a god is impervious to the truth that creation is the blessed reflection of God's glory and power.\nI think it true, but largely misunderstood, that no creature, pagan or otherwise, can invoke a blessing upon themselves. The true praise of all God’s creatures must surely involve the mission to recognize a naming day in every heart which does invoke the blessing of joy and peace with God. It is an exalted name indeed! “Therefore, God has highly exalted him and bestowed on him the name that is above every name… “Philippians 2:9. (ESVUK)\nDiscovering the true value of creation cannot be obtained from what is pre-supposed to have occurred with nameless randomness. The value of a name must itself presuppose true meaning and purpose. True meaning and purpose must itself rest upon knowing the name of the Personal Being who gave it that true meaning and purpose. I understand, from one commentary, that \"God identifies Himself as Elohim 35 times at the start of Scripture. In fact, Elohim is the only name used for God from Genesis 1:1 to Genesis 2:3.’ “Elohim is one of the most frequently used names for God in the Scriptures. It is this word which is used in Genesis 1:1, “In the beginning [Elohim] created the heavens and the earth.” In fact, the word appears some 2,750 times in the Old Testament.”\nLiterally meaning strong, Elohim suggests the invisible attributes of omnipotence as well as omniscience and omnipresence. By the power of His Exalted Being he not only created all things but transcends all things. By the awesome deeds of creation Elohim ensured his divine signature is writ large upon even the smallest of particles in existence.\nHow is it possible to know and exalt the Person responsible for the value, meaning and purpose of creation? Firstly, the Apostle Paul, writing under the inspiration of the Holy Spirit, recorded in his letter to the Romans, how creation supplies its own evidence for who is responsible for its existence. “For what can be known about God is plain to them because God has shown it to them. For his invisible attributes, namely, his eternal power and divine nature, have been clearly perceived, ever since the creation of the world, in the things that have been made.” (Romans 1:19-20).\nSecondly, and because I have argued the need to understand meaning and purpose from the point of view of the One who gave it meaning and purpose, there must be potential in man which meets that need. Faith is what is needed to receive the truth of God’s Word. “By faith we understand that the universe was created by the word of God, so that what is seen was not made out of things that are visible.” Hebrews 11:3.\nIt is considered, by the Christian faith, that there is an exalted name whose value, reason and purpose can be understood and known fully in the Gospels. Indeed, there is no other name which better speaks to every other named person, as being more exalted. “Therefore, God has highly exalted him and bestowed on him the name that is above every name…\" Philippians 2:9. (ESVUK)" } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on 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 Death of Intrigue\n\nGenre: christian\n\nWord Count: 1100\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character who develops a special ritual to cope with something." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "With swift decorousness, the judges gavel slammed on the ledge, creating a vibration of fear that shook the courtroom into silence. No one could match the judge’s power, his influence. He was a man who could change the world by his decree alone.\n“Okay, okay, silence,” said the judge, looking down at those standing before him.\nThere was an atmosphere of finality, almost of some relief, for both prosecution and defense. Both had fought a hard fight, had come through a metamorphosis and into a new being. Both had sacrificed for this moment.\nThe judge signaled to the prosecution that it was his turn to give his final arguments. As quiet as it was in this courtroom, it got even quieter as the man began to speak.\n“Dear judge,” said the prosecutor. “I will not waste your time with gentle platitudes and empty promises. I will only divulge the facts, or those as I see them presently. The current Mr. Maxon is a menace to society. He is a man who has never built a family, never worked more than a year at a time, never supported his community. He is also a butt-grabber. The State of Massachusetts believes that this man is a detriment to society. Prison is too good for him. He requires the ultimate correction. We feel as though a decade in prison and a lifetime sex offender registry should be enough to correct his errant behavior. I rest my case.”\n“Good,” said the judge. “And does the defense wish to say anything?”\n“Your honor,” said the defense. “My client was falsely accused. He didn’t even live in the community in which this crime was committed. He had moved away years prior. The timelines just don’t add up. This court has already established that my client isn’t perfect. It has already been established that he has had problems. But to ruin a man’s life over a handful of celluloid? That would be the ultimate travesty. My client is a good man. He has been compliant with all decrees and requirements up to this point. The most important thing is that he has been responsible. He has not abdicated what was his to complete. I ask only that you consider his good parts as well as the bad. Thank you, your honor.”\nThe judge thought about it for a moment. A hesitation of this kind could mean many things. Good or bad. Mr. Maxon was on the edge of his seat. He couldn’t not watch as his future was decided.\nThe judge found him guilty of butt-grabbing. His sentence would be 15 years in prison, plus a lifetime sex offender registry.\nMr. Maxon was prepared for this eventuality, but the power and strength of such an outcome was something that it was difficult to prepare for. He thought about his life thus far. He thought about all the things he’d been through, all the difficulty, the trials, and tribulations. Everything he’d tried to do to make his life better.\nThe prison bus took him away. It wasn’t a very long ride, by prisoner standards. He would have preferred to have more time to think. When he saw the sign of the prison, he knew he had arrived. Something came over him. He decided, sitting on the bus, looking at his new home for the next fifteen years, that he was going to treat this as an opportunity. Prison wasn’t the end of his life, but the beginning. He wasn’t dying but living. This was real life.\nAfter placing his meager possessions in a locker, locked away, he proceeded to his cell. The halls of the prison were dingy. And as the guard led him to his cell, Mr. Maxon thought only of what lay before him. He was beginning to forget his past. He was certain of his future. This wasn’t some mistake. He was meant to bet here.\nWhen the guard finally got him to his cell, Mr. Maxon was quick to place his things down on the bed. He then knelt on the floor to pray. He had never prayed before. Nor did he know who he was praying to or what he expected to hear back. Was he praying to himself? His own ego? He had no idea.\n“Dear God,” said Mr. Maxson. “I’m not praying to you right now. I guess I am. I know I’ve never prayed before, but that’s immaterial. I am in a bad way right now. I know it seems like I’m whining, like I just want favors. I’ve never been to church, not even once.\n“I don’t know how to say this, but it’s not as simple for me as saying that you do or don’t exist. I don’t believe in God, but this isn’t about what I believe. This is about the future. I can’t guarantee that my life will get better, but I’ve got to live it either way. What I’ve lost is nothing compared to what I could lose if I give up.\n“So, let’s make a deal. You and me. I want you to know that this is the real me. I wouldn’t be coming to you for someone else. When I say it’s me, you know I’m telling the truth. God, I don’t care if it kills me. I will treat this day and every day going forward as if it were my last.”\nMr. Maxon then went for chow. At the tables, men regaled him of the times they’d tried and lost. The gigantic fish they had tried to catch somehow eluded them. Right after chow, Mr. Maxon went straight to the library. They were almost closed for the day, but Mr. Maxon was thinking differently. He’d never finished an adult book. For him reading ended in high school, in the twelfth grade. He picked up a book and finished it in three weeks.\nThe next book took one week. By the end of the six months, he’d read twenty-five books and was beginning to learn to read in other languages. As time went on, the worst thing that could have happened to him turned into a life that had potential. He didn’t have all the answers. He didn’t know what the world would do. The jury was still out on whether he had a future.\nWhen he got out of prison after eleven years, for good behavior, he was ready to tackle the world. He had massive challenges as a man recently released from prison, but times were changing. He could feel his life becoming more of a beacon of hope exponentially." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Those Eyes\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1201\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story that involves a reflection in a mirror." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "As any other day she woke, and as every other day; the first stop was the bathroom. As she sat, letting the first river of the morning flow she felt the flickers of the dream she woke from. She was herself, and yet a whole new being.\nShe had always had a love for mythical beings, fairies, pixes, unicorns and dragons took her daydreams more than any other creature of her fantasy world.\nShe flaked it off as just another dream, and yet the power she felt, the roar that she felt as she woke herself to it. \nEmma was always a wild child, one who walked to the beat of her own drum. Everything in front of her was never enough, and so she sought out to make her fantasy secret life more real than she could ever imagine. \nThat morning she woke as she had as a child to stare at a pair of eyes that she had thought were not her own, yet they were absolutely hers.\nEmma had been forced from childhood to attend church, and was always told that her imagination went overboard. She was never supported in her beliefs and that there was more than one god and one way of life, so as they all deemed her \"weird\" she never paid any attention to said words from school peers right up to her own parents telling her that her nonsense wasn't going to be tolerated. \nIt was then that she began keeping a journal; not of just thoughts and feelings, but of her short stories and sightings in her dreams as well.\nIn her dreams she was free, and could think and feel as she pleased without those who thought less of her for her beliefs that she was just crazy and her imagination would land her in an insane asylum. \nShe had begun reading books about dreaming, astral projection, and other forces of the universe being very much alive in some modern civilization. \nAs she grew older, and beyond the condescending comments of family, she graduated and went on to study occult in college. \nIt wasn't long before she earned a degree in occult studies and creative writing. \nNot long after earning her degree, she began making friends that believed the same ways she had grown accustomed to. In this, she found her tribe, her true family and those who believed as she always had. The happiest time of her life and yet she woke this very morning from the very same nightmare that had begun this way of life as a child. She was a dragon, she felt it in her gut, and in her heart and now as she stood staring at those eyes in the mirror she knew it had to be more real than a dream.\nThe eyes that stared back at her glowing a yellow/orange color were not the eyes she had awoken to many other mornings of her life. These eyes were the ones that belonged to her soul. \nIt was time to learn how to bring this soul back from the other side where dreams are unlimited. \nLater on that day she came to meet her best friend, and high priestess and discussed what had happened that very morning. Therese had been the one to bring her into the tribe when she was just learning, and was now considered a trusted friend and tribe member. \nOddly enough Therese had found an old mirror in a house she was painting for a house going up for auction. \nThis mirror was 6 feet tall by 4 feet wide and then; It was as if a whole new life was breathed through this mirror into both Emma and Therese. They could see both of themselves as they were ever meant to be. \nEmma, a dragon who's colors changed with her movement and light, a mark of beauty with glowing orange/golden eyes; standing next to an enchantress with silver hair down to her feet and perfectly combed as she wanted. She wore a head piece of horns like a crown with many crystals black and silver was her dress. \nThey decided to bring this mirror to the farm of the Crone of the tribe to see what she would think.\nAs Therese unveiled the mirror before the crone, her reflection was that of her younger self. She was as a dragon, wolf, bear, maiden, mother and crone. Her age did not show in its form but in wisdom of the pure white hair that braided down to her feet. Her eyes were a reflective silver, showing the wisdom she had accumulated over here many years. \nIt was then that Emma's and Therese's image changed. Emma was not a full fledged dragon but a woman with fierce muscle, wings, and a crown that of dragon horns yet the delicate beauty of a maiden. Therese's reflection barely changed, she is as she was meant to be. In the crones reflection showed not only her face but the face of Therese as well. \nThis mirror was a mirror of truth and meant to be kept within this tribe for generations to come. \nThis was no ordinary mirror, they were no ordinary women, they were Maiden, Mother and Crone and would go on to lead the tribe and Kin. \nThis mirror was kept hidden from the world for generations of this tribe. It moved on to the granddaughters of their granddaughters. \nOne such granddaughter, who had been given the name of her great grandmother Emma, also woke as a child one morning. She was shaking and nearly did not make it to the bathroom to see her reflection in the mirror. \nAs this Emma was raised by those of her great grandmother's tribe, she was not afraid, but excited to see what the mirror of truth had to show her.\nSo she then went to her great grandmother, who was sitting in the moon garden waiting. \n\"Grandmother, I think I've had the dream you mentioned in so many of your bedtime stories.\"\n\"Well little Emma let us see what the truth will reveal.\" The old crone spoke as she unveiled the mirror to reflect a young and beautiful dragon standing before the mirror. \nThe old crone grandmother let tears stream down her face in pride; that she had created such a wonderful soul to carry on her protection of the tribe as maiden, then mother, and some day the same old crone she had become. \nEmma the elder, watched happily as the young Emma skipped back off to bed with dreams of the things she could become, while the old crone stared one last time into the mirror and became a pure white dragon and in this mirror the dragon flew away with the elder Emma. \nThe grandchildren and members of the tribe, allowed her a grand funeral and put her in a boat shaped with dragon's wings, into the large lake and let her blaze into the next realm as she had always wished. \nThe reflection on the mirror showed; as her dragon boat blazed throughout the lake; of her flying far off into the sky as a pure white dragon. \nEmma Lindau" } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on 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 Meaning of Love.\n\nGenre: christian\n\nWord Count: 1083\n\nPrompt:\n\nMake a character perform a ceremony to set something or someone free." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "It was happy hour again. The week had rolled by, dramatically. Nate sat at the bar, he was the wise old owl of his engineering firm. His juniors were pussy footing around him, trying not to be insensitive.\nNate's week had not kicked off so well, not great at all. On Sunday, his long time society wife had sat him down, for the 'talk'. She had fallen in love with a society doctor, the man of her dreams. Nate felt absolutely nothing, as she left the scene with her designer suitcases.\nHis wife no longer had anything to say, neither did he. Nate had to put the house on the market, and declutter his stuff so he could relocate. His future was suddenly an open book.\nThe very next day, his loving, but snippy, mother keeled over, and died of a massive cardiac condition. He had buried his mother, she never lived to enjoy the his first world luxuries where she had aimed him. Nate stood there, her golden-haired boy, the object of his mother's social ambitions. He was so 'respectable'.\nNow it was happy hour with his workmates. Nate went and sat down in the lounge chair, sort of at that mellow stage. He stared uncaring at a match on a wide pub screen no one else was even viewing. It was there, part of the whole drinking culture.\nNate thought about his week in retrospect. When he was just a boy, he had shown great promise. His mother had scrimped and saved to have him sit for scholarships, and to send him to an elitist school. He had always driven himself. He attained great sporting firsts, captain of a football team, recruited in the big league, while overachieving in every exam.\nAt one stage, he had felt called to channel himself for his Lord he had learnt about in his religion classes. He felt he should study Theology, and lay healing hands on his fellow mankind, following humbly in the path of his simple Christian faith. He would have held his own.\nNate's mother was duly horrified by his teenage dreams. No son of hers was going to be poor as a church mouse. Poor was not good. Nate was persuaded to apply for a professional vocation where he could earn lots of money. His mother did not want him to echo his railway worker father. He was heading for the university, going to succeed, and then marry well.\nNate had a brain wave, as he sat there, while the drinkers' laughter and repartee swirled around him. No more reason for him to be a people pleaser. His two children were adults now, they had left home. Nate had provided them with a good family, the best schools, and a great background.\nBoth of his children had followed their own individual paths. Nate's son and daughter made sure they had been expelled, and were never going to university professors. His son was never quite ready for his father's football dreams, so he rejected that too. He had reached a certain age, and headed off interstate to be a station hand on a big cattle property. That was his path.\nNate's daughter had chased every unsuitable boy she could, now she was living in regional city, pregnant. She planned to keep her baby, and pursue some plan to be a fitness instructor.\nYes, the light switched on in Nate's brain, as the glasses clinked at the bar. He told the others he has heading off home early. He called a taxi and let himself into his empty mansion home on the \"Golden Mile\". It had never felt like home.\nNate fed his unwanted dog., the ugly Pippi Longstocking. He hoped his daughter would visit on Sunday and take her back to the country to live. Otherwise, it was euthanasia row for the canine.\nNate slept well that night. He had made his decision, he could now be his own individual. Saturday dawned. Nate phoned his firm's manager, and resigned. The real estate agent was booked for 9 am Monday. Not only for this golden achievement non-home, but also for his luxury beach house. That should sell well. It had its own lap pool next to the private beach. Going, going, gone.\nNate phoned a travel agent. He booked a flight overseas, to India, to study healing. He was planning to enjoy his fresh start, to contemplate his calling. But first, his decluttering. His wife had thoughtfully left him some boxes.\nThis was it. Nate went off to the local rubbish tip. At that time, it was still free. Wouldn't matter anyway. Nate was not a poor boy, which was an understatement. Nate stood there by his open car boot, and hurled the lot. Into the tip went his suits, his stuffed white shirts, all the glittering trophies and engineering awards of his stellar career. Following that, he threw away his degrees from illustrious universities around the globe.\nNext went his old football sweaters, and his prizes, his autographed photos, his golden statues. Soon, this ceremony meant it was all gone. He could cheerfully have set a match to it all, burning memories.\nNow Nate could be his own individual man. Soon enough, he flew overseas, and explored his real gifts, to lay on hands. Later, he did return to his hometown. He bought an inner city terrace house, and began his own business, offering healing massages, and counselling his clientele at the same time.\nHe joined an outreach van at night, spreading his message of support to homeless people in his neighborhood, down on their luck. He took them care packages, coffees, donuts, hot soups, a healing touch. He was never going to be a poor church mouse, he was an undercover healer for his Lord. He rated in the suburb, a kindly, unofficial preacher for them all. God did not give up on anyone.\nNate did not miss all that paraphernalia of his former glittering lifestyle at all. His mother would have been so underwhelmed, but even she could not take any stuff with her. Nate sent silent prayers to his parents above. On his outreach van he drove, a lady social worker came his way. Soon they were wed, their common goals to live as simple Christians, working for their great God. It had all worked out for the greater good. The real treasure had always been there, in his healing hands. Nate had found the real meaning of love." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Taekwondo\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1072\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character doing something they’ve done hundreds of times — only this time, it’s taken on a new meaning." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "I was quiet as I was quite impressed by his moves. He was a fair man making a fair game at a fair near my town. It was indeed a challenging fight. It was my first time watching a live fight while I lived in Jacobabad. . A small undeveloped town. But a master of Taekwondo martial arts lives here. \nToday was his power show of skills in this fair. I eye on this master while sitting at a wall bar where as he was eating a bar of chocolate just before his big match.I was following him for the last 2 months without his knowledge. And today I hid myself in the left corner of his house when he left.\nI was right in writing down all his moves step by step. As I used to practice them just like a knight in dark nights.And then one day I will be a Taekwondo too. My feet try to copy his heroic feat. But still there was something that was still missing in me. I ate my food at eight in the night and morning. I dare my dear life to starve in hunger all day long. I saw him sewing his clothes, so I sewed my clothes just to develop the fine motor skills of my fingers. I even left the delicious deserts in my house to practice taekwondo in deserts just to build myself.\nI fight with the bats with a bat in caves. I have read a novel on taekwondo but still I am trying to find that one novel move which will make me the ultimate Taekwondo ever in this world.\nBut Today I would better minute those moves in my diary, but the master just made his opponent fall down within a minute. Before I could tie up my waist to concentrate on his moves he already made his opponent a waste. Master received the winner's tie with dignity. Master was receiving a chest full of million dollars with a proud big chest. Meanwhile I was finding the right letters in my mind just to write a letter to this master.\n“Dear respected Master of Taekwondo,\nI watch your fight while keeping a watch in my hand. Tears fall off my eyes as I see you tearing your opponent in seconds. Your moves sound good, but when I move my moves are just sounds. I want to be a Taekwondo. \nI hope to hear from you as I wait for you over here in this fair. I am that young 18 year old boy who brought you the chocolate bar before today's match.”\nI put the letter on his clothes placed on a chair in the changing room. And now everyone was disposing, I was proposing to stay.\nI heard a voice:\n“ Love is an ideal thing, marriage is a real thing so If you want to gain something, you have to lose something.”\n“Now speak but don’t speak without thinking. As what you will decide is going to be one small step for you, one giant leap for Taekwondo.”\nI was flattered to see the Master himself talking with me.\n“I have tried more than 100 times on my moves. I am willing to stretch my veins in pain, relaxing my soul in the spirit of taekwondo.”\nMaster was surveying me through utterly regal eyes. Whereas I was hiding the heavy pounding of my heart with a smile on my face.\nMaster makes a move of his hand as to come close, leave closely. I choose to come close. \n“Many are called, but few are chosen.”\n“If you could quarter this ring in a quarter of second only then you can become an ultimate taekwondo.”\nI tried to pull the ring apart with my full strength. But my veins ran in vain in making it possible.\nI was pulled off , Master pushed me apart after 1 hour of struggle. He just put the ring under his teeth and made a slight cut on the ring. And then under his feet with a strong powerful jump and then he pulled it apart with his hands.\n“William Shakespeare said: \nGive every man thy ear, but few thy voice.”\n“Force and power makes you a taekwondo, Intelligence and cognition makes you a master.”\nIt was my first step in my journey to become a master of taekwondo. This first step changed all my previous strategies. I was trying more than 100 times, failing more than 100 times. But never achieving anything. As I was moving, without a conscious plan in my moves. \nFinally I learned my first lesson today:\n“If you aren’t fired with cognition and enthusiasm, you will be fired off, with cognition and enthusiasm.”\nThe master tapped me on my shoulder and gave me a quarter to buy a quarter piece of bread for him. It was surely a sign, an invisible sign on the invisible document of trust. I stood firm as a worker of a great firm. Making my way outside in the market with the weight of this quarter in my hand. Now, I brought one quarter piece of bread to won a heart.\nThe master gives me a stare as he climbs up the stairs. My heart felt whole while I fell in a hole. The plant of trust has grown, I groan in the hole. I eye with a watchful eye on the master without watching my steps. So I ended up playing a bass of hope in my mind, becoming a fresh sea bass in this hole of water.\nI see a chance, in this sea of trouble to apply my new learning. I murmured.\n“What did the fork say to the egg?? \nI am going to beat you………”\nI pin my socks, trouser and shirt together making a small circle followed by a rope of clothes. And then I throw this circle outside on a tap of water. My rope was knocked and pinned fine with the tap as I stretched this rope. I stretched the rope pulling myself up and then making a taekwondo jump to jump out the hole.\nBy the time I came out, the Master made a gesture for bye, for today. \nI made a quiet smile over this quiet move. And then I rest for the rest of the day. I turned off the lights to rest on my light pillow that day." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on 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 Girl on the Train\n\nGenre: christian\n\nWord Count: 2903\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about a stranger coming to town and shaking up the order of things." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "\"Settle down, everyone! Please, settle down!\" Sheriff Bowman's words didn't travel far. The church that doubled as a schoolhouse during the week was small and sat forty people at best. He addressed the man behind the pulpit. \"Reverend, you take it from here.\"\n Reverend Mark Wilcox nodded and searched the crowd, looking for someone, anyone, to raise their hand and volunteer to help.\n I fiddled with the seam of my cuff to help keep my eyes down as the townspeople began arguing again. Aunt Gwen always told me not to make eye contact when my elders minced words. I didn't want to look at them anyway. The urge to run warred within me, to head out far away from where I sat, but the bitter cold that awaited me outside held me to my seat. I was at the mercy of the community of people who claimed this town as their home, who couldn't agree on much of anything, nevertheless what to do with the orphan who arrived in town on the train early this morning and was now seated next to the minister in the front of the room. I just wanted to go home.\n I chanced a glance up. A man wearing overalls and a dirt smudge on his cheek stood, straw hat in hand, and pointed to an older woman more finely dressed than the others. \"Mrs. Carlson, you can take her, can't ya?\"\n Pressing her hand to the carved ivory handle of the wooden cane, she stood leaning heavily on its support. \"No. I cannot.\" Her lips pursed, and she sat back down with a violent gasp as she shot an angry glance my way. My presence had disrupted the town she controlled with her money, which did not set well with her.\n Lowering my eyes which now leaked the heartache I felt, I wrestled with the images of Aunt Gwen's face when she had placed me on the orphan train heading west with the Children's Aid Society. \"It's for the best, Child. You must live elsewhere, understand?\" No, I didn't understand. With so many rooms in her beautiful home, why would she not have room for me? Her house was so large she would never know I was there.\n The reverend spoke again. \"The train left the station hours ago, and it's cold outside. We need a family to step forward and take her in, even for only a little while, until I have a chance to send the Children's Aid Society a telegram tomorrow letting them know about the sudden passing of their agent.\"\n The reverence each one held for the dead claimed the room ushering in a momentary silence. This town had been the very last stop along the westward line of the railway this side of the Mississippi. The agent, Miss Josephine, was supposed to have another agent with her, but he had taken ill and had to stay behind. Along the way, we stopped at each town, lining up on the stations' platforms or in churches so that people wanting children or needing workers on their farms could come and inspect us. Each time I was passed up, Miss Josephine and I moved on to the next town.\nWhen we arrived in this town, we disembarked and headed for the church. While crossing the roadway, Miss Josephine grabbed her chest and collapsed beside me. She was not a young woman and had had a few episodes of breathlessness on the train ride. The chaos that erupted caused my head to whirl. By the time the town doctor arrived, she had passed from this life. I was alone in a town I had never been in, with no money or anyone to care for me.\nA modestly dressed woman with a kind face finally stood to speak. Her voice shook as she delivered her verdict. \"I think she's a fine girl, and I wish we could take her home.\" She shot a sidelong glance at her husband, the full-bearded man sitting beside her. \"As the schoolteacher, I spoke with this young lady today and found her to be bright and smart. But I have four boys who are becoming men, and well, you know what I mean. It just wouldn't be fittin'.\" She gave a slight shake of her head. \"It just wouldn't be fittin'.\" She sat back down and looked my way. Giving a light shrug, she mouthed the words I'm sorry.\nGrappling with what she meant by \"not fittin',\" my insides began to feel uneasy. I wiped my tears and looked out at the congregation while they all stared at me like I would pounce on them and scratch them at any moment. What was so wrong with me that they wanted me far from them?\nReverend Wilcox took in a deep breath. \"We have committed to being a community of love and acceptance. Surely someone can take in this young girl and keep her long enough to allow me to get this sorted out.\"\n\"Winter's a-comin'!\" One man called out.\n\"That's right.\" A woman in the back stood tall, donning a calico bonnet. \"And we don't know when the next train will come. Truth is, she could be here 'til spring, Reverend.\"\nReverend Wilcox opened his mouth to respond, then thought better of it. His eyes wandered the room, looking for an answer to the dilemma.\nEarlier that day, there had been a hullabaloo about the adoption papers found in Miss Josephine's satchel. All of the parents adopting children had to sign a contract with the Children's Aid Society binding them to an agreement to care for the adopted child. Miss Josephine had told me that the children traveling on the trains were anywhere from four to sixteen years of age. I would be seventeen in two weeks, at which point I would be ineligible for adoption. My head spun with the information. As the deadline approached, another detail of the adoption was looming. While the adoption papers did use the term \"adoption,\" they also included the words \"indentured servant until the age of twenty-one.\" If I found a family to take me in, they would be my guardians until I turned twenty-one. If I did not find a family, I would be out in the cold at nearly seventeen.\nThe clanging of the metal latch on the wood stove rang out as an elderly man in the back of the room fed the little beast more wood. Some were looking at me, some at the floor. Their silence was almost worse than the arguing that had lasted for over an hour.\nReverend Wilcox spoke in soft words. \"God has placed me here to lead this flock. I am at a loss as to what to do with this fine young lady. It's up to all of us, not me alone.\"\nA woman with a large silver bun to the back of her head rose and shuffled her way up the center aisle until she stood in front of the reverend. She grinned wide and crooked her finger to signal him to bend down so she could speak into his ear. But the woman was hard of hearing, so her whisper was loud enough for all to ascertain. \"Why don't you marry the girl?\"\nReverend Wilcox's face turned red, and he shook his head. \"No, ma'am. That would not be possible.\" He stammered for a moment, swallowed hard, then recovered. \"The regional board of trustees of the church has to approve my choice of a wife. If I bypass that, I will be asked to step down as your minister.\" Shooting a glance my way, he looked relieved and continued to address the situation. \"I'm sure if we pray and put our heads together, we can find a way from… uhm for… this young girl.\"\n\"But she's not a girl.\" The elderly woman spoke, still standing before the reverend. \"She's a woman.\"\nThe reverend began a slight shake of his head.\nThe woman turned to the congregation as she asked, \"Reverend Wilcox, did you not marry the Johnson couple just last year? The groom was twenty and the bride seventeen, if I recall.\"\n\"That's true.\" A soft, courageous voice came from one side of the wooden pews.\nThe reverend shifted his weight. \"But they had been brought up as friends since childhood, and their parents favored the union. Besides, we have no groom.\"\nThe room fell silent again.\nA man of large stature with golden-brown waves trailing behind his shoulders tied to the back of his head with a strip of leather stood in the back of the room.\nReverend Wilcox acknowledged him with wide eyes. \"Nicholas Van Buren.\"\nThe man took his time coming forward. He was a brawny man with the gait of one who walked in authority. By his mere presence, he took ownership of the room. All eyes were upon him with an astonishment that I could not comprehend. I shifted in my seat, ignorant of what this man would suggest and afraid of which family I would wind up with. Would they see me as their daughter or a servant?\n\"Mr. Van Buren,\" Reverend Wilcox repeated his name, \"You are not one that usually attends town meetings. I'm surprised… and delighted… to see you here.\"\nThis Mr. Van Buren came to the front bypassing the reverend, and stood before me.\n\"…and you are always so quiet…\" The reverend's voice trailed off.\n\"The frontiersman.\" A voice from the pews whispered.\nHis eyes were the bluish color of the heavens before sunset. The brown hat he held in his large hands was well-worn and trimmed with a band of leather. A small hatchet rested in his belt on one hip and his revolver on the other.\nHis eyes met mine, but he spoke to all in attendance. \"We've been discussing this young lady's future, but no one has bothered to ask her what her name is.\" His voice was kind and soft but took on the room like a champion.\nI straightened my spine and lifted my chin. \"Clara Michelle Lancaster.\"\nHis mouth grinned, making his eyes smile. \"Well, Clara Michelle, what do you want to do in this situation?\"\nMy face fell as the tears took over my countenance.\n\"Hey now,\" he spoke gently, \"There's no need to cry. This is a good day.\"\nI stood and glared up and him. \"A good day? A good day, you say? No one here wants me. My parents died, and my aunt gave me away. And now, these people,\" I gestured to all in attendance, \"think there's something wrong with me, so I cannot go home with any of them.\"\nThe schoolteacher on the front row shook her head.\nThe frontiersman looked around the room and then back at me, brows raised. \"You have a pretty face, and they don't know what to do with it.\" He chuckled. \"You look like a grown woman.\"\n\"What?\" I bit back.\nHis eyes bore into mine. \"You're beautiful. The only reason the teacher doesn't want you in her home is because her boys will fight over you. That would cause a family feud that could last for years to come. It's better that you move in with someone else.\"\nThe reverend looked ashamed but nodded his head. \nI wiped my tears again and looked him in the face. \"If what you say is true, Mr. Van Buren, then I am being rejected because of my looks?\"\nHis eyes stayed on me. \"Yeah. That seems to be what's going on. Folks in these parts tend to pass judgment on appearances.\" He held up his left hand, missing his pinky finger and half of the one beside it. Gasps echoed through the room. Then, pushing his hair away from his left ear, he showed that most of the top of it was gone, and a large scar ran from behind his ear to higher up on his scalp.\nMy heart sank, but my mind went curious. \"How did it happen?\"\n\"I was attacked by a bear, years ago.\"\nMurmuring filled the room. From what was spoken, it was apparent that no one had bothered to ask this man standing before me how he had been scarred. They had only chased stories about what might have been. \nMy voice rose as I addressed the congregation. \"This is pathetic. If I sat up here with a huge scar across my face, you all would gasp in horror, as you are doing with Mr. Van Buren now. Instead, you reject me because you think I have beauty?\" I was not going to surrender to their gasps any longer. My foot took a step as I intended to leave the schoolhouse to venture out on my own.\nThe frontiersman took a gentle hold on my arm. \"Hold up there, Miss.\" His smile caused the side of his eyes to wrinkle a bit. \nI pulled my arm away from him. \"Don't touch me. You don't get to decide what happens to me.\"\n\"I don't want to make that decision for you.\"\n\"What decision? My fate is being chosen by everyone in this room.\"\n\"Not me. I don't know what you want. It's up to you. What do you want?\"\nI breathed in deeply. \"I want to go home.\" I looked down, around the room, and then back up at him. \"Problem is, I have no home to go to.\"\n\"Not if I have anything to do with it.\"\nMy brows furrowed, and I cocked my head.\n\"Be my wife, Miss Lancaster.\"\nMy eyes went wide. \"I don't know you.\"\n\"These people here can speak for me. I've not always been their favorite neighbor because of my scars and being a recluse most of the time. But they do know I am a man of my word.\"\nMy eyes traveled around the room. Smiles filled the faces of each and every person seated.\nOne man stood, \"I bought a horse from him once. Best plow horse I ever had,\" then sat down.\nThe Reverend cleared his throat and gave a nod. \"Mr. Van Buren is a man in good standing in our community, Miss Lancaster. Most here have simply misunderstood where his scars came from.\" He looked out over the people. \"Perhaps we can all learn from this.\"\nI looked at Mr. Van Buren. \"You're truly asking me to marry you, here, now?\"\n\"Yes, I am.\"\n\"You know my age. How old are you?\" I asked.\nHe swallowed, then straightened, holding his head high. \"Three and twenty, Miss Lancaster.\"\nThe elderly woman, who still stood near the reverend, took a step closer to me. \"My George, God rest his soul– my George and I were married in a similar fashion o'er fifty year ago. I didn't know him. He didn't know me. But we needed each other. And so, it began.\" Her smile widened, and her face lit up. \"After a time, I fell in with him. And I loved him until the day he died last fall. We have children and grandchildren who call us blessed.\"\nMy eyes roamed the face of this frontiersman who stood tall and fine before me. My heart calmed in my chest because his eyes were so warm. They soothed me.\n\"Do you know the Lord?\" I asked him.\n\"Yes. The Lord and I are great friends. He knows my heart, and I read His word to know His.\"\n\"He's a Christian? Who woulda thought?\" a whisper rang from the pews.\nI bit my lip. \"So, you can read and write?\"\n\"He writes poetry, that one does.\" A woman called from the back.\n\"Do you?\" I asked.\nHe smiled with a nod.\nI looked him over, assessing his size, looking nervous.\nHe took in a slow breath and looked into my eyes. \"I will never hurt you, Miss. I'm not that kind of man.\"\nAs I looked down, pondering what to do, I noticed him moving. He went to one knee and looked up at me.\n\"Will ya marry me?\"\n\"Why me?\" I shrugged.\n\"Because I'm sure there's more to you than that pretty face.\" He tapped a finger to one side of his head and laughed. \"You've got a thinker. And I would like to spend the rest of my days getting to know what's up there. We could spend time reading together and then talk about the characters in the stories. You could show me what you know, and I could do the same.\"\nMany of the womenfolk raised their brows and shot glances at their husbands.\nWarmth filled me. This man was a mystery to me but not to the community. They said he was a good man, albeit an oddity to them, and I had nowhere to go.\n\"Okay, Nicholas Van Buren. I will marry you.\"\nHe stood, towering above me. Then, swooping me up in his arms and twirling me around, he said, \"God as my witness, Clara Michelle, you'll never regret it.\"\nThe room erupted with cheers.\nAfter an hour of preparations, and the loan of a dress from one of the townswomen, we were married in that same church. He took me to my forever home, a grand cabin filled with furniture he himself had made. We shared everything we knew with one another. \"Trading knowledge pots,\" he called it. I was never happier in all my days." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on 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 ICE CREAM?\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1179\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about a character who fails to understand something until they have the full context." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "There once was a little boy who had trouble understanding the meaning of words. His dad explained that he needed to know what the word meant to understand it, but all this did was make him more confused.\nThe next day, they were sitting at dinner when his mom said, “I’m going to get up and clear my plate.”\n“Clear your plate? What does that mean?” he asked his dad. He told me about how she would take her dish over and put it in the sink so no one else could use it. “I think I might be starting to get the hang of this language,” thought the little boy as soon as he understood what ‘clear your plate’ meant. That night, the boy was going to bed when his dad said, “I’m going to get up and tuck you in.”\n“Tuck me in? What does that mean?” he asked, confused. He told him how he would cover him with a blanket and kiss him goodnight, so the dark wouldn’t bother him. This time it took longer for the little boy to understand what that meant. But after hearing his mother talking about washing, he started putting two and two together. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some socks that need cleaning.”\n“I have a surprise for you,” said Dad one morning. “We’re going to go to the beach tomorrow.”\nThe little boy was thrilled and asked, “What’s that?”\n“That is where we throw things into the ocean.”\nA few days later, they went back to the beach. The little boy picked up some rocks and threw them in - one by one, he could make ripples! He asked, “What are those?”\nDad smiled at him as if it should be obvious and said, “Those are waves.”\nLater on that week, during dinner time, Dad said: “You know how you love to eat ice cream? Well, I have something even better for you! Tomorrow I am going to take you to get ice cream!”\nThe little boy was so excited; he couldn’t wait. He asked excitedly, “What is ice cream?”\n“That...,” said Dad, pausing to think about how to explain the flavour of ice cream to a child. “Well, that’s what happens when you mix chocolate and milk.”\nThe boy’s mind raced, trying to make sense of the new words. “Mix chocolate and milk?” he repeated slowly.\n“That’s right!” beamed Dad excitedly, glad that his son was finally getting the idea.\n“Then what happens? What does it look like?” asked the boy.\nDad was confused by that question, but answered it anyway: “It looks like something you want to eat!”\nThe boy’s eyes lit up, and he said excitedly, “I know! It looks like glurp.”\n“What?” asked his dad, now thoroughly confused.\n“Like when I mix orange juice with strawberry milk!” explained the little boy. His father sighed in relief and said: “That’s right! Ice cream is what happens when you mix chocolate and milk.”\n“Oh yeah, I remember now,” said the boy. “That’s what we call glurp.”\nEvery morning, the boy woke up excited about what new combination of words he would hear that day. One Saturday, he was outside playing when suddenly his dad walked out and said, “How would you like some ice cream?” The little boy looked at him suspiciously and asked: “What is ice cream?”\nHis father chuckled to himself and said, “Ice cream is a delicious frozen dessert made from milk and sugar!”\nThe boy shrugged his shoulders and said, “Okay...”\nA few minutes later, Dad brought out a plate with a slice of cake on it. The boy watched in amazement as the man took out a can, shook it till something came out, and then sprayed the cake with a fine mist. “What is that?” asked the boy as he watched Dad sprinkle the white covering all over the cake, covering every inch of it.\n“It’s called ‘ice cream,’” replied his dad, smiling at him proudly. The boy scooped up some of the stuff on his plate and said:\n“I know! It looks like glurp.”\n“What?” His father leaned forward, interested in what the little boy had to say about this frozen dessert he’d made for him.\nThe little boy looked up at his dad, smiled, and said: “Thanks for letting me try some glurp!”\n“It’s called ‘ice cream,’” repeated his father patiently.\nHe looked up at his dad and said, “I know! It looks like glurp.”\nThe little boy grew older and learned that the world was a wondrous place. He delved deeper into learning how things were named, where they came from, what they tasted like. But there were still some things he didn’t understand. His mother was ill for quite some time, and nobody told him why she had to go to the hospital or what happened there when she died of cancer. But as he got older, he learned about it all on his own: pain, suffering, death. But even then, he struggled with understanding this strange concept known as “death.”\nWhen the boy was in the third grade, his language arts teacher asked him to write a composition on what he wanted to be when he grew up. The little boy scratched away with his pencil and, when he had finished, showed it to his father. It said:\n“I want to be an explorer like my dad! I want to find out things that nobody else knows about. I hope one day I can discover new words for other people to learn to understand them too! I love glurp.”\nHis father smiled at his work - “That’s wonderful!” he exclaimed. The boy grinned back as if pleased by the compliment. His mother walked up beside him and read what her son had written. She looked up at her husband and tilted her head in confusion. “What is this?” she asked, pointing to the paper.\nThe boy quickly provided his answer: “That’s what it looks like when you mix chocolate and milk! We call it glurp!” “No dear,” his father corrected him gently, “it’s called ‘ice cream,’ not glurp.” The boy looked at his mother, then back down at the paper, with a look of confusion on his face. He could see that it said glurp! “It must be glurp! Glurp tastes good...why would anyone want to call something else by that name?”\nHis parents exchanged glances and realized their mistake. They had gone and told their son about this wonderful frozen dessert they loved so dearly, and called it by the wrong name. The boy was too young to understand what ice cream was. And, in time, he would learn the horrible truth: that glurp is a sickly brown liquid created from mixing chocolate syrup and milk.\nHe would grow into adulthood as a man who could not understand how his parents loved something so vile (as glurp used to be). But more importantly, he’d never see glurp as anything but... well, glurp.\nOn second thought, maybe I’ll stick with calling it “ice cream.”" } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on 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 Garden, My Love\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1074\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character doing something they’ve done hundreds of times — only this time, it’s taken on a new meaning." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Hello, my name is Jordan, I am a 28-year old whose biggest obsession is his garden. I love flowers, I love helping them grow, taking care of them, and giving them to people who need them. A flower may not seem valuable or a present of huge importance, but then again it all depends on what you consider to be valuable. For me it's the intention behind the flower, the flower simply represents my intentions, for others, a flower may not represent anything, in fact, it might just be meaningless. Then again, if words can change people's lives, a simple act of kindness and compassion might do more, it might change someone's perspective on life, help them solve a big dilemma, empower them to do something they have been avoiding for a long time, and so on. After all, random small strokes can form a beautiful big picture. However, the rarity of something specifically does not make it more special than others, being different or rare alone can make one special, but not more necessarily more special than others. These are the ideals that I gained after a certain incident that happened only two years ago.\nEvery day I used to get up early in the morning, work out, take a shower, have breakfast, and head straight to work. I am a journalist, so I am able to work from home, although sometimes I have to travel, which is not a problem because I'm not away so long that my plants will suffer from it. Once I came back I devoted most of my time to taking care of my garden, I had everything from orchids, to roses, from sunflowers to tulips and dahlias too. It was my little paradise, and I liked to share it with others, so when they were fully grown and I had obtained more of their seeds I would go out and randomly hand out flowers to strangers. I would receive all types of reactions. some were weirded out, some were happy to receive them, some refused to take them, some insisted on paying me for them, and I refused to accept their money, but some of them insisted so much I was forced to take their money. One day I came back from my stroll and I found quite a new sprout growing in the corner of the garden. It looked quite like the roses so I left it alone and tended to it like any other flower, but about a week later I noticed it was different from perfumed roses, or the extravagant tulips, or the shiny sunflowers, or the gorgeous orchids. This flower looked big and it wasn't even close to the climax of its existence, so it had a lot to grow still. At first, I thought that it was quite common and I was just making a big deal out of it, but the more I looked for what it was, the less I found. I spent like this, obsessing over this strange flower growing in my garden for about another week until I found an article online that talked about weird or rather, \"rare\" types of flowers all around the world. I almost had a heart attack when I found out that the \"weird\" flower growing in my garden was none other than the rarest flower in the world, the Middlemist Red. I panicked, I didn't know what to do, I didn't even know if I was taking proper care of it. At one point I considered telling my friends or even saying something on the discord server that other gardeners had formed and I had joined; however, I did not, something stopped me and to this day I am sure that I made the right choice.\nFrom that day my life changed, I didn't make a fortune from it or become famous, but I felt blessed for having the opportunity to take care of this wonderful gift. I was in love with this flower now, I thought that taking care of it would be very expensive yet it turned it out, this was not the case at all. Simply watering it and showing the proper love it deserved was enough for it to reach its maximum potential. I was still enticed, it was special, I had a treasure in my garden, and now watering my flowers took a different meaning, it was the best part of my day. As the days passed I fell further and further in love with this wonder and got to see it grow into a majestic masterpiece from which I could take pride saying I nurtured it and helped it grow. More days passed by and I started to notice some plants in my garden were dying, I was a bit shocked but didn't pay much attention to it and kept watering my plants, especially my treasure.\nEventually, I stopped going on my strolls to distribute flowers and spending time with my shiny sunflowers, or extravagant tulips, or perfumed roses, or gorgeous orchids, instead I focused solely focused on my Middlemist. A couple of weeks passed and The Middlemist started to die, I got worried, its glow was fading and its life was ending right before me and I didn't know what to do, or even what I had done wrong. After I calmed down and sat down to think I realized that more than half of my garden was dying if not already dead. It hit me that the reason my Middlemist Red was dying was that I ruined the environment, and the reason my garden was dying, was because I wasn't paying enough attention to it. My garden's value was revealed to me that day. Every flower was special to me, all of them from the most common to the Middlemist Red. I worked it thoroughly, I had to take some days off of work but it didn't bother me, this was my priority. Everything worked together, all the flowers, the soil, the water, and the weather were all key components, and each of them individually was special in themselves. The Middlemist Red saw many flowers grow and many more leave the garden, I resumed my strolls and to my surprise many people that I would usually give flowers to asked me how I was and why I had missed so many days of work, on top of that they were happy to see 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: Go and Do Likewise\n\nGenre: christian\n\nWord Count: 2522\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about someone undertaking a long, dangerous journey." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Content warning for depictions of racism.\nGo and do Likewise \nI had all that a man could want while I rode those dusty roads. I don’t know why they hired me as a railroad bull, but there wasn’t much to it in the end. Lean your rifle over your shoulder, look mean, and if some no-good hooligan tries taking a free ride, you throw ‘em onto the tracks. Simple as that. Mostly the passengers were afraid of an attack from them wild Apache. I never seen none, but I know damn well I would have blown their heads off if I did. It was still fifteen bucks a head during the war – if you could find the right lawman – and the extra cash woulda been nice. \nBut I didn’t need extra cash. Bulls were paid well. So after we landed in Albuquerque, I bought myself a young appaloosa stallion, yellow like butter with spots of white. I got some nice duds – a leather vest and some snakeskin boots – and a Colt Navy Revolver like them army boys got. I was riding down to San Pedro armed, clothed, and with a full purse when it all went to hell. \nI heard horses stamping around, loud as thunder. Damn Apache, I thought. They weren’t supposed to come close to government roads. Before I knew it, I was surrounded by six men and their horses under them, but it weren’t no Apache.\n“Mornin’ Partner. The name’s Rotten Tom,” said a greasy-haired man who earned the name. He smiled wide. “Fine day, ain’t it?”\n“What can I do for you, Rotten Tom?” \n“We was just admirin’ your fine pair of snakeskins, weren’t we boys?” The group of men laughed and nodded. \nI tried to keep cool. “I do appreciate your interest, but they are not for sale. Now I think you best be on your way and I’ll be on mine.” I patted down my holster to make sure they understood my meaning. I held Rotten Tom’s gaze. I knew I couldn’t out-gun six men, but putting the fear of God into the leader is the best chance I had of coming out with my boots on my feet. \n“Now, now,” said Rotten Tom. “Let’s not come to blows. Jus’ take ‘em off and leave ‘em on the ground and you can keep on a-ridin’.”\n“I know all about you lot,” I replied. “You’re no real outlaws. Just a gang of dirty, stupid bandits is what you–”\nRotten Tom drew out his gun, and before I could draw mine, he fired a shot that hit my shoulder. My stallion reared up and threw me off, and I heard my leg crunch as I fell. My gun landed a few feet away, and as I crawled to get it, one of Rotten Tom’s men dismounted his horse and picked up my pistol, holding it between his thumb and forefinger. \n“Nice piece,” the man said in a nasally drawl. “I think I’ll keep this one.”\n“Well I want the vest!” said an old man with a scraggly gray beard and no teeth to speak of. \nSoon the group of men were on me. I covered up my face but the blows came fast and hard. Someone hit me in my shoulder where I was shot and pain came up through my whole body, and the edges of my vision went black. I yelled something horrible, and that’s the last I remember of Rotten Tom and his gang of degenerate bastards. \nI woke up to a blazing sun. It was hotter than hell at high noon. My lips were dry and I looked for my water but the gang left nothing. I was naked as a jaybird and I could see my skin turning pink. Goddamn, I’m gonna die here. I tried to get up on my feet, but my left ankle felt like it was being stabbed with a hundred knives. My foot was an ugly purple-yellow and the size of a melon. My shoulder was covered in blood that was dry and flaking off, though more oozed wet and thick as I moved around. I noticed blood underneath me as well, and I knew the bullet went straight through. I couldn’t move. I had no food, no water, and no hope. I knew there was only one thing to be done. \n“Dear Lord,” I said aloud. “I know I haven’t always been your most faithful servant. I have sinned against you time and again. Just now, I had every intention of getting to San Pedro to do some whorin’, drinkin’, and card-playin’. I ask now that you cleanse my evil heart and show me your bountiful forgiveness. And if you are truly merciful Lord, I ask that you spare me, and send me a–”\nJust then I could hear the sound of hooves along the dusty road and a horses snort. \nI began to cry, though I thought I had no water left in me. “Thank you Lord, thank you, thank you! Soon as I get back, I’ll be your servant forever and a day. Thank you and amen!”\nA man in a black coat, with a black hat and a black horse came riding by. I was worried it was death riding by me ‘till I saw his white collar. \n“Down here Reverend!” I rasped. I could barely talk. But providence intervened, and the man of God looked down to me. He was tall, lean and had an expensive haircut with a carefully trimmed beard. He looked as all respectful men should look.\n“Afternoon,” the man said as his horse came to a stop. “This is the work of the Apache, ain’t it? Oh, I know it is. ‘As they did not like to retain God in their knowledge, God gave them over to a reprobate mind, to do those things which are not convenient.’ Yep, Apache work to me, though it’s a wonder you still got your scalp.”\n“No, just some goddamn bandits.” \nHe clicked his tongue. “You oughta’ watch your mouth there, son. ‘You shall not take the name of your Lord God in vain.’”\n“Yes Reverand. Sorry, but–”\n“No ‘buts!’ No sir, if the Lord didn’t intend for us to follow it, he wouldn’t have writ it in his Good Book. If it’s important to the Lord, you can be sure it’s important to Reverend John Michaels III. And if it’s important to me, then son, I think it ought to be important to you too.” \n“Yes sir. Of course. Could you please help me to San Pedro?”\n“Son, let me ask you a question. Are you a child of God? Have you been washed in the blood of our savior Jesus Christ? Have you prayed the sinner’s prayer?”\n“Yessum,” I replied. I’d been baptized anyways, back as a boy. I wasn’t sure about all the rest and I felt bad that I could be lying to a man of the cloth.\n‘Well then I’ll be on my way.” He said, and spurred on his horse.\n“Wait!” I shouted, and burned my throat. “Please!”\nHe turned his horse around. “Look here sir. I’ve got to preach in San Pedro ‘fore the sun sets. There are many unsaved souls in that debaucherous city. A natural Sodom, and yet the Lord has called me there in my dreams as I sleep. Now what do you think the Lord would have me do? There is one saved man, who by tonight will sit in glory beside the Lord if what you say is true. Or there is a group of depraved men, who, if not for the Word of God, could die tonight and spend eternity in damning hellfire. Now, if you’re a man of God, what would you have me do?”\n“Please…” I whispered.\nHe spurred on his horse. “I suggest you spend your final hours thinking on your selfishness. ‘Look not every man on his own things, but every man also on the things of others.’ May the Lord have mercy on your soul, and deliver you from these trails as he did Job before you.” His horse kicked up dust and the man vanished into the horizon. \nSeveral hours blended together in wakefulness and sleep. The pain was immense, but the hunger was harder and the thirst harder yet. The world spun around me. I thought on what the Reverend said, and if I really would be washed in glory come sunset. I knew for a fact I deserved endless torment.\nThat is why I could not believe my ears when I heard another horse coming down the way. I woke up and the sky was soaked in blood as the sun westered over the mountains. My head felt like it would burst, and yet the rest of me was cold. \n“Help,” I managed to whisper. Once again, the Lord intervened and I was spotted. \n“Well who have we got here, eh?” It was a fat man dressed in colorful threads of red and blue. He sat atop a cart that was being pulled on the largest Clydesdale I had ever seen. On the side of the cart, painted in yellow, was written a wavy and elegant James McClellan’s Cures. “A naked cowboy down on his luck,” he said, “losing it all on gambling and whoring I’ll bet. Sir, that is not the enterprising mindset one must have if you’re to make it in Ulysses S. Grant’s America.”\n“Help me,” I mouthed. \n“Help you, eh? Well what ails you? Ah, let’s see. Well I can see you’ve got a purple foot. McClellan’s Soothing Linnaments oughta have that right as rain after just two applications. Nasty wound on your shoulder… hmm… well I’d start with washing it out with my famous bitters, and then rub McClellan Cream on it every day after that for two weeks. How’s your toilet? Perhaps McClellan’s Twice-a-Day Fibers could do you some good. And for your general health and wellbeing, I always recommend an orange pill in the morning, and a purple pill before night. You’ll keep that hair of yours, and never need a dentist even in your old age. That’s the McClellan Guarantee.”\n“I… just…”\n“Now I charge fifty cents for most bottles, and seventy-five for my bitters. But for you, how’s the whole set for two dollars sound?”\nMy head fell back into the hot dirt. \n“Well of course you ain’t got a purse on you!” the man said. “I am sorry, but with my schedule I simply cannot accept credit. I’m on my way to Rancher’s Cove after this. Of course every man will say, ‘well I’m headed there myself, why don’t I take your bottles now and we’ll square up when I’m there?’ Bah! Never happens. To accept those terms is the attitude of someone who does charity. Do I look like a nun to you? No, I’m a businessman, and James McClellan did not make his fortune doing bad business. So off I ride, and if you’re still interested, you come with cash next time we meet.” Just as he was about to ride off, he looked back down on me. “Ah well, you are a sorry soul, and I do have a soft heart beating in my chest. Here, the rest of this one is on the house.” He tossed down half a bottle of something that landed beside me. I did not have the strength to pick it up. He rode off, and I slipped into sleep.\nIt was dark and freezing when I awoke. A dark shadow loomed down the road. At first I thought it might be Michael, the Archangel, come to take me home. But the shadow, the coldness, the blackness, and the fear. It was the devil. I saw horns coming from the rider, and a tail from the back. \nThe rider approached and it was something worse than the devil. It was an Apache woman riding a spotted mustang, and a young boy, likely her spawn, up front. \n“Leave me,” I groaned. “Leave me! Leave me!” I had suffered enough. I didn’t need to be tortured at the end. But that wasn’t true of course. I had never lived an honest day. I harbored nothing but hate for the Apache though they’d never done ill to me or mine, and if they had I daresay it was deserved. If they wanted to get back at me before I died, it was their right. She lifted me in her arms, and I thought I died as once again all went dark. \nI woke up, leaning on the neck of the mustang. The boy held my steady from the back. He said something in Indian-speech, and the woman turned to me, stopped the horse, and took out a leather water-skin. She poured it in my mouth. I hesitated. What was this? Poison? Blood from a child sacrifice? But thirst gave out, and whatever it was, it was sweeter than honey. It dripped down my chin, and I smiled, and drifted off into darkness. \nI came in and out of this world. I’d open my eyes and the sun would shine from out of a tent. The woman would come to me, and pour something in my mouth. I’d wake up again and it would be dark and there would be some sort of sweet cornbread at my side. I’d crumble some and eat it, and choke, and eat some more. \nFinally I woke up in earnest. It was cold, but I was covered in blankets. I sat up, and my shoulder had rabbit skin over the wound. The Apache woman entered my tent and smiled. She undid my shoulder wrap, and took some greens she had in a bowl and sprinkled it on before covering my shoulder back up. She said something I couldn’t understand, and motioned in ways that seemed exciting to her but had no meaning to me. Finally she left the tent, and an old, squat, sun beaten Apache woman came and sat in front of me. \n“You are awake.” she said.\n“Yes,” I said stupidly. \n“How do you feel?”\n“I feel good. Thank you ma’am.”\n“We prayed many days that your body would be healed.”\n“Thank you. But… why?”\n“Because your body needed healing.”\n“Yes, I know. But… why did you pick me up? I am an enemy to the Apache.”\nThe old woman smiled warmly. “Your body needed healing, but your spirit also needed healing. Apache know how to heal spirit. Come.”\nShe led me out of the tent to a clear, cool evening. There was a circle of Apache around a fire, wearing coats and colorful blankets. She led me to a spot beside the woman that picked me up, and I sat. \nI don’t know how to describe that night, but the old lady was right. They started singing, and some started dancing and playing drums, and the children were playing, and they started smoking something sweet and delicious. I don’t know what else to say other than that my spirit was healed, just like she said." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on 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 I Became Death, I Finally Felt Alive\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1652\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story in which the same line recurs three times." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "“Please let me die,” I said, staring up at the ceiling with my wrists bound to the hospital gurney. Tears had pooled in my eyes; and my death ended up being as monumental as the word sorry. Apologies were passed around in small groups, ‘sorry’ was given and taken to family and friends, and then like a regret pushed down deep, it was moved away from. My death came and went and my family and former life had to move on too. \nI had expected no less.\n“Please let me die!” I had sobbed, uncurled on my bedroom floor, chest heaving and mouth spread with teeth and spit. The pain thrumming in my head so hard that I could feel the veins pushing against the skin. The empty bottles, fallen allies; and the arms that caught me up and squeezed me tight were only the traps that would later pin me to a bed. I had been forced to lay for days on end, my soul bare to the world and a thin apron covering my form.\nIt was the obituary for my suicide. \nWhen the time did come, it felt like release. I do not mean to romanticise, nor do I wish to horrify the experience. It was neither good nor bad, my act neither moral or immoral, it simply came like the first cold breeze of winter, with a fall.\nMy death was painful but quick, nothing for the history books but a young teen doing as many had done before her; taking her life to save herself.\nThe concrete had been cold when I woke on it; not unforgivingly so, as it had just caught me up in its arms, but solid and wanting. It gave me a hand to my feet as I saw the world around had been sapped like the juice being sucked from an ice-pop, subdued and colourless.\nDeath had not looked as I had expected. Perhaps not what you would have expected either? He was, in a word, a farmer.\nHis rough hands rested on jean overall covered hips, and an old cap hid his eyes from the world, having been pulled down low long ago. His face was wrinkled as you might expect Death’s to be, but not from age as much as weather worn, cracking from a sunburnt life. He gave a sigh at seeing me rise, and a shake of the head which caused my teeth to grit and bitterness to coat my throat.\n“Well you done it now,” he had said, spitting to the ground, and raising a hand for me to take.\n“You’ll let me go? Please, just let me-“ but he hadn’t allowed the words to finish in my mouth before he had taken a firm grip of my chin, his fingertips pressed deep into the skin.\n“Now listen here, you got two options, ones like you don’t always mean to go out so quick, some regret it, some don’t. If you’d like I can give you a new meaning, something beyond living or dying, but no take backs this time.” My chin had then been released and the bow of the cap looking at me had given a nod.\nIt’s been a 1,000 years since then, and I don’t miss my life one bit. I have missed one thing though; and this one thing comes when the nights get long and the deaths lull. He is called Shivam, and he is a Breath-Giver, a Soul-Bringer. Life.\nWe met on a wet Wednesday afternoon in Toronto, a deer had been hit by a driver. I had stood at the side of the road, the red tail lights of the car gleaming over the beasts sodden body. It’s chest had heaved painfully. Breaths coming wheezy and slow. I remember sighing before I saw him, readying my hand to help the doe’s head and shoulders rise from its corpse when I saw it’s stomach twist oddly. The fawn was born soaked in afterbirth and it’s mothers blood and took me amusingly by surprise.\n“Please, let me?” A voice had asked just as I had been considering to help the new born meet its mother, perhaps not in a way either had intended, but stopped at this voice. A young man of Indian decent was stood next to me. Slightly taller than I was, in jeans and old converse, he was lanky and bemused. Drifting his hand downward I watched for the first time a soul being pushing into a body. It was a tender action, soft and subtle like a fish slipping into water. And then the fawn had taken its first breath, and I had met my match.\n“I don’t think you can just take one of the dead from me,” I had said, a small rise tugging to the corner of my mouth.\n“It’s not yours if it’s breathing.”\n“You know, I don’t think it was before you got here.” We had smiled then at one another, and I realised that I didn’t mind the company.\nLife and Death do not stick together like glue, we have to circle one another like the sun and moon, only getting brief eclipses to languish in company. We sometimes take this time to talk, to walk; our most common destinations were bridges it seems, often over lakes or ponds, and mainly at night. Sometimes we sat on bridges and laughed till the time came for us to part; else we’d simply follow one another for a short time in the others shadowed duties.\nShivam had a teacher too once, a wild 30 year old woman with skin as dark as coffee and humour just as bitter. He had said she often liked to slap him on the back just as a soul was placed, and laugh at the new soul being dropped into the world with a start.\nWe visited her a long time ago, when the sun was hot and the desert was such a bright gold you would have thought you were stood upon the sun. We walked and watched as she brought tumbles of sand spiders into the world all at once, and then would teased at our companionship fondly.\n“You ought to be off now,” she had made a shooing motion and I had only grinned in response, walking closer. I could see the tiredness around her eyes and suddenly I felt it, the passing. She seemed to have known it was coming too, and rested her weight on me, allowing my hand to hold her arm.\n“Is it time now?”\n“I think so.”\nShe looked worried for a moment, regret and longing looking back over her long, long life.\n“Please, let me?” And she fell into my grasp as light and easy as soft snow fluttering apart. Her passing affected Shivam greatly, and it soon came time for my teacher to come to me also.\n“It’s time,” he had stated, his hat giving me a weary look, before a sunburnt arm was raised for me to take.\nI took a firm grip of his hand, allowing the callouses to cut into my skin. Soil smudged from his fingertips to mine, and I took some of his weight by catching up his elbow in my other hand.\n“It’s a long hard job, and you best remember it ain’t pretty work.” His voice had been as sombre as ever and all I could give in return was a sarcastic “please!” A smile caught at my lips, and for the first time since out meeting the tip of his cap had risen, and underneath, the stars of a thousand souls had glinted back.\nMany years passed with ease, the job palatable and the company good. I watched Shivam grow old in servitude. His work became rigorous; and Life became serious.\nBut soon the time came when I smiled upon a soul that had met it’s time to pass, and I gave it a choice instead.\n“Fancy meeting someone all the way out here? Say, you wouldn’t happen to be looking for a another adventure would you?” The astronaut at the time hadn’t found my humour in the matter, more a perplexity in the situation of a young girl with wildness in her eyes and a loose t-shirt crouched next to him on a planet far from earth. But as I had hoped he took my hand and I led him astray, into the world of Life-Stealing, Soul-Taking, Peace-Giving. Death. \nShivam didn’t find his replacement for many years. Not because he didn’t want to I don’t think, but because Life was ever present, ever growing, and he chose to fill his hands with the management of it all rather than tutelage.\n“Please,” I had almost begged many a time, wanting certain creatures to take his place, to bring into our profession, to bring companionship to us. But he knew better. A new Life was not for us, for our enjoyment, but for the betterment of everything. And it took me by surprise when one autumn day he looked to the dying body of an old Mexican woman and asked me, “please.” I took her soul from her body as quickly as breath from lips and gave him his pupil. I gave him a grandmother who would tenderly follow in his footsteps for hundreds of years to come.\nJoy then laughter came back into his life once Old Rosa took in his stead; and more than once he commented on the galaxies than now swam in our eyes like the sands of time filling us up. Our end stretched out then came close all at once. Like the fall of a rain drop. Or the crash of a body to concrete.\nWe held hands and when the time came I ask, “please, let us die,” to my astronaut. And our souls finally left the world together, in friendship, and at peace." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on 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 Interpretation\n\nGenre: christian\n\nWord Count: 2864\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about a stranger coming to town and shaking up the order of things." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Jarod Cochran was here to hang a man. And maybe to kill a few others who got in the way. The badge of a U.S. marshal came with responsibilities.\nAmarillo, Texas was growing at the end of the nineteenth century. Almost a thousand souls now lived in the area, carving out a life and a future from the semi-arid and seemingly empty land. Cattle ranches dominated the region; barbed wire and guns determined who owned which parcel of land.\nJarod stayed on his palomino and ambled through the town’s main street. It wasn’t much: a saloon, a hotel/restaurant, the sheriff’s office, a general store, and a church that doubled as a school. It was the last building that surprised Jarod. A real church in a place like Amarillo seemed out of place.\nThe sheriff’s office was empty, save for a dirty, disheveled man reclining on a cot in one of the cells. Jarod glanced at him briefly before putting his hat on the desk and sitting down. He spied a coffee pot on the stove and went to get a cup. Empty.\n“Where’s the coffee?” Jarod asked, looking around the spacious yet spare office. The stove was cold, reposing dully in one corner of the office. The desk was located opposite the door so that anyone coming in would be seen from the chair. Wanted posters hung on the walls, and a rifle cabinet with no rifles stood against the west wall. Jarod stripped the walls of the outdated posters. He had put away or killed many of the men listed on the posters.\n“Dunno,” the prisoner said, grinning, “but I kin tell ya where the sheriff is.”\nJarod looked out the front window, not acknowledging the prisoner. With a swift movement he killed three flies that had huddled together on the desk, with the rolled up and defunct wanted posters.\n“He’s dead. Got hisself shot yesterday morning while he was a drankin’ his coffee in the saloon. Rance Larkin’s the one what done it. Man’s meaner’n a poked snake and twice as deadly.”\n“Interestin’. Reckon I’ll have ‘im hanged for killin’ the sheriff, too.” Jarod smiled at the prisoner.\nThe prisoner scoffed.\n“Ain’t no lawman gonna bring that man in.”\nJarod’s ice-blue eyes and calm demeanor did a poor job of hiding the menace that the marshal exuded. Leon, the prisoner, felt a cold chill in his hot cell.\n“You hungry?”\nLeon shrugged.\n“The holy woman’s gonna bring me some rabbit stew. I could use a drank.”\nJarod poured out some water from his canteen and handed it to the prisoner. Leon looked at it sadly, wishing it to be an altogether different kind of drink.\n“Holy woman?” Jarod continued to stare out of the window. The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the saloon, on the opposite side of the street. A breeze blew through the windows but did little to cool the place down.\n“A nun. She come from back east. Runs the school, preaches on Sundays. Got half the saloon girls married off. Ain’t no sportin’ women left ‘cept the fat ugly ones.” Leon laid back on his cot, reminiscing on the good old days when the whores were young and the lawmen weren’t too concerned about the law.\n“What you in for?” Jarod stood by the window, peering into the gloom that ensconced the saloon. No one was going in at this early hour.\n“I had three whiskeys and two beers,” Leon said.\n“That don’t sound like much of a crime.”\nLeon shook his head.\n“I could only pay for the beers.”\nJarod looked at Leon and smiled, his face crinkling in amusement. After a little consideration, he opened the cell door and shooed Leon out. He would need the cell later. Probably.\nA scorpion was sunning itself on the porch outside the sheriff’s office. Jarod ground it beneath his boot heel on his way to the saloon.\n **************\n“Primrose! We need coffee!” Sister Cecilia shouted towards the kitchen, not willing to vacate her vantage point on the porch; she had her eye on a tall, lanky lawman. He got off his horse and entered the sheriff’s office. The sister watched to see if the man would come out. She gave it up after a few minutes, going back inside to see why Primrose hadn’t responded.\nPrimrose, a recent convert from her saloon-girl days, shifted from foot to foot when accosted by Sister Cecilia. The sister scared her silly, but she had found refuge from the dirty cowboys that wanted to buy her body for ten minutes at a time. Sister Cecilia gave her a clean bed, food to eat, and a Bible to read. It was more than she had ever had in her life.\n“Old Mr. Gregson sez you still owe him money,” Primrose said quietly, eyes cast down.\n“Did he now? I suppose I’ll go pay the man a visit,” Cecilia said. She straightened her scapular, put on her wimple, and strode down the street toward the general store. She slowed down as the lawman walked across the street to the saloon.\nThat man is a long, tall drink of water. Hmm. I’ll probably be saying some words over his grave later. Pity.\nMr. Gregson paled slightly when Sister Cecilia entered the store. He scurried behind the counter in an effort to distance himself from the redoubtable woman. The distance wasn’t nearly enough.\n“Mr. Gregson. I want you to imagine standing before God on Judgment Day. Now I want you to imagine how you’re going to explain to Him how you treated one of His poor servants,” Cecilia said, her voice gentle and steady.\nMr. Gregson felt the palms of his hands sweating. His breath was becoming labored, as if a higher power was squeezing his chest. With a sigh of resignation, he nodded at the sister, admitting his guilt without saying a word.\nHe measured out two pounds of coffee and handed it to Sister Cecilia.\n“I believe Primrose and I could also use a pound of bacon, a big bag of flour, some butter, and maybe toss in a handful of those root beer sweets you have.”\nMr. Gregson laid all the items in front of the sister.\n“Perhaps you can have your son deliver this to the church,” Cecilia said. She smiled at Mr. Gregson, but it wasn’t a smile that engendered good feelings.\nHe nodded. The miserable Mr. Gregson was once again bested by the small, squat woman dressed in black.\nCecilia made her way back to the church, slowly and thoughtfully. She peeked into the saloon. The tall lawman was talking to Seth, the bartender. Both men looked up when Cecilia walked in.\n“You here to take in Rance Larkin?” Cecilia wasted no time in getting to the point.\nThe marshal gazed at her with amusement and admiration. Seth gasped slightly and busied himself with wiping down an already clean bar, getting as far away from Sister Cecilia as possible.\n“I reckon so,” Jarod said, tipping his hat to the nun.\n“I’ll pray for you,” Cecilia said. She turned quickly and left the saloon.\nJarod watched her leave, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. Seth returned, wiping his brow.\n“You reckon she meant it? Prayin’ for me?”\nSeth shook his head.\n“More like she gonna bully ol’ God into helpin’ you,” he muttered.\n **************\nRance Larkin and his crew showed up at the Red Rooster saloon three nights later. Jarod watched them go inside, but he didn’t immediately follow.\nLet ‘em git all liquored up, slow their reflexes.\n **************\nSister! Sister! Rance Larkin’s in town. I jus’ seen ‘im goin’ into th’ saloon,” Primrose said, twisting a dishcloth in her hands. Cecilia put down her Bible and gave Primrose a stern look.\n“Prim, you know you’re talking like you’re still a saloon girl. Enunciate your words, girl. Like I taught you.”\nPrimrose ducked her head in contrition.\n“Yes, sister. ‘Nunciate. I seen – “\n“Saw.”\n“Saw Rance Larkin and his men going into the saloon.”\nCecilia smiled.\n“Excellent, Prim. You sound like a real lady.”\nPrimrose nodded but didn’t smile.\n“Ain’t no man – “\n“There isn’t any man,” Cecilia corrected.\n“Isn’t any man gonna marry me.”\n“Isn’t any man that’s going to marry me. And how do you know that, Prim? Did God visit you and tell you that?”\n“No, ma’am.”\n“God will get you a man if He deems it the right thing to do, girl. I don’t have a man and I’m quite happy about it,” Cecilia said.\n“You ain’t – “\n“Aren’t.”\n“Aren’t allowed a man.”\nCecilia sighed and sipped some of the wine that Mr. Gregson added to the grocery order. Primrose drank lemonade, but would sneak a glass of wine later, when the sister went to bed. Cecilia knew that Primrose did this, and approved of it heartily.\n“Have you seen the marshal yet?” Cecilia let Primrose do the spying.\n“No, sister. I reckon he don’t – “\n“Doesn’t.”\n“Doesn’t have the grit. Don’t blame him none – “\n“Any.”\n“Any. That Rance is a mean one, sister. Kill a man just for lookin’ at ‘im the wrong way.”\nCecilia declined to further correct Primrose’s grammar. It was very tiring, and besides, she had a man to pray for.\n **************\nMarshal Jarod Cochrane slipped into the Red Rooster three hours later. The saloon was smoky, loud, raucous, and slightly chaotic. As he knew it would be.\nRance Larkin was sitting at a table playing poker. Jarod spotted his three partners, two tables away, drinking and grabbing at the saloon girls.\nJarod walked behind Rance and, in one smooth motion, relieved Rance of his pistol while drawing his own from the holster. The marshal pointed Rance’s pistol at Rance’s head, levelling his own pistol at the killer’s partners. They all stood up, hands hovering near their pistols.\n“Rance Larkin, you’re under arrest for the murders of – “\n“You ain’t gittin’ outta here alive, lawman. My boys gonna fill you with lead,” Rance spat out. He did, however, have the good sense to raise his hands and remain still.\nThe patrons in the line of fire moved quietly away, bringing their whiskey and beer with them. Someone was gonna get killed. They didn’t care who, just as long as they got to see the spectacle.\nJarod then did something that no one expected. He smashed the butt end of Rance’s pistol against Rance’s head. The outlaw slumped over, unconscious. Jarod pointed both pistols at the three men wanting to kill him.\n“Grab iron, boys.” Jarod’s voice was soft, but it pierced the air like an arrow. The three outlaws looked at each other, unsure of what to do. Finally, one of them spoke.\n“You cain’t git us all, lawman. Why don’t you jus’ tuck tail and run?”\nThe saloon was so quiet, you could hear an ant burp. Smoke drifted up, twirling through the air and joining the haze that rested on the ceiling. A saloon girl started to sob.\nThe outlaws went for their pistols. Jarod shot all three before any of them could clear leather. He then walked up to each man and put another bullet in each one. Jarod put Rance over his shoulder and tossed him bodily into the newly-vacant cell in the sheriff's office.\nHe tore the wanted posters of Rance and his men from the wall and tossed them in the stove before going to bed. The paper would make good kindling when winter got here.\n **************\nThat’s good coffee, Prim,” Cecilia took a sip, nodding her approval.\n“You bet, sister. Strong enough to float a horseshoe on,” Primrose said.\nCecilia finished her coffee and got properly dressed for the upcoming event. Primrose begged her to go along, but she refused the girl.\n“You don’t need to see a man’s neck stretched, Prim.”\n **************\nCircuit Judge Horace Minor took little time in pronouncing sentence on Rance Larkin. He had other men to hang, and he couldn’t waste any time dispensing justice. The judgeship came with responsibilities.\nA crowd had gathered for the spectacle. Sister Cecilia prayed for Rance before he died, and then again after he was laid out in a cheap wood coffin. Jarod watched the proceedings from the sheriff’s office. He had no need to see something, up close, that he had seen dozens of times before.\nThe crowd dispersed. Most of the men headed for the saloon to discuss the happenings of the last few days. The marshal was avoided by some of the men, embraced by others, and looked at with desire by many of the women. Even some of the married ones gave a thought to a dark night together with the lawman.\nCecilia strode to the sheriff’s office in a cloud of dust and clothed in righteousness. The marshal stood quickly upon the sister’s entrance.\n“Amarillo owes you a debt of gratitude, marshal.”\nJarod nodded. He didn’t know what to say to such a strange-looking creature.\n“The old sheriff has a bottle of whiskey in the bottom right drawer, marshal. Why don’t you pour out a drink for us?”\nJarod eyed the nun with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. He took the bottle out and poured whiskey into two coffee cups.\n“I didn’t think your kind drank, sister,” Jarod said, sipping the whiskey. He grimaced and put the cup down.\n“God requires me to be chaste and poor, young man. He never told me to not drink,” Cecilia said severely. Jarod chuckled and raised his cup. He watched as the sister drained her cup and sat back, sighing.\nThe moments ticked by, quietly and comfortably. Dust motes danced in the morning sun, twirling lazily in the light before disappearing into the shadows. Cecilia and Jarod had another drink, each remaining silent and thinking their own thoughts.\n“You – uh – you a religious man, marshal?” Cecilia broke the comfortable silence.\nJarod sipped some more whiskey before answering.\n“Yes, ma’am. I wear God’s judgment on my right hip,” he said, patting his Colt. Cecilia didn’t want to smile, but she did.\n“And I preach God’s word on Sundays. Mostly about love and forgiveness.”\n“I reckon God speaks to us in different ways, sister,” Jarod said, putting his whiskey down and lighting a cigarette.\nSister Cecilia couldn’t argue with that logic, though she didn’t like it.\n“A matter of interpretation,” she said quietly.\n“Yes, ma’am.”\nThe sister stood, ready to depart.\n“Walk me to the church, marshal. I have some nice bacon sandwiches and a strong pot of coffee for you before you leave.” She didn’t wait for an answer.\n“You ever think of marrying?” Cecilia’s short legs pumped through the dust while the marshal’s long, smooth stride kept him easily beside her.\n“A little. Ain’t no woman gonna want a scalawag like me, though,” Jarod said, his tone suggesting that a wife would be nice to have, but it was unlikely to happen.\n“I have this housekeeper. Primrose. She’d make you a fine wife.”\nJarod eyed the nun thoughtfully, and not with a little amusement.\nSo, she’s a matchmaker, too. Lord!\nThey stepped inside the cool, dark kitchen. Jarod sat down and took the proffered coffee. He nodded in approval.\n“That’s some good coffee, sister. Reckon you have to stir the sugar in with barbed wire.”\n“Primrose made it. The sandwiches as well. She’d make you a fine – “\nJarod held up his hands, laughing.\n“I get your point, sister. Maybe someday I’ll wander back this way. Anyway - ” Jarod said, standing, anxious to go. He had more men to catch and kill.\nCecilia watched Jarod mount his horse in one easy motion. She shook her head; it was a struggle for her to get atop a pony.\n“Go on with you, then. When you’re ready to hang up that badge, come on back.”\nJarod tipped his hat and rode away. It was the first time he rode away and didn’t want to. Cecilia watched him ride away.\nPrimrose then came around the corner on a horse, breathless, her face red with heat and anxiousness. Cecilia eyed her with surprise, but not with shock.\n“I’m gonna catch me that man, sister. Thank you kindly for ever’thing. I ain’t never gonna ferget ya’!” Primrose tore off down the street after the marshal.\n“I will never forget you. Enunciate!” Cecilia yelled after the retreating housekeeper. She watched as Primrose caught up with the marshal. He shook his head. Primrose gesticulated wildly. This dance went on for the better part of ten minutes. The marshal then nodded. The couple rode side by side out of sight. Cecilia had the feeling that the marshal had finally been defeated by a force stronger than his pistol.\nCecilia sat down in a chair in the parlor and sipped a glass of wine. She raised it to the picture of Jesus, hanging over the fireplace.\n“I think we did a fair few days’ worth of good, wouldn’t You say?” The portrait of Jesus didn’t answer, but Cecilia heard His response nonetheless.\nShe spent the rest of the afternoon contemplating which saloon girl she would save 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: Biscuits\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1540\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart or end your story with two characters sitting down for a meal." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "I don't turn on the radio when I drive. I don't listen to books or podcasts. There are some things I might like to hear to help wile away the time and make it more pleasant. Instead I sit in silence. My thoughts are all I hear. Some days it might be better to listen to the radio, to hear the bland and cloyingly gaudy pop come from my crystal clear speakers that probably cost me an extra few hundred. Some days anything is preferable to silence. But I've found silence has a voice. Silence speaks. I try to listen. Even if what it says is the opposite of what I was—or even need—to hear.\nAnger used to burn the house. It branded it. The invisible welt was as red as cherry candy and stung like a sand wasp; itching, irritating, and feeling like it would never let go. Another thing I've learned is that things can heal if you leave them alone long enough. But then again, some are like an allergy, flaring up the moment you come into contact with what hurt you.\nThe drive was fine, I say. I do not mention that I could have crashed while I tried to swim free of the water in my eyes. We do not mention these things. At least I don't.\nHome is an odd word, so heavily loaded with connotation it's a wonder it hasn't buckled and snapped under the pressure. But then again, home is supposed to stand a lot of pressure. There's not much use of it otherwise.\nI walk into the kitchen. My eyes instinctively go to the biscuit jar. It’s not a jar. It’s a ceramic Noah’s Ark, just big enough to fit about twelve biscuits. Some homes have a cookie jar. We don't. \nIt is empty. This disappoints me bitterly, and I sit down, dejected. It's kind of funny, the little things that can break a guy.\nI tried to make biscuits once. I ended up adding too much baking soda and they had been spoiled. No one in my house believed in waste and so they had been eaten. Every single one. My siblings had complained then and laughed long and loud when they recalled it now.\nNow I’m cursed. My sensitivity to the stuff is far beyond that of mere mortals. I can tell you if there’s too much of it in your cookies a mile off. I can sniff the improper quantity from any mixture. Some people call me ridiculously sensitive. But I impolitely push my plate away and refuse another bite with an air of dignified politeness.\nWe sit in silence. But like I said, silence can speak. Sometimes silence shouts. If I could I would shout back. But I can’t, so we just sit. Memories float around my head. Little snippets of conversation gabble on.\n“It’s not my fault he acts like that. You don’t need to try to blame me.”\n“Why don’t you ever listen!”\n“He chose his own path. That’s his problem.”\nIt’s amazing how much I can remember verbatim. Down to the shape of the voices as they twist and twirl, trying to get in a wounding blow.\n“You could have said something.”\n“It’s not my life to choose.”\n“Well you could have at least tried.”\nI can’t stand it after a while. It’s too hard to pretend I’m too tired to do anything else. I am tired. I am so tired it rather surprises me that I can walk with all the weight strapped to my chest. I excuse myself and go upstairs. The last golden red hands have stopped reaching across the sky, driven back by a cold grayness that matches my emotionless emotions.\nI try to sleep, but sleep seems busy somewhere else. I could try to distract myself with my phone, but somehow it doesn’t seem worth the effort. Tonight is a night of quiet. I won’t be disturbing it.\nHours pass and nothing happens except an unquiet spreads through my bones. I try breathing deeply. I shift around. \nI will not be sleeping tonight.\nI creep downstairs, looking for something, I’m not quite sure what. I end up in the kitchen, and sit on the floor. Some say that the kitchen is the center of the home. I believe them. So much happened here. Some good, some bad. It’s the hearth of our home. I like to think Hestia would like to come here sometimes. I look at the biscuit jar and my mouth sours. \nI find I am hungry. This makes sense as I haven’t had dinner. \nIt takes just a minute to find everything. Things have been moved around a bit, but most things are in basically the same places. The baking soda is still marked with a red sharpie. This might have made me laugh in another life.\nThe rolling board is clean. \nI mix and measure, carefully, my old shame insistent that I don’t mess this up. It’s incredible that the old thing is still legible, but I have this recipe memorized. The one change I make is to add a pinch less soda. No one will notice. But I can tell.\nI was never as good as her. She had a gift, nurtured through the years. I didn't. Though through much practice I mastered a few tricks, I resigned myself to a fate of mediocrity in that realm. It was the butter that was the real trick. It would always stick to the knife, and then melt later from being too warmed in my hands. She could always briskly whisk it away with quick movements between her thumb and palm, always perfect, as if it was a thing that took barely any effort. \nI let them rise a little longer to balance for the baking soda. I don’t mind waiting. I’ve waited a long time already. An extra hour means nothing. There’s no point in holding onto time. We all get our measure.\nI contemplate the reason I’m here. It’s odd the way death pulls people together. The few funerals I’ve gone to seem more like a reunion than a ceremony to honor the dead. He wouldn’t want to be honored though. He would wish only for a nod of recognition and a smile laced with irony. He used to say he wanted his grave to say We will meet once more. I doubt his headstone will be like that. They’ll probably borrow some Hallmarkian proverb devoid of both meaning or heartfelt anything. Then again, that might make him laugh. Insincerity was his favorite joke.\nThe rising done, I pull out the old wooden rolling pin. The rolling seems therapeutic, like rocking a baby, something I haven’t done in years and miss. Sometimes I roll the dough like a slow song, reveling in the beautiful mundanity of it. Sometimes I don’t, and the dough probably is worse for it.\nI realized I had forgotten the biscuit cutter and hunted for it anxiously, a curse ready on my tongue. It would not do to fail now. I found it somewhat predictable in the jar, which isn’t a jar. I stare at the biscuit cutter for a second and I wonder if it was always this rusty.\nAs the biscuits bake, I sit and think in the oven glow. He was my friend, he was a good one, good to others, but especially me. I’ve heard that some siblings aren’t friends, which always strikes me with its extreme oddity. But he was my best friend in a way.\nThe kitchen door slides open, carelessly spilling the light into the night darkened living room, interrupting my solitary vigil.\n“Hi mom,” I say.\n“You’re up.”\nI shrug my shoulders.\nShe looks around the kitchen. “I noticed we were out of biscuits,” I say.\nHer eyes tremble. “I haven’t felt like making them.”\nI glance at the timer. “They’ll be ready in a few minutes.”\nWe break bread together. I'm no English major, but the irony of it simmers on my nerves just west of pleasantly. They are hot, and good. The pockets of butter I have failed to mix properly taste wonderful and fill them with a delicious taste. They taste almost like coming back from a long journey late at night and finding a cup of hot chocolate waiting on the table and an old friend ready for a chat. Almost.\nWe eat in silence, the bitterness hovering lightly in our mouths. \nBefore the last crumbs are gone, I speak.\n“Tell me why you didn’t try to help him.”\nShe avoids my eyes. “I did.”\nI raise my head. “You should have told me.”\n“It was easier to let you believe it was my fault,” she breathes. “I didn’t want you to have to believe…” She took a shaky breath. “It really was his life to live.”\n“And his to end,” I mutter.\nI split the last biscuit with her. The butter is deliciously sweet. But the baking soda still sinks into my senses. I taste them both, the bitter and the sweet. The good and the bad. I think in silence as the sunrise breaks through the sky, grabbing for new life with a reaching, golden glow." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Rak Off, Hairy Legs!\n\nGenre: christian\n\nWord Count: 1146\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about someone seeking revenge for a past wrong." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Kylie Doll was in her reflection mode. She arose early, as normal, and lit her penny candle. These days, all was going well, so she said her morning devotion of gratitude, to accentuate her positives. It was her fiftieth birthday. Despite some setbacks, she had found somehow a plateau of peace and love.\nKylie Doll internally wound back some of those years. Once she too had believed in love and marriage. She had been a reasonably attractive bank teller, enjoying being young. Along had come Cheetham, that older man everyone warned a young woman not to attract.\nCheetham was tall, dark, lean, tanned, a healthy and fit former football umpire. He started asking Kylie Doll to have dinner with him, so she did. Cheetham was charming, told funny stories, he was the best kisser she had known. So experienced, he told his excuses for divorcing his three ex-wives, and only spending 'quality' time with all their children.\nKylie Doll now agreed she had once been so gullible, and that he had groomed her. Courting her with flowers and bling, Cheetham swept to her the altar, in spite of some suspicions from her European mother. Kylie Doll's father could not stand Cheetham, soon she understand why.\nThe first weeks of their marriage were full of bliss. Sparks tingled them. Kylie Doll was installed in a very impressive home, and instructed to decorate it any way she liked. Cheetham suggested she give up work, and concentrate on being his wife. The gloss quickly faded, when Kylie Doll wanted to have a baby of her own.\nCheetham paled in this conversation, he grew quite angry, and stormed off to have a drink. He had told Kylie Doll he had enough children already, they were not really his thing, all that fatherhood bit. So Kylie Doll lay alone in their king size bed, queen of nothing. Cheetham eventually returned, and their marriage rolled along in a different way.\nAll his friends were their friends, largely work related, in a high-drinking social scene of ageing couples. Cheetham had been one of the most hated males in the city football league, football umpires were scorned more than parking inspectors.\nKylie Doll never enjoyed alcohol, so she sat at these parties, listening to Cheetham attracting more negative angst. The former umpire sat drinking, telling tall tales no one cared about any more. Kylie Doll always wishes she was home in bed in her comfy nightie with a good boo, and her kitten.\nOne day, she was. The day after the party the night before, Cheetham went off jogging in his usual manner, to keep himself fit and attractive. He was only 43 years old, but he keeled over, collapsed and passed instantly of a massive cardiac infarct. He did not come home from jogging, he was gone. Kylie Doll had been wondering where he was, so she drove her flash car on his jogging route.\nThere Cheetham lay, in his cute shorts, no ID. A stranger had summoned the paramedics, but it was too late. Kylie Doll pulled herself together, and organized his funeral. She thought it was a romantic gesture to have all his wives lay a red rose on his coffin, so the funeral parlor arranged all that.\nThe day of Cheetham's send off was bright and sunny. Kylie Doll did not know what the sunshine was so cheerful about, birds so chirpy. She led the prayers at the graveside, glancing sideways at the young pregnant woman standing next to her. To Kylie's surprise, the ex-wives all smiled, as the young stranger said, \" Rak off, hairy legs!\" His first wife agreed, hiding a laugh, saying, \"Girls, we need vodka, these roses are for us!\"\nSo the girls all got together at the wake. Cheetham had left his finances in a dreadful mess. All those Sundays when he had told Kyle Doll he was visiting his children, he had really been grooming her replacement. Now all his girls had to find new homes, and support Cheetham's kids. The mortgages were in arrears., he had borrowed on his life insurance policies, his workplace was a drunken sham.\nKylie Doll's mother said, \"Good riddance!\" Inwardly, Kylie Doll agreed. He had done her wrong. \"Rak off, hairy legs!\" That was the end of her marriage and any non-existent mourning for Hairy Legs. Cheetham by name, Cheetham by nature. Kylie moved in with her widowed mother, in her retirement unit, plus the kitten, of course.\nFortunately, her bank took her back as a finance officer. She brought a human, understanding face to her job. Life went on, all was serene. She got to the stage of being senior loans officer, a single woman, her baby making years had passed her now.\nKylie Doll and her mother went to their local church every Sunday. Kylie Doll could feel the love of the almighty, she believed she could live in hope. Her kindness was a blessing to all she met, Kylie Doll was asked to join the prayer group, where her faith community joined in prayers in good intentions. Her mother was still kicking on, Kylie did not realize that love was only round the corner. In the meantime, she spent her prayer times blessing the world, praying for peace and wise leaders.\nShe received an invitation. It was for a family reunion, for her father's side of the family. Would he be there? Years ago, Kylie Doll and her cousin, Tom, had been destined to be star crossed young ones in love. They were always the best of friends, teenage hormones had kicked in, and the family seniors had forbidden them to ever meet again. They done them wrong, driving apart two soul mates.\nSuch patriarchs had been so strict, and were now all gone. Kylie Doll supposed she would meet Tom's wife and kids, all part of her family. Yes, he was there, still had that magic twinkle in his eye when he smiled a Kylie Doll. Soon, they were chatting, what did it matter now?\nDivorced these days, Tom still held a torch for his first love. They swapped phone numbers. Subtle phone conversations and whispered endearments let to exploring all those years of repression, their mutual attraction. Strangely, Tom only lived 5 km away, saved on petrol, he always laughed. He sent her a bouquet of beautiful pink roses for her birthday.\nThe penny candle flickered in the dawn of her half century. Taboos no longer mattered for Kylie Doll and Tom. She reflected on all her blessings, only briefly thinking of her long ago disastrous marriage. It was not very Christian, but all she ever thought about Cheetham now was, \"Rak off, hairy legs.\" Kylie Doll and Tom, finally getting their blissful revenge on their might have beens. They were feeling the love, by being happy at last, all their future ahead......." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Louis and Sandra\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1011\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character preparing a meal for somebody else." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "As the autumn sun began to descend a small smile crept across Sandra‘s face. Although her Sunday evening routine wasn’t new, it never failed to give her a sense of purpose or a warm, fuzzy feeling in her tummy. She cheerily called upstairs, “I’m going to make a start now!” then lifted herself out of the cosy armchair and made her way into the heart of the house. \nThis was her favourite room and it was set up just as she wanted it- everything to hand- some might say messy but it made things easy for her. \nShe rummaged through the crowded kitchen draw until she found her trusty, well-loved note book and turned its curled form over to a fresh page. “Timings, timings, the sands of time wait for no man” she muttered to herself as she began to write out the timings for the different components of the meal. \nEach week she would try something new- she once read it was important in a relationship to try different things and show you weren’t complacent and her and Louis had always prided themselves on that throughout their years of marriage. \nShe prized open the stiff fridge door and grabbed the ingredients she needed for the Thai beef curry before laying them out neatly on the kitchen counter top. Just as she started chopping the onions, she paused - was Louis calling her? She shouted up the stairs and waited, but no response- what she could hear was the football match she had put on for him earlier. “Men and their sports“ she chuckled to herself and resumed chopping. As the onions began to sting her eyes, her mind darted through all the relatable memories and thoughts-personal and universal: her teenage years where she cut them with a spoon in her mouth, the time her dad had jokingly donned swimming goggles, of course the quotable childhood film “onions have layers” and finally the sad story of the man who- suddenly her thoughts were halted by the harsh sound of the doorbell. \nShe rinsed her hands and patted them on her dress before opening the door. The golden, damp of the autumn air was a welcome comparison to the stuffy central heating and the heat of the kitchen. She looked down. A small brown parcel sat on the front step and Sandra tried to wave to the Amazon delivery driver who was speeding off for his next drop. “Was waving the done thing these days?” She often felt out of touch with social interactions in recent times, but tried not to dwell on this as it was a vicious circle to say the least... \n*************\nShe locked the door and placed the safety train across, there would be no need to go outside for the rest of the evening she assured herself. “Now where was I?....” she checked the recipe card for the dish, collected the dry ingredients out of the cupboard and grabbed the oil. She fried the onions cautiously , trying her best to get them golden and not burnt before adding the rich, fragrant spices. Trains of thought arrived and left the station of Sandra’s mind as she continued to prepare the Sunday meal- fleeting ones, silly ones, to do list ones and sentimental, nostalgic ones Most people would think her silly for putting so much thought into cooking this type of meal on a Sunday night every week, but they didn’t know the ways in which Louis had supported her over the years without fail. This was her little way of saying thank you. \nWith the saucepan sizzling, she carefully opened the plastic packaging and separated the hefty chunks of beef- oh how she hated the smell of the uncooked meat! After quickly adding them to the saucepan, she throughly washed her hands, slightly burning them in her attempt to remove all traces of raw meat before setting about making the creamy coconut curry sauce. \nWhile the curry was bubbling away nicely, Sandra wiped down all the kitchen counter tops and began to prepare the table settings. For someone who lacked finesse, she made sure everything was laid out just-so for the Sunday dinner: plates, cutlery, serviettes and a few candles for a sense of occasion. She stepped back proudly and took in the setting - “just one thing missing” she mused as she commanded Apple home to play a “dinner party playlist”. \nSandra entered back into the kitchen and gave the curry one last stir- yes, her hour and a half of toiling was well spent- it smelt delicious. She heated the sticky rice she had prepared and was ready to dish up.....”Dinner’s ready Louis” she whispered gently, voice trailing as she poured herself a large glass of White wine. \n************\nWith dinner finished and the plates cleared away, Sandra drained the last dregs of wine for her glass before adding it to the dishwasher and wearily making her way up the stairs. \nOn the landing, photos of their children and grandchildren met her tired eyes and she smiled “must FaceTime them tomorrow” she mentally noted, although she appreciated this was difficult with the time difference. \nWith a full tummy, she took her time getting ready for bed, finding enjoyment in the multi step skin care routine her friend Jackie had got her for a “pick- me-up present”. \nAfter changing into her pyjamas, she turned off the TV she had put on earlier in the afternoon. \nSitting on the edge of the bed she reached her hand over to Louis’s side. “Did you like your dinner darling?” She said softly looking at a photo of them from over 10 years ago placed on the bedside table. 6 years without him and she still cooked for both of them- only on a Sunday now. As she got under the covers and curled up on her side she hoped her dreams would lead her to him once again- “the sands of time wait for no man, but in dreams, we can go back and leave more footprints in them....”" } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Tearing Down\n\nGenre: christian\n\nWord Count: 2757\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about two people striking up an unlikely friendship." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Sampson slept on Delilah’s softest sofa amid a tremendous amount of hair clippings. His hair clippings. He was a very sound sleeper, and this made Delilah’s job that much easier. After cutting Sampson’s long hair off, she tied his arms with seven new ropes. While she did this, his snoring wasn’t halted, not even for a second. “I hate to do this, my lover, but I can’t live off love alone.” She went outside to inform the Philistine soldiers that it was safe to go in and arrest him.\n\nThe soldiers stealthily entered her house, and surrounded Sampson with swords drawn. Fear was on every face. The Champion of Israel, with his supernatural strength, could wake and break those ropes like they were twigs, and then they were as good as dead. They were told his strength was due to his hair, and since it would be cut off, they would be able to arrest him. However, some of them knew comrades who were told similar things when they tried to arrest him, yet they never made it out alive.\n\nThe captain nodded to Delilah.\n\n“Sampson, get up! They’re back!” Delilah shouted.\n\n“Be careful!” The Captain shouted as they tightened their circle of blades. “Don’t get too close!.”\n\nSampson woke slowly. He took in the scene of swords, soldiers, and Delilah, with little concern. He tried to yawn, however he couldn’t move his arms. Tied again. I’ve got to stop telling Delilah new ropes are my weakness. He laughed to himself, but as the grogginess wore off he remembered something. I told her seven new ropes? No, that’s not it. That was the last time. I told her something different? What was it? He thought to himself. Wait a minute! Fear crept in. He remembered what he told her last night. My hair! He stood and tried to break the ropes and as he did the soldiers fell back in near panic.\n\n“Hold your ground! Look at him! Look at him!” The captain dared a smile. “He can’t break them.” Sampson struggled with all his might, but to no avail. “Grab the shackles. You two fasten his feet, and you two fasten his neck. The rest of you, keep swords ready.”\n\nSampson resisted, but the soldiers easily overpowered him and clamped the shackles shut. For the first time in his life he felt weak. He had never encountered anyone stronger than him, but reality was staring him in the face and he couldn’t deny what was happening. They are stronger. The soldiers began to kick and punch him, releasing all their nervous energy and hatred on him. Then Sampson felt another sensation he never felt before; pain. Although, Sampson didn’t know it at the time. It would become his constant companion.\n\nThrough the blows, Sampson looked back at Delilah. “How could you? You whore! I loved you! I trusted you!”\n\nHer face was as cold as stone in Antarctica, “You shouldn’t have.” Then she turned her back and walked away.\n\n\n\nA constant drip from somewhere above, kept hitting Sampson on the head. Each drop reminding him of Delilah. Sitting in his cell, he tortured himself with swirling thoughts of betrayal, anger, revenge, and loss. He tried to shake them off by focusing on his new surroundings. But that was not any better. The sound of scurrying rats, hopeless crying, tortuous screams, moans, and half crazed yells filled his ears. His cell floor was made of cold mud and the only light he could see came from the tiny window of his cell door. Suddenly, he heard someone unlocking his cell.\n\n“Sampson! The hero of Israel!” Nimrod, the Chief of the prison, said. A short man with muscular arms and a paunchy belly. He walked to Sampson, bent down, and spit in his face. “You dog! You’re no hero. You’re a murderer.”\n\nSampson wiped the spit off and defiantly looked up.\n\n“You killed my brother at Lehi.” Nimrod jerked Sampson to his feet. “He was part of the battalion sent to arrest you. You killed them all! All 1,000!”\n\nHe began to drag Sampson from his cell to the torture room. A room of horror. Devices designed for pain adorned the walls. A rack laid in the middle, equipped with pulleys and ropes to tear a person’s limbs off. But the most unsettling implement was a fire pit containing an iron rod glowing red hot. With the help of two guards, Nimrod chained Sampson’s arms, legs, and head, so that he couldn’t move an inch.\n\n“I’ve just been given an order that I’m going to enjoy.” Nimrod walked over to the fire pit. “I get to gouge out your eyes.” Nimrod pulled the rod out of the fire and raised it slowly until it was even with Sampson’s eyes. Sampson felt the heat and tried to resist. Nimrod pushed it into Sampson’s left eye, then laughed. Sampson released an agonizing scream. Every muscle stiffened. Every nerve reacted. Then Nimrod slid the rod into Sampson’s other eye. Sampson's wild shriek reverberated throughout the prison, and then suddenly, the screaming stopped. He fainted.\n\nWhen Sampson woke, he found himself back in his cell. The pain hit him like a ton of bricks—an indescribable pain. He was on the edge of fainting again, but a voice came from somewhere in his cell.\n\n“I really did enjoy that.” Nimrod chuckled. “I just wish I could've done it again.”\n\nSampson yelled. “I’ll kill you! I swear! I’ll kill you!”\n\nNimrod chuckled. “How? You can’t even see me. I could drop my sword in this mud, and you wouldn’t be able to find it. You are worse than dead, Sampson. You are harmless. Our King saw that killing you would be too fast and too easy. His plan is to humiliate you over and over again. He will show Israel that even their mighty hero cannot stand up against Philistia.” Nimrod walked out and locked the cell, laughing as he moved down the corridor.\n\nThe pain in his eye sockets was unimaginable. However, even more significant than the pain was the blindness. Nimrod was right. He would never be able to fight again. How could he? You have to be able to see your enemy to kill him.\n\n\n“Get up, Sampson!” Nimrod kicked Sampson. “The King just found you a job. A job that even a blind beggar like you can do. Now get up.” \n\nHe forced Sampson to his feet and took him outside. Sampson felt the sun, however despair hit him hard because he couldn’t see any light, not even the mild light that comes though shut eyelids. Nimrod half dragged and half led Sampson through several streets. Until they came to the main city market, made up of small tents, wooden lean-tos, and four posted structures with blankets for roofs. Shoppers and merchants filled the street trying to make deals that favored each of them best.\nAt the end of the market street, stood a giant grindstone. Built by the city to mill wheat. It was there for anyone to use. Usually, two or three men grabbed the beam connected to the round stone, and pushed in circles until all the wheat was milled. Sampson’s new job was to do this alone. Anyone who wanted, could have the great warrior mill their wheat for them. It was humiliating work and many Philistines came simply to watch and make fun. \n\nEvery morning, the guards would chain Sampson’s feet and wrist and guide him through the streets to the grindstone. Nimrod brought lunch and tried to work up the people to jeer and taunt more.\n\nOne day, Nimrod came with his lunch. He hated this. He hated doing anything that could be seen as a kind gesture. But today, he did not come alone. A boy, 15 years old, was with him. “Tooga will bring your lunch from now on,” Nimrod said. “I’m sick of your face.” And with that, he turned and left.\n\nSampson pointed his face in the direction of Nimrod’s voice.“Thank you, Tooga.” He sat up against the base of the grindstone and began to eat.\n\n“Don’t thank me. It’s not my idea. My master makes me.” Tooga glared at Sampson’s eerie, eyeless, face. “I’ve heard the stories, and it wouldn’t bother me if you starved. You killed so many. Over a thousand, they say.”\n\n“You’re right. I did, but they tried to kill me.”\n\n‘People call you a murderer.”\n\n“If I had been killed by those soldiers instead, they wouldn’t have called them murderers.”\n\nTooga was stumped. If they had won, there would have been a victory parade throughout every Philistine city. He had seen them celebrate with other battles won. He sensed that there was some truth about what Sampson said, even if it was repugnant.\n\n“You’re done.” Tooga walked over to Sampson. ‘Give me your bowl so I can leave.” Sampson held it out. Tooga snatched it. “I’ll be back tomorrow.” The abruptness of his departure told Sampson that he hit a chord. Although, he now wished he did it after he ate his food, instead of before.\n\nTooga did come back the next day, and the day after that. For several weeks he brought Sampson his lunch, and each day he would sit a little closer to Sampson. Tooga listened to Sampson tell the story of how he killed a lion with his bare hands, and how he tore the main gate of Gaza from its hinges and carried it away. He also told Tooga about the time he caught several foxes, but left out the part about tying torches to their tails to set Philistine wheat fields on fire. Tooga had many conflicting thoughts about Sampson. He loved his stories, and found himself starting to like him, even though he knew he should hate him. Sampson was the bad guy, after all, right?\n\n\nOne night, in Sampson’s cell, God spoke to him. “I’m sorry you lost your eyes.”\n\nSampson had heard this voice before and in the past it filled him with joy, however this time only anger arose. “You left me! You took my strength simply because I got a hair cut! You let them blind me!”\n\n“I never left you, and I did not take your strength. Your pride, arrogance, and lust did. You told Delilah your secret. That is how you lost your strength. And because you lost your strength, you lost your eyes.” God paused. “I gave you supernatural strength to use for good. To free my people, the Israelites from the dominion of the Philistines. But instead, you used your strength to please yourself.”\n\nThe truth hit Sampson in his gut. He knew. He lived selfishly, brashly entering Philistine cities to sleep with some woman, daring anyone to try and stop him. “I’m sorry, God. You’re right. I lived selfishly and chased pleasure. Forgive me. Give me another chance to fight for Israel.”\n\n“Your fight is over, because I will bring you to be with me soon. However, I will let you deal a critical blow to the Philistines before I do.”\n\n“When? How?” Sampson asked.\n\n“You will know when you see it.”\n\n\nA few months later.\n\n“Let’s go, Sampson. You have a special date waiting for you. Grab Tooga, he’ll guide you. I’m sick of touching you.” They escorted Sampson from prison to the Temple of Dagon. A beautiful round opened structure with twenty-four columns, each depicting a unique characteristic of their god, Dagon, on the outer edge, and two huge pillars in the center, supporting the roof. “You’re going to be our entertainment as we praise Dagon for the victory over you.”\n\nAs they neared the temple they heard the drunken crowd working themselves up to a frenzy. “We want Sampson! Give us Sampson!”\n\n“This could get ugly,” Nimrod said. “Maybe if I’m lucky, they’ll rip you apart.”\n\nWhen they entered, the crowd went berserk. Taking their food from the feast, they threw it at Sampson, hitting all three of them: bread, olives, lamb, and beef.\n\n“Forget this,” Nimrod looked at Tooga. “You, take him to the center.”\n\nTooga took Sampson’s hand and guided him down the walkway. They tried to shield themselves from the melee of food by putting their arms in front of their faces. They heard an official try to calm the crowd down and to get control of the situation.\n\nIn the chaos, Sampson yelled at Tooga. “Are there two huge pillars in the center of this temple?”\n\n“Yes. They go all the way up.”\n\n“Perfect. I want you to put me between them.”\n\n“Why?”\n\n“I have an idea. Don’t know if it will work, but if it does, I’ll finally get even.”\n\n“What are planning to do?”\n\n“It’s better if you don’t know, but I want you to promise me something.”\n“Okay.”\n\n“Run. Run out of here as fast as you can. Don’t stop. Get clear of this temple.”\n\n“Now I’m afraid. Whatever you’re planning, don’t do it. You’re like an uncle to me. Let’s just take the hits and get back to your cell.” Tooga’s eyes watered up. “You don’t have to fight anymore.”\n\n“Don’t worry. I’m only going to scare them a little and then we will go back. But the crowd could get even worse after my little joke, so that’s why I want you to run. Nimrod will take me back and we’ll eat lunch together tomorrow. Sound good?”\n\n“Yeah. I would like to see the joke, though.”\n\n“I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow. Okay?”\n\n“Okay.” \n\nTooga positioned Sampson between the pillars, and with no regard to the possible consequences, he hugged Sampson then ran.\n\nSampson counted. Something wet smacked him in the face. “Twenty-one, twenty-two.” He felt hot meat hit his stomach. “Fifty-six, fifty-seven.” What felt like a cup, hit his leg. ‘Eighty-three, eighty-four.” The cursing and taunting grew louder, so loud, that it morphed into one indistinguishable noise. “Ninety-nine, one hundred. He should be long gone by now. God! Give my strength back! Let me repay them for the loss of my eyes. Just this once. Do you hear me? God?”\n\nNimrod saw Sampson mouthing something. He made his way to the center, trying to hear. “Why is he pushing the pillar?”\n\nSampson pushed as hard as he could, but to no effect. People started to notice and the crowd quieted a little. Sampson pushed again. Some began to laugh. “Look at him. He forgot he lost his strength.” Laughter filled the temple. “Oh mighty one, bring down the pillar.” The drunken horde mocked.\n\nNimrod made it to Sampson. “Push again, you weak dog! But I promise, I’m going to give you more lashes than you have ever had. How dare you try to scare us.”\n\nSampson could hear Nimrod. “God! Just enough to push this pillar.” Sampson pushed, but with the same results; no movement. “Let me kill the man that took my eyes and made my life a living hell.”\n\n“That’s it!” Nimrod stepped closer and unleashed the whip he always carried with him. “I’ve had enough of you.”\n\nWith Nimrod just ten feet away, Sampson pushed once more, but this time something happened. Nimrod froze and the mob went deathly silent. Before anyone could say or do anything, Sampson pushed again and the pillar collapsed. The other supporting pillar followed, bringing the entire temple down, killing everyone inside, including Nimrod and Sampson.\n\nTooga stopped when he heard the rumble and turned around to see the temple collapse. \"No!\" He shouted. \"No! You said!\" Tears filled his eyes. \"You said we'd see each other! No!\" He fell to his knees and screamed, beating the dirt street with his fist. People ran towards the disaster, not even noticing the teenage boy weeping in the middle of the street.\n\nWhen everything settled and the Philistines learned that Sampson had died, they secretly gave a sign of relief. Publicly they morned the loss of their fellow Philistines.\n\nWhen Israel found out, there were no tears, just disappointment and lost hope. The only one who morned Sampson's death was Tooga.\n\nTooga never forgot Sampson. In his old age, he told stories to children of a supernaturally strong man and his heroic adventures. Wisely changing the name, he would end his story of how the hero freed his country by killing the enemy king and causing a civil war to break out in the enemy country. He never told of a collapsing temple, or that it was their king and country, or that it was Israel that was freed." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on 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 Fosse or the Fly?\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 2994\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story where a meal or dinner goes horribly wrong." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "I remember that very first evening feeling feverish, sweat running down my back leaving the telltale damp patch down the centre of my clean shirt.\nI was unfortunately seated close to a crackling oak log fire which didn’t help matters, but I was too polite, too English to ask to move to another seat.\nMy hand trembled as I reached out to select a few potato crisps and soft cheese apericubes from the array of nibbles Madame Dubois had prepared as an aperitif.\nIt was our first invitation to dinner since we had moved permanently to France. Our new home sat on the outskirts of what is now our village and this was our first opportunity to test our conversational French on our most important hosts.\nMy wife and I had spent the previous twelve months immersed in the language from “Teach Yourself French CD’s and attending night school twice a week.\nThe invitation came quite unexpectedly from Monsieur and Madame Dubois who were our second nearest neighbours. I had been called upon with some urgency that morning to help divert a stampede of cows that were heading up the narrow lane towards the prized organic pig enclosure belonging to Monsieur Dubois.\nSitting here at this splendid table my wife had noticed that I was looking a little off colour and was trying to attract my attention. My lip-reading skills unfortunately had deserted me as she mouthed something to me from the other end of the dining room table. All I could do was to shake my head in response. She responded with a facial expression which over time I understood to be “I don’t believe you”!\nI ignored any further attempts she made to communicate with me as I dared not say how I was really feeling! This meal could be the most monumental moment in our new life as our host’s were the most important people in the village. Monsieur Dubois was the Mairie!\nConversation was kept at a basic level as we were in rural Brittany and the local language was a mixture of French, Breton and Gallo and the lessons we’d spent so much time on were failing as our host’s could hardly understand a word we said! However, we managed to get by with hand gestures and mime.\nOur friendship albeit tenuous at this early stage was tested when I tried to explain the art of paint spray can painting and the need to shake the can vigorously prior to use and used mime and hand gesture to explain.\nThere was a sudden hush as Mr. Dubois computed my gestures. His face contorted with every thought from deep wonderment, surprise and finally to a guttural laugh as he realised what I had meant by my actions. From what could have been a complete disaster turned out to be an ice breaker moment!\nEarlier that morning, a car had raced down our drive towards the house. It was a sandy coloured Renault 4 Quatrelle. The driver skidded to a halt on the gravel adding to the list of jobs I had to do that day and the lady who was driving shouted something to me which by her tone meant for me to get into the car.\nShe drove a short distance to where I met Monsieur Dubois for the first time at the entrance to his farm. I offered my hand in friendship, but Monsieur Dubois was in a state of panic. Le vache, le vache he shouted pointing up the lane.\nHe took me to the centre of the tarmac and stood upright with his arms outstretched to the sides.\nComme ca, comme ca. I obeyed his request. He then took up the same stance about 10 meters away at the entrance to his farm.\nThe driver of the Quatrelle introduced herself as Madame Dubois, she explained as best she could that a herd of cows were stampeding from another farm and were heading our way. She explained that I was to stay in position and guide the stampeding cows down the middle lane away from the farm’s entrance.\nI spotted a cloud of dust in the distance and that cloud was heading in our direction at some speed! Within a few seconds I saw the first cows just ahead of the dust cloud, there was no other word for it than stampede!\nFrom my quick calculation I counted at least thirty cows were heading in our direction.\nMadame Dubois stood in front of me with her arms outstretched sideways whilst holding a piece of broken tree branch in each hand. Comme ca she said and explained that the branches would extend my reach and make me appear larger to the stampeding cows. This, she continued, should either stop them in their tracks or cause them to divert away from Monsieur Dubois prized pig enclosure and the problem would pass.\nWe listened to the rumble of the cows as they headed towards the farm. Monsieur Dubois shouted attention, reste ici!\nIt was at this point that I wished I was wearing my brown corduroy trousers and a modicum of aftershave to mask any odour should I lose total control!\nThe cows were charging towards us up the lane. I glanced over to Monsieur Dubois to reaffirm my readiness and spotted him ducking down behind the corner of his barn. With no chance of stopping the cows I ran to the side of the lane where there was a mud bank and a concrete electricity pole.\nI pressed myself against the pole as the cows stampeded past buffeting me against the mud bank as their huge bodies collided with mine.\nAfter promising that I’d never eat another steak, the noise had stopped and the cows had passed. I wondered over the lane through the haze of dust left by the cows. I could not see my own hand in front of me. I heard a horn sound and felt a breeze pass very close by; it was La Poste our undiagnosed maniac postman late for his deliveries or was he chasing the cows?\nI saw Monsieur and Madame Dubois emerge from behind the barn; they both hugged me pronouncing I was a “Hero” for saving their jambon even though they had both deserted me leaving me well and truly in the merde!\nI was invited in to their farmhouse where we sat around the old battered kitchen table and Monsieur Dubois opened a bottle of homemade cider which looked like a very large sample one would take to the doctors to have tested! I drank several glasses of the cloudy liquid before I was whisked off to tour of the farm.\nWe went into a shed that contained approximately one hundred pigs which were for consumption generale he declared. The stench took me by surprise and during the first sharp intake of breath breathed in what felt like a small fly which hit the back of my throat. Rather than just spit it out, I swallowed and coughed to dislodge it.\nWe came out of the rear shed door and found ourselves ankle deep in pig slurry. As Monsieur Dubois took a step backwards, a jet of the foul-smelling slurry squirted from under his boot and hit me directly in my face, entering my mouth. As this was no time for manners and tried desperately to eject the liquid from my mouth. I inevitably swallowed some of the liquid which, on second thoughts would give the fly something to do whilst waiting to be naturally ejected from my body.\nI was invited along with Madame Race, my wife, to dine that evening at 7.00pm. Madame Dubois drove me home and I started raking all the gravel back to where it belonged prior to her earlier visit!\nAt the dining table, I was beginning to feel worse, my neck was getting stiff and I felt as if I had flu like symptoms. Madame Dubois placed the main course into the centre of the table. The sauce was a shade lighter than battleship grey with mounds of grey meat in the centre.\nLangue du boeuf proclaimed Monsieur Dubois proudly, servez-vous. I don’t know if it was the fever or the prospect of eating langue du boeuf but I was now sweating profusely.\nI fished out the smallest of slices of meat, which turned out to be a complete cows tongue complete with taste buds and took some potatoes to accompany it. I sliced into the meat, metaphorically held my nose and forked the dripping grey slice into my mouth.\nI could feel the cows taste buds on my own taste buds, it was awful, it felt like the cows tongue was licking the inside of my mouth!\nWe both managed to finish the meal despite being offered second helpings because my wife had said it tasted marvellous and with the help of lashings of red wine was feeling slightly better.\nAt the end of the evening following two glasses of cerise brandy we wobbled our way back down the lane to our home, happy that we could now count the Mairie and his wife as our friends.\nIt was 3.00am when I awoke, my throat badly swollen. I took some paracetamol hoping for some relief and a short while later fell asleep.\nI woke again at 9.30am, my mouth was watering constantly, my head was splitting, and I could not swallow. I tried to drink some water but it just ran from the sides of my mouth, my throat had completely closed up!\nI constantly had to spit saliva from my mouth. I’d lost most of my energy and slumped down onto the settee. To prevent myself from running to the bathroom to eject the saliva, I placed a bucket beside me to my wife’s dismay. I could no longer speak!\nI wrote a note asking my wife to call the doctor and got an appointment for that afternoon.\nPatrick, as he insisted I call him, was fluent in English. My wife explained my symptoms to him. He looked down my throat and felt all around my neck. Hmm he said remodelling his handlebar moustache. Un virus! He wrote out a prescription and my wife paid him our twenty euro’s fee. I quickly scribbled a note on his desk pad; I cannot swallow, and turned it to him. Ahh pas probleme, he lifted his tongue and pointed below it. Frustration engulfed me, no one understood!\nWe collected the medication from the pharmacy and made our way home. I slumped on the settee, taking my place next to the bucket and remained there all day. I attempted to take the medication, but this just caused me to dribble even more so was not getting any into my system.\nBy late evening I was tired, my head hurt, I could hardly move my neck and had not eaten or drank for over twelve hours. I dragged myself upstairs which added to the exhaustion.\nI fell asleep for a short while but woke up in a panic almost unable to breathe; I could now only breathe through my nose! I went downstairs and stayed on the settee. Morning came and I asked my wife to call the doctor and ask him to come to the house, it was Friday. He arrived at 5.00pm.\nWhat is it Julian he said in his heavy French accent? I cannot breathe I mouthed. But you have not taken your medicine he said. I can’t I replied in a strangled whisper, I can’t swallow anything. It is a virus; it will pass, try and take the medicine and left the house. My wife, taking the side of the doctor was getting annoyed with me and said you have to take your medicine. Everything was against me, no one would listen and no one was doing anything to help.\nI stayed downstairs where I was less trouble, my fever had increased so much that I had to drag a chair outside where I sat for three hours in the middle of the driveway trying to reduce my temperature.\nFreezing on the outside but boiling on the inside, for the first time I thought I was going to die! Weak and dehydrated I remained on the settee for another full day and night.\nAt 5.00am, I begged my wife to take me to hospital which was twenty-five miles away. She refused so I took the keys and went to start the car; I had to get someone to believe me. She finally agreed and drove me to hospital; we sat in the emergency room.\nEventually a male nurse came to see me. My wife explained the symptoms and he looked down my throat with a torch. An alarm sounded, and he rushed away. Just around the corner we could see someone’s feet and then heard the sound of a defibrillation machine shocking someone’s heart. We saw the patients feet jump as the machine sent its life giving shock to the patient’s heart. Several times we heard the defibrillator and witnessed the jerk of the patient’s feet. There was no response so the nurses covered the body with a sheet.\nAlmost immediately, another alarm sounded; again the sound of the defibrillator could be heard. My wife said, come on let’s go home; they are far too busy for a sore throat. Conceding, I agreed and we drove home.\nMonday morning came and I could no longer go on. I told my wife to get me to the doctors as quickly as possible. I must have looked ill because she did not argue.\nWe asked to see the doctor urgently. We were told that we would have to wait until there was a spare appointment.\nLuckily, in France the doctor comes out of his office to greet and collect his patients. Three times he appeared before I collapsed at his feet.\nI found myself on a stretcher in a side room and was being examined. Patrick asked my wife several questions and then I felt myself being turned over onto my side and a needle being pressed into my buttock. I was later told it was antibiotics.\nI recovered slightly and Patrick said I was to see a consultant in St Brieuc the following day and he would visit us later that evening to administer another injection.\nHaving not eaten or drank for five days, I longed for a piece of apple. Unable to resist the urge, I cut a small piece and savoured the taste. Out of habit I swallowed. The tiny piece of apple got stuck in my swollen throat and I was choking.\nI managed to cough up the piece of apple into the bathroom sink and saw blood was pouring from my mouth. Although in a panic, thankfully it stopped bleeding after a few minutes.\nLater, Patrick arrived and administered another injection. My wife explained the incident with the apple and he said to wait until the consultant investigates further.\nWe headed in to St Brieuc early the following morning. A few minutes after arriving, I was shown into the consulting room and sat in what looked like a dentist’s chair. The young consultant read the notes that Patrick had given to me and picked up a flexible tube. He spoke English which was a blessing and said he needed to look down my throat. I obligingly opened my mouth and he proceeded to insert the tube up my nostril and I felt it wind its way down into my throat.\nOhh la la he said in his best English! He was looking at a monitor where there was an image of my throat. Regarde, he said losing his English totally. I raised my eyes and looked at the screen; it was my throat and was live on TV!\nHe pointed to a large swelling which had closed up my throat totally. We could see a cut in the swelling and it oozed blood as he manoeuvred the camera around. He said that the swelling was a sac of poison and it had been pierced by the apple skin before healing over.\nHe removed the flexible camera and called to the nurse. She appeared holding a large syringe and what looked like half a pint of clear liquid sealed in a bottle.\nThe nurse inserted a cannula into my hand and the consultant gave me an injection of what he said was antibiotic. It was the largest amount I had ever seen outside of a veterinary surgery.\nI was told to attend the clinic at 4.00pm that day for another injection and was to keep the cannula in for the following five days, attending the clinic at 9.00am and 4.00pm every day for further injections. If the swelling closed the throat further, we were to call for an emergency ambulance.\nMy wife asked what had caused the swelling and he said it was the result of a virus known as a “quinsy”! He said I was lucky that I did not delay any further as quinsy’s can kill!\nHe asked several questions regarding my movements over the previous week and my wife explained what had happened at Monsieur Dubois farm which the consultant thought may have been the source of the infection.\nI attended the arranged appointments and after a week of medication was almost back to normal. What a joy it was to eat and drink again!\nI was tested for hepatitis as little did Monsieur Dubois know, his fosse septic tank was blocked and overflowing into what was thought was pig slurry; in fact it was human slurry!\nLuckily, I tested negative and Monsieur Dubois had a new more modern fosse septic installed, all at prix speciale of course!\nMadame and Monsieur Dubois, although affectionately known in the village for trying to kill his English neighbour, remain to this day our best friends!\n© Julian Race 28/06/2021" } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Through The Eyes of a Child\n\nGenre: christian\n\nWord Count: 2476\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about lifelong best friends." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Discussions of Hell.\n“Hell doesn’t exist, right?”\n“Why do you ask?”\n“I need to know.”\nWith that my idyllic afternoon was shot, done for. Kaput. Young Francis, my nephew was in a state. Or more correctly we were now in a state. Of something. It isn’t normal for people to ask questions that just hang there, like an unanswered cell phone or the insistent ringing of a microwave. I’m done or I’m beginning, do something, these things say to us. Worse than Amazon Alexa talking for no reason, was how this question sounded. I stopped on the path we were walking on. Our walk had been uneventful. The sun was shining. Birds flew, squirrels hid nuts, and the trees shimmered and waved about us.\nHe was deep in thought, one hand about his mouth, like he was trying to bite something, anything, a fingernail maybe. Then he turned his insistent blue eyes on me, “I just need to know that’s all.”\n“Oh ok.” I nodded. Great, ok, needing to know something solves everything. I tried to keep walking, but he stayed, rooted to the spot on that path.\n“Well, aren’t you coming?” He followed me. But I could see he was annoyed; this wasn’t going well. “Why don’t we take a break?” I suggested. I pointed to a park bench. We were near Bell Lake after all, clear blue water on this fall day, perfectly relaxing.\n“So, you were saying?” I started, hopefully, after we sat down.\n“Hell exists. I know it.”\n“That’s not what you said before.”\n“Well, it’s what I’m saying now.”\n“And you’re ok with that?”\nHe didn’t answer me. Francis had always been a little on the precocious side. Always asking questions. The sort of child people like to have when they don’t work 60-hour weeks. That’s where an interested and helpful uncle like me should come in handy. I had been helping Francis since he was a toddler.\nI tried again. Might as well just take a chance. “Hell exists, sure. Heaven too. So do beautiful days, like this one.\n“No. That’s not what I meant. Hell, really exists. And a lot of people will spend eternity dying forever in unimaginable pain.”\nNow that was a whopper, I thought. What cult had gotten to him? “And you are sure of this? I’m pretty sure Amnesty International wouldn’t allow it!” I quipped.\nStupid remark. I could hear myself talking, but there was nothing but gibberish inside my head. I wasn’t making sense even to myself. He wasn’t listening at all, his head down. It was like he was defeated fighting a battle he had no chance of winning. Maybe if I said something to lighten the mood a little. I waited a bit and composed myself a little. I put my hand on his shoulder, doing that fatherly older adult thing.\n“Don’t take it so hard! Who wants a vacation anywhere hot and sticky anytime soon? You know people can believe the most darn things. Then they live reasonably happy lives. Like three-legged dogs that can run, you know that sort of thing.”\n“What do you think?” Francis asked.\n“I think that everything works out in the end. There’s a plan for everything. We just need to find out what that is.”\n***\nNow Francis wanted me to go with him to this group. I had no idea what it was. Never heard of them. Some gathering of people I had never met. It would be at Bell Lake again, just on the other quieter side of the lake, where people did more fishing than swimming. I was supposed to make something, it would be a potluck. I had my wife do a potato salad. “Just don’t leave it in the car!” she demanded. “There’s egg and mayonnaise in it and I don’t want you coming home sick!” She plopped a rather large green bowl into a basket that I hadn’t seen in years.\n“Isn’t this basket the one that Uncle Harvey gave us at your shower, what thirty years ago or more?”\n“What now dear?” she cooed. “You don’t remember when we were married? Thirty-one years ago, this May. The tongs that you need to allow people to serve themselves and the ice packs are here. Make sure you use them!”\nWith that, I took the basket and put it into the trunk of my Toyota. Francis was waiting for me when I arrived at his parent’s house, a short five-minute drive. When he came to the door, he looked upset. “Weren’t you supposed to be here at 11 o’clock?” he complained.\n“11:30 you said.” I was usually good at remembering dates and times.\n“No, the event starts at 11:30. The presentation and everything. We’re late.”\n“Oh. Sorry.”\nHe yelled goodbye at someone, either Mark or Barb, his parents, and shut the door. The screen door banged with an odd sound after him, like it was coming apart somewhere. “You think you’ll need to get that fixed?” I joked, laughing a little.\n“What?” Francis said as we walked rather briskly down the sidewalk to the car. I let it go. He seemed lost in thought. It would not be a good day for a picnic or whatever it was we were going to. Overcast with a forty percent chance of showers. I knew a shortcut to get to where we were headed that might cut five minutes off our trip, but it didn’t seem to me that this was going to be a very enjoyable outing. Stupid religious people, I thought. Why can’t they just leave well enough alone?\nWe pulled into the Bell Lake parking lot about 15 minutes later, Francis hardly talking. Everything I said to him in the car would lead to a single-sentence answer or, worse, nothing at all. There was a red and white open-air pavilion in the distance and a bunch of picnic tables. About fifty or so people were sitting at those picnic tables and someone on a loudspeaker was talking. I couldn’t make out everything that was being said but it looked like any sort of open-air gathering of people you might see anywhere. “We’ll leave the basket in the car…”\n“Whatever!” said Francis as he walked very quickly away from me. I struggled to keep up without looking like I was rushing. This was just getting more and more uncomfortable. When did Francis say this would end?\nWe were at one of the picnic tables quite far away from the speaker. No one looked at us when we arrived. I noticed that everyone had baskets or packages of some sort on their tables. There was a main table where it looked like the food would be served and another table where the presenters had positioned themselves close to the microphone. Sitting down at this rather uncomfortable picnic table, finally, I could rest and get to the bottom of this developing fiasco.\n“So, this is where we are at,” opined the presenter, a rather heavy-set man in his fifties. “Our choices matter. Everything we do or don’t do makes a difference. Are there any questions so far?”\n“Yeah, I’ve got one!” sparked a thin, energetic sort who appeared to expect people to laugh at him. “When’s the food?” There was a rumble of laughter in the audience.\nThe speaker smiled and put his hand over the mike to confer with a woman sitting nearby. “Barbara tells me that I should probably cut my remarks short on account of the rain that is headed our way. We’ll eat say in the next ten minutes or so then we’ll see about the rest of my presentation, assuming the weather holds up. Anyone else?”\nFrancis put his hand up. “Why does Hell exist?”\nAt that point, my headache started, one of the worst I’ve had any time recently. I shaded my eyes with my hand and tried to scrunch down just a little as everyone stared at us. I could see the presenter looking a little uncomfortable, but not terribly so. Other people had somewhat strange looks on their faces like they thought the question to be more out of place than entirely inappropriate. It was out of my hands. I didn’t even look at Francis.\n“Hell? That’s an interesting question, young man. How about I drop by, and we have a chat a little later,” he smiled. “Can everyone bring their food up to the front?”\n***\nWe’d had our fill. All sorts of salads with mixed greens, barbecue, washed down with a non-alcoholic punch, and many desserts. These people could put on a spread, I’d grant them that. But Ron, our presenter, proceeded to buttonhole us before Francis and I could excuse ourselves. That headache wasn’t going to get a chance to go away even with Tylenol.\nWe did the introductions and Francis explained to Ron in detail his concerns about the dreaded HE double hockey stick as I was beginning to call it. He listened and got Francis to talk much more than I had been able to. But the whole conversation was not going in the direction that I wanted it to go.\n“You are serious that many people are going to spend eternity in Hell? Seriously?” I said, finally unable to not jump in and have my say.\nRon was unapologetic. “Look at it this way. Whatever we can imagine might happen. But it’s what you do that makes the difference. Nothing is set in stone.”\nThis was making me furious. “Maybe for you! But I choose not to imagine such things!” I tried to keep my voice down, but it wasn’t working. Francis was listening though. I would do anything for him.\nRon was holding his arms out to me as if he could hold the raging waters back if he could. “Look, let’s just calm down a little bit. Wouldn’t want to spoil such a perfect day, now, would we?”\n“Ok, fine, sure,” I huffed while Ron just watched me, his expression unchanging.\nIt was his attempt at a joke, talking about the weather. The rain had started, and everyone was taking shelter one way or another. Some of us had umbrellas, and some brave ones were under trees. We took shelter in the pavilion itself. Of course, I would not be able to get Ron to budge about what he believed in. I was arguing with someone who did something for a living. Such things never go well, like challenging a pro at something you do only part-time.\n“Now, that’s better, isn’t it? I’m in no hurry. Let’s have a seat over there.” My back hurt from sitting on the picnic tables. He motioned to a few lawn chairs over away from the rest of the crowd. We settled in. Someone who noticed the commotion I had caused was kind enough to bring us more refreshments.\n“You could say we are in the dream business here!” laughed Ron. He slapped his knee while I smiled weakly. I took a huge gulp of what turned out to be lemonade.\nI started in again. “I don’t understand at all. I will be perfectly honest with you. Why are you and people like you so strange? Here I am worried about Francis, wondering whether he is getting involved in some cult and it is all so twisted…”\n“Just hold on a minute,” intoned Ron with a smile. “Wouldn’t want to see anymore upset, now, would we? I hear you. But let’s just get back to something more important than Hell or anything else.”\n“What would that be?”\n“God.”\nBy this point, the word was meaningless to me. I had heard enough of religion to make me want to miss a week of Sundays. Ron kept talking but I was done. Francis had more questions; he was getting more involved in what I now knew to be a cult. I couldn’t stop it. I didn’t want to make a scene. It was all I could do to get away when it ended.\n***\nMark and Barb were very tired when I went to see them about Francis. They sat me down and were hospitable, but their business wasn’t going well and all the hours they were putting in just wasn’t enough. I felt sorry for them, but I was even sorrier when it didn’t seem to cause them that much concern after I explained what was happening to Francis. Did being parents to Francis take second place in putting food on the table?\nBut it was worse than that. Francis no longer asked me questions about anything. I was one of “them.” It was his time to tell me things. I needed to be a part of his group. I needed to avoid Hell. I was starting to think that everything was so hopeless. One last chance and maybe I would have to throw in the towel. There would be an evening meeting at a church called “Blessed Sacrament.” A Roman Catholic Church. Strange place for a cult to meet I thought.\nAt the church, Ron was there. He would lead the meeting. A priest said Mass, but I told Francis I was not Catholic. I met Francis after the Mass.\n“Did you find parking OK?” asked Francis.\n“Yeah, sure lot of people here.” And not just old people too. Young people. Children and babies. All this on a Tuesday night?\n“Let’s get a seat before everyone else.”\n“Sure,” I said.\nRon started his spiel, while people listened. It seemed all fine. The topic wasn’t Hell. In fact, I got the impression that people didn’t talk about it as much as I thought. The topic was about how to be a Roman Catholic. Weird. Just normal pedestrian stuff. Go to church. Go to confession. Learn the rules. Live responsibly and prudently. What was not to like?\nAfterward, Francis suggested we go to a donut place down the street that was open late. A bunch of people from the presentation were already there. Chocolate frosted donut, milk, then Francis ordered a maple crème with sprinkles and coffee.\n“Coffee?” I asked.\n“Yeah, gotta study tonight. History test tomorrow.” He took a bite, crème filling spilling from his mouth, I gave him one of the many napkins I had from an overstuffed dispenser that made you take too many. Huge waste of paper those things. You end up taking what you don’t need, then stuffing your pockets with the rest.\n“So, what did you think?” He had a handle on that donut now. Disappearing in huge bites.\nWhat did I think? I thought and drew a blank. Which was refreshing. Later I remembered something that a famous Russian literary figure, Fyodor Dostoevsky, said about how “the soul is healed by being with children.”\nWe left that diner, Francis and I. That was enough for me." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: a bento love\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1010\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character preparing a meal for somebody else." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "It was a typical Monday evening. The dark colour of the night outside contrasted the bright colours of the lights in a bustling restaurant.\nA pair of small dark brown eyes eyed the door of the restaurant. It was packed with families and couples who came to have a good, hearty meal. The little girl shifted uncomfortably on her small brown stool beside the counter as she scanned the faces of every customer with worry.\n\"Father?\" She asked, shifting her eyes to the black haired man in the kitchen behind her.\nThe man in the kitchen wiped the sweat off his head with a hand at her call, and smiled at his 9 year old daughter.\n\"Yes, Martha?\" He asked before getting back to cooking. The nametag stating \"Head Chef\" neatly placed above his heart glistened slightly with the light in the restaurant. Martha's father was the head chef of the restaurant. Martha's mother was often busy with her job overseas, so her father liked to bring Martha along with him to the restaurant to that she could be taken care of much easily.\n\"Is Aunt Julie okay? She hasn't eaten here in a long time.\" Martha replied, frowning.\n\"That's right, I haven't seen her in a while. She used to come here to have her dinner everyday, I do wonder if she's doing fine lately.\" Martha's father replied, a hint of concern in his words.\nMartha bit her bottom lip and scrunched her eyes in concentration, trying to think of ways she could help Aunt Julie.\nAunt Julie was Martha's favourite regular in her father's restaurant. She lived in the apartment block right beside the restaurant and could come in quite often. At times, when there were little people in the restaurant, she would go up to Aunt Julie's table and have a short conversation with her. Martha still remembered the time she was invited inside her apartment for a short tea session. She was an amazing aunt to be around as she had many interesting stories to tell about her past, and had an amazing personality.\nHowever, the restaurant got more popular these few weeks, and more people came pouring in to eat the food at the restaurant. Martha hardly saw the face of her favourite aunt, and had to opt to sitting around the counter to help if needed. She was determined to visit Aunt Julie again.\nSuddenly, Martha had an idea. She got down her stool and made her way into the kitchen through the back door, grabbing a small container from a cabinet. She then returned to the counter with a slight skip in her steps.\nHer father, who just finished his shift in the kitchen, just so happened to walk towards the counter. He looked at the container in surprise. After a few seconds, he seemed to understand what his daughter was doing and shot her a knowing grin. He rushed back into the kitchen. Not long after, he exited the kitchen again. His hand held small containers of rice, salmon, and vegetables.\nMartha raised an eyebrow.\n\"Father, are you sure we can use the ingredients from the restaurant's kitchen?\" She asked, feeling a bit unsure.\n\"Not if it's for a customer.\" He replied, giving her a cheeky wink.\nMartha chuckled at her dad as she opened the containers with rice. With her spoon, she managed to gather a good amount of rice in one half of the small container. She then placed the cooked salmon on the other half of the compartment, together with a bunch of broccoli for a healthy touch. Martha closed the small container with a smile before placing the container in a carrier. She then rushed to get a note and a pen from the counter.\nHer father chuckled at her kindness, and managed to slip a small container of miso soup into the carrier without her noticing. He knew that Aunt Julie would definitely miss the restaurant's miso soup, as it was a great finish to a meal.\nMartha quickly rushed back with a post-it note and sticked it to the front of the carrier. She turned to her father, mouth open to ask a question when he interrupted her.\n\"Don't be back too late.\" He said, patting his daughter's head fondly.\nMartha closed her mouth and gave her father a grin before going out of the restaurant. She followed the familiar path towards Aunt Julie's apartment and knocked on her door excitedly.\nThere was some muffled shuffling behind the door before it opened. The door revealed Aunt Julie, who looked shocked as she noticed Martha.\n\"Martha!\" She exclaimed in surprise, bringing the younger into a big hug.\n\"How have you been? I'm sorry for not coming to your restaurant lately, my back was strained not too long ago and i was advised to rest at home.\" Aunt Julie explained to Martha, a sad smile on her face.\n\"The restaurant's been really popular lately! But I missed talking with you in the restaurant, so I decided to visit with a bento that I made with the help of my father.\" Martha said, raising the carrier with the containers towards her proudly.\nAunt Julie received the carrier, the corners of her eyes burning with tears at the little girl's actions. She couldn't believe how much kindness the little girl held within her heart.\n\"Thank you so much, Martha. But you should head back to the restaurant, it's getting late. I wouldn't want your father to worry.\" She spoke, as she gestured towards the door with a warm smile.\nMartha hesitated for a bit, before nodding her head.\n\"Alright, I'll head back. Eat the food while it's still warm. I hope that your back heals up soon!\" Martha said, before she closed the door softly.\nAunt Julie patted the carrier in her arms as the faint footsteps outside slowly faded into the distance.\nShe noticed a post-it note on the carrier and picked it up curiously. On the paper, there was a neatly written note.\n\"A bento love for you\"" } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Ash to Redemption\n\nGenre: christian\n\nWord Count: 1596\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about two friends who were once inseparable, but now find themselves growing apart — or even friends turned enemies." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Ash to Redemption\nIt was the second time the shed had caught fire. I was surprised that the Anderson's entire property hadn't burned down when another \"accident\" occurred on the 31st of October in 1995. And I knew from that moment when I locked eyes with Mr. Anderson's only daughter Sarah, that the fire was no accident.\nWe were kindred spirits, Sarah and me. We were the only ones who hadn't been brainwashed by her father's wealth and her stepmother's lack of manners to the rest of us who didn't come from \"money,\" as my father always put it. Like me, Sarah knew all about her family and how her ancestors led our own to finding this cheap glum town; Render Falls. She knew how her family to this day still dismantles anything beautiful into giant monumental buildings plastered with themselves and their surname that everybody overlooked the first time the shed went up in flames. Nobody bothered to report it to the police. Hell, the police knew about it and still shrugged it off as if it weren't any of their concerns.\nAt the time, I ignored it too, trying to be like the others in this rural town; gullible and anachronistic, but still, I managed to break the cycle of stupidity and traditions that were far from my taste. I mean our taste.\nSarah and I, we knew each other for a long time. Practically when we were infants as we lived next to each other, but I doubt she remembers that. She never was the one to reminisce- not since her mother died a year ago. It was hard on Sarah, especially since she was stuck in that gigantic house where Mr. Anderson kept her at bay with rules and \"perfection\". It was then, Sarah became isolated from the town and me. I hardly see her anymore. The only time I catch a glimpse of her is when she goes towards her window to peek through the outside world, long enough to reveal her faded smile and her brown Bambi doe eyes that longed to break free like a wild stag. Other times, I could picture her beside me, hugging and smiling until her tragic sorrow was no longer visible to meets the eye. And when she looked at me, it was as if we were small children once again, playing in my backyard in the early morning with our own imaginations, while our mothers sat on the porch behind us, sipping tea.\nWe would play for hours giving our mothers a chance to gossip and catch up with each other just long enough for Sarah and her mother to escape from the dark reality that was happening behind closed doors next to me and my family.\nNow, all I ever do is go on with life, pretending it was every bit normal when I knew it wasn't. It never was for Sarah and me, nor will it ever be normal. Not until the town changes its way of life, not pretending we're still living in the 1900s where a young woman such as Sarah would be betrothed to a young man until marriage and then bare him with children – and the cycle to be repeated until someone put a stop to it. Or tried to like Sarah's mother did. At least someone in this town tried to change things, but it didn't do any good as the results remained the same even after her untimely death.\nSometimes at night, I would sneak onto the Anderson property and pretend that I was Sherlock Holmes and that my partner Nancy Drew, would find the courage within to break free of the tight leash that both her father and stepmother had her on. I would fit the missing puzzle of the \"accidents\" the police would never solve and see if my theory was correct; that the Andersons weren't as presentable and worthy as they seemed. Most importantly, I would find out if Mr. Anderson himself, was the one responsible for the shed and the death of Sarah’s mother.\nIt would make sense as a couple of days after the second incident, the Andersons built a new shed, still pretending as if nothing was remotely wrong or mysterious. Not even a little bit, not even when Sarah stood by her window, trying to conceal her face like a mask.\nAnd it was then, that I decided to act; I would set a trap for the next evening of all Hallows Eve, I would stop the massacre of destruction and change the way of the town's view. I would succeed in making sure the next October 31st would not upset Sarah any longer; to make sure the culprit would be caught. They would pay for making the town quake with fear; especially to my dear friend Sarah. I would catch them and stop them once in for all. Even if was the last thing I would do.\n ***\nAnd as expected, what had seemed to be thousands of years but only one; the day of 31st of October finally arrived. I stood by my window, looking back at my small, darkened room on the lookout for my parents who seemed to be asleep as I should've been. Yet, when the church bells chimed across Render Falls to indicate that the clock had struck midnight, I escaped and stood to guard behind my fence, pretending as if I weren't breaking the law. Nor was I aware of the obvious sound from the crunches of the autumn leaves in the Anderson's lawn, that I was no longer alone.\n\"Freeze!\" I waved my flashlight to the criminal, not expecting the sight in front of me; with the familiar figure being the same height as my partner in mysteries; Nancy Drew. \"Sarah, it's you? You're the one burning your shed?\" I asked, staring at the candle holder in her hand, the white wick of the candle, dancing to the call of the distant wind.\n\"It's not any of your business Michael,\" She coldly remarked but before she brought the candle to the wooden shed, I grabbed the sleeve of her white cotton nightgown, stopping her from putting herself into harm's way.\nThat was until I found a large burn on her wrist.\n\"Don't Michael,\" She winced and widened my eyes at the realization.\nI had finally fit one piece of the puzzle and locked eyes with her.\n\"Your father,\" I croaked. \"He killed your mother in the shed, didn't he?\" I frowned when I saw a tear roll down her flushed cheeks. With my index finger, I swiftly wiped them away. \"This is your way of taunting your father; to remind him what he's done.\"\nSarah lowered her gaze back to the candle. \"I saw him burn the shed with a candle, while she was inside of it. And why? All because she was trying to change this town Michael,\" She looked at me- the tears of hers quickly formed from what I could see in the dark. \"I failed before, but this time, I'll be with her. My father will be damned with himself,\" She formed a smile, turning away from me. \nLuckily, I caught her, stepping in front of her.\n\"Sarah, you can't!\" And before she could do anything the wind grew stronger and the wick of the candle died out, leaving both of us in a depiction of silence. Then the wind calmed down also once Sarah realized what she was planning to do; her petite body dropped the candle holder, letting the wick of her demons surrender while she clung to my body, holding onto me for dear life.\n\"Oh Michael,\" she sniffled in my arms. While her frail body clung to mine, I kept my sights on the back of her head and the second floor to her bedroom window where I watched the other candle suddenly perish into darkness once and for all.\n***\nThat night I discovered two things: one, Sarah’s mother was a martyr, and her death drove Sarah to the very edge. And two; the Anderson's third shed rotting to the core from moss and all mother nature's creations, was cursed! But it wasn't because of us, but because of Mr. Anderson. I had my theories of the events, and I knew Sarah did too. The only thing that gave me comfort, was the idealization that the ghost of Mrs. Anderson was lurking from the other side, trying to keep her daughter safe and sound from her monster of a husband. Still, when Sarah and I looked back at the shed, we realized that neither the wick of the candle nor trespassers could destroy that third shed.\nEven though it's been years and I'm a man now, the people of Render Falls could probably find the shed back at the Anderson's place with the wood still rotten and haunted. And if they looked hard enough, they would find a small plaque with the initials of W.A. in the shed. However, that was only if someone dared to enter the place that was a disappointing reminder that my best friend and now wife tried to take her own life.\n \"Good riddance,\" I said as I turned around, and threw a lit match to the shed, burning the painful memories away, even though the building probably would never turn to ash. \n When I got into my car, I drove back to freedom, enthralled that Sarah and I could finally live in peace without the reminder of the dreadful events that changed our lives." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: We Are The Legacy\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1523\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a group of strangers — or people who know each other, but may as well be strangers — eating together." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "“Pumpkin spice soup, fresh baked bread- crunchy and flakey on the outside, warm and soft in the middle, butter melting, pooling into the crevices of the family insignia stamped on to every loaf. They sat around the waxed wood table as a tuxedoed waiter served them on cold, silver platters, light dancing across domed covers. The candles were dimmed in an attempt to gather minds to their one tethered commonality, to shadow watery eyes, pulsing jaws, and a fiercely competitive spirit. The eldest placed himself at the head off the table, where the king had once smiled gently, peacefully, at his five, strong willed children. Except Artie- Artie was the soft son, the easy going mediator. His heart sank into the pit of his stomach, clenching his appetite as the intruder’s hard eyes, same grey as their father’s, dove deep into him, searching for a break, a leak. \nThough the nation held grievings today, the five knew this assembly was not about who had left them, but what he’d left behind. Cutlery clattered against bowls of rich, lamb stew, echoing through the grand hall, maroon carpeting covering dusty floorboards. The reverberating filled the fear of voicing anything, of deciding a future, uncertain no matter the conclusion. One faulty step and what, when they were children could have ended in a bickering, a blamed tear, could now conclude as war. \n With a sudden sharp cackle, the third brother, Vixon, snorted, choking on his mouthful, eyes wet with salt and laughter, attracting glares, stifling his laughter with a hand over his mouth, struggling to gather it back. But as had often been the case, staying serious was not his strong suit, especially under pressure and giggles pushed themself to the surface, rolling back and forth in his elegant armchair, until the first brother slapped a meaty hand against the table, deep frown leaking into his temples, tightening his clenched teeth. \n‘Silence!’ He bellowed, annoyance settling like dust into the crevices of his eyes as he looked over the people he once knew better than himself, could always trust to be predictable, true to their strong characters. His voice dropped, gentler. ‘You all know we have matters to discuss, and we might as well begin.’ He waved near the radio crew, who rolled a creaky old broadcasting panel and rusty mic into the room, pulling out a thick manila folder.\nIn their cottage homes, hideouts, and grand foyers, families gathered to listen to their previous leader’s wishes and will to be proclaimed, secret to all before then, even his airs. Radios sputtered to life as a distant voice introduced the siblings, and passed the microphone to Ferdinand- who presumed, as eldest, to be righteously crowned the next king. Though the rest feared it, they dreaded knowing that he was most likely right.\nMiro, the second oldest, believed that as the most handsome, daring, striking of the family, outranking every other in popularity, and in knightly skills, he should be crowned King.\nVixon, bubbly, speaking in senseless gibberish, fun and goofy, with a mysteriously dark side, should be crowned, because he would not take the job as seriously and focus on the happiness of others, spreading joy and laughter. \nArtie did not hold such a strong opinion, knowing that whatever his father wrote down must have had a lot of thought put into it, and be the right choice in the long term. He did not want to rule, he was content to curl up and read in a comfortable nook, watch as others were ridiculed and fanned over, stay out of the drama.\nTalia, as the only daughter and youngest, had always been loved and fawned over by the mothers of the extended family, after her own had passed away in childbirth. Though only nineteen, she believed that her bravery, loyalty and fearlessness, believed to be their father’s favourite, after Artie of course, could win her the crown as first queen not through marriage.\nAs Ferdinand drew the paper from the folder, all watched, ears strained to hear his reaction, his words, his face paled, devouring the beginning lines before reading them out loud. He considered making it up, telling a different story, but the line between the truth and his fiction was too thin for comfort. Through trembling, thin lips, he read.\n‘After much thought and consideration, many nights spent by candlelight, struggling to figure out the correct answer to this eventual question of reign, I have come to the conclusion that not all questions can be answered, but all have a solution. Though mine is not the traditional way, I have made my decision. Our land is vast, our riches, agriculture and opportunities are plentiful. Each of my children brings their unique values to the table, and I can not name one that is better or more worthy than the others. I know our strong willed legacy- any wrong decision, and it could mean feud. Which is why I declare my choice to devide our land into five equal parts, spreading out from this communal castle, center of peace and unity, land where congregations between sectors may be held.’\nAnd he proceeded to explain the details of his solution, which ruler shall live where, and that’s how we ended up here, 100 years later.” Xavier closed the book, Quill crawling up onto his lap, green blue brown eyes looking up in wonder, full of bursting questions. \n“But who’s land was this? Which sibling?” He asked, front teeth missing so that the ‘s’s sounding like ‘th’s, small socked feet curled onto the red and grey thick comforter where his twin brother, Clove, had fallen asleep during the traditional telling every June the 26th, day of the Seperation. For the most part, the family didn’t really celebrate any of the holidays, join in on the patriotic celebrations, but today, when Xavier had come across the old storybook his mother used to read to him, he had felt the urge to pull it out from the musty cardboard box in their forest cottage. The air smelt like cedar and pine. Fairy lights twinkled, roping through the ceiling boards as he answered.\n“Artie’s.” Xavier smiled. “The other lands have grown into bustling cities- we are the only ones who live so simply. With forests, among creatures.” He looked over at Finn, Quill’s hedgehog who sniffed around a vase of purple, bubbly water. \n“That’s odd.” Quill bit his top row of teeth over his bottom, frowning, dark freckles creasing into dimples as he thought. \n“You know, my great great aunt’s cousin was married to Artie. I never met him though.” Xavier smiled fondly down at the six year old curled up in his lap.\n“Whoa!” Quill smiled wide. “That’s so cool! It’s like we’re all related!” He exclaimed as Xavier put a gentle finger to his lips, trying to quiet him down so he wouldn’t wake his brother, nodding. The way Quill said ‘related’ really sounded more like ‘arrated’, Xavier smiled, picking him up, over his head, soft pj’s against his hands, pretending to let Quill fly, up and around, before placing him onto the top bunk, tucking the blankets up to his chin. \n“‘Night.” He whispered over the ledge, flicking off the lights.\n“‘Night.” Quill replied, snuggling into sleep, moon bathing the room, shading his brown mop of wavy hair. \nXavier sat back down on the couch, layden with pillows and hand knitted quilts and tosses. He stared down at the book he held, let his hand glide over the smooth cover. One day, maybe, Quill would know the whole story, their whole link to it. That separating was really not as easy as all that, that families had been torn apart, forced away from each other. That their own had staged an uprising, that they weren’t really supposed to live here at all, that their hideout, their small community was the only safe place left. Outside the forest, wars raged over jealousy and hate, skyscrapers licking steamy skies.\nStill though, the forest was safe, and for Quill, for Clove, for all the others, for Finn, for Artie, it was a haven. As Quill hikes mountains, swims in crystal lakes among green, ripe trees, as Clove reads stories, fresh air streaming from the water, bites into a sugary, sour fruit. 12 years old already, in shorts and tank tops, willowy and tall.\n17 years old, murmurs rising in the night, as the ‘saints’ come marching in. They know now. They know they are the descendants of fire breathing, rapid talking sorcerers, of truth bearing archers and brave uprisers.\n“Pumpkin spice soup, fresh baked bread- crunchy and flakey on the outside, warm and soft in the middle, butter melting, pooling into the crevices of the family insignia stamped on to every loaf-” Quill reads as Xavier lies down, head in his lap, breath shaky, legacy draining into his ears, cold rushing through his chest. His bony hand takes that of each of his sons. In that cottage among a patch of forest, a few remaining, lingering trees, as twinkling fairy lights bathe the moon lit room, they are safe." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Only Through His Grace\n\nGenre: christian\n\nWord Count: 1484\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about someone who has always done something as part of a group, and is now starting to set out solo, or vice versa." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Kirk grew up in a church, loved the church and served at the church but over time as he grew up he became detached. He and his friends created a secular rap group by the name of The Misfits that became so big they started touring all over the world. Kirk loved all the fame, money, girls and jewelry he gained from his career but for some reason he still felt empty inside. The group it’s self was pretty big but Kirk was the man of the group everyone and I do mean everyone loved him. Until one day he decided to just get up and pray mid studio session, and that’s when he heard a voice tell him, “it is only through His Grace will you feel complete”. That moment sparked something in Kirk he knew exactly what he had to do and for some reason didn’t care about the outcome. \n“And now coming to the stage we bring to you, coming all the way from the dirty Dallas tx The Misfits” you can hear screams from all over the arena ‘yayyyyyyy” the crowd is going crazy. Sean B. Walks out and the women in the crowd began to pass out, you can hear prince voice on the mic as he walks out shirtless rapping their hit new single “The Bag”. As the crowd is getting hype Sean looks over at prince with a confused face, where’s Kirk his verse is coming up? He whispered as he walked towards him. “ Aye Yo DJ cut the beat” you can hear Kirk say! The whole crowd went into an awkward silence. “ as many of you may not know but I’ve been in a strong battle as of late” Kirk said as he walked on to the stage in front of over 75,000 people. “This is and will be my last show with my brothers” Kirk said Prince looked at Sean B in Shock “ bro what is bro on?” “ Did you know about this?” Sean B Shakes his head and immediately walks off stage. Prince followed in a rushing manner leaving just Kirk on stage. \nAs he finished speaking to the crowd about his recent encounter with GOD you can hear so many of the fans cheering him on for what he had decided. The DJ even gave him words of encouragement and told him in front of the crowd that he would love to still be his DJ moving forward. He said his goodbyes and walked off stage back to the green room. You can see the look of defeat on both prince and Sean b’s faces as he approached them. “Bro how could you pull something like that without speaking with us” Sean B said. He began to just look and tell them everything would be okay and that this is something that he needed to do for himself and hope that they both understood. Prince walked up to him shook his hand like a man and said ‘Whatever you need brother we got you handle your business”. Sean B. Left both of them alone and walked away.\nMonths later Kirk walks into the church that he had been visiting and volunteering at since the groups break up. A young man by the name of Malachi walks up to him and ask was he Kirk from the Misfits and told him he was at that concert and what Kirk did inspired him to get back into church to use his gifts for god. Malachi was a producer and cinematographer who just wanted to give back to the church. After service he walked up to Kirk and told him he had been working on the churches youth department media team. He then asked him would he want to help out with this years youth explosion. That’s when he told him the church had a production studio. \nMalachi and Kirk began meeting up at the churches studio every Sunday after service working on projects. They were both excited about the upcoming youth explosion making hit after hit, that’s when Kirk realized he was still in love with making music. He explained to Malachi that what he was about to do was going to potentially change Malachi life for good and began to tell him that this was only for god and to make sure that he didn’t lose focus. “Okay I got an idea we create an album and call it OHG short for only through his grace” Kirk said. “Bro lets do it” Malachi replied.\nThey were working hard on this album and also putting together the biggest youth explosion ever. Kirk had the bright idea on getting back on social media to help promote it so he took to instagram. Not knowing what was in store Kirk made a post with him and Malachi in the studio you can hear the 808s thumping guitar strings and piano keys going in the background, “Aye yo check this out we getting ready to bring y’all the livest youth explosion you’ve ever been to and get this ya boy will be performing for the first time since my performance with the misfits so make sure y’all click the link in the bio and get ya tickets June 21st its going up at Social Hope Outreach Center Lets GOOOOO”.\nAs he and Malachi prepared he began to just feel better then he ever did before the love and support that he was receiving was overbearing. He was receiving so many comments from fans telling him he inspired them to change their lives and that they were excited to attend this youth explosion. Things began to be so big on social media that radio host were reaching out to him and Malachi asking to do interviews, set up vendor tables at the youth event etc. In this moment nothing else mattered to him because this was his way of spreading the gospel all while using his talents for god and the church. \nNow this is not just any church this is a Mega Church to put in perspective. The pastor is already what some people would call a Youtube Preacher so the amount of in person and online members is insane. The church also began to help promote and before you know it tickets were sold out, over 20,000 tickets sold, the church then offered free online access for those who could not afford to come. \nThe day had come and fans and church members began packing out the church, Malachi was nervous because not only was he kirks producer but he had took on the task of also being kirks DJ and this was his first big concert. As opening acts performed the crowd were worshiping and praising god. Some artist were rappers and some were singers a good balance of both some of the acts had their own bands and others came performing over tracks. Right before Kirk got on stage he gets a knock on the green room door “Come in” he yelled. At the door you could see Sean B and Prince standing there smiling ear to ear “ bro its been a while and we couldn’t miss this for nothing the last time I saw you I’m not going to lie I was hurt but brother God has been working on you and I see it” Sean B said. “Alright enough being all sentimental get out there and do Gods work my guy” prince interrupted. “Thanks man this means so much” Kirk replied as he walked out the green room and onto the stage.\nKirk went on the stage and performed all of the songs he and Malachi had been working on for months not missing a beat. He began taking the crowd through a worship session and back to a praise session with the music that they had created this new Kirk was pure and full of life the glow that came over the stage wasn’t from the spotlight beaming on him but this light that was among him came straight from GOD. As he approached the last song you can see people in the crowd begin to throw their hands up and total praise. “ now this next song is titled OHG because it was only through gods grace that I was given this chance to fully surrender on to him if any one out there is struggling like I was this is for you” Kirk Said. He performed a song so touching and moving before you know it people all over the church were in a deep prayer people watching online were in groups of prayer in their homes. As Kirk gazed amongst the crowd he looked back at Malachi standing at the Dj booth and said “this is why we do it little brother” with the biggest smile and tears of joy coming down his face." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Untitled Document\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 2859\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about characters going on a summer road trip." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "A blank piece of paper sat in front of her, lying on the desk. She didn’t usually write on paper, but this was an emergency. Her thoughts were racing, and she was desperately trying to find an idea somewhere, anything would work at this point. She began to hyperventilate, taking deep breaths to try and calm herself down. “A manuscript due in four days and all I have in front of me in an untitled document! Blank!” She was breathing hard now, desperately trying to calm herself down. “I’m screwed” she whispered to herself.\n “Sure looks like it”\n\n That voice… it can’t be.\n“Alex?” Priya was beginning to feel her heartbeat rising again, her breathing increasing. \n “What’s up Priya, long time no see, I know.” \n“Long time? LONG TIME? It’s been 7 years, Alex! 7 Years after you left me and never bothered to contact me again!” Priya was fuming, and the anger inside her body was bubbling up, rising higher and higher. \n“I know, it’s been a while, and yes, I know I left you, and I’m a jerk,yeah, but you need to calm down. I’m just here to talk. Actually to ask you something, but I guess that’s technically talking.” He was teetering back and forth on his feet, and he was clearly nervous. Priya knew that something was definitely up, and she was running through the options in her head. \nI mean he technically broke into my home, I could hit him over the head with a pan Tangled style and call the police, it’d be the perfect revenge. Or, I’ll just hear him out and then hit him over the head with a pan Tangled style. \n“Ok, I’ll hear you out, but this better be good or else I’m calling the police and telling them you broke in.” Priya had this weird feeling of uncertainty in her stomach, a weird feeling of… fear almost. \n“I left after 7 years because I had to. You saw how bad I was getting. You saw the drugs, I know you did, so I left. It was better for you. I never dated anyone else in the past 7 years, just thought I’d let you know that. I also read your book. About us. I know how you feel towards me Priya, the book says it all.”\nPriya knew that what he was saying had some truth to it, but she didn’t want to accept it. No matter the reason, he still left her, that too right before he was going to meet her parents. She was going to marry him. “Ok fine whatever, your right, but you never answered my question. What are you doing here?” \n“I’m here for you. Let’s go away together. A road trip, just like the old times.” \nA road trip? For two days? Priya could go and still come back and finish her manuscript in time, no doubt she was a fast writer, but she didn’t know if she wanted to go. She looked at the blank white piece of paper lying on her desk, the untitled document. Maybe she could make a story out of the road trip, but Priya wasn’t going to accept so easily . Love or not, she still didn’t trust Alex. “Why should I go with you? I don’t have to trust no, nor do I have reason to. What if your just taking me on a road trip to kidnap me or to take me to be human trafficked so you can get money for your Cocaine or whatever drug it was you took?” \n“I know it seems hard to trust me right now Priya, but you have to. I love you Priya, I have for the last 13 years. Let me prove that I love you by taking you on this trip.” \nPriya could sense there was more to the story, a reason behind why he turned up at her house out of the blue, but she didn’t push it. He would tell her eventually, she had a way of getting things out of him. “Fine, but if I don’t want to at any time you have to take me home right then, no questions asked.”\nHe put his hands up in surrender and teetered back and forth on his feet. “So, nice apartment you have here, huh?”\n“Get out, I’ll pack some clothes and meet you outside.”\n“Sheesh fine, but hurry up. Oh, and pack a nice dress.”\n\nAlex walked out the door, running down the stairs to the lobby. He didn’t think he would have the guts to come back, to face Priya again after all the pain he knew he had caused her, but he had to. It was the right thing to do. Suddenly, his phone lit up with a text message, and his eyes widened. They had to move fast. \n\n“Why’d you ask me to pack a nice dress?” Priya came downstairs in the same black sweatpants and turquoise shirt that she was wearing before, but she had put her hair down and taken off her glasses. She didn’t really care how she looked around Alex, she never had, but the way he was staring at her now she wondered if she should have changed, or put her hair back up. Did she really look that gross to him?\n\nShe was beautiful. He had seriously underestimated how much a person’s looks could change in 7 years. Her black hair was now cut in layers and was wavy and curly, and it looked shiny and soft. Her eyes were a beautiful dark brown, mirroring the Night and the fall leaves in one. She was stunning before, but it was nothing compared to how she looked now. His jaw nearly dropped, but he knew how Priya hated cheesy stuff like that, and so he straightened up and cleared his throat. “You look beautiful” he said to her as she approached him. She showed no sign of caring, and just handed him her bag. \n“So, where’s your car?” she asked. \n“You look beautiful” he said again. Alex didn’t think she heard him the first time, and if he was being honest it bothered him that she didn’t even smile after he said that.\n“I heard you the first time.” she said, and walked out of the lobby. Alex couldn’t tell if he was pissed or just dissapointed, but that didn’t matter, not now. \n\nPriya was happy and concerned at the same time. She was happy that he'd called her pretty, but concerned about him. Was he on drugs again? He couldn't be, she knew how he was when he was high, but he was constantly teetering on his feet and checking his phone, and Priya knew that something was going on. She hoped that it was a home thing , probably with his family. She didn’t want to push it, because she knew that Alex had a complicated family, but she also wanted to know why he turned up randomly, and why he was acting so strange around her. \n\n“Alright, you ready to get started?” Alex tried to muster as much happiness as he could into his voice. \n“Uh, yeah I guess. So, where are we going?”\n“Umm, not far, you know just a couple hour or so from here in New Jersey.” He knew right after he said New Jersey that Priya knew what he was talking about. \n“We’re going to your home? But, why?”\n“Please, Priya just trust me, I’ll tell you I promise.”\n“Ok, fine.”\nThey began to drive, and it was silent for at least 15 minutes. \n“Gosh, there’s a lot of traffic in New York. It’s 2 in the morning, do people not sleep here or what?” Alex was desperately trying to make small talk, even though he knew that there were bigger things that he should be telling Priya, and his breath became faster at the thought of telling Priya the truth. \n“It’s New York City, Alex, of course people don’t sleep.” Priya kept looking over at Alex, who’s face was filled with tension. Her curiosity only grew by the minute, but if it was about his family she wouldn’t pry. He would tell her himself. \n“Is it always like this, I mean -” \nPriya interrupted him mid-sentence as he was hyperventilating. \n“Alex take some deep breaths, it’s going to be okay. What’s happening? You’ve been acting strange since you turned up.” Priya put her hand on Alex’s and he began to calm down, and Priya gripped it hard. \n“It’s nothing, Priya, I promise you.” Alex knew he was lying and he felt bad, but he had to. For Priya's sake. If she knew how messed up his life had gotten, then she would end up jumping out of the car, end up marrying someone else, end up having someone else’s kids. She was 28 after all, maybe she had moved on. \n“Alex, your doing it again. What’s wrong? Talk to me.” Priya was gripping his hand again, and Alex knew this had to stop. \n“Priya, stop! I’ll tell you once we’re out of New York, I swear!” Priya withdrew her hand quickly and she straightened up, all forms of concern for him being wiped off her face. Alex felt a pang in his stomach, and he wanted to apologize but he knew that he couldn’t, not now. \nI was so stupid for thinking that he’d changed. That he’d open up. Why’d I show any concern in the first place? \nAn hour later, they were out of New York and entering New Jersey. Priya could see Alex’s palms sweating, and he was tapping his fingers hard against the steering wheel. \n“Look Priya, I’m really sorr-” \nAlex’s phone started ringing, and he immediately pulled over into a nearby gas station. The only words Priya heard were hello, before he slammed the car door. Ten minutes later, he still hadn’t come back, and so Priya got out of the car and went to the trees nearby where Alex had went. When she entered the “forest”, Priya swore she heard weeping, and she ran to the trees, where Alex was. The closer she got, the louder the weeping did too. She saw Alex sitting on the ground with his head in his hand sobbing, and she ran to hug him. \n“Are you okay? Alex, talk to me. Are you okay? What’s wrong?” He said nothing in response but he wrapped his hands around her and held her tightly to him.\nOnce he finished crying, he let go of Priya, and she felt cold. “Alex?” \n“My mom. She’s really sick. Priya, she’s dying.” Priya gasped, and she could feel tears coming to her eyes too.\n“Oh, Alex, I’m so sorry.” Priya rushed to hug him, but Alex tilted her head upwards, pulling her hands to his sides . His hands were on both sides of her face, and their lips were close together. \n“Can I kiss you?” Alex asked Priya. He was fully expecting a no, but when she nodded it felt like a million fireworks were going off inside him. One of his hands snaked down to her wrist, pulling her closer to him, and he put his lips on hers, firmly pressing them together, entwining her heart with his. If he thought he felt a million fireworks when she said she could kiss him, then this was the end of the universe. It felt like stars were exploding inside of him, shooting every which way, and with every kiss he could feel their hearts become one. \n\nThat was the best kiss that she’d ever had. It felt like she’d swallowed a million stars which were exploding and shooting everywhere. She could feel his heart, but it wasn’t his heart anymore. It was their heart. Priya fully expected to not like the kiss, but the taste of cotton candy and mint on his lips, mixed with the scent of fall perfume was heaven to her, and she felt herself craving more, even after the kiss had been broken. But she knew that right now, Alex needed her, and she leaned into his chest, feeling his arms wrapping around her tightly.\n\n“My mom said that she wanted to meet you before she died, she wanted to see us get married. I told her you were the girl I’d been in love with since I was 15, and she said that she wouldn’t die without meeting you. The Universe commanded it, she said. I was going to bring you there, introduce you to my mom. I was going to propose to you.” \n“Who said you can’t? I’ll marry you Alex, and not just because your mom is dying, but because I love you. We’ve been in love for 13 years, I think we can get married.”\nAlex felt so happy, the stars seemed to come back and shoot everywhere, but this time it wasn’t just the stars it felt like he swallowed the universe, the Moon, the Sun, the Earth, everything. \n“Priya, at least let me propose to you properly.” Priya laughed and it felt like tinkles of happiness entered his ears. It was good to know that after 7 years, Priya still had the same laughter as always. \n“Fine, I’m sorry for being so impatient, but I do have to tell my parents. Their going to be so mad Alex, but it’s okay. I’ll tell my mom to bring the wedding dress she bought for me this year, and we can have an Indian wedding and a normal wedding. “\n“Wait, wait , hold up, why’d your mom buy you a wedding dress?”\n“Oh, she said that I was 28 and I was getting really old, and I was going to be too old to marry soon. So she bought me the dress and she told me to find someone to marry in the next two months or I’d end up getting too fat for the dress. She basically tried to guilt-trip me into marriage, but it’s okay, because it all worked out in the end. “\nAlex laughed, and he knew that this was the Universe at work. Maybe fate was real after all. \nAn hour and a half later, they were at Alex’s house, and Priya was starting to get nervous. What if his mom ended up not liking her? She didn’t exactly have the best personality, but Priya would have to try. \n“Hey, she’s going to love you, don’t worry about it.” \nThey walked inside the house, and Alex walked inside his mom’s room, gesturing for Priya to follow. \n“Mom? Priya’s here.”\n“Priya? You mean THE Priya? Wow, she’s so pretty, prettier than you described her.” Alex’s mom had piercing blue eyes, just like Alex, and they both had the same dirty blonde hair, the same pale/tan skin tone. \nPriya blushed and smiled at Alex’s mom. “Hi Mrs. Lewis, it’s so nice to finally meet you! I’m Priya Akkiraja, and I’m your son’s girlfriend.” \n“For starters, call me May, and secondly come here.” Priya walked over to his mom, and sat down next to her. \n“Your so stunning Priya, you and my son will look beautiful together, and as far as I’m concerned he loves and you love him, right?” \n“Yes Mrs.- I mean May.” \n“Do me a favor and don’t break his heart, he’s been through a lot.”\n“I swear on my mother’s life that I will never break his heart, and I will take care of him for the rest of his life.”\nAlex stood up, smiling widely, “Well, speaking of spending the rest of our lives together,” and he got down on one knee, and pulled out a ring, “I've been meaning to ask if you’ll marry me, Priya. Will you marry me?” \n“Yes! Yes!” Priya jumped up and down, excited. “Wait. Is that my grandma’s old wedding ring?”\n“Yeah, I may or may not have convinced your parents to let me marry you, and they may or may not be here.”\n“I love you so much right now you have no idea.”\n“I think I might have a faint idea of how much you love me , just a little bit.” \nPriya laughed, her dimple on the left side of her cheek showing, and Alex laughed with her, picking her up and spinning her around. \nTwo weeks later\nPriya was dressed in a Saree* and she was wearing a Dupatta* over her head, jasmine flowers interwoven into her hair, a tikka* wrapped around her head, a nath* stuck in her jhumkas*. Alex was weaning a Lungi and a Silk cotton shirt over it. They were both sitting across from each other, smiling, while the priest said the rites, in a boring monotone voice, but it didn't matter how small or how boring their wedding was. It didn't matter that Priya never got her manuscript done. None of it mattered, because the Universe willed it so. Their hearts beat as one, all because of one blank piece of paper. The Untitled Document.\n *Tikkas, Jhumkas, Naths, Duppatas, and Sarees are all Traditional clothes and jewerly an Indian bride would wear\n\n Fin\n*Inspired by all the Untitled Documents" } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on 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 Can't Be Seen\n\nGenre: christian\n\nWord Count: 1057\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about someone who has put “Blood Sweat & Tears” into getting where they are — only to question whether it was worth it." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Discussion of hardship and death.\n\nIt wasn’t my life that was being reviewed. It was their idea of me. I never had a say in it. Like a book that you open at a random page, their ideas of me were always lacking a context.\nWhat context could there be to make sense of everything? See that is the problem. I could be anything or anyone and without knowing anything about me, you can’t make sense of my life at all. Like a bare light shining into an empty dark room, the glare is all you see.\nLike that time when my sister didn’t share with me those miserable sticky-dark candies that we both thought were mini chocolate buttons. We didn’t know better. Dad was in such a rush. He couldn’t be bothered to ask the candy lady what they were. He went by our pointing fingers only. Once my sister got the two-pound bag, she’d eat three and give me one, repeating this torment as often as needed. It’s not that she liked what she was eating, it was the point of it.\nNow you would say that wasn’t fair. First to not get what we wanted and then for my sister to eat more than me. But what are you really saying? Is life fair? Once my screaming got my mother’s attention, Dad took me to get an ice cream cone. My sister had to come along and watch me eat it. How fair is that?\nThen you turn to another random page in that book. The crossing of the Donnybrook after school. Yeah, that log over the brook. Get your feet wet or use the log with the boys and their branches. They didn’t care if their feet were wet just so that they could have a good spot to blotch you! They’d say they would only hit you half hard! Hugh wasn’t one of those boys though. I mean you would take the licking so that everyone would know you’re still ticking. The more you took, the better you looked. But Hugh, his ideas were different. He wouldn’t hit my school bag or my legs. He would go for the head! Or really my arms because it’s sheer instinct to always protect your head with your arms. Mom would ask why my arms were bloody. I wouldn’t tell her. But Hugh knew.\n\nNow you would say I should not have taken the shortcut through the woods. I should have stayed on the road and walked the extra mile. Sure. And looking back on it, it seems stupid to take a beating for nothing. But was it really for nothing?\nThen I swear, I’ll only bore you with one more story, one more page from my book. That job. My first one. Did you know that there is always an “in” crowd everywhere you go, even at work? That high school clique had a future working for a moving company. Thank goodness it was only for the summer! We would pile precious family heirlooms ten feet high in the storage warehouse. The boss was never around, insurance must have been cheap! These monstrous piles of things that were so carefully stacked by us became target practice for the in-crowd wrecking crew! They would take small items and try to knock down a kitchen chair or a carefully placed very light box that was on top because it couldn’t bear any weight. Then when it came crashing down, we had to put it back up. Didn’t matter if it was broken! And we didn’t dare complain. The boss’s son was the leader.\nBut I see I am boring you. So, let’s make this very plain. Life is not fair, and it never will be. The cutest, most adorable baby animals all over the world...no, I am asking you! I dare not say it! They say it is the old and infirm animals that become meat for carnivores. But please, open your eyes! Just the Eastern Cottontail alone can have several litters a year of the cutest little kits. And they all live happily ever after? Imagine their fate!\n“Excuse me, Mr. Marx. Your family is here to see you.”\n“I don’t want to see them.”\nThe nurse sighs. She’s adjusting my IV, like I care what she does. She starts fussing and I have the wherewithal to know it is not for a medical reason.\nI am what I am. I am how life made me. There. Finally, a context.\n\n#\nRewind. Start. Can something make a difference? I think I’m on track. Let’s see.\n\nI don’t get it when people say that people are good, naturally good. What are they talking about? Do you become a mathematician by sitting around causing trouble or playing video games? Do you build bridges by partying or yakking it up with friends? Ah, I bet you could be an Olympic swimmer by turtling around in a wading pool!\nAnd of course, becoming a good person, you can do it on your own! You could be an engineer without any professors. Or a mathematician without problems to solve. Or an Olympic swimmer without a trainer! Got you. Goodness must be easy.\nAnd anything we can't see has no interest in our lives? It lives in your hip pocket! It can be anything you want it to be! So convenient.\nBut I’m too harsh. Too angry. Remember all those baby animals? Wouldn’t you be angry too?\n#\nSo, it was time for me to go. A failure to live. Example “A” of what not to be. Kick the bucket. Have the biscuit. Leave this mortal coil. Hang up the towel. And of course, they threw a party! Invited all my friends! Does Crazy have friends?\nHmm. Not sure. Heirs maybe.\nAnd they are so interested in everything. Planned it so carefully. The best blowout party of my life! I’m the cannonball in the cannon! Fun like never before. This circus is right where you find the petting zoo with all the baby animals!\nBut I have a surprise for them! A different context. Not one you get from this life. The one you get from the next. Something invisible has something planned.\nA priest bearing holy oil and a ritual enters my room and kicks everyone else right back out!" } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Progie Paradise\n\nGenre: christian\n\nWord Count: 1583\n\nPrompt:\n\nYour character is known as the town gossip. One day, it comes back to bite them." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "I wasn’t just an only child; I was supposed to be progenated. Pasteurized, homogenized, progenated. New word for a new time. Humanity can be perfected. We came out of the slime and if we don’t plan to stay friends with what made us forever, then progenation is needed.\nNow don’t start saying that I’m in league with the antiprogs, just because I didn’t complete the treatment! I have a perfectly good reason for that. It’s true an antiprog came to me and got me to quit. She was my own mother! What would you do? Besides progenation wasn’t mandatory like it is now. So, I’m a freak, I guess. Not that anyone would say that to my face. That would earn them a strike. And why would anyone want a useless strike for no reason?\nBut that isn’t my problem right now. I can’t hack the system the way I want to. I’m neither this nor that. Neither hot nor cold. Sometimes my attempts to manipulate the system works and sometimes it doesn’t. But what use is it to be lukewarm? If you can’t do something one hundred percent of the time it’s that off moment, that unexpected result that screws up everything.\n***\n“Nathan, what’s wrong?” She’s hovering over me. Hot cocoa, is it? I can smell it, eyes opening, wiping away the tears, so many regrets.\n“Mom shut the lights at least.” She switches them off, or are they turning off on their own? I slowly sit up on my bed. My actuator starts up, that devil’s box of possibilities. I feel like throwing it across the room.\n“I stayed home today.” She yawns.\nI think that my mom is so pretty, even at forty. Here she is trying to make me feel better. At least I can appreciate that. I take the steaming cocoa cup off the bedside table, one big swallow, followed by another.\n“I’m not going to try it again!”\n“That’s fine. No need.”\nI look at her and shake my head. How can she say that? The actuator is the gateway to everything. Gotta get dressed. Maybe there is still hope if Deezer can hack through somehow. There’s no recovery from interrupted progenation. But run an actuator through a hack and who knows? It might work.\n***\nDeezer’s all happy, greeting me at the door to his family trailer home. “Hey, there amigo! Did you bring it?” He’s smiling. The hack must work.\n“It’s all I got!” I throw my payment card down on the table near this gizmo that he has hooked up.\n“One Hundred!”\nI sigh. “Why do you do this? We agreed on eighty!”\n“Just testing! Why? I can’t have a little fun with you?”\nHe gives me a big bear hug, stinking a little of sweat and beer. He must have been up all night.\n“Were you playing cards or working on my hack?”\nHe got serious. “What do you take me for? Do you think I will rip you off?”\nHe’s explaining and explaining but I’m not listening. Pseudo progenation through his gizmo. The actuator is fooled into thinking that I’m fully functioning. It starts up. I start up. It’s a video game, except the video output is in your head and it’s also like ballet, you know, follow the moves. Swerve, keep up, slow down, stop for a moment. Then the more you are in tune, the more others “tag” you, opening more and more possibilities. The penultimate moment comes with a sudden rush. That’s when everything gels and into the neural nets you go with everyone who has tagged you. But I had never been there yet.\nDeezer is laughing. “Are you one with the universe?”\nI couldn’t speak. Soon I wouldn’t be able to listen.\n***\nMom is so upset. “What did you do?”\n“Nothing! I’m just really tired that’s all!” She lets me go, but that look on her face breaks my heart every time. I know she worries constantly. I’m the only thing in her life since Dad died.\n“Don’t you want something to eat?”\n“Sure, but I’m really not that hungry.”\nI sit down in the kitchen while she gets me a sandwich. Money is a bit tight. We must live off the universal basic income, the money you get when you are useless. Mom never liked it when I talked about how sad it is that we have no say in anything. We aren't the \"movers and the shakers.\" Her back is turned to me, while she makes that sandwich.\n“Mom, I want to be honest with you.”\n“Yes, dear?”\n“I can’t give up trying.”\n“I know.”\n***\nProgie Paradise! Those fine buildings and statues. The infinite vistas of absolute perfection. You could visit. No one stops you. But they all know that you are not one of them.\n“Scan!”\nSo impolite these machines! You must wonder why they bother. Me, I would just let us freaks be. It’s not like we’re organizing or planning an insurrection.\n“R1K56-1”\nI take the card, my pass for the day. Got an appointment. They know what I did with the hack. Now they want to see me.\nDouglas is sitting in his office with this wan expression. Hooked up, obviously. His actuator starts winding him down when I enter. Then he stands up and wants to shake my hand. I refuse, of course.\n“Nathan, pleased to meet you.”\n“Likewise.”\n“I sense hostility. Just want to let you know that I’m Alpha One scaled. Microaggression free. I’m sure you know what that means.”\n“Definitely.”\n***\nI explain it to Mom later. They think the gizmo is great. I have the money I need to buy it off Deezer. Super generous amount too, a whole 1000! I’m supposed to come in on a regular basis and get checked out. It’s like a job. They’ll pay me every time I visit! But Mom is upset again.\n“I don’t want you going there.”\n“I don’t have to go, you’re right about that. But I want to be useful, to have a job!”\n“We don’t need the money.”\nI sigh. She has an answer for everything. I let it go. I’m an adult. I’ll make my own decisions.\n***\nIt got to be routine to go in amongst the progies. There were so many of them. On my breaks from using my actuator and explaining Deezer’s gizmo, they would gather around, so politely. Karen was the one who made the most effort to “help me” as they called it.\n“You are so unrestrained,” she started one day. “You can gossip, tell lies, and cause all sorts of trouble. We have evolved beyond you.”\n“Great. Good for you.”\nI must not have answered her correctly. She tried again. “What I mean is that we only talk to you because you need our help.”\nThis annoyed me. “Shouldn’t I be asking for your help first?”\nThe ten or so progies gathered about and listening to us were so expressive with their facial features mainly. They said absolutely nothing. But clearly, they disapproved of how I was behaving and answering Karen. I wished they would at least speak up.\nI looked around the room, making eye contact with each of them. “What about all of you? What do you think of a freak being amongst you?” Now that got them going!\n***\nI had a meeting with Douglas the very next day. This time he wasn’t on his actuator when I went into his office.\n“Sit down Nathan. We have serious business to discuss.” I sit, but already I sense this is not going to go well.\n“Now I must inform you that your discussion with Karen and her work detail went very badly. Most of them got strikes. Some received several multiple strikes for improper discussion and those on my enhanced program to eliminate microaggressions were seriously set back!”\n“What did I do?” I asked.\n“You refused our help!”\n“Wait, what? I was not offered any help and I certainly didn’t ask for it!”\nDouglas stopped momentarily. It was like a video was skipping, the internet was buffering, or something was glitching out. Maybe he was getting instructions from the mother ship, for all I knew!\n“Correct. I’ve logged a tech order to investigate this communication breakdown. Until our investigation is complete you are suspended and not allowed to visit our facility.”\nAnd that was the end of the meeting! He spun up his actuator and bugged out.\n***\nMom and I were relaxing. Or trying to. She had just come back from evening Mass. I never took much interest in religion, but I was thinking of going. I knew Deezer would go to Mass now and again, but Mom never pressured me to go.\n“Were you able to get a seat in the church this time Mom?” I asked while taking a sip from my tea. She seemed lost in thought.\nI snapped my fingers. “Mom! Did everything go all right tonight?”\n“Yes, dear.” She looked at me with this lost expression. “Nathan there were so many people there. It seems that more and more people keep coming. I don’t know why.”\nI knew why. Was it because it was a microaggression tolerance zone? Or was it because you could live strike-free? Hmm, maybe it was just because freaks could just be?\nI drained my cup and gave my mom a hug. “Need some help in the garden tomorrow? I’ve got lots of time.”" } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Road Trip\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1434\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about characters going on a summer road trip." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Ok...so Jonny the turtle, Harry the poodle, and Claire the hedgehog were on a road trip. They were in Jonny's Leaf 2020 with hatchback seating perfect for Claire to snuggle into. The Leaf 2020 didn't go particularly fast, which was ideal for Jonny - he didn't like fast very much. Now, you may ask, \"Where do a turtle, a poodle, and a hedgehog like to go in their spare time?\", great question! But where do they get the money for a Leaf 2020, where do they even buy a Leaf 2020, and how did a turtle, poodle, and hedgehog become friends? See these are silly questions, they don't need to be answered because a turtle, a poodle, and a hedgehog are somehow riding in a vehicle and that's enough to make an interesting story...right? The turtle was driving ever so slowly, as he often did, but Claire was becoming very impatient. \n“Can I drive?” she asked, accidentally puffing up her spikes from sheer excitement and pricking Harry. \n“Ow, Clumsy Claire! No, you never get to drive. Only Jonny can drive the Leaf” irritated and sore, Harry replied and batted Claire’s quills away.\n“Sorry Claire... I drive and I don’t like it fast.” Jonny slowly said his words to Claire as if he was reading them off of a newspaper with a magnifying glass.\nClaire continued to get antsy and could not sit still. First, she shoved her butt to the right, then to the left; she even tried laying on her side. This was common for Claire but today it was too much for Harry.\n“Listen Claire, you need to lay still!” Harry shouted into Claire’s quills that puffed up at his boisterous voice. \n“I cannot help it, it is in my nature” Claire casually replied, tilting her sun hat.\nClaire tried to contain herself in the back of the Leaf but the thought of driving kept making her feet kick. She closed her eyes and tried to visualize the car going very fast down the road. The leaves and berries would be going so fast passing the Leaf. She saw grubs and worms floating in front of her eyes. They were so yummy-looking as they rained down on her. Claire opened her mouth and caught the worms and the grubs, chomped on them and licked her face to keep the scent and taste for later. The Leaf was shaking and going faster, more worms and grubs were falling into Claire’s mouth. She couldn’t keep up with them all, some were landing on her face and belly and onto the road around her. She had her tongue out, slapping at the bugs and licking as much off of her furry belly; very furry and thick. Claire was licking away, the Leaf was shaking about, and Harry was slapping at Claire and yelling.\n“Stop licking me, you hog!” Harry’s shouts finally awoke Claire from the most surreal dream she had ever had. She had dog hair in her mouth and no bugs or worms. She tried using her tongue to push the dog hair out of her mouth, Harry kept yelling, and Jonny just kept smiling and driving. You see, Jonny had just had a vision too and he now knew where they were all going to go today - The Chocolate Castle. \nThe Chocolate Castle was built in a land so old that it predates time, at least that’s what they say. The mountains are the tallest around and have the founders of Creature Cavern etched into the side of them. Creature Cavern was more than just a cavern, it included Chocolate Castle, The Land of ‘Ol, and Hometown. Ironically, Hometown is a large area where everybody lives, except the founders, and thus is home to all. \nThe highway through the tall, grassy marsh was long and slow, even for Jonny. He broke from his daydreaming and pulled the Leaf over onto a pebble road. He parked and gave Harry and Claire a chance to get out and stretch their legs. As Harry chased his tail and Claire pushed her snout through the thick grass, Jonny sat and soaked up the sun. He thought he wanted to get out and move around too, but the sun felt good on his shell. Minutes passed and the marsh became quiet; Johnny envisioned the triple chocolate leaves that they sold at the castle. He yearned to be there already. He opened his eyes and found Harry and Claire staring at him.\n“What is it?” Jonny questioned, blinking slowly and constantly to get the dirt out of his eyelids. \n“The grass is waving about and Harry thinks it is a weasel.” Claire declared in a rather timid voice, even for her.\n“I didn’t say ‘weasel’, you said that!” Harry panted and contested Claire. His voice was low too and he was very close when talking to Jonny.\n“Okay, then we leave” Jonny advised them and began to reach for the keys in the ignition. \n“No!” Harry and Claire whispered with urgency and tugged Jonny away from the steering wheel. \n“It will hear us” Claire whispered, almost into Jonny’s ear. Claire explained how Harry had just seen the grass shuffle again. They were sure that the creature was nearby. \nHarry hid behind Jonny’s shell for protection. He remembered stories Grandpuppa would tell him about attacks from weasels while in the bush back in the day. He imagined weasels were large, ferocious beasts with the ability to kill any animal. His Grandpuppa told him that it was a miracle he survived the battles; so they must be tough and dangerous. This is the only knowledge of weasels that was known to the trio. \nThey sat in the Leaf 2020 and were all bunched up together in the front now. Both Claire and Harry were curled up trying to hide behind Jonny. Claire didn’t have any real reason to be scared of weasels, yet she hid and was just as scared as Harry (maybe more). Harry wished he had his bone. At least he would have something to bite down on, instead of his tongue, which is what he accidentally did with the state of fear he was in. Harry whined with his bit tongue, Claire hissed and tried to not raise her quills enough to poke Harry again, and Jonny listened. He listened to the grass rustling and moving. It sounded like something large enough to scare almost any creature he knew. As per usual for Jonny, he was more intrigued than frightened. He listened intently and peered into the grass as his friends peered at their closed eyelids. As the sound from the tall grass came closer and got louder, Jonny felt his friends trembling behind him.\nHe shouted, “Hey! Who’s in there?”\nHe tightened his skin and stretched his neck to look taller. In a moment, a dark shadow appeared at the edge of the grass. A paw poked out of the grass and it was surprisingly small for a weasel. Johnny’s fears waned and he said more pleasantly, “Hello there”.\nHarry and Claire glanced out and saw now that they were very misled. On the hood of the Leaf 2020, was a small barn mouse wiggling its whiskers and sniffing the air. \n“I’m so sorry if I frightened anyone. I tend to make a lot of noise when I’m in the tall grass to frighten away any bigger, hungry creatures. I saw that all you weren’t a threat and that I had scared you. I am sorry.” The mouse continued to sniff the ground and the nearby grass.\n“What are you looking for, mouse?” Harry asked somewhat rudely. \n“My name is Cleo and I am looking for some fruit,” she started to scurry to the back of the car and sniffed her way to the grass again.\n“Wait!” Jonny quickly called out, surprising to everyone. “We are heading to the Chocolate Castle. They have fresh fruit and choco-covered cherries. I’m going to get some triple choco-leaves. Would you like to come?” \nJonny’s exclamation certainly thrilled Cleo as she leaped into the air, cheering and climbed into the Leaf 2020.\n“Wow, now I can get a choco-bone meal”, Harry barked and started to slobber out the window.\n“Yes sir, and I will gladly grab some strawberry worm surprise!” Claire chomped and started to lick her fur looking for the grubs from earlier. \nJonny pulled the convertible Leaf 2020 out onto the highway again, now with one more partner in the front with him and Harry. They were all smiling and thinking of one thing - The Chocolate Castle." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Dropped\n\nGenre: christian\n\nWord Count: 3007\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about a piece of gossip that becomes more and more distorted as it passes from person to person." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "I didn’t know I was a legend. Years after leaving Our Lady of Perpetual Help, I had no idea that the story of how I stuck it to Father Michael was still circulating among the students. It made its way back to me the summer after I graduated from high school, when Sarah Green’s youngest sister found me lifeguarding at the local pool. Apparently, it was the new way that seniors welcomed incoming freshmen: telling them how I took Communion from Father Michael and threw the Eucharist on the ground.\nOr, how I threw the Eucharist on the ground and stomped on it.\nOr, how I threw the Eucharist on the ground, stomped on it, and told Father Michael to go screw himself.\n“Well?” Sarah’s little sister tensed her shoulders. “Is it true?”\nI shrugged. “Eh.”\nI tried to walk away, but she followed me and pressed again.\n“Well,” I sighed, “most of that happened.”\nBut only one other person knew the full truth, and her name wasn’t preserved in infamy.\nThe day that everything fell apart at Our Lady of Perpetual Help was unusually hot. We only had two weeks left of school, but the early taste of summer was driving everyone a little batty. Claire Abbott showed up to school with an untucked shirt and rolled up skirt, and Father Michael yelled at her in front of the whole class before sending her to the bathroom to fix her uniform. Marsha Maple got detention for chomping on a piece of gum, but she slipped another piece into her mouth the moment Father Michael wasn’t looking. I gasped - I had never gotten detention, and I couldn’t imagine breaking the rules so brazenly after getting caught.\nNobody else seemed to notice Marsha because they were all pretending to ignore Sarah Green. Sarah never seemed to own a pencil for longer than a day and was asking everyone around her if she could borrow one. She got away with it again and again because whoever refused her tended to be the target of her next gossip. Maybe it was the heat, or maybe it was being on the brink of summer break, but no one was caving to her demands. Claire and Marsha rolled their eyes, but I nudged Sarah and passed her one of mine, knowing that I would never see it again. That was okay. I never gave her the ones I really liked - my pink ones, with ‘The Future is Female’ in purple bubble letters.\nThe sun streamed through the classroom windows, practically cooking everything in its path. The air in the room grew hot and stuffy, and it was much more interesting to watch the dust dancing in the golden sunlight than it was to listen to Father Michael lecture about the Catholic sacraments. Distraction in his class was dangerous, though, and Father Michael had a way of keeping everyone in line.\n“Can anyone name the sacraments?” he asked. When no one raised their hand, he picked a victim. “Sarah. Name the seven sacraments.”\nSarah flinched. “Baptism, Communion, Confirmation, Marriage….” She trailed off. “Priesthood?”\n“Holy Orders,” he said, narrowing his eyes, “not Priesthood. And the proper term is Eucharist, not Communion. Those are only five, Sarah. What are the others?”\nSarah blanched and slid down in her seat.\nFather Michael sighed. “Can anyone else name the other sacraments?”\n“Reconciliation,” I said, “and Anointing of the Sick.”\n“Correct, Lucy,” said Father Michael, “but next time, raise your hand.” \nI bit my lip and felt my face flush.\nHe picked up a piece of chalk and wrote them on the board. “Now, how do we group these?” He turned around and pointed. “Can you tell us, Claire?”\n“Sacraments of Initiation,” she said, completely unruffled about being cold called, “are Baptism, Eucharist, and Confirmation. Sacraments of Healing are Reconciliation and Anointing of the Sick. Sacraments of Service are Marriage and Holy Orders.”\n“Correct.” He sounded bored. He marked them on the board and gestured to Claire again. “Which sacraments can happen multiple times?”\n“Eucharist, Reconciliation, and Anointing of the Sick. Marriage, too, if the first spouse dies and there’s no divorce.”\nFather Michael clicked his tongue. “Technically true,” he said, although he looked disappointed in how thoroughly Claire answered him.\n“Father?” Sarah raised her hand partway. “Would it be possible for someone to experience all seven sacraments? Like, what if someone got married and their spouse died - could they join the priesthood or become a nun?”\nWe glanced at each other. None of us had thought of that before, and we started to whisper questions back and forth. It was a good question in a lesson where good questions were hard to come by. Unfortunately, Father Michael didn’t appreciate good questions.\n“Sarah Green!” He banged his fist on the table, we went silent. “Do not interrupt the class!”\nSarah went bright red. She sniffled a little and blinked a lot, but Father Michael ignored her. “Now - Marsha? Which sacrament is the most important?”\nMarsha looked startled. “Umm, Baptism? Because that’s how we join the Church?”\nHe shook his head, his eyes glittering. “No, that’s wrong. Gina? Which sacrament is the most important?”\nGina swallowed hard. “Reconciliation? Because that’s how we experience God’s forgiveness?”\nHe shook his head again, looking more and more delighted. “No, that’s also wrong. Doesn’t anyone know which sacrament is the most important?”\nI raised my hand. “Eucharist,” I said.\nFather Michael looked over. “Correct, Lucy, but you must wait until I call on you.”\nDespite the sweat collecting on the back of my neck, a shiver went down my spine. It was the closest I had ever gotten to being in trouble with Father Michael. My stomach felt queasy from this brush with delinquency, but there was also an uneasy confusion - was I really getting into trouble from answering questions correctly?\nClaire raised her hand and smirked. “Father Michael? Is Eucharist the most important because it’s a symbol of Christ’s sacrifice, or is it because we’re receiving His Body and Blood?”\nHe glared at her. “It is both - but Claire, you will also remember to wait until you are called.” \nBut Claire didn’t look away, and the two scowled at each other until, miracle of miracles, the bell rang.\nOur class filed into the chapel behind the younger grades. Unlike the classrooms, the chapel had air conditioning, but there were so many students in the pews that it didn’t seem to matter. I sat down between Sarah Green and Claire Abbott and felt my stomach rumble. Whoever thought it was a good idea to make us sit through Mass before we got to eat lunch was truly cruel.\nFather Michael was the celebrant. Our misbehavior must have been on his mind, because his homily was about obedience - obedience of faith and the obedience of wives. I gritted my teeth to keep from rolling my eyes, but judging from the squirming around me, I was the only one paying attention. Sarah was playing with a loose thread on the hem of her skirt, and Claire was counting the ceiling tiles while gnawing on a piece of gum. I felt sweat beading on my forehead and my stomach pinching from hunger. Combined with the dictatorship that passed for Religion class this morning, I was almost at the end of my rope.\nObedience of wives, I thought, feeling the anger burn inside my chest. What gives you the right to talk about women or marriage?\nI was still fuming when it was time for Communion. I had no desire to come face-to-face with Father Michael, but it was inevitable - everyone lined up for Communion, even if you weren’t receiving it that day.\nSarah was in front of me. She crossed her arms and shook her head. She walked away without receiving Communion, and I stepped up.\n“The Body of Christ,” Father Michael said solemnly, raising the round wafer.\n“Amen,” I said, reaching out with my cupped hands.\nAll I remember in that split second was wanting to get away from Father Michael as fast as I could. After yelling at me for giving correct answers, after trying to tell us what our roles were, after implying that we weren’t living up to who we were supposed to be - I couldn’t stand being next to him for a second longer. I turned and walked away, and I was a little past the altar when I tried to eat the host.\nIt was something that I had done hundreds of times - receive Communion, then eat it while walking back to my pew. It was something that I did without thinking, something that I had never really thought about. But that day, it all went wrong. Some wires got crossed, or maybe something misfired in my brain, because when I went to eat the wafer, I fumbled. I floundered. As if in slow motion, I saw the host slip out of my fingers and fall down, down, until it hit the floor.\nI stood frozen in my spot, dumbfounded by what just happened. I watched it land on its edge and, horror of horrors, roll away from me.\nI broke out of line and chased the wafer down, my heart beating like a hammer. My feet caught up with it first, though, and before I could grab it, I accidentally stepped on it. I heard the snap before I saw the two pieces laying on the floor like a cheap, broken trinket. With a fresh wave of panic washing over me, I snatched them up with shaking hands.\nI bolted back into the Communion line with the host in my sweaty palm and followed Sarah back to our pew. She had her back to me the whole time, and by some miracle, she hadn’t noticed the kerfuffle behind her. Once I was safely in my seat, I sank onto the fake leather kneelers and tried to remember how to breathe.\nWhat…what just happened?\nMy stomach lurched as my brain slowly made sense of the situation.\nI dropped the Body of Christ….\nClaire’s voice from that morning rang in my head: The most important sacrament…symbol of Christ’s sacrifice…His Body and Blood….\nAnd not only did I drop it, I stepped on it.\nAs I tried to wrap my head around it, I heard an odd choking sound. I looked up to see Claire Abbott kneeling next to me and shaking with barely-contained laughter. She had slapped her hand over her mouth to keep herself from bursting, but the tears that threatened to spill from her eyes showed that her self-control was tenuous at best.\nOf course. Claire stood behind me in the Communion line. She had seen the whole thing.\nShame burned my face as I stared at the tiled flooring. My arms and legs felt numb. This wasn’t something Father Michael taught us about in Religion class. This was something he would have yelled at us for interrupting class with - and here I was, feeling like the biggest troublemaker. This was way beyond chewing gum or speaking out of turn. I didn’t break a school rule - I defiled a religious sacrament.\nIt’s…kind of funny though? A tiny voice whispered in my head. \nIt was quickly drowned out by another: No, it’s not. You corrupted the symbol of His love and sacrifice.\nTears were prickling my eyes and my head was spinning when something squeezed my hand. I looked up to see Claire reaching over, her hand on mine. She was snickering, yes, but…it didn’t seem mean-spirited or cruel. Her eyes were kind - about to cry from laughing too hard, yes, but still kind. The look on her face was a little amused, a little bewildered, but mostly sympathetic.\nShe thinks it’s funny, I thought, and my heart surged at the possibility of comfort.\nShe winked, and that broke the dam. The first giggle came out of me like a hiccup, and from there, I also had to press a fist over my mouth to keep quiet. We quickly realized that we couldn’t make eye contact and not laugh, so we sat next to each other without looking at one another. For the rest of Mass, one of my hands held Claire’s, and the other hand clutched the broken Eucharist.\nWhen Mass was over, I could finally breathe a sigh of relief. I was ready to escape the chapel and run far, far away, but I’d settle on going to lunch. Before we could make our getaway, though, Father Michael stormed over.\n“Lucy Pomme and Claire Abbott - come with me, immediately!”\nI felt my stomach drop to my knees. The giggly solace I shared with Claire immediately disappeared. We followed Father Michael, still dressed in his green chasuble and white alb, into his office. He slammed the door behind us.\n“Never,” he cried, making both of us jump, “in my years have I ever seen such outrageous behavior from two young ladies.” Droplets of spit were flying out of the corners of his mouth, but somehow, it wasn’t funny. “Laughing during Mass! Do you think that this is a carnival? Do you think that this is a party? This is serious - this is our religion - and I never thought I would see this level of disrespect from two young ladies -”\n“I-I,” I started.\n“Do not interrupt me!” he roared. “I am not interested in your excuses -”\n“It was an accident!” I squeaked. I wished that I could melt into the floor.\n“I said not to interrupt me!” His dark eyes flashed like onyx, hard and cold. “You will be suspended -” \nSuspended. The word hit me like a train. I never chewed gum in class or came to school with a messy uniform. I answered questions during lessons and took Communion each week. I had never gotten detention before. How could I be suspended?\nMy insides felt like they had been liquified. If I opened my mouth, I was afraid I would vomit my organs onto the floor.\n“She said it was an accident!” yelled Claire. She balled her fists and stared directly into Father Michael’s eyes. Her face was flushed pink, and her chest was rising and falling quickly. “You don’t even ask us what happened, you just start yelling -”\n“I will not be spoken to in such a way!”\nAll the strength left my knees and all the air was squeezed out of my lungs. The room seemed to be twirling like a merry-go-round, and I didn’t realize that I was crying until I felt hot tears streaming down my face.\nClaire, though, wasn’t crying. She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. “Father Michael, go fuck yourself.”\nHe stumbled backwards as if he were hit. He flailed and grabbed his desk, utter shock upon his face. Everything was silent for a few seconds, until -\n“Expulsion, Claire Abbott. I will be calling your parents - both of your parents. Now!”\nHe led us to the principal’s office, where he made his indignant case about our scandalous behavior. We weren’t given the chance to defend ourselves. Our parents were called to come pick us up, and we waited for them in the hallway outside the office. We could hear the occasional phone call and the secretary typing away, but otherwise, it was quiet.\n“Hey,” Claire whispered.\nI looked up and wondered how she could look so calm in a moment like this.\n“You still have the Eucharist?”\nI opened my palm. It was a little soggy and damp, and it looked like it had been through hell, but I had both pieces.\n“I was thinking,” she said, “that maybe you could say you’re sorry?”\nI shook my head. “I don’t think that he wants to hear from me.”\n“No,” Claire said. “Not Father Michael. Him. Tell Him that it was an accident and that you’re sorry.”\nI looked down at the mangled wafer in my hands and back up at Claire. I had forgotten about it in all the commotion, and I realized that Father Michael hadn’t even mentioned it. Did he not realize what had happened during Communion?\nShe smiled gently. “I think He would understand.”\nThe secretary poked her head out of the office door. “Claire Abbott? Your parents are here.”\nClaire stood up and sighed. “See you someday, maybe,” she said with a small wave, and left.\nI stared down at the host. I had some reservations about eating something that had rolled on the ground, but the thought of throwing it out seemed so much worse.\n“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I’m really sorry. It was an accident. I don’t really know what happened - but I’m going to try really hard to make sure it doesn’t happen again. I hope you understand that I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.” I made the sign of the cross, and ate the wafer. I felt a little better - mostly relieved, but also lighter, somehow. Like I could be forgiven.\nI was suspended for three days. After I begged and begged, my parents agreed that they wouldn’t send me back to that school. I didn’t return to finish the school year, and for the rest of high school, I went to the local public school instead. In the months after my last day at Our Lady of Perpetual Help, my family found another church to attend. By the time I graduated from high school, though, I had stopped going to Mass altogether.\nI never heard from Claire Abbott ever again. In the years following high school, I would try to look her up online, but it was nearly impossible to tell which of the dozens of Claire Abbotts were mine. The last time I ran into Sarah Green, she swore that she heard Claire Abbot became a nun. I’m not sure that I believe it, but for everyone’s sake, I hope that rumor is true." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Mom&son's and sun\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1077\n\nPrompt:\n\nBegin your story with somebody watching the sunrise, or sunset." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Mr Sun\nOh, Mr sun, sun, mr golden sun,\nPlease shine down on me.\nOh, mr sun, sun, mr golden sun,\nHiding behind a tree.\nThese little children are asking you,\nPlease come out so we can play with you.\nMr sun, sun, mr golden sun,\nPlease shine down on me.\nOh, Mr sun, sun, mr golden sun,\nPlease shine down on me.\nOh, mr sun, sun, mr golden sun,\nHiding behind a tree.\nThese little children are asking you,\nPlease come out so we can play with you.\nMr sun, sun, mr golden sun,\nPlease shine down on, please shine down on,\nPlease shine down on me.\nStella saying this rhyme with her kids and enjoying their selves at the beach by watching sunrise in the morning.\n beach is the best place to everyone of us we like, by watching that place we feel ourselves happy and joyful. People who don't like how to swim they all like to sit there and enjoy the view.\n this is the story going on mother and sons who are enjoying their holiday trip.\n Cherry asking question about sunset and sunrise. Mummy why daily Sun coming and going. What is sunset and sunrise.\n then, Stella told sunset and sunrise represent our lives__ how they begin which sunrise, and how they end with a sunset. When the sun rise represents birth and rebirth. While the end of the day represents the end of a journey.\n and also she is saying by watching sunrise and sunset gives you a better sense of gratitude for the earth. When you are caught up in the natural beauty of the earth( like a sunset), you get rid of yourself of any distractions and feel higher levels of satisfaction and gratitude for what is happening in front of you.\n oh, because of sun we are getting energy, happiness mom? Cherry asked that question.\n mom told, absolutely my son.\nThen lucky asked, how we will get energy mom?\nThen Stella replied.... Healing. The sun can recharge you. It is composed of ultraviolet light which the body needs for optimum health. The sun stimulates the production of melanin, stimulates the metabolism is good for helping glands that take care of internal secretion.\n because of Sunlight, we can get, peace, beauty, gratitude, healing, natural source of vitamin D, good for nervous system, produces the incidence of major diseases.\n great mom, because of sun we are getting this many benefits without paying money to sun, wow so great mom.\nThen mom thought, Cherry and lucky are sleeping up to eight o'clock in the morning. So I need to make them to woke up at 6 o'clock daily.\n then she continued, by telling not only with sun, we can get some more benefits in our lives lucky and Charan....\nis it? What it is mom? Both asking enthusiastic way.\nThen mom replied....\nWatching the sunrise this is a great way to welcome the day! If you move into a mind set of gratitude while watching the sunrise, you are setting yourself up with positive energy to help motivate your day. And also some studies saying it is good for your eyesight also.\n rising early helps set up proper meal time for optimal energy levels. When we rise early, we tend to eat breakfast earlier, which leads to & earlier lunch and supper. It is better for digestion to eat early in the evening. So Your Body Can digest food properly.\nrising early also assists in getting hey good night sleep.\nMaking a simple change, such as Rising with the sun can make an enormous impact on daily life.\n ok mom, I know mom, you woke up early in the morning, that is why you are always charming and feel like energetic. We both also want to change our woke up time. \nThen mom felt happy about the decision....\nI love you sweethearts...\nGod's creation to humans is like that my sons, God created everything for our best. After creation he felt it is best. Best always best. Woke up early in the morning and watching the sunrise enjoying our day positively and end up with sunset I am taking rest.\n mom, why sunset.... Because of sunrise we have so many benefits with sunset set also we have benefits?\nYes my son's... Sunset also known as Sun down.\nThe time in the evening when the sun disappears/ Daylight fades.\nWatching sunset helps you feel more energized. Watching Sunset helps to slow down your perception of time. Watching sunset helps you feel more satisfied with life.\nHuman body should go on with both sunset and sunrise both are giving equal benefits...\nSunset have more psychological effects that enhance long lasting satisfaction of life photo and physical benefits and have proven to relieve stress.\nEvery sunset is an opportunity to reset....\nThere is a sunrise and sunset every single day and they are absolutely free.....\nDon't miss so many of them....\nmom, today we learnt a lot about Sun..\nThank you mom...\nmom, daily we are staying in home in between walls, like robots.... We build our house with so much money... Watching TV, playing with friends......so on....\nBut more than those we are getting peace and happiness here.\nHere we are not sitting in between walls...\nBut we feel happy here....\nGod's creation was so beautiful mom...\nHe gave everything the best.\nThanks for the valuable words mom. We love you( Cherry and lucky cherished happily with mom)\nThe played sand castle, running, jumping, swimming, catching of fishes.... and playing with other people without knowing them.\n........ They had their snacks and slept sometime there and at the end of the day return to home. Kids were so happy and also devar tired. They slept fast on their beds.\nThen stella felt happy about the day and felt glad about her sons, and later.....\nBefore sleeping she wrote her dairy....about the day she spent with kids...\nand she wrote a poem like...\nthe star around which the Earth moves\n& that provides light and heat for the earth..\nO Sun, before humans God created you.\nYour colour is white....\nBut, you emits all colours of rainbow,\nunder the illumination of Sunlight...\n you are representing new beginning and hope,\nlike Flowers representing purity and beauty...\nYou are representing our life's also...\nYou are coming and going make us happy...\nGod, you gave the best to us...\nThank you God..\nFor the world so sweet." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on 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 Minion's Grail....\n\nGenre: christian\n\nWord Count: 1155\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story that includes the line “my lips are sealed.”" }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "WTF--\"With The Family\". Janelle was ready for the family vacation. She was holidaying with her husband Jack, the jokester. They were driving to the Lakeside Holiday Inn. Janelle and Jack were not planning on a second honeymoon. They were taking along, in their large car, their five daughters, and her late mother's old apricot poodle, Beau.\nJanelle and Jack's daughters were a geographical lot. Ranking in order of age, they were as follows. Africa, aged 12, ( really born 40 years old); Georgia, 9 years old; Nevada, aged 7 years, Savannah, now six years old, and the youngest, Montana, now fully five years old. Janelle had always loved map reading.\nSo, the WTF vacationers set off, all aboard, buckled up. \"I really want to go on a holiday with my best friend,\" moaned Africa, sulking. \"So do I,\" thought Janelle, but silence is her best option. \"My lips are sealed. Africa had started budding, and no longer regarded boys as a waste of space. Scary.\nThe road ahead was clear, the rest of the family were quite chirpy. Savannah and Montana were coloring their \"Frozen\" books, all good. Then Nevada shrieked, \" Beau's dead!\" The WTF vacation pulled over to the side of the highway. Poor little Beau lay motionless on the floor, no longer snoring.\nHysterics ensued from Janelle's five junior drama mamas. Tears rolled, inconsolable. Jack the jokester pulled a small shovel from the boot of the car. He began digging. \"Don't worry, girls, we'll give him a proper funeral.\" Janelle laid little Beau in his small grave.\nMiracles happen. Beau immediately arose like Lazarus, and nipped Janelle on her arm, as usual. He had never liked Janelle. The feeling was mutual. The roadside funeral was cancelled, as the ball of fluff widdled on the front tire of Jack's pride and joy, his car.\nThe girls all giggled. Drinks and snacks were shared. Then, naturally, Jack the jokester had to drive them to a restroom at a Roadhouse. All aboard again for the WTF vacation. Suddenly, a query from Savannah. \"Where's Georgia?' \"WTF\" said Janelle, craning her neck to check, \"Jack, we left her at the Roadhouse!\"\nWheelies ensued. By the time the WTF vacationers reached the Roadhouse, Georgia was in tears again, hiding in the restroom. Off again, heading down the highway. \"Mum, I feel sick!\" yelled Nevada, closely followed by Montana. Janelle issued bags. Yes, the WTF vacation had packed their stomach bug. \"Barfarama in the back!\" joked Jack. \"Funny ha,\" thought Janelle. Again, silence was her best option. \"My lips are sealed, \" she thought.\nJack tried to hold her hand. \"We might have a son next.\" \"More funny ha!\" thought Janelle. Was he only after ONE THING? She could hear her mother talking silently. Janelle was always good at map reading. Jack was not. Some time later, as the oil light started blinking on the car dashboard, Janelle summoned her courage. \"Honey, you were supposed to turn right two hours ago. \"WTF!\"\nAll perfectly normal for Janelle's vacations. WTF! Funny ha! She realized as a people pleaser that she was not supposed to tell a male how to drive, let alone where to turn. Never mind, the intrepid family finally made it to take their lake destination. It was nearly dark by now, but they unpacked and sorted their daughters' sleeping bags on all the bunks.\nJanelle realized that she and Jack were making happy family memories for their growing family to treasure. But it was all a bit third world, sleeping in bunks, cooking over open fireplaces, minimal refrigeration, inadequate ablution facilities. Janelle zipped her lip ,everyone was hungry again. \"My lips are sealed,\" she told herself.\nJack always seemed to have two missions in life. One was to breed more junior church people for his faith. His second quest, like a grail, was to find and eat the perfect hamburger. Home cooked never quite made it, in Jack's opinion. So, after unpacking, the explorers all piled into the wheels again.\nJack drove into the gloaming to the nearby township, dodging other vacation traffic. Janelle spotted the good old fashioned rustic hamburger shop. The menu was a bit limited, but she was used to Jack by now. The burgers here were made on the spot, no golden arches. The beef patties were grilled just so, the bacon added a crispy touch, fried eggs were added.\nJack and his family scoffed them down, sitting on a seat nearby. It was cooking the traditional way. Cans of fizzy drinks were emptied. Then Janelle and her family were driven back to the lakeside park. Jack did give the lakeside hamburgers his AAA rating. It was a pattern, everywhere Jack and Janelle went in life, there was a quest for the ultimate burger.\nEventually, the penance of the WTF vacation was over, there had been swimming, canoeing, splashing, children shrieking, parents meeting and greeting, socializing in hot summer nights. Janelle's back was aching by then, occasionally sitting down in a camp chair, hoping no one drowned in the lake. Jack drove his family to all the local rustic burger shops.\nArriving home, Janelle quickly resumed loads of washing, avoiding any more non-immaculate conceptions. She wondered why she was so impatient for all her family of growing girls to grow up and get their own pads. The seasons turned, the years did pass, did time have wings?\nJanelle sipped her limited allowance of daily coffee intake. Now she was widowed and old, Africa had recently summoned her adult sisters, and had a family conference. As a result, Janelle,had been relocated to senior residential facility, with some family photos and minimal storage space. She now lived near Africa's house. Africa and her husband had gone on a luxury holiday, definitely not camping. Janelle was not invited.\nThe rest of her daughters had scattered. Somehow, no one went camping again. Jack had passed quite young. It was the raw hand of fate. Janelle realized now that she should have not been such a doormat, following her husband's quest. She read of minions, and had a quiet chuckle.\nThese days, even where she was living, she made her own minion fun. She had been searching all her life, for a vacation with her best friend. It had been a quest, like her grail. Now she was tired, her life was one life holiday. Janelle attended weekly prayers and church services, enjoying the old hymns, meeting some other residents.\nYes, this was her minion's holy quest. Jesus had been her best friend through thick and thin. All his gifts had been for Janelle's giving, she had sprinkled kindness through her life. She was still there, on vacation. Her life was still for the living, enjoying her simple pleasures and happy memories, past a mysterious veil of faith. Janelle smiled, tonight's menu for the residents was hamburgers. One with the lot! \"My lips are sealed,\" she told herself." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Night Sun\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 2994\n\nPrompt:\n\nBegin your story with somebody watching the sunrise, or sunset." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Andy rolled over, pulling the light quilt along with him, then yanking it over his head like a monk’s cowl. The room was filled with dazzling lemony sunlight though it was only seven or so in the morning. And Saturday! \n\n‘Darn, not again,’ Andy thought, ‘I know I closed those curtains before getting into bed last night.’ He peeked an eye out from his blankey-cave and turned curiously back towards the window. \n\nAs usual, the cheery cacophony of bird voices wafted in through the east facing window. He recognized just about all of them, a hobby of his: the sweet peeping of house wrens, the singsong warbling of colorful goldfinches and the repetitive trilling of magpies. The entire symphony of birds didn’t disturb his rest in the least, even the obnoxious jay's raspy, ‘cheeeeeep’ that punctuated the melodies like an out of tune tuba. He found the morning birdsong to be as meditative as the night’s, though the night had the added bonus of crickets and his favorite, owls.\n\nThe sleep stealing culprit was Ralph, his dog. He’d pulled the entire right side of the curtain aside and was staring out into the yard. \nRalph was a scruffy Jack Russell terrier with a mind of his own and a personality as delightful as a basket of baby chicks. Andy’s mom said he must be part cat, because he was master of ‘the art of selective deafness.’\n\n“Oh Ralphie, not again,” moaned Andy. “It’s too early. And Saturday. Lemme sleep some more.”\nRalph was a statue except for one brief ear flicker. \n“Know you hear me,” Andy said as he turned all the way over to observe his dog. “You’re so weird.” He mumbled. “Great. Now I gotta pee.”\nThe ten-year-old boy grabbed a hoodie from the bedpost and sleepily sluffed into it. It was two weeks from summer vacation and would be hot out by 9am, but at seven, it was chilly. He pushed his feet into his plush red Angry Bird slippers and headed for the door. “You comin? You wanna go out?”\n\nThe small white and brown dog at last tore his gaze from the window and turned his deep chocolate eyes to his boy. As usual he was grinning, and Andy’s annoyance melted away like butter in a hot iron skillet. Ralph cocked his head the way Jack Russell’s do, just like the one in that old RCA ad with the phonograph. Andy knew the logo art was called, ‘His Master’s Voice’ because he collected memorabilia and stuff regarding that particular breed of dog. \nThe choice of dog breed had been his. After careful consideration, much googling and wikapedia-ing, Andy decided the smarter the dog the better. \nHe knew a smart dog would catch on to training and tricks faster than a dumber breed. The size, about 18 pounds when full grown, was perfect too, he could take Ralph just about anywhere. \nAdded bonus- not only was Ralph allowed to sleep on Andy’s bed, he did not hog it either. \n\n“Maybe a dumber dog would have been better.” He teased Ralph, “A big goofy Irish Setter or something.”\n Ralph cocked his head the other way as if trying to figure out what his boy was saying.\n“C’mon Ralph.”\nThe pup knew what that meant and decided it was his window of opportunity to go outside and pee.\n\nAfter letting Ralph out the back door, Andy went back down the hall to use the bathroom. When he was done, he knew he was up for good. He returned to his room and grabbed yesterday’s cargo shorts off the floor. They had some grass stains- he and his chums had played red rover during their lunch break- but he didn’t care. He put on a fresh tee-shirt though, relishing the cleanly scented cotton and the softness of many washes.\n\nMom had left a note on the kitchen table, ‘Andy, here’s $10. Please get milk and oj. Love M’, complete with her signature smiley-face. He stuffed the ten in his pocket and did the math automatically- 3.50 for oj, 3.00 for milk…he’d have 3.50 left for himself. That was always the deal. ‘You fly, I buy, keep the change kid.’\n‘Cool’, he thought. I can get a new deck of cards. He’d been practicing cards tricks for a month and his old deck had too many bent corners and was missing one of the jacks.\n“C’mon Ralph, goin’ to the store…” he kept his voice down. Mom had worked a double the night before and relished a good sleep as much as he did.\n\n\nIt had been a good day. Full of fresh air and bicycle races with Richie and Sam, his two best friends. Bird watching in the woods behind their house, Andy enjoyed pointing out various breeds and calls. The grassy, woodsy scent of summer a constant reminder that school would be out soon. \nA lot of kids in Andy’s grade were gamers. Even if Andy’s mom could afford a game console – the cool kind- he pretty much thought all video games were a humongous waste of time. Besides, all the gamers had pasty skin, often decorated with premature pimples, and pale doughy bodies. He figured in about a hundred years, gamers would be a whole different genus of human being. They didn’t even speak the same language.\nHitting softballs and playing cowboys, his bike his horse and Ralph as his fearless sidekick, was more his style. Playing spacemen was another favorite.\n\nThat night, Mom set up the tv trays in the living room. Every Saturday night they watched Svenghoulie together while eating hungry man dinners. \nThere’d be pudding or jello for dessert too, with cool whip! The old-timey movies were awesome, usually black and white, and always creepy. The narrator, Svenghoulie, was hysterical!\n\nMom said, “Oh! I remember this one! Actually saw it in a drive-in.” Tonight’s movie was The Blob, and as usual she added, “You sure this won’t give you nightmares?”\n“No Mom, I’m cool.” He said, eyes glued to the outdated tv set, “Ralph will protect me.”\n\nTwo hours later they said goodnight, did their nighttime bathroom rituals, and went to their rooms. Andy left the window open but closed the curtains snugly. \nMom and son went to church on Sundays, but service wasn’t until 10am. They'd agreed to sleep in until 9, skip breakfast, and eat a big lunch afterwards. Maybe even a picnic by the shady pond in the woods.\n\nAt 7am shards of brilliant sunlight battered Andy’s eyelids, his inside view was bright orangey-red. The Blob in his dream vanished like the Cheshire Cat, the last part of the hungry creature to faint into invisibility was a mouthful of shark’s teeth. (In Andy’s nightmares, all the monsters had shark’s teeth, stained crimson and dripping with stringy saliva.)\n\n“Ral-phieeeeeee…seriously?” He whined to the dog, who once again was sitting in the window, the sunlight streaming around him like the bright ethereal luminescence of God’s robes.\nRalph sat still as a grave marker, staring out into the woods.\n“Ugh.” Grunted Andy as he rolled over, putting the warmth to his back.\n\nAndy sat at the kitchen table while his mom finished up loading the picnic basket- tuna sandwiches, potato chips for him, Smart Food popcorn for her, sliced apples, with caramel sauce for dipping. “Ralph’s been super weird lately.”\n“Wierder than normal?” She asked.\n“Well, yeah. He does this thing where he opens the curtain and stares out the window…,” Andy said, then added, “He’s done it for over a week now. He just sits there, looking at the forest, doesn’t move at all when I call him…“\n“That Selective Deafness Cat Syndrome, eh?” she said, not suppressing a grin.\nAndy didn’t smile back. \nHer grin faltered, then withered all together. \nAndy said, “And, it’s exactly seven every time. It’s totally creeping me out...” His voice wavered as he looked down at the hands wringing in his lap. \nHis mom came over then, concerned more for Andy than the dog. “Would you feel better if we took him to see the vet?”\n“Mom, we can’t afford that. Besides the vet won’t find anything physically wrong.” Andy sighed, “Maybe an exorcist…”\nThis time his mother had a hard time suppressing a laugh, she had to bite her cheeks. She let out a gush of relief when Andy tittered a bit himself. \n“How about the next time he does his weird window- staring thing you come get me? I wanna see this thing for myself. Then we’ll take it from there. It’s probably just a phase…or a cat-thing. They’ve been known to freak people out by staring at closets and whatnot.”\n\nThat night, Andy again closed the curtains. He thought about safety-pinning them shut but decided that he really wanted Mom to see the odd, creepy behavior.\n\nThe boy was rudely awoken by bright light pounding on his eyelids like a madman axing a door. His eyes felt puffy. He felt unnaturally weary.\n‘hope I’m not getting a cold,’ he thought. \nSomething was not right. The room simmered with wrongness. The curtain was open, the bright light dazzling. \n\nBut for the first time in a week, Ralph was not sitting there. \n\nAndy glanced at the vintage, black-faced Westclox on his nightstand, knowing it was 7am again. \nIt was 3am!\nHe sat bolt upright as if yanked up on puppet strings. His heart hammered like a ten-foot hummingbird. His flesh prickled, just like his shins had prickled when he had accidentally run through a patch of stinging nettles in the forest. \n\nThe light suddenly winked out, leaving spots in his vision. “I’m dreaming, that’s all. Just a crazy dream.” Andy reached down to the foot of the bed in the inky darkness.\n\nRalph was not there. \n\nThe bedroom door was still closed. The panicking boy leapt out of bed and stumbled over a sneaker, nearly braining himself on the windowsill. \nHe caught himself and leaned out on shakey arms as far as he could. ‘Ralph could have jumped out, it's only a one-story home. But why would he? He’s never done that before. That bright light had to of been a dream, right?’ \nWith mounting alarm, he realized there were no night sounds. The air was a dead lead curtain- no crickets, no whip-or-wills, no tree frogs- just nothing.\n\nHe screamed then, “MOM!!! MOOOOOOOM!!!”\n\nAndy slumped at the kitchen table. It was four in the morning. His small hands cradled a cup of warm milk. Through his nostrils, he sucked in great gobs of snot.\n\n“As soon as it’s light out- only an hour and a half- we go look for Ralph, ok?”\nAndy only nodded. \nShe had talked him out of going into the woods in the dark but had allowed him to search the small property with a flashlight. \nWhile her son searched outside, she had gotten into jeans, a sweatshirt, and her grubby old Vans. She braced herself for the dreadful cry of anguish, Ralph’s mutilated body discovered. \n\nShe flashed back to nine years earlier. She’d had a dog. She never spoke of him, no point really. Andy had been only one when Bernie died and had no memory of the kind and gentle beagle mix. The dog had been Joseph’s, but it was clear from the start, the sad-eyed pup was hers. \nJoseph was NOT a good man. Dogs know instantly, people can take decades. \nThe blood in her urine was the last straw. He beat her, he beat the dog. What would he do to their baby son? She had packed up her little Toyota with necessities, that included Bernie.\nShe’d found this small but cozy, clean home reasonably offered for rent. The tidy lot was a half-acre, with town just two miles away, and lush green woods edging the back of the property. Just the place a boy would be stoked to grow up in. When Andy was just past his first birthday, Bernie got himself killed.\nThe old kitchen door had had a doggie flap in it, Bernie came and went as he pleased. He never wandered too far. Marie-Claire had scolded him a few times at first, and he seemed content to rule the yard. He’d been about eleven and had not lost even an ounce of puppy essence, the one where every butterfly chase was the first. \nOne night a screeching, hissing sound woke her. The sound like a storage unit filled with Tasmanian devils! Then she’d heard Bernie’s frantic barks. Barks so unlike his normal beagle ululating. \nShe’d never forget the scream. She had had to find Bernie, though she had known he was gone. The tiniest flame of hope had flickered on, like a miniature lantern held by an elf. \nShe had found the body, ragged and bloody, gutted by sharp feral claws. The loss was a permanent hole punched in her heart.\n\nOn this terrible night, she empathized with her young son. But his wail of despair never came.\n\nAt the first light, Marie-Claire and Andy crossed the yard and tromped through the woods, sticking to the deer paths that wove through the dense vegetation like an enormous spider’s web. Each went a mile in different directions until all the forested land was covered. At 10am they’d tiredly given up.\n\nAt noon, Andy rode his bike into town. He peddled fast to keep his eyes dry, choking on sobs when he looked down- no spunky little sidekick, no best friend keeping pace. \nHe posted flyers all around town. Solicitation ads were strictly forbidden, even fined, but lost pet flyers were allowed, neighbors commiserated together. The sad boy asked any and all who’d listen, if they’d seen a wire-haired brown and white spotted Jack Russell Terrier. As townsfolk shook their heads dolefully, he pointed to his telephone number on the sheet, just in case.\n\nEvery day after school he rode through town, not really expecting any luck, but too restless to sit at home and dwell on his depression. \nAfter two weeks his hope petered out, like the last sliver of orangey sun dipping below the horizon.\n\nIt tortured her entire being- hearing her son softly sobbing every night as he sat by his window, his eyes straining to see a flash of white fur in the moonlight.\n\n“We’ll get another dog,” Marie-Claire said one morning at the table, then quickly added, “only when you’re ready of course.”\n“I keep expecting to see Ralph running up the driveway to greet me after school.” Andy said, fresh tears burning tracks down his baby-soft cheeks. \nThey both knew he wasn’t ready for a new dog; he knew she was trying to cheer him up.\n“That’s why you haven’t had Richie or Sam over isn’t it?” Mom intuition.\nAndy nodded, “It’s not that I’m afraid to cry around them. Richie was a wreck after Cooper died. I just don’t want them to feel bad. Sadness is uncomfortable to be around.” \nMom had to turn to her potato peeling then, her turn to only nod. \nHe sounded forty.\n\nThat night, Andy left his curtains open, as he did every night now. He still wondered about that weird light he had dreamed about at 3am. Deep down he knew it was connected to Ralph’s disappearance, but he chased those imaginative thoughts out of his mind like a mob armed with pitchforks. \nThoughts like that froze the blood of his body and brought the taste of bile to his throat. He dreamt of circular metal ships and big-eyed stick figures with shiny titanium shark’s teeth.\n\nMorning brightness pressed against his eyelids. \nWhen he realized it was not warm summer sunlight, his eyes flew open like pistol shots. It was unnaturally silent again, just as before- no crickets, no owl, no lullabying birds. It was just as it had been two weeks before and he knew when he looked at the clock it would 3am. \nHe was paralyzed with dread, while his guts vibrated like live wires. ‘Will they take me now too? And who, exactly, are they?’ \nHis room was northest Siberia, his toes in danger of frostbite and his teeth chattered like the windup ones they sold at the magic and gift shop. He turned and reached for the hoody on his bedpost. \n\nWhen he turned back to the brightly lit window,\nRalph was there! \nJust before the light winked out, Andy noted that Ralph was not statue-still this time. His stubby, sausage-like tail whapped uncontrollably against the floor making soft wup wup wup sounds. \n\nIn the pitch darkness, Andy whispered, “Ralphie?” \nRalphie was not cat-like either, he happily bounded over in two strides and leapt up to the bed. The crickets outside started up as Andy found the light-switch. He hugged Ralph so hard the dog made a wheeze and a yip.\n“Sorry boy, “said Andy. He looked into Ralph’s furry face…something was odd. But whatever it was eluded him, the small bedside lamp shed little light. Andy tilted the shade towards Ralph, but he still couldn’t put a finger on the oddness. \n“Where have you been?” Andy asked, agog with pure bliss- his best friend was home!\n‘The eyes!’ he thought. \nThey used to be such a dark shade of brown they looked black in low light. The dog’s eyes now swam with flecks of gold, the amber irises glowed as if not from the moonlight coming in in window, but from within the dog’s very essence. Genius eyes. He didn’t know what that meant, only that it felt right. Just like you knew Yoda was super smart before he even opened his little green mouth.\n\n“Did you have an exciting adventure?” Andy’s eyes widened with wonder as Ralph nodded. \n‘Freaky coincidence,’ thought Andy.\n“Where did you go? Oh, wait- that’s dumb. You can’t talk. Can you?”\nRalph shook his head left to right. \n“But you really do understand me, don’tchoo boy?”\nRalph nodded. Tail thumping on the quilt.\n“MOM!!! MOOOOOOOM!!!”" } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Healing Through the Grapevine\n\nGenre: christian\n\nWord Count: 3002\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about someone trying to track down the source of a rumor." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "\"Look, I'm not crazy,\" Adrian kept saying. He'd lost count how many times he'd echoed those words, and they hung in the air, heavy with his plea for understanding. His gaze landed on the man across from him - an emissary of worry and empathy. Adrian had figured out, right off the bat, that this guy wasn't here to buy an electric guitar. There was something about the weariness in his eyes, the lines of concern etched on his forehead, the sparse hair clinging to his scalp.\n\"Who put you up to this?\" Adrian asked him. \nThe man responded with a patient smile, handing Adrian a business card. Dr. James K. Davies, Board Certified Psychiatrist, it read, bearing his contact details. \"Here, take this. I know it's tough, but remember, there's help available. It can make a big difference.\"\nAdrian held the card, furrowing his brows. \"Help for what?\"\nJust as the doctor began to answer, Adrian cut him short, \"I'm not crazy,\" he insisted, \"If you're not buying, you can leave. I've got things to do.\" \nWith a nod, the doctor exited the shop, the door's chime ringing out his departure. Adrian was left in the shop, staring after him, his mind churning with thoughts. His eyes moved to Julie, his five-year-old daughter, who was happily tinkering with a piano. He thought about the past few months, the never-ending questions about his mental state, and how they all began after the bus accident. \nThey were simply on a holiday in the highlands of Kundasang when the bus skidded off the road and into a ravine. Fifteen people didn't make it that day, but Adrian and Julie had. He'd woken from a coma a month later to his family's worried faces and Julie playing with her playdough nearby, oblivious. That sight had stung him - it was as if they'd forgotten about Julie in their relief to see him awake. \nSince then, he'd been clinging to Julie like a lifeboat. Losing his wife Dianne during Julie's birth had already broken him. He couldn't bear the thought of losing Julie too. He understood it looked irrational, this constant fear, this refusal to let Julie out of his sight. But he wasn't crazy, just a man trying to mend a heart shattered by loss. \nAnger boiled up within him. Someone had set this up, had sent the psychiatrist to his shop pretending to be a customer. He needed to find out who. Why hadn't they just talked to him about their concerns instead of staging this intervention? He was struggling, sure, but wasn't returning to work a sign he was coping? Wasn't that evidence he was trying to move forward?\n\n***\n\nAt 6:30 pm sharp, Adrian turned the key in the lock of his small shop. It was different from his usual days that were spent cocooned in the safety of his home and the soothing tunes of his music store. Today, he felt a calling to go beyond that, to take Julie to Servay Hypermarket. He needed to prove to himself, more than anyone else, that he could face the world again.\nHis pantry was far from empty, kept stocked by the home delivery service he had been using for months. But this trip wasn't really about getting groceries. Adrian had decided it was time to eat out. He couldn't remember the last time he'd thought about doing something so normal, always held back by the fear of something bad happening. Maybe it was his constant anxiety that had his family and friends worrying about him. But he was ready to show them that he was doing just fine.\n\n***\n\n\"Daddy, what's that?\" Julie asked, her tiny finger pointing to the line of chilli sauce bottles on the shelf.\n\"That's chilli sauce, darling,\" Adrian answered with a warm smile.\nHowever, Adrian soon realised that fitting in wasn't as easy as he had hoped. As they moved from aisle to aisle, having their usual father-daughter chatter, they were met with curious, even confused, stares from other shoppers. Adrian felt the weight of their gazes, and it filled him with a sense of annoyance and disappointment.\nThe irritation only grew when they stopped at a restaurant for dinner. A waitress approached them, a look of concern on her face. \"Sir, are you okay?\" she asked. Frustrated, Adrian took Julie's hand and left the restaurant. Julie looked at him, her young face full of confusion. Adrian wondered how a five-year-old could understand the world's intricacies.\nDriving home, it hit Adrian. The gossip about his mental health had spread all over town. Every glance he received was filled with suspicion, sure of his alleged insanity. Furious, he began to speed, not realising his recklessness until he had to force himself to slow down, chiding himself for risking Julie's safety. The last thing they needed was another accident. Heaven forbid.\nOnce he had put Julie to bed with a soothing story, Adrian made up his mind. He would find out who was behind the rumours ruining his reputation. He was eager to confront them, to let loose the anger he'd been holding back. Maybe they had meant well, but their actions had only worsened his state of mind. He was determined to make them understand the damage they'd done.\nAs he sat in the quiet of the night, Adrian realised how powerful rumours could be. It was surprising how a single piece of gossip could mess up someone's life, its effects spreading out like ripples in a pond. People may think their words are harmless, just expressing concern. But they should be careful with what they say. Words had a way of leaving lasting impacts.\n\n***\n\nMorning found Adrian back in his well-worn groove, greeting the dawn with newfound hope. Shadows from his past seemed to recede, his peace genuine, regardless of prying eyes. Resolute, he hoisted the shop's shutter, its metallic protest piercing the silent air. He swung the door for Julie, his smile lighting up the chime-filled entrance.\nWarmth swaddled them as they entered the shop, the air thick and humid. The AC took its time, dragging the room down from a greenhouse. Finally balanced, Adrian flipped the sign— 'open'—a silent invite to the world. Julie, in her clockwork way, beelined for the piano—retired from sale, but not from duty. Her fingers pecked out a no-tune, then traded keys for crayons. Adrian beamed warmly. Today, something inside him tightened, love and protection for Julie tangling up with his newfound calm.\nSoon enough, two customers walked in – a lanky teenager and an older woman who shared his features. They gravitated towards the violins, murmuring to each other in hushed tones. Adrian, ever the amiable shop owner, approached them with a welcoming smile. \"Can I assist you?\" he proposed.\n\"We're in need of a violin,\" replied the woman.\n\"We've got plenty to choose from,\" Adrian started, but before he could continue, Julie tugged at his sleeve, a brightly coloured picture gripped in her hand. \"Just a second, sweetie. I'll be with you in a minute,\" he promised her.\n\"Alright, Dad,\" Julie chirped, skipping back to her spot at the piano.\nAdrian refocused on the customers, noting the teenager's discomfort and his mother's concerned glance. Picking up on the tension, the woman said, \"I heard about your accident. I hope you're getting the help you need.\"\nAdrian's heart dropped. Not this again. \"And what kind of help would that be?\"\n\"Oh, I'm sorry. It wasn't my place to ask. But—\"\n\"Leave!\" Adrian's patience had snapped. No matter how hard he tried, people still saw him as damaged.\nThe woman and her son froze in shock before they slowly started to move towards the door. But Adrian couldn't let them go without getting answers. \"Who told you about me?\" he asked, desperation seeping into his voice.\nThe woman met his gaze, but not a single word escaped her lips. Silently, she clasped her son's sleeve and led him out of the shop, leaving Adrian alone with his lingering questions, the truth eluding him once more.\n\n***\n\nFed up and worn thin, Adrian decided to close the shop early that day. It seemed that gossip about his supposed mental instability had spread like wildfire throughout the town, colouring the way each customer looked at him when they stepped into the store. Their persistent worry, their endless inquiries, had become too heavy to bear. Deep down, Adrian knew he was okay.\nIn his frustration, he realised he needed someone to talk to, to help lighten his load. He picked up his phone and dialled Gary's number, seeking comfort from his reliable friend.\n\"Hey, pal,\" Gary's voice sounded, a grounding presence in Adrian's emotional storm.\n\"Hi, Gary. Can we talk?\" Adrian asked, his words rushing out as he explained everything that had happened, the suspicious looks, and the shared belief that he had lost his mind.\nThere was a brief silence before Gary proposed, \"How about we meet at Daily Coffee?\"\nA wave of relief washed over Adrian, \"Okay, see you there,\" he said before hanging up. Looking at Julie's wide innocent eyes, he gently tousled her hair, his touch filled with quiet reassurance. \"We're going to meet Uncle Gary later,\" he told her with a gentle smile, hoping that the upcoming meeting might offer a break from the whirlwind in his head.\n\n***\n\n\"Say hello to Uncle Gary,\" Adrian told Julie as they sat down at an empty table at Daily Coffee. The café was thankfully quiet at this hour, a welcome break from the nosy looks and hushed whispers Adrian was getting tired of.\n\"Hi, Uncle Gary!\" Julie greeted, grinning ear to ear. \"Wanna see my colouring?\" she asked, showing him her colouring book, her innocent eyes filled with excitement.\nGary, although kindly, had a faraway look in his eyes, his attention not on Julie's beaming face or her colouring book but on his troubled friend. Sensing the heaviness of the conversation they were about to have, he suggested, \"Should we get our drinks first?\" Adrian nodded, grateful for the momentary distraction.\nWith their hot drinks in hand, Adrian's pent-up frustration began to boil over. \"I don't know who's been spreading these lies about me. It's too much.\"\n\"Slow down, Adrian,\" Gary said soothingly.\n\"How can I?\" Adrian shot back, his exasperation clear. \"What's so wrong with me? Look at me!\"\n\"I know you're okay,\" Gary replied, trying to ease the tension. \"Maybe people are just trying to be supportive.\"\n\"I don't need their support,\" Adrian replied harshly. \"They should help someone who really needs it. Someone worse off than me.\"\n\"Daddy, what does 'worse off' mean?\" Julie asked, interrupting the conversation.\nAdrian opened his mouth to respond, but Gary's words overlapped with Julie's, leaving him unable to discern what had been said. Gently rubbing Julie's shoulders, Adrian requested, \"Hold on a moment, sweetheart.\" He turned his attention to Gary and asked, \"Sorry, what were you saying?\"\n\"I was asking if you'd join me tomorrow,\" Gary clarified, sounding hopeful. \"I know you're not into church events, but we're having this New Life in the Spirit seminar at BTRC in Kundasang. It's a beautiful place, and there's one spot left. Don't worry, Julie can come too. I'll make sure they're fine with a kid attending.\"\nThe mention of Kundasang, a place filled with painful memories, made Adrian's head spin. \"Kundasang?\" he asked, surprised.\n\"Yes, I get why you're hesitant,\" Gary agreed, looking at him steadily. \"But isn't it time to make peace with the past? Maybe this is your chance to prove to yourself you're ready to face what happened.\"\nAdrian thought it over, his eyes landing on his daughter, who sat there looking like the bravest person he knew. Nervously, he asked Julie if she'd be okay going back to where they'd had a terrible accident a few months ago.\nTo his surprise, Julie's eyes sparkled with enthusiasm as she said, \"Yes! Let's go!\"\nA shy smile crept onto Adrian's face as he looked at Gary, both of them filled with anticipation. His little girl was showing more courage than he was. \"It seems like Julie's readier than I am,\" he confessed, feeling both amazed and grateful.\n\"What did she say?\" Gary asked, sounding excited. \"I'm sorry, I missed it.\"\nAdrian gave a soft laugh. \"She said yes.\"\nGary's grin got bigger as he said, \"Great. Pack everything up. We're leaving early tomorrow. I'll come get you.\"\n\n***\n\nThe winding road leading to Kundasang tested Adrian's mental fortitude. The scenic beauty of the endless greenery, the majestic pine trees, and the glorious presence of Mount Kinabalu, veiled by swirling cumulonimbus clouds, failed to impress him in the slightest. Instead, a cold sweat trickled down his forehead, causing a shiver to run through his body.\n\"Just shut your eyes and breathe,\" Gary suggested, placing a comforting hand on Adrian's arm.\nIn contrast, Julie was loving their journey. She sat in the backseat, moving from one window to the other, entranced by the magical highland scenery.\nWhen they finally reached BTRC, Adrian excused himself and hurried off to a bush-lined ravine. There, he was sick until all he could taste was the sour tang of bile in his mouth. Gary was there to help, rubbing Adrian's back in a soothing rhythm.\n\"There's a couch to rest on,\" Gary pointed towards a building where comfort beckoned through the doorway, accompanied by the welcoming smiles of two nuns behind a desk. \"I'll handle check-in and the keys.\"\nAdrian straightened up, still a little dizzy, but better. He walked slowly towards the entrance of the hostel. Julie, worried about her father, asked, \"You okay, Dad?\" Adrian nodded, taking in their surroundings. He noticed people of all ages attending the seminar, but Julie was the only child. He wondered if she would feel lonely in the coming days among all the grown-ups.\n\n***\n\nSometime in the afternoon, Adrian was awoken from his nap by a steady knock on the door. Half-asleep, he climbed out of bed to see Gary waiting. \"Get dressed,\" Gary said. \"We're starting our first session in the conference room soon.\"\n\"Alright,\" Adrian mumbled sleepily. \"Be there soon.\" He closed the door swiftly, exchanging his clothes and rubbing his face with his hands to chase away the remnants of sleep. Amidst his preparations, he noticed Julie engrossed in her colouring, sprawled atop their bunk. The chill of Kundasang made Adrian shiver as he grasped the cold metal frame. \"Get ready, honey,\" he called out. Julie smiled in response, immediately descending the ladder of the bunk bed.\nMoments later, on their way to the conference room, exchanging warm glances with others, Adrian was greeted by a friendly middle-aged nun who introduced herself as Sister Margaret. \"Shalom! Your name?\" she inquired.\n\"Hi, Sister. I'm Adrian.\"\n\"And who might this little pumpkin be?\" \n\"My daughter, Julie,\" Adrian answered. Sister Margaret's kindness reassured him that coming to the seminar had been a good decision. For the first time in a long while, someone had paid genuine attention to Julie. Adrian had occasional twinges of guilt for not sending her to kindergarten, a consequence of his protectiveness following the accident. The music shop he owned and operated was too adult-centric, where Julie often went unnoticed. \nAs expected, the first gathering encompassed briefings and overviews, unveiling the roadmap for the entire seminar. Each segment was punctuated by prayers and melodious worship songs. Adrian felt a lightness in his heart, unable to contain the beaming smiles he shared with Gary and Julie, who stood steadfastly by his side.\n\"Until later, brethren,\" Sister Margaret said, wrapping up the session. \"Dining hall for dinner, then back here. Tonight, we'll unlock the Holy Spirit's power.\"\n\n***\n\nThe night's session, aptly named Sanctifying Gifts, resonated with fervent prayers, echoed aloud by all attendees after they repeated the hymn Come Holy Spirit incessantly. Adrian couldn't deny the stirring within his soul, tears streaming unabated down his face.\nThe intensity of emotions heightened as others in the gathering began to worship in the divine language of speaking in tongues. Before Adrian knew it, he found himself dropping to his knees, his entire being consumed by sobs. Every burden that had plagued him for years—the death of Dianne, the terrible accident, the hurtful gossip about his sanity—found release as he poured his heart out, surrendering everything to God.\nMoments later, a gentle hand made contact with his head and shoulder. Even without opening his eyes, Adrian recognized the touch as that of Sister Margaret. \"Lord, protect this child,\" her voice reverberated, nearly drowned out by the collective singing and his own heartfelt sobbing. Her prayers continued, though Adrian struggled to make out the words amid the cacophony of sound.\nThen, Sister Margaret spoke softly in his ear, urging him to open his eyes. Obeying her request, Adrian scanned the room, his gaze ultimately resting on his daughter, Julie, whose face radiated an ethereal glow. Julie spoke, her words cutting through his shock like a blade. \"Daddy, Mommy's there! Just like your wallet picture!\"\nPanic seized Adrian's senses as his mind spun in disbelief, grappling with the meaning of Julie's words. But before he could gather his thoughts, Julie spoke again, her smile illuminating the room. \"Bye, Dad. We love you.\"\nInstantly, darkness took hold of Adrian as he tumbled backward, blacking out for the second time on Kundasang's soil, yet this time, he sustained no injury, simply conceding to the divine forces in motion.\n\n***\n\nDays blurred after the BTRC seminar, leaving Adrian lost in a windswept terrain with flat, engraved stones. With Gary by his side, leading him to a long-denied truth, Adrian braced himself for the overwhelming emotions as they drew closer.\n\"I love you,\" he vowed softly, his hand trembling against the memorials of Julie and Dianne.\nThen, he turned to Gary, a flicker of gratitude passing through his eyes. \"Thank you,\" he murmured, recognizing his newfound healing and readiness for the next chapter." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Marie Antoinette\n\nGenre: christmas\n\nWord Count: 2259\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a cynical character realizing they do have something to celebrate after all." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Squat, beige and Soviet, the Marie Antoinette Apartments stood against the stale gray Minneapolis sky. Irony of the worst kind, he thought, blandly ugly and unconscious. He would take exquisitely self-aware irony any day over this three-story architectural monstrosity, “classed up” with tacked on ionic Greek columns, harsh blue LED Christmas lights wrapped inexpertly around them, canned Christmas classics pumping through the air.\n\nGod, this place was only better than minimum security prison by a hair. But it was all he could afford now, so he’d just have to lower his eyes—and his standards—every time he approached. He tried to avoid the other people in the building, but a few of the near indigent souls, especially the family across the hall, insisted on pestering him with their lowbrow holiday cheer—the cheap gift of homemade cookies, the invitation of a seat at their dinner table on Christmas night on the flip side of a child’s crude drawing of a Christmas tree slipped under his door.\n\nAll this might have been more bearable if anyone he knew now understood why the Marie Antoinette Apartments pained his soul, filled him with righteous rage. He’d certainly never get that from his obtuse, court-appointed therapist, a small, garish woman whose office and clothing reeked of TJ Maxx. So, he amused himself by using up their fifty minutes complaining about how much he hated living there.\n\nHis fingers itched to blow the place up, her told her. To set it alight. She told him there were healthier ways to channel and examine his negative emotions so he could eventually let them go. He needed to think about what the Marie Antoinette represented to him, she told him, to look deeper, and to perhaps think about its positive attributes instead. \n\nThis made him laugh hysterically. How much deeper can I go than living inside the damned building? Should I dive into the meaning of my laminate, faux wood floors and Formica kitchen counters, the rancid smell of old cooking that oozes from the graying, cracked walls studded with nail holes and abandoned, archeological remnants of tape from all the miserable souls who inhabited the purgatory before me? How about the rust-stained, leaking toilet and body-oil-marked tub? Should I look for Rorshachs in its grimy patterns?\n\nThat’s not what I meant, she said quietly, and you know it.\n\nWell, I cherish my negative emotions, he said, suddenly tired. They’re the only things keeping me going these days.\n~\nNear morning a couple of weeks before Christmas, after one too many sleeping pills, he had a vivid dream. \n\nIt started out of focus as he dragged himself toward the Marie Antoinette, bearing his usual cloak of heavy, gray resignation and pushed hard against the main door, as he always had to. Only this time, the door sprang open and instead of jarring, cold Christmas music, warm strains of exquisite chamber music vibrated through him. All came into focus. The entryway had grown to twice its size, the gray, non-descript industrial carpet replaced with a glowing, mahogany parquet floor. Instead of aluminum mailboxes and a frameless wall mirror on either side of the narrow space, giant gilt mirrors reflecting golden candlelight and gold and cream fleur-de-lis silk wallpaper covered the walls. The walls heaved outward until the room became what it wanted to be--a grand palace ballroom, complete with gently tinkling, candle-lit chandeliers. A ballroom for him alone.\n\nThe effect was ostentatious but stunning, the way his ex-wife had decorated their homes in the city, on the island, at the lake, near the slopes—their homes for every preposition—all gone now. He dream-prayed he had died and gone to heaven. \n\nBut he awoke to the same ordinary life, the drab apartment, a shift at the same greasy job, and another boring session after it with his therapist, the only person he ever said more to than can-I-take-your-order-would-you-like-fries-with-that. A woman he would have sneered at, if not ignored, in his old life and would again someday when his luck turned. Would he tell her about his dream? He decided he would. It seemed safe enough, wasn’t about the past, the present, or even the future. It was just a dream.\n\nBut was it? As his workday dragged on, the customers who filed into the restaurant looked at him, smiling, with something more, it seemed to him, than mere pre-Christmas cheer. He began to wonder if the dream wasn’t a message. Maybe his luck was about to turn. He’d paid his dues after all.\n\nThat old feeling began to tingle again. \n\nBy the time his four o’clock appointment with TJ (as he’d taken to calling her, even to her face) arrived, he’d decided he must keep the dream to himself until he knew more. He had to get through the session, get home, eat a little something and take his sleeping pills.\n\nYou seem distracted today, TJ said late in the hour. Something happen this week?\n\nSame old, same old. Same crappy job, same crappy apartment. He shifted his gaze to the pressed board Believe! plaque near the window before she could read him, but she was astute, this small, tacky woman. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her cock her head.\n\nYou’re not complaining like you usually do. Did something change?\n\nLike I said, nope. Maybe I’ve adjusted to living in a shithole, I dunno. He attempted to give her an aw shucksgrin, but felt his face contorting in weird ways, so he scrambled to throw her a bone.\n\nHave I told you about my neighbors across the way? He leaned back and sneered, coming up with an awful lie. I’d swear to god she’s killing him sometimes, and, man, I wish she’d succeed so I can get some rest. What do you think it means, doc, that I don’t care if he dies?\n\nTJ sighed and drummed her red fingernails on her thigh. It’s clsoe four-fifty, she said. Let’s just pick this up next week. \n~\nThe dream started the same as before. Heavy quotidian dread as he approached the stunted building, growing excitement and wonder as it opened to a Versailles-like hall of mirrors. But this time, the hall was filled with people, giant people, people twice his height, in silken, 18th century finery, swirling and spinning around the room, wind-up dolls in white wigs with faces he recognized. His old clients, wealthy people he’d cheated and stolen from for years, people he’d fooled into being his friends. People from the life he wanted back desperately. \n\nHe tried to speak, to get their attention, but nothing came, not even air. As he watched, the dancers grew larger. Wait, no—he grew smaller. He was shrinking, becoming more and more insignificant. An insect. A speck. Dirt.\n\nHe would always be dirt.\n~\nHe stumbled through the rest of the week, his nights vast and dreamless. TJ seemed surprised to see him in the waiting room early but said nothing. He sat on her couch, cleared his throat. I had this dream, he said. That my building became a palace, but one I will never have access to again. His voice shook. \n\nShe handed him the tissue box. Yes. \n\nHe gave her a brief description of the dream.\n\nWhat do you think it means? she asked. \n\nIsn’t that your job?\n\nNo, she said simply, and crossed her arms, waiting.\n\nI guess…I don’t think I’ll ever again have the life I had before. I don’t think, he said, swallowed, I deserve it.\n\nNo, she said again, not clarifying what she meant, which oddly, made him feel more respect for her. \n\nSo, what now?\n\nThat’s up to you. \n\nWell, a hint might be nice, he whispered, wanting to scream. He swallowed you are my damn therapist after all.\n\nOkay. What do you miss most about your old life? Not from in here. She tapped her head. Not ego. From here. She tapped her chest. Heart. What do you really miss?\n\nHe shook his head. I dunno. Without those things on the table, nothing. I mean, I don’t have kids, my ex-wife was a money-grubbing bitch, and my friends…shit, I didn’t really have those. Maybe luck? But that’s not what you mean either. I know what you’re getting at, but you’re barking up the wrong tree.\n\nShe smiled, the first full smile he’d seen from her since they’d met, before she’d gotten to know him. I don’t think so. I think you’re getting somewhere. Maybe your dream was telling you more than you think. Like I’ve said before, dig deeper, go further. The answers are there, inside that building and inside you.\n\nHe choked back a snarky whatever Obi Wan, and nodded at her. Glancing at the clock above the door, he stood, smoothing his sweaty palms against his jeans.\n\nHold on. She held up a finger and smiled again. I have something for you.\n\nHe stared, not comprehending. She turned to fish something out of a paper bag then turned back, holding out a flat package wrapped in green tissue paper and red curly ribbon. Of course. Christmas was only four days away.\n\nHe stammered, cheeks reddening, I didn’t get you anything. He didn’t know why he was embarrassed, which only made him blush harder.\n\nShe laughed. I was not expecting you to. Don’t worry about it, it’s no big deal. Merry Christmas.\n\nMerry, yeah, he said, looking down at his name, Jeb, in black marker on the paper, an inexpertly drawn holly leaf and berries below it. A feeling spread, not altogether unpleasant, replacing ungenerous thoughts about the cheesy gift she’d likely procured at TJ Maxx. \n\nThank you, Geraldine, he mumbled and bumbled out the door.\n~\nHe worked Christmas Eve day, took the bus and trudged home as the sun set again too early, the day again too short, carrying his fast-food dinner and a bottle of California pinot noir he’d splurged on. It was only four, but it felt like midnight, and his near unfurnished apartment felt more featureless and tired and depressing than prison ever had been. Because it was his choice to leave it so, he realized.\n\nHe had nowhere else to go, so he busied himself with eating and drinking, the food cold and congealed, and the wine’s mediocrity disappointing. Folding up the empty, redolent burger paper and fries’ box, he glanced at the present Geraldine had given him, still unopened on the kitchen counter. He wasn’t sure whether he’d saved it because it was his only gift, or because he didn’t really care about it. Either way, he might as well open it now.\n\nHe washed his greasy hands in the kitchen sink and poured another glass of wine. He picked up the gift and carefully untied the red ribbon, did his best not to tear the green paper as he picked at the tape, then slid the paper away. \n\nNot a tacky nothing after all, but a green, leatherbound book, like the ones his ex-wife had bought by the shelf load from antiquaries to decorate their homes, curated for color and size rather than content. But this wasn’t inert decoration. It was chosen for him to read. \n\nHe snorted. Crime and Punishment. He knew the gist of the story, though he suspected he’d have to read it to get the nuances she intended. Funny, he found himself looking forward to it. \n\nHis doorbell rang. Book in hand, still smiling with surprised respect for Geraldine, he answered the door to find the frazzled woman from across the hall. \n\nHi. Jeb, right? Her grin was crooked, a little shy. Infectious. He nodded, and she said, Marissa. You never responded to our invite to dinner for tomorrow evening. Can you make it? We’d be glad to have you. We’re making turkey with all the fixings. A couple other neighbors are coming.\n\nHe considered this only a moment, tasting the oily coating of his pitiful dinner as he licked his lips. You know what, yes, Marissa. I’d be honored. Can I bring anything?\n\nJust yourself. She grinned again. Six o’clock sharp, if that’s okay, because of the munchkins’ early bedtime.\n\nSure, he said, finding himself grinning in response. Six.\n\nGreat. She glanced at his book, then inside the doorway at his near bare apartment. Looks like a bookshelf is in order, hunh? Maybe even a sofa? She laughed.\n\nHe couldn’t help but laugh with her. Yes, he said. It’s time. Again, that soft, warm lightness pushing out something hard and heavy he hadn’t even known was there. What was it? \n\nOnly later, while lying on his secondhand mattress on the floor, after he’d read the long first part of the leatherbound book about young, impoverished Raskolnikov scheming and rationalizing his decision to murder a pawnbroker for her money, did it come to him. Like Raskolnikov, he'd lost something along the way. Something essential and tender that had shriveled to a hard stone inside him once he began to drip Ponzi-scheme money. Something poor-little-rich girl Marie Antoinette likely never knew her entire tragic, gold-plated life.\n\nThat night he dreamt again, a simple dream. The Marie Antoinette Apartments remained an ugly, pedestrian building, but he entered with lightness, that warmth down to his bones. He greeted neighbors in the lobby by name, delivered groceries to the housebound old lady down the hall, went into his simply but warmly furnished apartment to make himself a nourishing meal. \n\nChristmas morning, he leapt out of bed. If he was lucky, he might find gifts for the children across the hall before noon." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on 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 Match Made in Heaven\n\nGenre: christian\n\nWord Count: 2543\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character having a spiritual experience at a concert or a nightclub." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "A Match Made in Heaven\n\nHenry made ordinary people look extraordinary. He was as nondescript as they come- 33 years old, medium height, slightly overweight, thinning hair, 1 and ½ years of college, no accomplishments in the field of sports, the arts, or any other measurable aspect of human endeavor. He lived in a two-bedroom apartment with a high school buddy, drove a Ford Focus, managed a shift at a small auto parts distributor, watched a lot of TV, and had dinner with his mom every Wednesday. There wasn’t a single thing that…oops, maybe one thing did set Henry apart from other young men in similar circumstances. He regularly attended Sunday Mass.\n“Let’s go, Henry! Sometimes Victor’s gets so crowded they shut the doors!”\nVictor’s, one of the more popular nightclubs in town, was a regular stop for men on a quest to find love…or at least rewarding companionship…or, well, likely for most men, a quick and meaningless release of manly urges. But that love thing, a rare outcome for Victor’s patrons, was always Henry’s target wherever they went. His only ambition in life was to find true love of the Wesley and Buttercup variety and spend his days as a loyal husband and a good dad.\n----------\n“I don’t know why we even come to this place, Steve. We’re like ‘O’ for 10,000 going to places like this. And it’s so loud in here.”\nThere is a natural sliding scale in life that applies to situations like this. Harsh as it may seem, values are affixed, perhaps only subliminally, by all and to all in attendance in bars and nightclubs, and patrons tend to stay in their own lanes. Okay, I’ll be blunt. A “two” doesn’t go after a “ten”, and a “ten” is not going to welcome the attention of a “two” with open arms. You know what I mean. “One” to “three”, and “eight” to “ten”- pretty easy to spot. It’s that middle ground, the “fours” to “sevens” where most people fall.\nA “Family Feud” survey would put Henry solidly in that middle camp, and like most men, Henry would confine the hunt to familiar territory; setting one’s goals too high in the arena of love can be hurtful- you never want to outkick your coverage. But this night was different.\n“Henry? Henry, are you ok?”\n“Huh, yeah, I’m fine.”\nFine? Actually, smitten to the core. His eyes were affixed on the most beautiful girl he had ever seen.\n----------\nMolly was a 10+ in anyone’s book, possessed of rare, natural beauty. She had rebuffed the advances of men more times than Carter has pills, or ants at a picnic if you don’t know that one.\n“Molly, why didn’t you dance with that guy? He’s cute!”\n“I think the gold chain threw me. It spelled phony.”\n“You’re not going to marry the guy, at least not tonight. We’re just out to have some fun.”\n“I am having fun watching all of you!”\n“Molly, Prince Charming isn’t going to come knocking at your door. You’ve got to out and mingle.”\n“Mingle-schmingle, I’m fine.”\n---------\n“Forget it, Henry.”\n“Forget what?”\n“The hot babe you were staring at.”\n“God, she’s beautiful.”\n“That’s the good news. The bad news is also that she is beautiful, as in too beautiful for guys like us. You’ve got to readjust your sights.”\n“I know.”\nHe knew, but he couldn’t. She was the North pole, and his eyes were a needle on a compass. He couldn’t take his eyes off her.\n“Ok, Henry, why don’t you put yourself out of your misery and go over and ask her to dance? Get shot down and move on…or down, if you catch my drift.”\n“Very funny.”\n“Or just sit here and hope. Henry, you’ve got as much of a chance of landing that hottie as Taylor Swift stopping by and wooing you with love songs. It’s hopeless, man. Recalibrate and get out there and try to meet some real possibilities. I’m going out there right now on a scouting mission.”\nHenry knew Steve was right; the object of his desires was beyond his reach, hopeless as he said. Hopeless…hopeless…hopeless. Wait a Catholic schoolboy minute! It hit him. There are no hopeless causes. There is always hope. And who better to turn to than St. Jude, the Patron Saint of hopeless causes? The setting wasn’t ideal, but prayers have no designated launch pad. Henry gave it a shot.\nOk, I’m going to be asking for a little favor here, St. Jude, well actually a pretty big favor. You see, I don’t do too well with the women, and tonight I saw a girl I’d love to be able to meet, talk to, get to know. She’s so beautiful. I wish you could see her. Oh, maybe you can already see her. Well, at any rate, you know, because I’m a regular customer of the church- I’m there every Sunday- I could get you my annual contribution statement if you’d like to see proof- I thought maybe you could get her to notice me…not think I’m such a nerd…you know what I mean. If anyone could get a girl like that to like me, I know it would be you. I don’t know if you’re also in the courage business, but it would be great if you could throw a little of that my way too. Well, thanks. I’ll appreciate anything you can do.\nNothing in Victor’s changed. The music continued to blare, bodies continued to writhe on the dance floor, and Molly continued to quietly stir the drink in front of her. But we mortals are not privy to the actions above. There need not be thunder and lightning for something to be going on up there.\n----------\nThere are quiet times in heaven. St. Jude was kickin’ back after another long day of trying to convince people they could find hope in that which overflowed with hopelessness. But in many respects, Saints are like doctors. They need to be available 24/7 in case of emergencies.\nAlthough Henry’s cry for help didn’t quite fall into the emergency category, St. Jude was touched by the sincerity of the tone and the desperation in the voice. He took a peek, saw Henry and Molly sitting in the club, and immediately recognized the problem; it was easy for him to see why Henry saw his situation as hopeless.\n In matters relating to affairs of the heart, St. Jude often sought the advice and assistance of St. Valentine.\n“Val, Jude here.”\n“What the hell, it’s damn near eleven o’clock. You woke me up.”\n“Sorry, but I just got a call from some guy who sounded pretty desperate. I think I’m going to need your help on this one.”\n“Man, I’m bushed. I had a pretty full day…convincing a young couple heading off to college that they really didn’t need to date other people, trying to hold two marriages together, monitoring all the BS on those damn dating sites, reminding husbands of birthdays and anniversaries. Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”\n“Hey, it’s what we signed up for.”\n----------\n“Molly, did you notice the weirdo who’s been staring at you all night?”\n“I’m guessing you mean the guy in the checkered shirt?”\n“That would be him. You’ve got your own personal stalker.”\n“Yeah, but ‘weirdo’ isn’t nice. Nerdy though.”\n---------\n“I see you’re still obsessed with the girl in the blue top.”\n“I can’t help it. There’s something about her. And I think I might be getting somewhere.”\n“What in God’s name would possess you to think that?”\n“She caught me looking at her.”\n“And…don’t tell me she smiled.”\n“Not exactly.”\n“So, why are you encouraged?”\n“She didn’t immediately look away.”\n“Oh, my God.”\n----------\n “Ok, Jude, let’s take a look-see at what you’ve got here.”\n“It’s the guy with the checkered shirt, Val. His name is Henry. The girl is Molly, the one in the blue top near the stage.”\n“You can’t be serious.”\n “What do you mean?”\n“You want me to get that girl to like that guy? You’re out of your freaking mind.”\n“I know he’s not Clint Eastwood, but he’s not terrible looking.”\n“Jude, that girl is the teniest girl I’ve ever seen, and your Romeo is like a two, a 3 minus tops. He should have an ‘L’ on his forehead for loser. There’s only so much I can do. Sorry, pal.”\n“Come on, Val, you’ve got to try. The guy sounded so pathetic. I feel sorry for him.”\n“You don’t need someone who can influence or persuade; you need a freaking miracle.”\n“Have you seen The Princess Bride?”\n“Of course.”\n‘Well, I can feel it with this Henry guy. If Molly could see what kind of person he is, on the inside, we could have something special. I’m talking true love, Val. You should be all over this.”\nVal took a deep breath and lowered his head.\n“Yes, I remember it- 'Twue Wuv’. It’s the stuff life is made of. Ok, I’ll see what I can do.”\n----------\n“My God, Molly. I just caught you looking at the nerd!”\n“Was not!”\n“Were too.”\nVal was working his magic.\n----------\n“Let’s get out of this place, Henry. Maybe we’ll have better luck at the Hot Spot.”\n“Yeah, you’re right, Steve. I’m ready to go.”\n---------\n“What the heck, Jude?! I’ve got her looking at this dweeb, and your guy’s bolting! You’re supposed to convince this guy he’s got hope. You got me out of bed for this?”\n“Yikes! I’m on it!”\n----------\n“Hold on, Steve. The Hot Spot can be worse than this place. Maybe one more beer.”\n“I know what you’re up to partner, but ok, one more beer.”\n---------\n“Ha, Mr. Smartypants! Jude still has the touch. My guy will never give up! I’m doing my part, Val. You just have to open her eyes.”\n“More like give her a brain transplant.”\n---------\nHenry’s eyes were on his beer; his thoughts were on his life- moving auto parts around; eating pizza, drinking beer, watching TV with Steve, and hitting the bars. Over and over again. Groundhog Day.\nHenry could see it, feel it- a small child leaping into his arms when he arrived home from work, planting a few flowers along the side of the house, content just to be with the woman he loved.\n----------\nMolly about wore out that little thing you stir your drink with. She was beautiful, the center of attention, sitting with lots of friends in a place full of hundreds of festive partygoers… and feeling alone.\n---------\n“How’s it going, Val?”\n“I got her thinking. She’s reflecting on her life, realizing she’s not where she’d like to be, and starting to dream of a better place. But Henry? That’s going to be a tough sell.”\n“You can only do what you can do.”\n“How’s his attitude, Jude?”\n“Don’t worry about my guy. He’ll never give up. I’ve given him more hope and determination than I gave Inigo Montoya.”\n“Who’s Inigo Montoya?”\n“I thought you said you saw the movie.”\n----------\nSomething was in the air in Victor’s that night. Even the patrons could feel it. Steve was dancing his brains out in the middle of the dance floor when everything seemed to slow down. His dance partner could only wonder why he stopped, surveyed the room, and glanced back and forth from Henry to the beautiful girl in the blue top. The images seemed to get closer in his mind, and for a moment he thought he could see them side by side.\n----------\n“Ok, I’ve got her thinking past the superficial, you know, all that business about how beauty is only skin deep, it’s what’s inside that counts, you know the regular stuff.”\n“Good job. Val. My guy’s hanging tough. You know, what you just said, it makes me think of something.”\n“What’s that, Jude?”\n“Obviously, she’s beautiful on the outside. I sure hope she’s just as good on the inside. I know the pretty ones can be a real bitch sometimes.”\n“Don’t worry, she’s fine. I check this stuff out before I put two people together. I’m not stupid, Jude.”\n“Sorry, Val.”\n---------\nSt. Jude and St. Valentine can affect people; they can’t do a thing about the clock. Closing time was approaching.\n“What do you say, Henry? Let’s beat the rush out of the parking lot.”\n“I guess. I‘m ready to go.”\n---------\n“You’re about out of time, Jude.”\n“ Get Molly ready. I’m going to supersize Henry’s courage. He’s going to have more grit than Rooster Cogburn!”\n“I liked that movie.”\n----------\n“Ready, Molly? Let’s go.”\nMolly’s arms and legs suddenly felt like they were sunk in molasses. She slowly got up from her chair, taking one last look at the guy in the checkered shirt. Her mind fluttered and took her to strange places. She saw Henry placing a ball on a Tee for a small child, she and Henry coming out of a church Sunday morning, the two of them sitting on a porch swing, a much older version of the two of them as they strolled down the aisle of a grocery store holding hands.\n“Molly, are you coming?”\n---------\nHenry was in a daze as he walked across the dance floor. He was a coiled spring ready to take action. Do or die, Henry. It’s showtime.\nHe turned back toward the table where he had watched the girl in the blue top all evening. The table was empty; the girl of his dreams was gone. In full panic mode, he scanned the room. Molly was approaching the door, moving along with the flow of people. Her friends didn’t notice, but she took a couple of quick looks back toward the dance floor as she reached the exit.\n---------\n“Do something, Jude! We’re losing them!”\n---------\nSome of those that were there that night refer to it as “The Shriek”; most call it “The Scream”. No band that had ever played at Victor’s came close to the decibel levels Henry reached that night.\n“Wait!!”\nSteve’s eyes about bugged out as everyone stopped in their tracks and turned back to see a man in a checkered shirt standing there flailing his arms.\n---------\n“There! How’s that for grit?! You’re up, Val.”\n“I’m workin it.”\n----------\nMolly was stunned. She knew. The cry was for her. She could feel a certain peace taking hold as Henry fought his way through the puzzled crowd to reach her. He paid no attention to the mass of onlookers.\n“Excuse me…I’m…I’m so sorry to bother you…I know I…but I just had to…”\nMolly smiled.\n“It’s ok, you don’t have to explain. My name is Molly.”\nMolly reached out her hand, and Henry, in search of his next breath, took her hand in his.\n---------\n“Check it out, Jude, they’re out shopping and still holding hands after all these years. Yep, I did a pretty good job if I do say so myself.”\n“You? I’m the one who got old Henry moving. I set the whole thing up for you.”\n“Oh, yeah, well I got Molly to like the guy. I’m the one who did 90% of the work.”\n“Did not.”\n“Did too.”\n“Did…”" } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: All I Want For Christmas is Fair Labor Practices\n\nGenre: christmas\n\nWord Count: 2939\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a professional who is called back to serve their community after retirement." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "“I told you, Billy, I’m out of the game. Have been for a long time.” Gustmas Tinseltrolley took a long, slow sip of his hot cocoa as Billy “The Jingle” Bellringer stood in the living room of his cozy log cabin, deep in the Canadian Rockies. He knew the second the broad-shouldered elf had knocked on his door that, at the least, trouble was afoot. At the most? All of Christmas could be on the line.\n“The Big Guy needs you, Gus. The kids need you. You were the best gift wrapper the North had since tissue paper was invented. Besides, Claus said that he’s heard the message and negotiations can be continued after the holiday season. The strikers are being unreasonable.” Billy had a habit of speaking with his hands. He was the king of holding a conversation while having a second, smaller conversation going on with his emphatic arm waving or expressive finger wagging. At the moment, his hands were shoved in his pockets, noticeably mute. Gus wondered if it had been a mistake on Santa’s part to send him. Or perhaps– if he was the best Santa had left.\n“I ain’t no scab, Billy. If the strike isn’t over, then the Big Man isn’t done listening.” He held his mug gingerly in his gnarled hands, letting the warmth seep into him, strengthen him.\n“So what, millions of kids are going to see their naked presents under the tree as soon as they walk up on Christmas morning? No surprises, no sense of tradition, no order? It’ll be chaos, Gus! Chaos!” There was a quaver in his voice that could have been mistaken for passion, but Gus more accurately registered it as fear. When his face remained blank, Billy pressed on. “Have you ever seen a Christmas morning for a family of 7 before? Hm? Well, I have. Without the individual wrapping paper for each kid or a cheery little nametag with holly on it? Things get tossed around, Gus. Even thrown.” His voice turned dark. “You ever see a toy get broken before a little kid gets to play with it even once?” He shook his head, looking nauseous at the thought of it. \nGus grit his teeth. Not even the exiles on the Peninsula of Poorly Thought Through Toys interacted with those lost souls, the broken toys whose hopes had been forever dashed by an overworked delivery man or an overeager family dog.\n“I’m just a retired wrapper. I’m past my prime. These old fingers won’t be much use to Nickie.” He sat his mug down and splayed his fingers for Billy to see. \n“You?!” He scoffed. “You won the Tannenbaum Tinker award five years in a row! You’ve won 21 Holly Jolly Giftsmas Medals of Honor.”\n“22, actually,” Gus murmured. His gaze scanned the garland that lined his living room and his eyes lingered on the silver medals that he’d so carefully placed upon it. They seemed to glint and twinkle in the roaring fire’s light. He sighed heavily, feeling the weight of all those awards and all those years bearing down on him.\n“You know, we used to call you The Nutcracker.” Billy took a few steps toward the fire, turning his back on Gus.\n“That was a different time.”\n“No kidding.” It was Billy’s turn to sigh. “Well, for what it’s worth, I hope you’ll rethink your answer, Tinseltrolley. Or else the next time I show up at your door, it might be under less… festive circumstances.” He rested his elbow on the mantle, staring into the fire. \n“For what it’s worth, I hope the next time we meet is under different circumstances too.” There was no malice in his voice. \nA lengthy beat of silence passed between them. Then, without another word, Billy walked out.\nThe door slammed shut, shooting a frigid winter breeze through the living room. The cold air swept past the garlands and seeped into the cracks of the hardwood floor. It seemed to leech Christmas spirit from the air. The twinkling lights shuddered, the roaring fire mewed. Gus sighed and didn’t stir for a long while. \nEventually, he removed the emerald and crimson knit blanket that was laying across his lap and set it aside on the couch. He folded it gently, as it was the one he’d received from Berry May Mistle when he’d retired. He was sure he still had the ribbon that was tied around it when she’d laid it in his arms. Double-faced satin. 2.25-inch width. Finished with a bow on top, Flower Style. He inhaled slowly and rose from the couch, bones creaking as he did so.\nGus walked closer to his Christmas tree, his arms held behind him as he surveyed the crystalline ornaments and strands of tinsel that embraced the fir. The bow at the top of the tree was his signature, The 12-strand Turtledove. He thought about the last present he’d ever used that bow on. \n~\nIt was 1994. The previous winter had been harsh, and the Christmas spirit had been more vital than ever. The licensing contract for the Power Rangers™ action figures had gone through at the last minute, and elves were working overtime to try and meet demand. \nAnd he was right there the whole time. He was in the trenches, working beside the toymakers and the gift wrappers. Elves went home with the smell of plastic on them like cologne, he went home to Mrs. Claus with multicolored paint under his nails. It was a different era. \nJust before he left for the big trip, he gathered everyone up. With his sleigh behind him and sack stuffed to the brim with dolls, action figures, stuffed animals, and gaming systems, he took a moment to look out over the crowd. He shared his feelings of admiration and promised that the effort shown wouldn’t go unrewarded. He informed the elves that bonus checks would be under their trees tonight and they’d all receive two weeks of vacation with pay. Gus remembered how easily Kringle could make people feel respected, like the work they did made a difference.\nGus would deny it to anyone who asked, but that night, in the crowd, his eyes had been silver with tears as soaring pride overwhelmed him. With one final bellowing laugh, Santa Claus sprang to his sleigh, reins in hand, and promised he’d be back soon for the after-party.\nHe never returned to the North Pole. We waited at the company party until the early morning light, until even the talking snowmen had gone home to sleep. There was only one gift left under that tree: a gift to Mr. Kringle from his loyal elves. The present that Gus had wrapped so carefully, with a 12-strand Turtledove perched on top, sat under the tree, cold and solemn as a grave. It would never be opened.\n After that, there was a new Santa in town and everything started to change. The Old Mrs. Claus disappeared, her closet still full of red velvet dresses with white faux fur trim. Dasher and Dancer refused to fly for 6 months. The milk and cookie demand dropped for the first time in over a hundred years.\nThe new Big Man said he didn’t care so much for the “corporate mentality”, despite his background in sales. He said he wanted the team to feel more like a family and told everyone to just call him Nick. He canceled ‘unnecessary’ meetings left and right, and that valuable face-to-face time that so many elves had treasured for years was suddenly gone. \nHe had blinked in astonishment when he learned that the majority of elfkind didn’t have their own emails. He said the North Pole was falling behind the times. (Firstly, it was only 1996. And secondly, imagine trying to teach a master craftsman of 400 years how to turn on a computer. Frightful.) \nNow, Gus hadn’t minded fewer meetings here and there, especially the ones explaining retirement benefits and 401Ks. But that winter, there had been a rise in cases of Sparklelung as the once mandatory glitter safety meetings had been streamlined into pamphlets no one had read and posters that were no bigger than a Christmas Card.\nThe Big Man had taken several vacations during his first year on the job. He was hardly seen by anyone until Thanksgiving. We were lost for those long summer months, without the direction or authority to begin work on next Christmas’ toys. The new boss had no talent for project management, no passion for the art of scheduling. Weekly scrums were nothing more than a bandage on a gaping wound. All of December had been a crunch, with elves working round the clock to meet the deadline. It was worse than walking on broken ornaments and he’d rather give up candy canes than go through that again. Gus didn’t think a family should make you feel that way. \nGus retired in 1996.\n~\nHe took a deep breath and let the scents of peppermint and pine fill his lungs. He took a long pour of eggnog and threw it back, not even bothering to savor it. Then he washed his glass and put it away. He packed his suitcase full of colorful sweaters and his favorite suspenders. He unplugged the strands of lights around his house diligently, one after another. After dousing the fire and locking the front door, he took one final look inside at the noble tree standing guard in the dark before he turned on his heel and headed North. He had a feeling he wasn’t going to be home for Christmas. \n~\n“They even took away our dental insurance!” Cries of outrage flooded the already too-hot room as the 12 leaders of the Anti-Scrooge Movement had gathered at the request of Gustmas Tinseltrolley. “No dental? For Christmas elves?! We can only take so much disrespect!” Vehement shouts of agreement rang out, and the room devolved into chaotic noise again.\nGus agreed, things were bad. With the current inflation rate, elves were working longer hours for less pay, and most couldn’t keep their stockings filled. The strike had slowed things down, to be sure, but the Big Man had found those few elves who couldn’t afford not to work and production was continuing along, albeit severely delayed. No one truly believed him when he told the strikers that Christmas would still be happening with or without them, but he had refused to hear their demands any longer. Negotiations were off the table and Christmas was coming, fast.\n“How much longer can we really keep this up though?” Burl McMistletoe spoke up. His quiet dissent brought the room to an uneasy lull. “Some of us got mouths to feed.” He tightened his grip on the pointy felt hat in his hands.\nGus knew the boy’s father, Bing McMistletoe, and had even worked with him during the Great Clear Tape shortage of 1973. The elf had been a wonder with polystyrene cement and all adhesive-related handiwork. He rose from his chair and walked over to Burl, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. \n“You have kids?”\n“Just one. Bublé.”\n“Good name.”\n“He’s a good kid. And he’s a wonder with a glue gun already.”\n“You got a picture?” Burl nodded and pulled a photo from his wallet. Bublé was missing several baby teeth and was wearing a hat much too large for him as he grinned at the camera, holding a perfect macaroni nutcracker in one hand and a glue gun in the other. Gus took the picture from Burl and crossed to the front of the room, all eyes on him. He pinned the picture to the corkboard they’d been strategizing on. He took down the other papers, the lists of elves who had joined their cause, copies of the letters of petitions they had sent, and the calendar with December 24th circled in red. He turned around to face the others.\n“Anyone else have kids?” A few raised their hands and produced photos that Gus pinned next to Bublé. “Bud, what about that vacation you’ve been saving up for?” \n“I’m surprised you remembered, Gus.” A small smile crept across Bud’s face. He produced a postcard of a beach in the Caribbean that he had always dreamed of visiting, and the crinkled cardstock joined the children on the corkboard. Slowly but surely, the others brought pictures of their own or small reminders that they carried of dreams long held. Lou pinned up the lucky guitar pick he kept on a string. Carol printed and posted the listing of her dream home. Max Snowfield even drew a wonky-looking pet reindeer on a spare piece of paper and sheepishly attached it to the board. When everyone added their contribution, they stepped back to admire their work. \n“This is what we’re fighting for,” Gus said, his throat tight. “Not just the pay, not just the respect, but the time to spend with our children, on our hobbies, our dreams. Just because we live for hundreds of years doesn’t mean life isn’t still horribly short. We have to see this through, for the dreams they can't take away.” Refocused, Gus rolled up his sleeves and was about to prepare for a long night and refill his hot chocolate when his eyes alighted on the guitar pick on the board. His brow creased in thought. \n“Hey Lou, do you have access to a recording studio, by any chance?” \n“My brother’s got a little booth at his place, why?”\n“I have a very strange idea.” He pulled his budget flip phone from his pocket and scrolled to find a number. “Lou and Carol, you’re with me. Bud, Max, I need you to keep pressing the stable elves. Annabelle, call your buddy on the Sack Pack Squad. We’ll need all the backup we can get.” The other elves exchanged a look as Gus dialed the number and tapped his foot absentmindedly. “Hey Dolly, you remember that favor you owe me? I was wondering if I might cash it in.”\n~\nThe golden, dulcet tones of Dolly Parton’s voice rang out from an MP3 file on the device that Gus placed on Santa’s desk. A country remix of the 12 Days of Christmas began to play, as Dolly vamped to the instrumentals. “Hey y’all, It’s Dolly Parton and I wanted to give a big shout-out to my friend Gus up there at the North Pole! Happy Holidays from your home to mine and may your Christmas be a hoot and a holler!” Santa looked up at Gus from under his bushy white eyebrows.\n“What is this?” he questioned as he gestured to the gathering of elves before him. “Don’t you people know I’m busy this time of year?”\n“I think you’ll want to listen to this.” Gus crossed his arms as the song entered into the first verse. ‘On the first day of Christmas, Santa kept from me-’\nA list of demands delivered in musical form with ultimatums sung by the ethereal ‘9 to 5’ singer herself played for the entire 3 minutes and 52 seconds with no more interruptions from the man in the red suit. Santa sunk further in his chair, his fingers steepling. He steamed like a homemade gingerbread latte, each furious breath wiggling the hairs of his mustache.\n“How could you release this so close to Christmas? Do you have ANY idea what this will do to the holiday spirit?!” He pounded his fist on the desk.\n“Oh, we haven’t released it yet. And we might never release it, if you sign this agreement right here, right now.” Gus gestured to the stack of paper that Lou slid to Santa. “Dolly sends her love, by the way.”\n“Of course she does, she’s a treasure,” Santa muttered as he flicked through the papers, his face turning redder than a cherry.\n“You’ll find that if you don’t sign this, this song will trend on Tiktok faster than the ‘It’s Corn’ kid.” Gus went on. “And you might have a hard time saddling the reindeer this year, I’m afraid the stable crew decided to join our little strike. Be sure to keep those pens clean, I hear Blitzen had a couple of extra treats before the crew walked out.”\n“You can’t be serious.” \n“Do I need to play the song again?” Gus stared down the blue-eyed man and resisted the urge to grin. \n~\nBurl McMistletoe held his glass of eggnog high as he addressed the crowd of elves, their faces glowing with mirth. \"All my life, I’ll never forget the year that Christmas was saved not by reindeer with red noses, not by voices singing loud for all to hear, but by the power of collective bargaining and Dolly Parton!” A raucous cheer went up, the clamor shaking the ornaments on the tree.\nGus’ face was beginning to grow sore after all the smiling he had done that evening. He walked away from the bustle of celebrating elves, in need of a moment of cool air. He stood on the doorstep, shutting it behind him quietly. Fluffy snow was falling softly, and Gus felt the whisper of flakes on his cheek like the embrace of an old friend. Gus stood outside long enough for snow to collect on his shoulders. \nMinutes later, he saw the familiar broad silhouette of Billy Bellringer standing across the street. He raised his glass of eggnog to him. Billy raised his hand in greeting. Eventually, he even smiled. Then he shook his head and walked away, leaving footsteps in the fresh snow. \n“Merry Christmas to you too, Billy.”" } ]