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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: Still\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 1023\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character attempting to meditate or do something mindfully." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Take the pink sponge rollers out of your hair quickly because it’s Sunday morning and everyone is already rushing toward the car to go to church. Slip the black Goody comb through your dense, hot combed, jet-black, Ultra Sheen-glazed hair and style your curls because it is important to look shiny, crisp, and coiffured at your church. When it doesn’t look good, keep combing it over and over, even when Mom is banging on the door. When you finally open it, angry because your hair is still a flat, lackluster mushroom-shape, do not give Mom any attitude when she slaps your face and pulls you out of your room by your hair, down the hall, down the steps, until you finally break free, still trying to fix your hair because you have to go to church with impressive hair. Do not look at her hatefully when you break free because she will slap you three times instead of just the two. Suck your lip to remove the blood; don’t wipe it with your finger because Mom will say you are making a production out of it. Keep a straight face and don’t look hateful in the car when she describes to your father and your four siblings how she slapped the hell out of your vain self and pulled some of your hair out for your primping in the mirror, exposing your punishment to everyone, even though it was done privately and could have stayed that way if it were discipline, not a Mom-temper tantrum. Be patient during the long ride that starts in the idyllic tree-lined street in your neighborhood, crosses into the next town, traverses the downtown, over the railroad tracks, over the drawbridge, and into the hood. Ignore the shenanigans occurring on the way to church, like your mother placing a topless ceramic mug filled to the brim with coffee, on the car’s dashboard. Do not react to your mother’s shrieking and name calling at your father when a drop of her coffee laps over the lip of the cup because he could have driven over the bumps in the road more smoothly to prevent the liquid from spilling during the 45-minute car ride, she said. Wonder again if people live in the houses that look like small square boxes with roofs, have peeling paint, crumbling steps, and tires, furniture, and mattresses strewn in the yards around the corner from Mount Zion Baptist church. Then ask your father if anyone lives in those houses, even though he never answers that question when you ask him every Sunday. When you get to church and the car is finally parked, after 10 minutes of your father searching for a parking space, be careful when you open the car door because there are expensive cars there, packed tight. Walk quickly in your semi-high, black heels and long skirt to the church because you are late again, but do not switch your hips because you do not want people to believe that you are a fast-tail girl. Go to the bathroom first to check to make sure that your hair looks fine. Do not pay attention to the sour smell in the bathroom, the cracked linoleum, or the leaking sink. Do not be upset that your hair looks puffy because the humidity got to it and it was pulled halfway around a house. Go to the basement and into the corner room where your age group is having class, and everyone is already there. In Sunday School do not laugh at Ms. Ida May when she tries to teach, even though you cannot understand what she is saying because she works her mouth and mushy words tumble out. Do not join in with the other kids who are fooling around in Ms. Ida May’s class because you don’t know how to fool around. Notice that Ms. Ida May wears her white church suit that looks like a nurse’s uniform every Sunday, looking like a walking black and white picture. Think about why Ms. Ida May has always been there and will always be there. When it is your turn to read in Sunday School, read each word correctly and in your real voice. Do not pretend to not know how to read and do not speak with a black brogue just to fit in like Tracey Hightower, who was a soft-spoken, sweet girl last year when she was new to church, but now is mean and womanish acting - walking wide-legged and and throwing her developing hips into it, rolling her eyes and popping her neck at you and your sister for no reason every Sunday. Don't be surprised when sixth, seventh, and eighth graders cannot read words like ‘the, come, thus, thee because it happens every Sunday.Try to say hello the right way to Antwon because he is always cool and confident, even if he cannot read. Do not sound stiff when you talk to cool, black, church kids. Do not feel disappointed because when Antwon nodded and said, “Sup” you blew it and said “Hello,” way too timid and proper sounding. When you line up to march into the choir stand with the youth choir and high voice Tonya gives you the dirty eye and tells you and your sister Belinda off, ignore her. Remember that you and Belinda always have each other, and you don’t need the tough, black church girls. The youth pre-teen choir gets to sing with the teen choir today, and they will sing fast, loud, hand-clapping songs. You will sing in the alto section, and so you cannot sit by Belinda because she is a soprano. You will be fine because you will get to sit by Carolyn, Lisa, and Sheila and they have never made fun of you. Do not get caught by Ms. McDonald, the choir director, talking to Carolyn, Lisa, and Sheila during church. Instead, pass notes. When the choir director starts directing the choir to move back and forth to the music, admit to yourself that you do not want to rock in rhythm with the choir, even though you can. Stand still." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Scraps of Light\n\nGenre: american\n\nWord Count: 1608\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about someone looking for a sign in a dark sky." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Suggestions of swear words\n\n\n\nI’ve never had to grapple with a problem of this magnitude in all my 64 years. And I see no way out. Nothing in my experience has prepared me for solving anything like this.\n\nFriends, siblings, children, have about as much chance of getting me out of this as does my beautiful Himalayan cat Dulcy. I know they would try if I told them what was threatening to tear my life apart. But I haven’t. The truth is I’m more than a little ashamed of letting myself even get into this awful mess.\n\nIt’s noon now and the bright sunshine invading my space seems to mock the darkness that has settled upon me like a leaden cloak. I realize I’ve had nothing to eat for 24 hours and heat some chicken soup. It’s supposed to be good for the soul, right? Or something like that.\n\nIt is rather soothing, but most of it goes into a container in the fridge. I return to my recliner, which has pretty much been my home since everything came crashing down yesterday afternoon.\n\nI sit and think. Thinking starts to hurt. So I just sit. And sit. And sit. Dulcy keeps me company, her sapphire eyes seemingly full of sympathy for her mom.\n\nThe scene outside the floor length window facing me marks the passing hours. The glimmer on the emerald green grass, the glow on the golden flowers, the diamonds on the rippling lake beyond, slowly give way to creeping shadows.\n\nDusk arrives to signal suppertime for kids playing on the beach. Birds singing their siren songs begin retiring, one by one or in formation. Lights come to life on boats bobbing on the water and homes nestled along the curve of the shoreline. Comfortable, everyday things, so normal and peaceful. Also feels like mockery.\n\nAnd as the earth continues in its foreordained path, it all yields to the inky night, which has ushered in a thick blanket of storm clouds. And so the sky and I become a perfect match.\n\nBut now that synchronicity is being somewhat dented by a few bright stars peeking through rare spaces. Wait, weren’t there tunes about the answer being in the stars?\n\nI gaze intently through what has been almost exclusively my only window to the world since yesterday. Do those twinklers have something to tell me? I concentrate with everything in me, until that starts to hurt. If hope had even started to spring, crickets instead of revelations quashed it but good.\n\nAnd so it’s back to hopelessness. And an enhanced dose of self-recriminations. It’s my fault, 100 percent, that I’m in this spot. And that I didn’t foresee that this spot would likely have no solution. And that others would be affected too. Triply beating myself up.\n\nI’m no stranger to getting myself in trouble, nothing really illegal, though I may have skated up to the edge on occasion. But I always knew the risks, saw a way out in advance or found a way out in the aftermath, kept others out of the fray. Knowing the right people in the right places helped too. So what went wrong here. Has age dulled my senses? Has over confidence eroded my instincts? Was it really all luck that has now run out?\n\nAnd then suddenly some of those clouds part just enough to make way for the moon, almost as if deferring to royalty. It’s at full glory, now turning indoors and outdoors almost daylight bright.\n\nBut . . . is that effer grinning at me? Mockery everywhere.\n\nNature calls, and as I enter the hallway I see that the moon has deposited a bright square onto the carpeting via the skylight. Oddly, it’s also found a way to scatter bits and pieces on the wall.\n\nLooking into the open door of a bedroom I see stripes of light, compliments of the blinds. That’s OK. But there’s also an somewhat unexpected line of little teardrops on the crocheted bed quilt.\n\nThe door of the bedroom opposite is open just slightly and a single bar of light has sneaked in there too. An opportunistic streak that has streamed from the other bedroom window, through the open door, and into that small space between this door and frame.\n\nThere’s something so compelling about these rays working their way in here and there, landing in different shapes and sizes, merrily displacing the dark. I mean I guess that’s always happened but I just haven’t paid that much attention before.\n\nIn the bathroom with its mirrored medicine cabinet, additional mirror on the opposite wall and glass enclosure, all in cahoots with the shiny metal of the faucets and shower frame, the moonlight is having a field day. Designer patterns abound.\n\nThen into the kitchen for a glass of water and there before me, more lunar handiwork. It has partnered with geometry to decorate the room, and even the back of the pantry, with fanciful configurations, at the same time creating a spotlight in the bottle of liquid soap.\n\nI feel something stir within me. I run the water and start to fill my glass when my glance wanders to the adjacent wine rack. Hmmm, maybe a nice little glass of Cabernet could help interpret this strange new sensation.\n\nUncork, pour, take a few steps. Backtrack, pick up the bottle too, and on to the chair. Dulcy jumps up on the side table, successfully navigates around glass and bottle, and settles in my lap.\n\nFor the first time in countless hours my thoughts aren’t on THE PROBLEM, but rather on some relevant recollections. I’m thinking again about this phenomenon I’ve previously observed casually, but not much beyond that.\n\nLight.\n\nThe persistence of light.\n\nIt shows up everywhere, even in the darndest places. Sometimes you know the origin, sometimes it’s a mystery. It takes shape in ways that might make sense, might not. And of course sunlight knows all those tricks too. When mirrors or shiny objects are present, it bounces around with total abandon. And if the wind joins in, moving shadows can give it a kind of heartbeat.\n\nBut here’s what’s true in all cases. Light finds a way. It will not be denied. It uses openings that we may not even realize are there. It takes advantage of reflective surfaces to multiply its effect. Light goes as far as it can and does not give up or give a ra . . . uh, a care about its size or shape at the final destination.\n\nI think I’m on to something but just yet not sure what. Hmmm, probably shouldn’t be having this second glass of wine without a little cushion. Maybe some cheese and crackers.\n\nInto the kitchen for just that. And a few olives can’t hurt.\n\nBack in the chair, I see Dulcy sniff the wine and step back with squeezy eyes. And watch with a smile as she instead surgically relieves one of the crackers of its cheese, and still chewing curls in my lap.\n\nI take a bite. A sip. A bite. A sip.\n\nAnd the words form in my mind’s eye. See the light. I think that may have two meanings for me. Dulcy scans my face as if she senses a shift taking place.\n\nMore. Learn from the light. And I think about that. It always finds a pathway. And . . . it uses every opportunity to redouble its effect. And . . . it may create a large splash, or lesser patches, sometimes even just scraps.\n\nSo is this the revelation? It seems right. Be the light.\n\nI’m feeling my way. What seems important is, Go as big as you can, even if as big as you can is - small. It’s emerging more easily now – look for the openings, the available pathways, let nothing stop you, make a large splash if you can, downsize if you can’t. Like the light.\n\nI’ve been in such deep despair, facing the reality that a complete solution for this is – and I don’t often use this word – impossible. But now I’m thinking “Go Small.” Little ways to make amends wherever possible, to mitigate the fall-out to whatever extent I can, to try to at least limit the damage to myself and others. Productive baby steps. Increments of improvement. Scraps even.\n\nAnd yes, I do believe I’ll swallow my shame and contact a couple of trusted allies to help me. To multiply the effects. Like the light.\n\nMaybe in time it can all build to a fuller solution. Or maybe not. I know no matter what there will still be consequences, and I will accept them with no whining because Lord knows they’re deserved.\n\nBut through it all, persist, persist, persist, right to every available end point. Like the light.\n\nWith this new perspective, that burdensome cloak feels like its being replaced with a soft shawl. At the risk of disrespecting Caesar, I saw, I learned, maybe I’ll conquer - one small part at a time. Even better, this is a lesson that can come into play again and again, and not just for clean-up on aisle \"life\" either.\n\nSorry stars. This time the answer was inspired by that bright ball in the sky. The man in the moon? The woman in the moon? Whichever you are, many thanks.\n\nIt’s almost a miracle how I’ve gone from utter hopelessness to blooming optimism. Maybe celebrate with just a bit more Cabernet.\n\nCheers! And here, my sweet Dulcy, let’s share this last piece of cheese.\n\nAnd then? A nice dinner for both of us.\n\n- 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: Levi's Genes\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 2583\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about a wedding photographer." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "I look out over another sprawling green lawn in front of another palatial estate. Bursts of wisteria obstruct the view of the second-floor window in a way that is meant to look natural; as if the vines crept up the terrace slowly, secretly. A nuisance of nature that just happened to be beautiful and therefore allowed to stay. But it was clear that every inch of this venue was chosen with care. These vines were guided over time to make the perfect patterns and create beautiful purple filters for the east-facing window.\nDutifully, I stack the bride’s rings one on top of the other on the windowsill in a beam of light so perfect both me and the gardener dream about it. I angle my body just so, crouching too fast for my knees, still stiff from the ten-hour drive. I point my camera at the rings.\n*Click*\nNot quite right. I fiddle with the settings a little bit, bend my back at an angle that it doesn’t appreciate, and hold my breath.\n*Click*\nThere it is. Rings. Windowsill. Sunshine. Green grass, blue sky, and a hint of lilac softly out of focus in the background. Damn, I’m good.\nI go through my mental checklist for the bridal party photos. We got some candids as the bridesmaids arrived (making sure to avoid capturing the sister of the bride/matron of honor’s eye rolls every time the bride opened her mouth), every possible angle of the hug the bride gave her mom after she received her late grandmother’s necklace as her “something old” (pretending not to hear when the mother told her sister, “I hope that was a good idea.”) and even some playful shots of the bride’s college roommate twerking with a head full of rollers while pouring champagne for the delighted future mother-in-law.\nNow I wandered the venue taking shots of things like the wedding dress and programs while my assistant continued to snap the ladies getting ready. It was a good time to scope out locations for intimate newlywed photos taken while guests did the Cupid Shuffle.\nI pulled my phone out of my pocket. Still nothing.\nI’ve never been to this venue before, but I’ve been to this venue before. Strategically beautiful. As the event manager walked me to the bridal suite, she told me about all the things that made this place more special than the other venues I’ve shot: The former country home of a robber baron. Taft or Roosevelt or Eisenhower liked to vacation here and roam the grounds. The first home in the area to have electricity. She walks me through the kitchen and up the “second staircase”, the only area not meticulously maintained. I’m sure Taft never saw these stairs. Or the former owner, for that matter.\nIt's not that I’m jaded about this place or this wedding. But after all these years, the lines start to blur. One garden labyrinth in Upstate New York blends into another on Martha’s Vineyard.\nI take a seat on a creaky wooden bench in the hallway under the portrait of a woman with gleaming white skin. A former resident of the estate, no doubt. “Any news?” I text Cassie. Three dots flicker on the screen and my eyes are glued. My stomach drops, but I try not to panic. She would’ve texted if it was bad. She wouldn’t keep this from you.\n“Nothing yet.” She texts back. I relax my shoulders. “But someone is all smiles!” She sends me a photo of Levi laying on the bed with a wide smile revealing the holes where his two front teeth should be. I smile at his face, trying not to notice how pale he looks. It takes him a while to get his color back after a morning of testing. I know that, but it doesn’t make it less hard to see.\nI had never described a Black person as pale before Levi got sick. I called him “ashy” every day. After showering and brushing his teeth, his skin would soak up moisture in the winter months. A white cast would cover his skin even before we got back to his room. “Put some lotion on those knees before you start a fire!” I would joke with him every day after a shower. He let out a huge laugh and said, “then I’ll put it out because I’m a fireman!” He loved firemen. Firetrucks, dalmatians, hoses. We had to run to the window whenever a siren drove by. At his 5th birthday party just a month before his first surgery, we made the mistake of buying a firetruck-shaped cake that he didn’t allow us to cut.\nIt's how I first knew something was wrong. “Put some lotion on those knees before you start a fire!” I said as we walked to his dresser. “Then I’ll put it out because I’m a policeman!” I laughed, thinking he was being silly.\n6 days later, Cassie asked him to bring her a fork and he brought her a spoon. “Thanks, buddy!” she said, wrapping him in a hug and showering him with kisses. Levi ran off giggling, but her eyes were glassy and wet. We both sat and stared at each other completely understanding. This was real now.\nFor days, doctors and nurses poked and prodded my son. They never lost their ability to put him at ease. He turned it into a game for himself. “I bet I have more blood than anyone in the hospital!” His smile was broad, but his skin color was off. We rubbed lotion into his arms and legs trying to coax the melanin back. How could he be so dry? As Levi slept, a nurse watched me methodically rubbing lotion into his skin. Partially to bring his skin back to life and partially to give my hands something to do. “He’ll get his color back soon,” she said. She was standing right next to me, but her words seemed to float to me from another room.\n“Excuse me?” My voice croaked. I hadn’t used it in hours. Cassie had gone home to shower and answer some emails, and Levi couldn’t keep his eyes open.\n“His color seems different, doesn’t it?” She said as if she was reading my mind. “He’s just a little pale from all the blood we’ve drawn this week. But he’ll look more like himself tomorrow.” She pressed her hand onto my shoulder firmly. It felt certain.\nI was up all night, so I’m not sure when it happened, but it did. The sun rose and moved slowly across the room, and as it crept over his toes under the blanket, he opened his eyes and looked at me. His skin was back to a rich caramel. His eyes were sleepy but bright and full of life. “Good morning, my love,” I said.\n“Where’s mom?” Levi croaked.\n“Excuse me?” The mother of the bride was stomping toward me. I closed the photo on my phone and sat up straight.\n“Hi, Vera. Everything ok in there?” Vera was no-nonsense and never afraid to say what was on her mind, but she didn’t scare me. I’d worked with a hundred mothers like her, and I’d work with a hundred more. By the end of the night, we’d be dancing like old friends. But right now, she needed to take control.\n“I’m paying you a lot of money, Antoine. I need you to get off Twitter and take some photos!” Vera wrung her hands nervously. This wasn’t about me, but I take the heat for a moment.\nI stand up and turn my camera towards her. “I can definitely do that. Mind if I show you what I’ve been working on?”\nHer eyes lock in on mine, jaw set preparing for a fight that doesn’t seem to be coming. She softens but still seems on guard. “I’ll have a look.”\nI scroll back in the camera and find some shots I took of the gown in the study. The white fabric gleamed against the dark furniture. A photo of the white Rolls Royce parked in front of the estate, ready to drive the couple to the hotel after the reception. And of course, the rings. Vera stifles an audible gasp. She turns to look at me, her anger now completely melted. “This is probably just another day for you, isn’t it? I’m sorry if I came off harsh.”\n“I photograph a lot of weddings, but each one is special,” I tell her. It’s the truth. Each has its magic. Just because it’s easy for me to find doesn’t mean I am blind to it.\n“We’re spending so much. You don’t think about it when you’re planning it…but it all adds up.” She wrings her hands harder. She’s talking to me but staring at an invisible calculator just past my face.\n“The kids said they would help, but Zach…I think he has a problem.” She looks at me to assess my face for judgment, but there is none. “He’s a good man, a great man…I think he can get it under control someday. My daughter said there is no problem, but my father… My father liked horses and Zach looks at football the way he looked at those horses. You don’t forget that look.” She turns to the window. Wisteria drooping just past her shoulder. If it was the right time, it would make a beautiful photo.\n“Are you a father?” She asks. My stomach drops again. I know what’s coming.\n“Yes; I have an 8-year-old son.”\n“I’m sure you’ll handle this way better than I am when he ties the knot!” She turns with a smile and walks back to the bridal suite, fears subsided.\n“God, I hope,” I say to no one.\nA brain tumor, we learned. Developing slowly over time and pressing on the part of his brain that affects his speech. The surgery was swift and successful, though they still incorporated speech therapy into his recovery plan.\nWe set about getting our lives back to normal when six months later, Levi fell while walking. He said his legs felt like spaghetti. Another round of tests revealed another tumor, this time on his spine. This surgery would be trickier, and as good as our doctors in Connecticut were, Levi’s doctor wanted us to pay a visit to his friend, a specialist in Baltimore.\nIt’s been three years now. Test after test, surgery after surgery, treatment after treatment. It still hasn’t been narrowed down, but what we know is that Levi has a rare genetic condition that causes benign tumors to develop anywhere in his body. While he doesn’t need surgery to remove them all, the medicine he takes and the treatment he receives are a lot for his young body. And in recent years, some tumors have not been benign.\nSome have come on or close to his spinal column, which affects his sense of balance and use of his legs. His doctors let us know that anything is possible, but we should make peace with the fact that he may eventually lose the ability to walk entirely.\n“Make peace?” Cassie whispered outside of Levi’s bedroom. “With the worst thing I’ve ever heard in my life?”\nI was frozen in place. Scared for my son but feeling the weight of my role as a man to take this burden off of my wife. “Mom?” I heard Levi’s small voice from behind the cracked door.\n“Yes, sweetheart?” Cassie tried to put a smile on.\n“You know the worst thing I’ve ever heard?” Levi sounded like he was crying. Cassie and I went white with fear, not knowing he could hear us.\n“What’s that, baby?” Cassie said, wide-eyed and waiting for a bomb to drop. Just then, Levi tipped his head back and let out a blood-curdling scream. Cassie and I ran into the bedroom to rush to his side and Levi keeled over until a fit of laughter. He hadn’t been crying; he’d been giggling.\n“You are the silliest person I’ve ever met!” I said.\nAfter college, I got a job working for one of the major insurance companies. I climbed my way up the ladder quickly, making money to buy better and better grey suits to fit in that world. But each night, I’d take out my camera and throw myself into the color of the city. I’d shoot late into the night, eventually using the money to buy better and better cameras and lenses.\nAlong the way, I met Cassie. Much like me, she was climbing up the ladder of her field quickly, but her drive was much more severe and her talent so great that she made Vice President before I had even decided if I truly liked the company. On our first date, she told me that she never wanted to be married because she didn’t need some man slowing her down. Yet when she got back to the table after winning the last “40 Under 40” recognition in the region, she looked me in the eyes and said, “we can get married now.”\nI couldn’t think of anything I wanted more.\nSoon after, I left insurance at Cassie’s urging and threw myself into photography full time. With her support and her incredible business knowledge, I was able to soar. She even picked up the camera and used her talent and joined me on photoshoots. When she told me she was pregnant, life seemed perfect.\nI left the gray suits and white walls of insurance. I had opened myself up to a world of color. And then God threw me into a world of sterile white sheets, crisp blue scrubs, and if he was feeling particularly angry, red blood.\nCassie and I yell at God, at family, at insurance companies, at passing cars, at each other. But Levi, who has it worst of all… smiles. He wakes up every day with a smile. Before he’s found out if his legs have the strength to walk. Before he’s found out if the radiation treatment worked. Before he’s had breakfast, he opens his eyes and gives us a big smile.\nGod’s got jokes.\nI pick up my camera and the rings and keep my eyes peeled for any final opportunities before going back to the bridal suite when my phone buzzes in my pocket. My heart races. I’m living in fear of the day that smile goes away. Either because it’s taken or the will to smile is gone. I close my eyes and take a deep breath.\n“Please.”\nI open the text from Cassie. “You’re looking at the face of a little man that just got cleared to go back to school in September!” A picture comes through of Levi, no longer pale and weak, but sitting up with arms raised and that big smile.\nWe’ll have to arrange for a wheelchair and make sure the school has a para that can provide one-on-one attention. I’m not sure how we’ll handle any of this. I’m sure there’s more to handle that I’m not thinking of. But not right now. At this moment, my boy can smile. He can feel like himself. We have something to look forward to today.\nI wipe the tears from my eyes and type, “I can’t wait to celebrate with you both! As soon as this is over, I’m headed straight back down there so we can have a pancake breakfast!”\nThree dots. Cass types, “Levi wants bacon.”" } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: She Could Simply Walk Away\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 2503\n\nPrompt:\n\nSet your story in the woods or on a campground." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "She Could Simply Walk Away\nJemma heard the sound again, a low moan coming from across the swamp.\nShe had previously dismissed it as the groan of a live oak branch rubbing against another in the breeze, a common enough sound in the wetlands.\nThis time she inclined her head toward the fan of palmetto leaves and listened intently. Moonlight penetrated through ghostly fingers of Spanish moss draped above her head, limning the trees in black against the starlit sky. She could smell the scent of decaying vegetation and feel the damp, cloying bayou air like a wet blanket on her skin.\nA night owl hooted eerily, but Jemma did not spook easily, even though she had slipped out without permission. The mistress knew she needed herbs and willow bark to do her work. An outbreak of yellow fever could wipe out the entire population of slaves currently living on the sugar plantation. Jemma was becoming known for her healing arts, and that's why the barn door was usually left open. She could come and go as she pleased ever since she had successfully treated slaves on the neighboring plantation for the deadly disease.\nThere it was again. Definitely a human voice, moaning in pain. She hiked up her skirts and waded into the black waters, mindful of the risk of snakes and alligators, but unwilling to leave a fellow human, possibly a runaway slave, in trouble.\nSlogging through the knee-deep bog, she reached a shelf of dry ground and found the man lying on the grass, his knees drawn up to his chest.\nJemma lifted the shutters of her lantern, letting out more light in order to see his face. The eyes were closed tightly. A grimace stretched his lips into a gray mask of pain. \nJemma gasped, startled that she knew that face all too well. Master Alex! He had ridden away five months earlier, handsome and daring in his gray uniform, confident that he would soon be returning to his bride after defeating the Union army. The smart military jacket was now soaked with blood, dirty with gunpowder surrounding the open wound, the breeches caked with mud to the knees.\n\"Massah Alex!\" She exclaimed, putting one hand over her mouth as her heart leaped within her, a leap of sudden fury.\nThe soldier opened bleary, fever-bright eyes. \"Don't shoot me,\" he muttered.\nShe bent down and lifted his head to peer more closely into his face. \"It's me, Massah Alex. It be Jemma that's found you.\" She wanted him to know.\nHe moaned again. \"Jemma?\"\nHis eyes cleared momentarily with vague recognition. \"Jemma?\"\nShe didn't speak. Her hands were busy tearing the fabric away from the wound. Examining the skin beneath the bloodied jacket, it was bad, maybe even gangrenous from the smell of him.\nShe knew he wouldn't live until morning if she didn't get him back to the manor at once. She also knew that she was holding in her hands the life of the man who had ordered her flogged for the very thing she was doing now—slipping away from the sugar plantation to the swamps where she went to gather herbs, roots, and grasses for her poultices.\nThis was the man who had accused her of consorting with the devil after she had gone to Congo Square in New Orleans to seek advice from Madame Marie LaVeau.\nJemma thought the voodoo priestess might indeed be a witch, but the woman could conjure up remedies to cure many illnesses. It was from Marie that she had learned how to treat swamp fever. That skill had increased Jemma's value to her mistress.\nMaster Alex blinked up at her with a look of sudden clarity. \"Am I home then?\" His yellow eyes rolled wildly in hope.\n\"You be in the swamps, Massah.\" Jemma whispered, suddenly certain of what she must do.\nAt the time of her flogging, she had vowed that if she ever got the chance she would kill the man. She had dreamed up ways to torture him while she lay face down on a rough, straw-filled mattress for days, unable to rest on her flayed back. The older women had tended her wounds as best they could, but the scars of that flogging were permanently branded on both her flesh and soul.\nUnconsciously, she lifted a hand to her back as she stared down at the man responsible for those vicious scars. Then she gritted white teeth in determination.\n\"Is it really you Jemma?\" His eyes searched her face. Perhaps he saw the hatred barely hidden there because he groaned again and the hope went out of his eyes like a candle flame extinguished by a forceful breath.\nHe thrashed about and turned his head as if searching for some avenue of hope from another source.\nShe thought how easy it would be to simply walk back to the barn and slip through the door to the other side where the slave cabins stood in a row. No one would ever know she had found the master and left him there.\nHe would suffer and die, just as she had willed him to a thousand times since the flogging. Something inside her stomach twisted at the thought, a forceful, gloating thing that leaped up into her chest and urged her to laugh at him in his suffering and let him die. She reveled in the thought of revenge momentarily.\nShe could do it, savor it, and even rejoice in it. Her fingers ran over the ridges along her sides. They were more ugly than any scar the bullet hole would leave in his chest. This man had done that to her.\nShe had lain awake nights wondering: What right did a man have to torture another human being? Did the white man's God really give him that power? Back in Africa, her people had been powerful before the slave ships came. They were less than cattle in this land, the little ones on the neighboring plantation fed from a trough under the porch like dogs.\nOn her master's land, slaves were given their own cabins and treated with some degree of dignity and even kindness. Nancy, the master's wife had seen to that. But who knew what was going to happen if the South won the war? Jemma might someday be sold to a fate far worse than her present lot. Images of slave owners, brutal and vile, played quickly on the screen of her imagination. She had heard many stories during her visits to the slave gatherings in Congo Square.\nShe feared the uncertain future.\nYet, Jemma also had grown to love the master's wife. After Alex had gone to war, Mistress Nancy had Jemma brought to the manor house as her personal maid and had taught her how to read, although slaves were forbidden this privilege. Jemma's literacy had to be kept a strict secret.\nNancy, amazed and delighted at how quickly Jemma learned, had given her the task of reading Bible stories and Hans Christian Anderson's tales to the little ones at bedtime. How strange these white men's tales—a woman letting down golden hair to allow her lover to climb to her tower. A mermaid who grew legs and walked. Jemma recalled her own childhood stories. Sometimes she mixed one of them in with the others. The boy child was equally delighted with tales of African warriors killing lions and elephants.\nAfter the children fell asleep, the house was quiet, and all lamps extinguished, Jemma often lit a candle and read from the white man's Bible. She thought it very strange that this Son of God had actually chosen to die for other people's sins. The spirits of her African ancestors would never allow their sons to die for their enemies, and certainly not an only son.\n\"Is Nancy well?\" the dying soldier asked, interrupting her thoughts.\n\"She be well,\" Jemma murmured, struggling with the intensity of her emotions. She remained startled by the opportunity that had fallen to her to deal with her most hated enemy.\nFor a brief moment, she recognized the exulting thing in her chest for what it was. Vengeance. Something that must be left to the white man's God. That's what the book commanded. Among her people, it was a shameful thing, a great dishonor, to allow an enemy to go free and unpunished for his crimes.\nShe remembered dark bodies dancing around the orange firelight and could almost hear the African drums pounding a rapid rhythm in her ears. She realized it was the beating of her own heart beating with an intensity she had not known was part of her. Sweat popped out on her forehead.\n\"What about my little girl?\" Alex closed his eyes with a faint smile. The image of the golden haired two-year-old appeared in Jemma's excited imagination.\n\"Your chilluns be well too.\" The slave woman assured him quietly. She did not venture to tell her master that the baby girl had suffered frequent stomachaches. Or that she had been able to relieve the child's discomfort with ragweed and willow bark tea.\nWhy should she tell him? She could also make him well, however, he would probably have her flogged again for going into the swamps to gather her \"witch’s potions.\" \n\"Jemma, are we far from home? Are you running away?\" The master questioned, his voice husky and his eyes remaining tightly closed as if to shut out painful circumstances.\nWhen she didn't answer he continued, \"I was wounded, and I couldn't find the way back to the camp. It was a hard battle. The Yankees were dropping us by the dozens. Wounded soldiers were running in every direction. I didn't know which way to go.\"\nHe coughed.\nJemma listened, aware that precious minutes counted if he were to live. His life's blood was draining out of him. He needed help immediately.\n\"I was with a soldier who knew the way back to New Orleans. He said we could make it in three days. I wanted to see Nancy so bad.\"\nThe wound bled afresh when another cough racked his body.\n\"Be still Massah,\" she ordered, tearing off her tignon, a madras kerchief, from her head. She tied it around his chest in an attempt to staunch the flow.\nWhat was she doing?\nThe drumbeat of Africa pounded in her blood, primal and hot. The dance of vengeance was honorable. Her ancestors would be proud if she exacted his life. They would be shamed if she didn't.\n\"I shouldn't have had you flogged, Jemma,\" the master panted. \"I thought I was protecting you from something worse—even a hanging—if a planter thought you were a runaway.\"\nHe breathed a sigh of genuine regret.\n\"I thought if you were flogged, the men wouldn't dare leave the plantation. They were in danger too, if they got caught out in the wetlands without . . . \" another spasm of pain cut off his words.\nOnce more she felt the ripping and tearing of those lashes deep in her soul as he uttered the word \"flogged.\" The pain of those lashes fired hatred in every fiber of her being. She hated the smell of him. The sight of him. His words of regret fell on stony, frozen emotions.\nThe power of the African drumbeat grew ever more intense. Jemma rose up from her knees. Master Alex didn't appear to realize she was leaving.\nHer feet moved purposefully toward the black swamp waters once again, and she slogged across them without looking back.\nThe barn door would be open. She'd be back inside her cabin soon, reveling in the power of her revenge.\nThen she heard him moan again. \"Nancy.\"\nThe healer in her tugged at that small part of her soul that was still able to feel. What of her beloved mistress? Wouldn’t Nancy be greatly grieved to lose her man? Wouldn't the master's children, whom Jemma had also grown to love, be wretched? What would their lives be like, growing up without a father? \nLet them be wretched! Jemma thought with hate-fired rage. Nobody had cared that she had been wrenched from her parents' arms as a child and then chained on that terrifying, stinking, slave ship filthy with human waste. The things she had seen during the weeks in the ship's hold were never far from her tormented mind.\nBut what if the white man's God truly was righteous? If so, wouldn’t He wreak vengeance on the slave ship captains and their hateful crews?\nShe pondered that thought, remembering the strange words she found in the Holy Book.\nThen it occurred to her. Had God delivered her master's life to her this very night? Wasn't that a sign that she was the instrument of his vengeance?\nShe remembered the strange story of the man on the cross, asking his Father to forgive the very ones who put him there. What if God instead forgave this man she hated with all her strength?\nNo! She couldn't let that happen. It would be a disgrace.\nJemma slogged another five yards, steeling herself against the conflict now roiling inside her stomach like a cauldron of acid.\nShe should be dancing with glee. And indeed some part of her felt gleeful, but it was an ugly kind of glee, empty of any real jubilance.\n\"Jemma?\" he called her name with a note of hopelessness from across the bog.\n\"Will you tell Nancy that I love her?\" His question was a pitiful acquiescence to her power over him. The wounded soldier had realized the slave woman would not be any source of help. And without her assistance, he knew he was a dead man. He would not live to see another dawn.\nJemma kept walking and did not bother to answer.\nShe had made her decision. The power of that choice left her shaking, almost shocked.\nLess than half an hour later, Jemma returned to the spot marked in her memory by the large palmetto fan. She brought Big Jim and Roley with her. The pair had quickly tied a sheet between two cut poles. Now they lifted the master upon it and carried him to the manor where Nancy waited with boiling water and herbal medicines brewing on the stove. Remedies prepared from ingredients furnished by Jemma, the slave woman who had been flogged for leaving the plantation to gather them.\nThat night, the only sounds Jemma heard from her bed beside the children were soft sighs coming from the master's bedroom. He was resting quietly after she had tended to his wound, which was not gangrenous, as she had first suspected. Because of her skills, he would recover.\nThe glee of vengeance was gone, but in its place was a kind of peace that Jemma had never experienced before.\nBefore she blew out her small candle and laid aside the white man’s book, she wondered briefly if the barn door would be kept closed after the master recovered." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Enamored by a Cloud\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 1009\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character who loves cloud gazing." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Enamored by a Cloud!\n“Chare’ how are you this beautiful day?” says her therapist while Chare’ is driving down the road. Chare’ responds, “I find that I am at peace, peace, but to give you an idea of how I truly feel this beautiful day let me share a chain of events.\nMy day began with a shower, as I completed my every day rising routine my attention, my eye was captured by the gazing of the sun through my window. I thought to myself it must be a beautiful day, it has to be, as I stared deeply out the window a little longer than usual.\nIn surprise I spotted a cloud that captured the sun within its body its frame, it sat perfectly in front of that beautiful gazing sun. I became entranced by the way the sun’s rays was pushing through its ever so white and pure appearance. I looked and looked so enamored by its size, small in stature as it ran across the sky. It hovered in that one place directly in front of the sun but moving so very slow. I gazed and became enraptured by its blatant blocking of the sun.\nI soon realized the day was getting past me I was gazing at this cloud relentlessly. I continued with my daily routine to get ready for the day. So, I dressed and prepped, grabbed all my equipment, loaded them into my car and off I was to my first destination.\nI drove and drove and while driving I glanced up to the sky and by surprise there it was my cloud following me very close by. I glanced up and for sure there it was doing a double take and measured it with my eyes, really to my surprise again it indeed was the cloud that had me entranced within. As I continued my journey driving down this winding road. I glanced at it so many times I almost was about to lose control, my whole mind thinking, ‘is this cloud really following me’, but I kept on looking, peeping over my steering wheel, leaning toward my windshield hoping it was still there.\nFinally, as I arrived at my destination, I began to unload all I needed for this assignment and to my amazement this assignment would take place outside. As always, I am prepared to revamp what I truly needed to complete my assignment without hesitation. While my client led me to my true destination, I took a single glance and to my complete utter astonishment that same cloud, my cloud caught my eyes admiration. There it was same shape, form and size this time at a stand still gazing down at me. As I set up and adjusted my stand I found it, my cloud was looking brighter than when the sun shone through it.\nAs my client was being prepared and was further prepped and situated in his place by his attendants, I noticed something different about my cloud the brightness of it no longer stood so proud. Its color changed from white to grey. The beautiful day was somewhat in disarray. No worries I felt just pressing to continue the beginning of this final celebration.\nFinally, after the client was set in his place and his attendants also stood specially arrayed around him. Many more people began to arrive standing looking at my client with tears in their eyes as I looked back up at my cloud, its color had completely changed from that beautiful buff white to an impeding grey. As I began to speak, I gazed at my client’s attendant he reached for an umbrella and each attendant did the same in preparation of my cloud’s release of the rain it contained. I looked up and to utter surprise yes, this cloud of mine this cloud I was intrigued by, turned on me and release its rain heavy upon me. It began to pour and pour all during my speech.\nThe group of people family and friends of all kinds looking with suspense realizing this event would soon be tense, but the attendants tried and tried to keep the rain from touching those in attendance heads. I began my speech; I began it with words of encouragement to reach and soothe the tears of the client, but those tears were no longer recognizable mixed in the drops of the rain. As I neared to the end of my speech, it seemed as if the rain was about to soon to end. I soon prepared to break down my equipment for my work here was done, my client was soon lowered to his final resting place. Now off I need to be to my next assignment.\nI glanced up to see my cloud and found it was now truly hovering at its best, releasing the sadness it felt knowing my task at hand was absolutely, truly at rest. Very soon it was done the rain that had begun to pour upon our heads rescinded its precipitation. My cloud turned from that dismal grey back to its beautiful buff white all at once like this was all a stunt. It was done and at its finale it finally moved on knowing my final task was also done.\nSo, Ma’am all in all my day was by far a beautiful and enamored one.” “And now Chare’” the therapist said, “how shall you go forward after today? What will be your way of dealing with your not so good days?” Chare’ says “I’ll look and begin each seeking out the Son within the cloud, for I know He knows the many tasks I have ahead of me for His Cloud I believe will follow me to each assignment he sends me.\nIn knowing this I truly believe that with each experience it will finally above all things allow me to breath. No more looking at clouds the same way, for I have been truly changed and enamored within, by the gaze of a beautiful God yielding cloud.\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: In Transition\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 1566\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story that includes one character reading aloud to another." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "The plane ride from Florida to Haiti was shorter than I expected. It was forty-five minutes of clear skies, sunshine highs, and windy lows. Since leaving months after my eighth birthday on a humid summer night under the full moon’s light, I have not been back. The last time I looked up at the moon was from the rooftop of my grandfather’s house. I promised myself and Patrice, my cousin who was more of a sister to me than a cousin, to be back. I figured if I believed it hard enough and made promises with every fiber of my being, this change would be temporary. I thought that luck, fate, God, or whatever I believed in as an eight-year-old would drive me to keep my word. As the plane tires skidded and bounced on the runway, it jerked me around and awakened the little butterflies in the pit of my stomach. Though I do not remember much about this home and have been losing bits and pieces of it for years, I was happy to finally be home. \nWhat I remember are the stories from home mama read to me each night before I went to bed. We arrived in a country where we did not belong, with all of our worldly possessions packed neatly into one suitcase. My uncle, who had been living in the United States since I’ve known him, hosted us in the spare bedroom of his seven hundred and fifty square-foot apartment. He lived minimally, with bare walls and little furniture in the common areas. When I asked him about it, he’d say, “my child, all I do is work and sleep. I do not have the time or money to buy furniture for an empty apartment.”\nOn the other hand, Mama did everything she could to make our little corner of the apartment feel like home. She kept pictures of Patrice and grandpa on the nightstand. She made Friday and pikliz while playing Kompa, at least once a week. When we ate them, we took turns telling stories like we used to back home, under full moons on grandfather’s rooftop. But what I enjoyed most was the bedtime stories mama read every night. The book she read from was one she stashed in her belongings while deciding which parts of her life to carry with her and which parts to leave behind. \n“Epi, yo tandé maman yo chaque jou avan yo al dormi” She’d read to me, aloud. The creole, her mother tongue, poured out of her effortlessly. They were stories about an obedient little girl who kept country and culture close to her heart and never lost her sense of self. But after a while, I suspected they were pep talks masquerading as bedtime stories because of how frequently they changed and how much they related to the day’s events. \n“Mama, read another one,” I’d plead. \n“No,” she replied, almost instinctively. “Now is time for sleep. Never forget where you come from, but never tell others either,” she’d remind me as she pulled the covers to tuck me in.\n“Because it’s not safe,” I’d reply like a little chorus. These words became our mantra. I longed to understand why our home in Haiti was no longer safe, why we had to leave in the middle of the night, why Papi could not come with us and why grandpa cried and held me tightly as if it was the last time he would see me. But I did not ask any of those questions. Obedient and respectful children did no such thing. Instead, I listened to Mama’s breathing as she fell asleep next to me on the bed we shared, and I stared out of the window, looking for the moon until sleep eventually found me.\nAs I made my way off the plane towards baggage claim and customs, I tried my best to stand, walk, and talk like I belonged. But when I got in the immigration line, the officers took one look at my passport and pointed me towards another line for American citizens. I walked over, deflated, and stood in the queue. \n“He was just checking IDs,” I whisper to myself, trying to check the hole forming in the pit of my stomach. “I belong here, and this is my home.”\nOnce outside of the airport, I searched the crowd for a taxi. I tried to force my body to relax, but the bustling crowd, the faint smell of smoke in the air, and the sounds of cars just beyond the gate kept me on edge. \n“Delphine! Delphine!” I whipped around at the sound of the voice but could not make out where it was coming from. \n“Delphine! What are you doing here?” I heard the voice say again as someone grabbed my arm from behind. \n“Patrice?” I could not believe my eyes. Immediately I grabbed her. “Is it really you?” \n“What? Of course, it is. Have you forgotten already?” She responded, and I felt a sting. I stared at her, still and numb, looking for the words. When you finally see a person you have mourned stand before you again, what do you say? \n“Come on, let’s get out of this crowd,” she said after looking around a bit. “I parked my car with some friends a few blocks away. Come this way.” She grabbed my bag with one hand and my hand in the other, and I remember this feeling, her hand in mine, gently pulling and guiding me. I remember how she’d pick me up from school after her last class, and we’d point out people in the streets and imagine stories about who they were and what they were up to on our walk home. \nThe drive was bumpy, chaotic, and quiet. After what felt like an eternity of driving, it looked like we had left the noises of the city center behind us. \n“They told me you died in the earthquake.” The sound of the car rattling along the road every so often filled the gaps of silence between us. \n“I guess, in some ways… I did.” She responded, never taking her eyes off the road. “Are you an American now?”\n“I’m not sure,” I replied, realizing I had never been asked this question. “How did you know I was at the airport?”\n“I work there. You walked right past me on your way to the line for American citizens.” I couldn’t tell if her words came out with a tinge of accusation or if I had imagined it. “I didn’t think it was you at first because I never imagined a reunion where you would walk past me and not recognize me.”\n“And I never imagined a reunion,” I retort. It was silent again. \n“So, what was the plan? Where were you going to go when you got here?” She asked tautly. \n“I was going to go home to Delmas, to grandpa’s house.” She pulled the car to a slow stop on the side of the road and turned off the engine. \n“Why? What are you looking for?” She turned towards me, searching me for answers. At that moment, sitting in the passenger side of her Renault, I felt the distance between us.\n“What do you mean? I’m not looking for anything. This is my home. I belong here. I’m going home.” I was trying to convince myself with these words as much as I was trying to convince her. \n“Delphine. That house was vacant for a long time after grandpa died. You never even attended his funeral. And I told aunty. I sent letters, I called. I told her he was getting worse, and she had to come back!” She was almost screaming, turning red at the base of her neck, and waving her hands in the air. I wanted to answer, to interject, to explain myself at least. But the words were caught in my throat, manifesting themselves into tears that gathered at the corner of my eyes. \n“I’m sorry” was all I could muster, and it came out as more of a whisper and sob than words. \nShe was silent for a while before speaking again. “The house collapsed when the earthquake hit. I was sleeping in one of the back rooms when the ground started shaking. The house swayed from side to side with me in it. When I woke up, I ran as fast as I could out of the house with nothing but the clothes on my back.” She paused. “I barely made it out.” \nI wanted to reach out to her, touch her, hug her, and tell her I was happy she made it out of the house, that she was alive, and that I wanted to come back many times. But I felt stuck as if my guilt had fused me to the seat, and we became one. \n“Where are we going?” I asked, wiping my face. \n“You can spend the night with me. I have a place a little further up. But tomorrow, I’m taking you back to the airport. I’m not sure what you’re looking for or why you’re here. But I’m almost certain that whatever you’re looking for is not here,” she responded flatly.\nAfter a while, she put the keys back in the ignition, started the car, resumed the drive, and we settled back into our corners of silence." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Hope\n\nGenre: american\n\nWord Count: 2467\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about hope." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "My family tree has always included branches just for dogs. It started with my dad’s granddad more than 100 years ago and is true to this day. My great-grandfather grew up in rural Tennessee when times were tough and money was tight. As a boy, he would relentlessly ask for a dog, but each time the response was the same: there wasn’t money to feed an extra mouth—especially if that mouth was on a dog. \n\nIt might have been his dad’s new job or just the persistence of a ten-year-old boy, but his mom finally relented. The new family member was a Bluetick hound that my great-grandfather called Tick. This started two traditions that have lasted through four generations. Since then, my family has always had dogs, and all of them had Tick in their name. The original “Tick” was followed by Luna Tick. Then came Gigan Tick and Roman Tick. They were followed by at least 10 other “Ticks” before Fran.\n\nFran Tick, a hyperactive border collie, came on the scene seven years before I was born. I hadn't been there to name Fran, but for the eight years I knew him, he lived up to his moniker. On more than one occasion, Mom, Dad, and I would spend hours playing a game Fran invented called: I’ll-let-you-get-close-then-I’ll-run-away-again. Fran seemed to like the game more than we did, but when we would inevitably catch him, we could never be mad. He only wanted to play. \n\nLittle boys tend to make friends easily, but there is no friend like your first best friend, and my first best friend was Fran. From the time I was a baby, I would fall asleep with my head on Fran's belly. And, when I was old enough to have a “big boy\" bed, Fran would jump in every night and lay next to me as we both fell asleep. The only exceptions were the nights I would spend at a friend's house. On those occasions, Fran would climb on the couch and place himself on the back cushion in such a manner as to be able to look out of the front window and wait for me to come home. \n\nAs Fran got older, our routine started to change. He still slept in the bed with me, but he couldn’t jump up anymore. I had to pick him up and put him in his special spot.\n\nThe morning I woke up and found he had peed on my bed, I wasn’t upset. I was scared. Although I didn’t fully understand it at the time, my parents had been preparing me for my last days with Fran. They did their best to explain to me in terms I could understand that my best friend wasn’t going to be around much longer. \n\n“Every dog has only so much love to give,” my mom explained. “They give it to us so completely that they run out of love before we do.” \n\n“Fran has been with you since the first day you came home from the hospital,” my dad added, “and even though we’ll miss him when he’s gone, all his love stays with us forever.”\n\nI didn’t want to tell my parents about Fran’s accident, but since I didn’t know how to clean my blanket, I picked up Fran and carried him downstairs.\n\n“Is Fran out of love?” I asked, not really wanting to know the answer. \n\nWe laid him on the couch. After a few minutes, my mother turned to me and said, “Honey, I’m afraid so.” \n\nThere are few things more heart wrenching than the sobs of a boy who knows his dog is about to die. I was inconsolable. I begged my parents for one more day with Fran, but they could see that Fran was in excruciating pain. They knew how much I loved my dog, and they hoped that one day I would understand that they were doing the most compassionate thing for both Fran and me.\n\n“Get your shoes on and grab your coat,” Mom said as she grabbed her keys and a blanket for Fran. Her words caused both relief and anxiety. I knew when the time came, Fran would have to be taken to the veterinarian, but my parents weren’t sure if I should go. To this day, I don’t know why my mom and dad made the decision to let me go, but I am forever grateful that they did.\n\nI wasn’t there the day Fran came into our family, but I was able to stay with him until the very end. The final thing my dog saw before closing his eyes for last time was my face. As painful as it was for me, I hope it comforted him.\n\nOn the way home from the vet, my mom reminded me that we were a dog family and that “when the time was right” we would get another dog. I know now she was just trying to ease my pain, but at the time I wasn’t interested. Fran was irreplaceable, and I was no longer a dog boy. \n\nSunday mornings were bacon-and-eggs days, and for a kid who had to eat cold cereal Monday through Saturday, I counted the minutes between Sunday breakfasts. On one particular Sunday, the aroma of bacon and coffee woke me, as it usually did, but something was profoundly different this time. When I ran into the kitchen ready to eat the delicious feast, standing right behind my mom was the most adorable Miniature Schnauzer puppy anyone had ever seen. She was gray and white, salt and pepper, as I learned later, and she was peeing, right there on the kitchen floor. \n\n“Mom! It’s a puppy, a real live puppy!” A real live puppy, I actually said that. \n\nI had been certain that I was no longer a dog boy, but here was this little ball of fur who was as lost as I was. She didn’t know how to go outside to pee, but I could teach her. She needed a friend, and in that moment, I realized I needed a friend even more.\n\n“Get some paper towels and a mop,” my mother said with a smile that lit up her eyes.\n\n“Yes, ma’am!” \n\nI ran to the hall closet to follow my mother's instructions. When I finished cleaning, I sat down at the breakfast table and gave my parents the news. \n\n“Okay, you know I said no dogs, right?” I paused for dramatic effect. \"Well, I'm willing to keep this one, but only if I can name her.”\n\n“What did you have in mind?” my mom asked. \n\n“Miss Tick!” \n\n“Miss Tick it is,” my dad said as he and mom clinked their coffee cups with my glass of orange juice. “Now, let’s have some breakfast and celebrate.”\n\nIt’s a funny thing about getting a puppy after you’ve lost your best friend. You are still heartbroken, but you’re also really busy. \n\nIt felt like the only thing I had time to do was take care of the dog. At the crack of dawn, I filled her bowls with food and fresh water. Next, I took her outside to go “potty.” Miss Tick wasn’t very good at that for a long time. Until she was trained, I would stand outside, having a staring contest with her, until she would lay down in the grass. However, once I brought her inside, I soon needed paper towels and a mop. \n\nThe best thing about Missy, as I called her, was she was attached to me. It wasn’t easy at first. Missy couldn’t jump on the bed by herself, and I initially felt guilty for letting her into Fran’s space, both in the bed and in my heart. But before long, I was snuggling every night with the cutest little dog you ever did see.\n\nMissy became every bit the best friend Fran had been, and the two of us grew up together. By the time I started high school, Missy was a full grown Miniature Schnauzer. The good thing was, being small, she still seemed like a puppy. She was always active, always loyal, and often smarter than me. I taught her how to shake hands, give a high five, roll over, play dead, and speak on command. Though I had plenty of friends in high school, Missy was my best friend.\n\nI went to college locally, so each night when I would sit at my desk to study, Missy would plop herself down on my feet and fall fast asleep. My friends would tell me how much fun it was to live in the dorms, but as far as I was concerned, staying home with Missy was the best part of college.\n\nWhen I graduated and got my own apartment, Missy came right along with me. It didn’t take long for her to get the lay of the land and in short order she was queen of our new place.\n\nI didn’t get to see the full life cycle of a dog with Fran. He was an adult by the time I was born. He was fully trained and confident from the first day I knew him. On the other hand, I was there to see the “puppy days” with Missy. I was one who was there to teach her and clean up after her. I was there when she started jumping on the bed by herself and when she learned to let me know it was time to go out. I knew her when she was little and afraid and when she grew brave, protecting the house with her ear-piercing bark.\n\nBut now, she doesn’t run like she used to and a lot of times she waits for me to put her on the bed. She still cuddles up with me at night and sleeps on my feet during the day, but she doesn’t always make it outside to pee. Little by little, I’m becoming that eight-year-old boy again, living in fear that Missy is running out of love. \n\nI used to say the worst day of my life was the day Fran died. Fifteen years ago, my parents made the choice to mercifully end my best friend's life, but now I was the one who had to make a decision. I sat on the floor and held Missy in my arms the same way I had done since I was a boy. I stroked her fur and told her over and over how much I loved her. I gave her all of the treats she could eat, and for a few moments it was like we were young again, but I knew it was time. I then took my best friend to the car, laid her gently in a soft bed on my passenger seat, and drove to the same vet we had gone to all those years before.\n\nMy mom and dad met me at the veterinarian's office. Without words, we all began to cry together.\n\nThe three of us were directed to a room where we could be alone with Missy.\n\nThere is never enough time to say goodbye to your best friend, not when you are eight and not when you are 23, but I was glad for the time to reflect and remember. When the vet came in and asked if I was ready, I couldn’t speak through my tears. I just nodded my head and held Missy close. \n\nA quick painless shot—that’s all it takes. Once again, I stared into my friend’s eyes until they closed for the last time. As I sat there crying, I looked at my dad and said, “That’s it. I can’t do this ever again. I know there is a family tradition, but losing a dog is too painful.” \n\n“I understand, I really do,” he replied. \n\n“I need to be alone with Missy for a few more moments.”\n\n“Of course, son. Take as long as you need. They won’t rush you, I promise.” \nAfter a few minutes of final goodbyes, I called in the veterinarian’s assistant.\n\n“I’ll take good care of him, I promise,” she assured.\n\n”Thank you,” I responded as she left the room and I the office.\n\nIn the parking lot, a man who had parked in the loading zone was busy collapsing a pop up shelter and loading it into the back of his pickup truck. I wouldn’t have taken any particular notice except for hearing a chirp that sounded a little like a smoke detector whose battery had died. I turned my head and saw the smallest dog I had ever seen. She was in a cage with a sign that read “Free Puppies.” \n\n“You interested?” The man asked. “This is the last one. She’s the runt of the litter. No one wanted her.”\n\n“No, thanks,” I said, forcing a half smile. I’m done with dogs. Good luck though.”\n\nI turned back towards my car. Then I heard the chirp again. Inexplicably I turned around and this time the little dog looked right at me, wagging its tail, barking.\n\n“What kind of dog is it?” I asked.\n\n“She’s a Miniature Schnauzer.”\n\n“You’re kidding.” \n\n\"Serious as a heart attack,\" he responded with a chuckle. \"Baby Miniature Schnauzers pretty much look like generic puppies for their first six months.\"\n\n\"Can I hold her?” I said unexpectedly, the words coming from my heart.\n\nHe pulled the little girl out of the cage and handed her to me. As I held her in my arms, I fought back tears. \n\n\"I don’t want a dog,\" I muttered under my breath. Turning back to the man, I asked, “What’s her name?”\n\n“You get to decide.” The man answered before his expression and tone of voice changed. “I’m so sorry, she didn’t mean it. She’s a puppy.” \n\nI looked down to see what the man was talking about. Right there, smack dab in the middle of my previously clean white shirt, was a small yellow stain. Sometimes the universe sends you a sign. When it does, it's best not to ignore it.\n\n“I’ll take her.\" I said with a smile that a few minutes earlier seemed impossible. \"This little girl needs a friend, and I need one even more.”\n\n“Done and done. She’s yours.\" The man said, slamming shut the tailgate on his truck. \"What are you going to name her?”\n\n“Hope,” I said, as my new friend started to lick my hand.\n\n”It’s a strong name,” he said walking to the front of his truck. “It suits her.l\n\nI knew the choice broke an old family tradition, but the man was right. Her name did suit her and it seemed to be a good time to start a new tradition.\n\n\"Let's go home, girl,” I said, my arms and heart filled with hope." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Black and White\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 1186\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about someone struggling to swallow some harsh (but fair) constructive criticism." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "“Jamaal? Jamaal Black?” the Hispanic receptionist called out, looking over her glasses at a clipboard at the sea of people waiting for court-ordered therapy sessions.\nA tall white man in his 40’s stood up, dressed in a white polo shirt and light brown khaki pants. His canvas deck shoes squeaked as he cautiously approached her, so as not to alarm her. \n“Yo miss,” he said. “I’m Jamaal.”\n“You making fun of me?” The receptionist looked at the white middle-aged man, straight out of central casting. He couldn’t have been any whiter. \n“Nah, miss. It ain’t like that.” Jamaal held up his hands in an unnecessary gesture of goodwill.\n“Because I can send you right back to court if you are going to be a problem,” she spat.\n“I think we're about to have a problem!” an attractive black woman stood up suddenly, marching right next to the white man, putting her finger in the receptionist’s face. “I am Karen White. My husband and I are here with our children for our session. By my watch, it is fifteen minutes past our appointed time.”\n“I am sorry for the wait, Ms. White,” the receptionist said, smiling. “Please go through this door down to Conference Room #7.\"\nKaren White sailed through the door, followed closely behind by her children and Jamaal Black, who had shoved his hands deep down into his pockets. \nThe family waited around the conference table. Finally, the door opened. An elderly Indian man entered, carrying a thick manila file with BLACK, JAMAAL written in black ink on the tab.\n“Hello, family. I am Doctor Shawn FitzPatrick O’Flanagan,” he introduced himself, flipping through Jamaal’s records. “Apparently, Jamaal needs just three more sessions to regain custody of his children because of the incident.”\n“Three is too many!” Karen interjected. “My husband is the victim here. Why is he always targeted?”\n“I assure you, Mrs. White, we will address all your concerns through his anger management counseling. Until then, let’s all remain calm. Mr. Black, can you tell me about the circumstances that led to your arrest?”\n“It’s embarrassing, ” Jamaal responded sheepishly. “Do we have to do this in front of the children?”\n“Ah yes, the children. Perfect segue,” Dr. O'Flanagan said with a smile. He then turned to the older daughter. “Can you tell me about yourself?”\n“I’m Gaye.”\n“That's fantastic, this is a safe space. You’ll find no judgement here.”\n“No, I’m straight, you idiot. My name is Gaye. Gaye Black-White.”\n“So are you Gaye Black or Gaye White?” Dr. O'Flanagan quizzed her.\n“I’m Black-White,” Gaye responded in a huff, rolling her eyes almost audibly. “But I identify as Chinese. Why is that so hard for people to understand?”\n“What box you check on a form shouldn’t be important,” Karen interrupted, “I refuse to choose a race. I believe a race chooses you.” \n\"Karen always checks the box marked 'other' on those forms,\" Gaye added, in obvious support of her mother.\n“Let me get this straight,” Dr. O'Flanagan said, obviously struggling to keep up. “The children have the surname White-Black, but your biological daughter is Chinese?”\n“Yes, is that a problem?” Jamaal asked while also trying to remain calm. “And she is very good at math, but a terrible driver. What are you getting at?”\n“I’m just trying to understand,” said Dr. O'Flanagan, cleaning his spectacles. He pushed the button on the intercom and told the Hispanic receptionist to cancel his afternoon appointments. This was going to take a little while.\n“And who are you, young man?” the doctor asked, turning towards the White-Black’s youngest son.\n“I’m Gray. Gray White-Black. But I’m not a young man. I’m an old soul in a meat locker of bone and blood. And I reject your hetero-normative labeling.”\n“Don’t listen to him.” Gaye chimed in. “He thinks he’s asexual, but to me he’ll always be my brother from an other mother.\"\n“I feel we are deviating from the task at hand. You realize your father has had an incident with law enforcement. After considering many options, the judge has decided the typical consequences are not appropriate.”\n“Who are you calling inappropriate?” yelled Karen. “I will call a half dozen lawyers to take down this facility brick by brick.”\n“I’m certain you c-can,” stuttered Dr. O'Flanagan. “May I get you a bottle of water?”\n“Don’t patronize me,” Karen replied, crossing her arms.\n“I apologize for misspeaking, but Jamaal, would you recount in your own words, what happened last February?”\n“Well, we were celebrating Black History Month at Red Lobster when I realized I had left my wallet at home. I stubbed out my menthol cigarette at the bar, and we raced home when the FIVE OH pulled us over.”\n“What was the initial charge?”\n“The cop said our tail light was out, and he gave us a warning.”\n“So,” the doctor paused, consulting his notes. “Why did you hit the police officer?”\n“Because he was biased.”\n“Excuse me?”\n“My wife was driving,” he added.\n“EXACTLY,” Karen chimed in.\n“You see, doc, when I was not more than ten or eleven, my dad took me and my brother aside and gave us the talk.”\n“The talk?” Dr O’Flannigan responded, more confused than ever.\n“Yeah, the talk,” replied Jamaal. “My dad’s family was a bunch of assholes. They were always causing a ruckus and making a stink. The Black name became synonymous with hooliganism. The cops would pull us over just for being Blacks.”\n“Wait, you are saying you, a white male, would get pulled over for driving while Black?”\n“Word, doc. Hey get it: Word Doc. Better micro hard than micro soft, right doc?” Jamaal said, cracking himself up. “But seriously, that's why my wife always drives.”\n“So you punched the cop because he let your wife go. Is that it?”\n“Correct,” Jamaal Black said.\n“But that doesn’t make any sense. How is that biased?”\n“If you must know,” Karen interrupted, “my father was chief of police for thirty-seven years.”\n“And…”\n“Well, I could practically run over a baby in a carriage, and I’d get away with a warning because of my last name: White.”\n“You’ve got to be kidding me. Your husband hit the cop because, as a black woman, you were a recipient of White privilege?”\n“Your damn fucking right he did. And he’d do it again.”\nDr. O'Flanagan rubbed his eyes and muttered, “Imeacht gan teacht ort.”\n“Excuse me?” Karen and Jamaal said simultaneously, ready to be offended.\n“It’s an Irish expression,” Dr. O’Flanagan replied.\n“I thought you were Indian,” Jamaal said.\n“I identify as leprechaun.” \n“Well erin go bragh-less doc,” Jamaal said with a chuckle. “Glad to see you being your authentic self. Screw the Italians! Amiright?”\n“Well you’re right about one thing,” Dr. O’Flanagan agreed as he signed the documents, handing them to Jamaal. “You don’t need to come back for any more sessions. Now get the hell out of here and never come back.” \n“Suit yourself, Lucky Charms. Let’s roll, White-Blacks!”\nWhen they had safely left the building, Dr. O’Flanagan closed his pad, put in for two weeks' vacation, and poured himself a Guinness." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: New Year and New Lies\n\nGenre: american\n\nWord Count: 1021\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story in the form of a list of New Year's resolutions." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "New Year and New Lies\nEvery year, I list resolutions on New Year's Eve. Usually, I only try five, hoping to manage all, but I break at least one within a month. I know it's not just me. Living up to the resolutions we set is tricky. My list is always the same:\n1. Save at least $1000\n2. Lose at least 15 lbs.\n3. Get organized\n4. Call friends and family when they pop into my mind\n5. Be Productive\nLast year, 2022, I accomplished #5 because I joined Reedsy and was determined to write at least one weekly story. This year, I managed to do #2, only because I was ill and unable to eat as usual. It's hard to eat when you can't breathe. I spent three weeks in the hospital battling mucus plugs. I was in the Medical Intensive Care Unit (MICU) for nineteen of those twenty-three days. Twice, they tried to move me to a step-down unit, but I was admitted to the MICU three times and became the first patient discharged home from an Intensive Care Unit without being on hospice; I'm not dying yet!\nSo, I'm looking forward to 2024…\nThe resolutions are the same:\n1. Save at least $1000\n2. Lose at least 15 lbs.\n3. Get organized\n4. Call friends and family when they pop into my mind\n5. Be Productive\nI know that I need a plan to achieve this list, so to save $1000 this year, I need to remember what they taught in this housing class back in the '90s:\nA: Write down a budget\nB: Write out my goals\nC: Pay me first\nD: Be honest with yourself and cut out frivolous spending\nTo save $1000 a year, I need to put $83.33/month into savings. So, a more reasonable amount to aim for is $500, which means $41.66/mo., especially since I promised my grandson his age per month in his savings account.\nNumber two should change to maintain weight loss or to lower my A1C, which I found is higher than expected.\nGetting organized is the one I will struggle with this year. My children complain that I have too much stuff. They may have a point, but it's not their money going towards my shoe collection. Yeah, I hear you saying, why does a quadriplegic need fifty pairs of tennis shoes or dress shoes? Since I was ten and allowed to choose what I wore to school, I have expressed myself through my outfits. My mother used to laugh at me when we shopped for school clothes. I would build my wardrobe from shoes up. The problems we had would occur when I would change my mind and rework the choices if I spotted some different must-have shoes someone had abandoned elsewhere in the store. Maybe that is why one of my first jobs was in Roses department store's women's shoes. (Oops, I still stray off track when thinking about my shopping habits.)\nNumber four is one that many people neglect until it is sometimes too late. We never mean to be an unavailable friend who isn't reachable, but life happens, and then you realize you have not talked to your family members or your best friend when you receive the news that someone died. Life will keep us busy. Now that I am paralyzed, I understand why Grandma used to get upset with me for not visiting more after I got old enough to drive.\nThis year, I haven't given much thought to resolutions because I landed in the hospital the day before Thanksgiving until December 14th. I have only been trying to recover. I guess the only resolutions I need this year are:\n1. Stay healthy\n2. Don't stress over things I can't control\n3. Work on pleasing no one but God\n4. Create a realistic budget\n5. Do only what is possible to be happy\nMy wish for 2024 is that my family will be safe, happy, and pleased with their every decision. I hope that everyone does the job that they are best suited for. I pray for the strength to say NO and stick with my first answer. I guess I am adopting a new attitude. I'm friendly, and others will exploit my inability to say No and my generosity. I have always had trouble saying NO. Some people figured I would agree to almost anything when I fell asleep. Being on the opposite schedule was more challenging than the world when I worked the night shift.\nNow that I have twenty-five years in the rearview mirror, I need a new one since my life-changing car accident in 98…\nWhen I plan a day, I don't even brush my teeth in front of the vanity because of the mirror. It's a mind thing, I know. I used to get inspiration from the image peering back at me. These days, I see the loss of\n1. My job\n2. My vivacious attitude\n3. My earning potential\nMy get-up-and-go has gotten up and gone! Maybe I didn't recover from the first NOs from a potential landlord and was given when I attempted to return to work in '99. I applied for an overqualified position, but the interviewer couldn't hear or see past my wheelchair. That killed my spirit, but I have since realized:\n1. That those that couldn't understand the gift they were getting were the Nos\n2. Closed minds and hearts don't look for a reason to say YES\n3. I would not have been happy working in a hostile environment\nNow that I have been writing this week's assignment, I know that my resolutions should fit my life as it is now.\n1. Maybe I should ask God for the wisdom to know my limitations. \n2. Understand why other people are the way they are\n3. Know my strengths\n4. Do whatever makes me happy\nSteve Harvey said something once that I now understand… \"Do what you like and never work a day in your life.\" I listened\nI love to write and don't have a paying gig, but I am HAPPY!" } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on 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 By\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 2994\n\nPrompt:\n\nSet your story in the lowest rated restaurant in town." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "(Note: I am African American. Certain words get said in this story but do not repeat. There is language, death, and violence. There is physical violence, and never call someone Colored or Negro. Enjoy the story!)\nYou are about to read the story of my life, and it is not my favorite story to tell. It took place in 1890. It has a start and a finish, neither of which is happy. I feel angst, wondering if it could have taken a safer turn as I mean this. My name is Ted, and my brother is named Kevin. We are African Americans, and everyone thought we were another species. We barely made any money, and we had our restaurant that had low ratings. Critics came every month, and we were lucky we even had one star. At the time, I was a 12-year-old, and my brother was 18. In two years, a law would pass where all black people like me and my brother would be murdered and shot. We lived in Alabama, and if my brother and I could make two-hundred dollars in two years, we could take the train to Canada and be free from the United States.\n\"Will we ever be free?\" I asked Kevin as we sat together at our bar.\n\"All we can do is hope. Mama and Papa would be proud of us. Don’t worry. We can get on up to Canada and be free from this hellish country.\" Kevin told me.\nI smiled, but it quickly faded. Unexpectedly there was cacophony. I got off my chair.\n\"What's that noise?\" Kevin said.\nKevin and I walked outside, and we stood utterly still. We saw a sight we could not\nunsee. Two officers were beating a black man with batons.\n\"That's Thomas, the market man! Leave him alone!\" I yelled to the officers.\nThe officers stopped beating him.\n\"We're dangerous people, little boy. Get on out of here, or we'll gladly save a hit for you.\" I gasped. Kevin grabbed my hand, and we ran away. I felt like I had lived through this\nbefore. I had a flashing memory of officers shooting and capturing my mama and Papa, but the memory faded away. I started crying, and Kevin hugged me.\n\"I'm sorry you had to see that. I will never let that happen to you. Never.\" Kevin said to me.\nThe next day came, and we started cooking in our diner. About five or six people came in every day. They ordered greasy burgers and potatoes, and that's what they got. A man walked into our diner.\n\"Hello.\" He said.\nKevin and I gasped.\n\"Hide under the counter,\" Kevin whispered to me.\nI did what he said, and I hid under the counter.\n\"What do you want from us, Sheriff Bentley?\" Kevin asked.\n\"I want a burger with a side of green beans,\" Bentley said.\n\"Okay, sir. It'll be a minute.\" Kevin said.\nBentley smiled and sat in a booth.\n\"I believe you have a brother. Where might he be?\" Bentley asked.\n\"He's a very gregarious kid. He's with some other folks right now.\" Kevin responded as he made the burger.\nI tried to stay as quiet as possible.\n\"You know, your species will be gone within a couple of years,\" Bentley said.\nKevin stopped making the burger and threw it at Bentley.\n\"We are humans too! If anyone is a different species, it's you!\" Kevin said in anger. Bentley angrily looked at Kevin and stepped on his burger.\n\"I'll excuse this little incident. But mark my words, your kind will be gone soon enough.\"\nBentley said.\nBentley left our diner, and we both took a deep breath. I stood up, and I hugged Kevin. \"We need to get those tickets soon, Ted. I'm starting to lose hope.\" Kevin said.\n\"I understand. Will the world ever get better?\" I asked.\n\"That's one of life's greatest mysteries. I wish I could answer that question for you. \"\nKevin answered.\nMy dream was for the world to be at peace.\n\"Kevin, why am I different? I don't like being Black, and I wish I was white and not a\ndisgusting animal.\" I said.\n\"Disgusting? Everyone is different, but we aren't that different from the whites. Being\nBlack isn't a curse. Never call yourself disgusting or cursed. We are not animals, and we need to stand up for ourselves. Okay, Ted?\" Kevin explained.\n\"Yes. Thanks, Kevin.\" I said. I gave Kevin another hug, and he hugged me back. It was soon nighttime, and Kevin and I didn't sleep. We counted our coins and drank dirty water. We heard noises but ignored them. Suddenly, a large rock crashed through the diner's window, and we gasped.\n\"WHAT IN THE DAMN HELL WAS THAT?\" Kevin yelled.\nWe investigated. It looked as though the rock had come out of thin air. But it didn't; somebody threw it. Bentley and ten officers went through the door, pointing guns at us.\n\"Hello, boys,\" Bentley said.\nWe slowly started backing away.\n\"I told you I would get rid of the negroes soon enough. I think it's a good time to start!\"\nBentley said.\n\"You can be an asshole, Bentley. But I will not allow you to kill innocent people!\" Kevin\nbarked.\n\"I was going to be kind and arrest you. But now you've played a bad card.\"\nBentley said.\nKevin and I backed away some more.\n\"Officers, shoot them,\" Bentley said.\nWe dashed out the back of the diner, hearing the sound of bullets.\n\"Ted, follow me! Don't lose sight of me!' Kevin yelled.\nI nodded and kept running with him. We climbed over a fence and hid inside someone's\ngarage. Bentley and the officers started looking for us around the town.\n\"We need to get the money for the tickets now!\" I said.\n\"Okay, Ted. Listen to me. It's never okay to steal, and I'm about to do a bad thing, but I hope God will forgive me for my sins. We need to steal some money to get to Canada.\" Kevin said.\n\"We can't steal! That's wrong!\"\n\"I know it is. But nothing is right anymore. I'm sorry, Ted.\"\nKevin quickly ran up to a lady and took her purse.\n\"You disgusting negro! Don't touch me ever again! Take my purse, and I don't care! I'm getting the sheriff!\" The lady said.\n\"Ma'am, I'm sorry. You do need it, don't you?\" Kevin said.\n\"Yes, young man! I do need it, you negro!\" The lady said.\nKevin gave back the purse.\n\"Sorry for taking your purse, ma'am. Don't tell the sheriff, and don't call us negroes.\nWe're just as human as you.\" Kevin said.\nThe lady nodded and walked away. Kevin ran back.\n\"You did the right thing, Kevin!\" I said.\n\"We still need to steal, Ted. But we can steal from someone who has plenty of what we need to survive.\" Kevin said.\nI nodded and frowned. It felt like an endless night as I sat in the dark, using a trash bag as a pillow. The morning eventually came, and Kevin and I ran to a nearby church. Bentley and the officers were still looking for us. Kevin and I didn't know if we were going on the path of exile or freedom. We snuck into the church and stole two hundred dollars from the donation box.\n\"You there. Where are you going with that money?\" A voice said.\nI turned around and saw a man in Black with a white-collar. Kevin put the money in his pocket.\n\"We're sorry, pastor. Please let us keep this money. It will help us dearly. I pray God will forgive us for our sins.\" I said.\nThe pastor smiled.\n\"There are no sins to forgive. Take the money, consider it my gift. I don't think that somebody should be excluded due to their skin color.\"\n\"Thank you very much. You have no clue how much we appreciate it.\" Kevin said. \"Bentley is a sinful man, be careful around him. Don't let this end bitterly.\"\n\"I won't let it,\" Kevin said.\n\"God bless you both.\" The cleric said with a smile.\nKevin and I walked out of the church, being careful of Bentley. We hurried to the train where we could get to Canada and be free. We ran to the ticket office.\n\"Two tickets to Canada, please,\" Kevin said to the ticket man.\n\"Sorry, boys. The train won't be here in three days; then you can go.\" The ticket man said.\n\"I think we can manage. Do you possibly have anywhere we can sleep and eat?\" Kevin asked.\n\"Since I feel bad for you, fellas, sure. I have a house right across from Kevin's Diner. I can take my break for the next three days.\" The ticket man replied.\n\"I happen to be Kevin, and I believe I know where your house is,\" Kevin exclaimed. \"Pleasure to meet you, Kevin.\"\nMy brother and I smiled.\n\"Come on, boys.\" Said the ticket man.\nWe had to hide behind the ticket man when we walked to his house, so we didn't get caught. Eventually, we got to his house, and it looked very nice.\n\"I'm the only guy here. My family deserted me a while ago. My name is Jonas, and I'm twenty-nine years old. I can make some pork and eggs if you guys like that for lunch.\" Jonas said. \n\"That would be great, thank you!\" I said happily.\nJonas walked into the room.\n\"I need to go to the market to get some eggs and other stuff. I'll be back in an hour or less. Stay out of trouble. Do not leave the house.\" Jonas said.\nJonas left the house and went to the market. Jonas was delayed since there was a long line at the market. Unfortunately, he was at the back of the line. Eventually, Jonas got out of the market and gasped. He saw people dressed in white burning a wooden cross.\n\"What are you all doing?\" Jonas asked.\n\"We are the Ku Klux Klan. KKK to shorten it. Leave now, or we will attack you.\" One person said.\nJonas looked them in the eyes.\n\"This isn't your property! Leave now!\" Jonas yelled.\nOne started walking towards him.\n\"You have one more chance, or you will be sinful like the negroes.\" One said.\n\"I said leave! You don't need to hurt people who are different!\" Jonas yelled.\nOne of the men pulled out a gun.\n\"I don't want to cause a scene. Please leave.\" Jonas said.\nThe man shot a bird in the air. Jonas backed away.\n\"Leave. Now.\" The man said.\nJonas looked him in the eyes and then ran back to his house one more time.\nJonas opened the door to his house.\n\"Are you both okay?\" Jonas asked.\nWe both nodded.\n\"Did something happen?\" I asked.\nJonas didn't know what to say.\n\"No, nothing happened. I got the eggs.\" Jonas said.\nJonas ran to the kitchen and started making the pork and eggs. He used a wooden spatula to cook, and it was finished after a half-hour. Jonas brought the food to the table, and we all ate.\n\"I've never had a good meal like this in a while. Thanks, Jonas!\" Kevin said.\nJonas smiled. I ate my pork and eggs, which were very good. But I couldn't stop thinking about how scared Jonas seemed when he walked in the door.\n\"Jonas, be honest with us. What happened out there?\" I asked.\nJonas looked at me.\n\"I would tell you. I really would. But I can't.\" Jonas said.\nI frowned. Dinner was over, and Kevin and I went to bed. Kevin was already fast asleep, but I got out of bed. I went to Jonas's room. I opened the door, and I gasped. He wasn't there. I ran down the stairs, and Jonas was nowhere to be seen. I quickly grabbed my hat and coat. I put on my shoes and held a lantern. I dashed outside to find Jonas. Officers were scattered around the town. I didn't want to do this, and I felt ashamed as I did it. I went to a paint bucket and painted myself white. I finished painting, and I looked like a white boy. I hated the feeling of pretending to be what I was not. I walked around the town, trying to find Jonas. An officer came out of nowhere as if he came from the shadows of hell.\n\"Who might you be?\" The Officer asked.\n\"My name is Timothy. I'm going to my Papa's house.\" I said.\n\"Ah, okay. Get there quickly. You might get attacked by a negro. My name is Curtis; I've killed many negroes in my life. I'm only thirty, but I've killed about fifty blacks. Be careful.\" Curtis said. I looked at him in his brown eyes, and I gasped. He was one of the officers who murdered my mom and dad. I didn't say anything, and I ran away, still looking for Jonas. All the lights in the town were off, except one. I saw the police station. I went through the door, and I saw Jonas. He was looking through criminal records. There were no officers in the room.\n\"Jonas!\" I said.\nJonas turned around.\n\"Ted! Why are you here? You're going to get killed out here!\" Jonas said.\n\"I know, but I managed to slip away by painting myself white,\" I said.\nJonas walked up to me.\n\"You shouldn't have come, and you didn't need to paint yourself. Don't be ashamed of your race and skin color. Some people just don't understand and want power.\" He said.\nI nodded and wiped off my painted face with my sleeve.\n\"I'll be honest with you, Ted. I saw these men last night. They were in white like ghosts. They call themselves the Ku Klux Klan. They're trying to kill African Americans, and I tried to stop them. I saw all of their eyes, though, and I believe I can find one of them.\" Jonas said,\n\"Okay, Jonas. Can we head home?\" I asked.\nJonas nodded, and he closed the criminal records. We went home, and after an hour, it was morning. Jonas walked out of the house to go to his ticket booth. Kevin and I went with him. Jonas gasped with relief.\n\"Boys! The train will be here earlier! It'll be tonight!\" Jonas said.\nKevin and I started jumping with joy.\n\"You boys stay here. I'm going to see if I can find a KKK member. Say the ticket man will be here soon.\" Jonas said.\nWe nodded, and Jonas walked away. Jonas was in an alley, and he gasped. A man was walking towards him with cold brown eyes.\n\"You! You're one of them.\" Jonas said.\n\"Indeed I am. Don't tell anyone, or you'll regret it.\" He said.\n\"Wait! You're Officer Curtis! You're a KKK member! Unbelievable!\" Jonas said in anger.\n\"You've uncovered my identity. Don't tell anyone, you goddamn fool!\" Curtis snarled.\nJonas started yelling for help. Curtis pulled out a revolver.\n\"What the hell is wrong with you? HELP!\" Jonas yelled.\n\"Goodbye, ticket-man,\" Curtis said.\nCurtis shot Jonas in the stomach, and he fell to the ground.\n\"No...tell Ted and Kevin...I...will....miss....them.\" Jonas said slowly.\nAfter he finished his sentence, he died. Curtis walked away. It was eventually night, and Kevin and I ran to the train.\n\"Where is Jonas?\" I asked.\n\"I don't know, but we have to go!\" Kevin said.\nWe looked behind us, and we saw the Ku Klux Klan.\n\"WHO ARE THEY?\" Kevin yelled.\n\"Jonas told me about them, and they're bad people. Just run!\" I yelled back.\nWe ran to the train, and we gasped. One of our tickets fell into a puddle and disintegrated.\n\"Shit!\" Kevin yelled.\nWe kept running and running, and we saw Bentley. Bentley grabbed onto my back and knocked me onto the ground.\n\"It's time I end your career, boy!\" Bentley said.\nKevin pushed him off my back and kicked him to the ground. Kevin and I jumped onto the train.\n\"We only have one ticket. Please let us both on!\" Kevin said to the conductor.\nThe conductor shook his head.\n\"Listen, Ted. I love you so much, but I promised you I wouldn't let you get hurt. I'm sorry, I love you so much. Goodbye, Ted.\" Kevin said with tears in his eyes.\nKevin threw me onto the train floor, and he jumped off.\n\"KEVIN! NO!\" I yelled. The train slowly started going away.\n\"KEVIN! I LOVE YOU!\" I said, with tears falling down my eyes.\nI saw Curtis with a gun in his hand.\n\"This is your real goodbye!\" Curtis said to Kevin.\nCurtis shot Kevin in the back five times. Curtis shot him in the head, and then he started chasing after the train.\n\"I won't allow any negroes to escape Alabama!\" Curtis yelled.\nI climbed on top of the train.\nCurtis jumped on top of the train, grabbed my back, and stabbed me with a knife.\n\"Get off of me, asshole!\" I yelled.\nI pushed him off of my back.\n\"I recognize you now! I killed your parents!\" Curtis yelled. \n\"I've had enough of your shit!\" I yelled.\nI stood up and punched Curtis in the face. Curtis's nose started bleeding. Curtis threw his knife at me but missed. I kicked him, and he tripped. He crawled to grab his knife and stood up. I choked him and kicked him again. He broke free and grabbed his gun. He shot my leg and I fell over. I slowly got up.\n\"I'm about to end the family tree!\" Curtis said.\nCurtis was about to shoot me again, but I pushed him off the top of the train.\n\"NO! SHIT!\" Curtis yelled.\nI heard Curtis scream as he was hit by the train at full speed. I started sobbing, and the train slowly went to Canada. I was finally free to go to Canada." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Cats and Other Important New Years Day Stuff\n\nGenre: american\n\nWord Count: 2814\n\nPrompt:\n\nSet your story on New Year's Day." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "She awoke and eased into her new day on this New Year. She didn't have to be, do, or take care of anything. She was free to focus her attention on her New Year's resolution. Heaven knows She’s done it enough times that She should be an expert on thinking up New Year's resolutions. Since She was only three weeks old her first New Year She can safely say She doesn’t remember making (or breaking) any resolutions that year. \n\nSure She’s made her share of resolutions to change this or that thing in her life. Things like lose weight, find a better job, workout more, eat healthier oh how the list goes on. Every year lately She’s given this whole resolution thing some amount of thought. While it’s true it’s been decades since She formally declared a resolution, She had quietly made a few (and quietly broken them).\n\nThis year She wants to try something different, something bigger or smaller, something important. She’d like to set herself up for success so the something needs to be obtainable. She can rule out things like win the lottery, travel the world and sculpt herself into something that resembles her twenty something self. No, this year She wants something else. What that could be She has no idea. \nMaybe She could learn a new skill or accomplish something important to her. She sat down and thought about skills She could learn. Nothing came of that so She thought about important things with nothing coming to mind. She was not in the mood to learn a new skill and She didn’t have the energy to do anything important. \n\nShe was finding this task ridiculously difficult. Maybe it was time to google New Years resolutions. Was that cheating? She found herself wondering aloud to an empty room. She said, “Why can’t I just come up with something on my own?” The cat looked up and then licked her paw. So the room wasn’t entirely empty, just lacking in other people.\n\nShe found herself off task once again. She wondered why She thought of herself as She instead of she and why She thought of him as He instead of he. She was going to do this her way and keep their names tucked away deep inside. She would use She and He not she and he. She knew why she thought of That Day as That Day instead of that day. She'd be keeping the tucked away too, even deeper down inside herself.\n\nShe had grown up the oldest of three children. She had married and raised two kids of her own. She had divorced but that wasn’t the day She fell into her deepest despair. As hard as that time was She would eventually learn worse was yet to come. \nAfter her marriage fell apart She met a man and fell deeply in love. She eventually moved in with him and his two sons. While they were much younger than her two grown children, everyone got along quite well. She was so happy people often thought She was drunk. She wasn’t drunk, She was just that in love with her life right up until That Day. \n\nDuring that glorious time of her life before That Day She didn’t put much thought into New Year's resolutions. Why should She? Things were as near to perfect as a person could get. Looking back fondly She couldn’t help but wish her New Year's resolution could be to go back at least seven years. She’d happily give up all the accomplishments She had made on her own to be able to go back to the time before That Day. \n\nShe thought back to some of their boating adventures. Like the time they loaded lifejackets, a food cooler, a beverage cooler, towels, fishing poles, bait, tackle and got in the car to drive to Lake Minnetonka. When He turned the car around She asked, “What did we forget?” She couldn’t imagine what else they could possibly need. \n\nIn a calm nonchalant voice He said, “The boat.”\n\nShe remembered one of the many times they went golfing. They were on hole three or maybe some other hole. It didn’t matter which hole. She took a powerful swing at the ball but couldn’t find where it had landed. Not only was She unaware of where her ball landed She had lost something else. She swung so hard her club flew away too. She asked, “Did you see where my club went?” \n\nWithout saying a word He shook his head and drove away in the golf cart, leaving her to find her own golf club. Unsure just what to do She squinted her eyes and looked around. She heard a golf cart approaching. With delight She looked back expecting to see him. He wasn’t there but another golf cart pulled up with two men laughing hard. \n\n “Are you looking for your club?”\n\n“Yes, I am.”\n\n“Well young lady you got a hole in one. Look up, your club is up in that tree.”\n\nShe wasn”t going to get anything done with her head in the clouds like this… She took another sip of coffee while She thought about his way with words. One night the first snowfall started. She said, “Look, isn’t the snow beautiful.” \n\nTo him snow equaled a lot of work. He hated snow removal. He looked at her and said, “You’re all the beauty I need.” \nShe shook her head and thought, “All this reminiscing isn’t going to help me figure out a worthwhile new years resolution. \n\nShe got up and fed her cats. Ok She does live with two cats but is that enough to make her a crazy cat lady? Maybe, just maybe she decided.\n\nTo be fair her first cat picked her and her second cat would have probably died if She hadn’t taken it in. “No, I’m not being overly dramatic. It’s all true.” \n\nAs She sipped on her coffee She thought back to the day She came home with her new roommate. \n\nA few months earlier than the day She got her roommate, She had been trying to get a kitten. The kitten lady did turn out to be a certifiable crazy cat lady. The kitten lady had so many cats the authorities shut her down before the kitten lady could fulfill her promise. Since She had waited so long She decided to take matters into her own hands. \n\nHer house had been so quiet then, too quiet. She missed him and all the joy He had brought into her life. They had been together for sixteen years. On That Day He was just gone. No warning, no time to do anything except find a way to live with half of her gone forever.\nWith as much determination as She could muster She got in her car and drove to the humane society. They were busy that Saturday in late October. She walked around thinking all the kittens were adorable. She would just walk past each one before She picked out her very own kitty to love.\n\nShe really wanted a kitty born on his birthday. She knew her kitty’s name. Her kitty would be Indy. After all She and He had met at Lake Independence. She wouldn’t name a kitty Lake Independence but She could and would name him or her Indy. \n\nAs She walked further towards the back of the room She noticed the kitties were getting older and older. One of these older cats called out. She felt drawn to that cat and the cat seemed to be drawn to her. \nShe looked at the details. Everything was right! This cat's birthday was the same as his birthday. Everything was perfect except they had the wrong name. She didn’t think that would be a problem either. \n\nShe left carrying her fragile heart in a box. She had lived alone since That Day but from now on She would share her home with a twelve year old cat that She had now named Indy. She thought of Indy as her roommate.\nFor the next six years the two lived a quiet life together. Things changed when Peeps came along. Peeps was a stray so we were told she turned one in or around early October. That just happens to be when He had his birthday. \n\nIndy was eighteen years old and pretty set in her ways when Peeps entered Indy’s life. Before Peeps came to live with Indy, Peeps lived in her daughter's back yard as a homeless kitty. Her daughter fed her and eventually brought Peeps inside her home. However loving and sweet Peeps is to people, Peeps proved to be just the opposite towards other cats. Peeps could not stay in their house because Peeps tortured their other two cats. \n\nIn a last ditch effort to save Peeps from possible death, her daughter's family brought Peeps to her house. They set the carrier down so Indy and Peeps could familiarize themselves with each other which they did.\n\n“Oh for Pete sakes how is this going to help me think of a good New Years resolution?” At her utterance Peeps just left the room and Indy kept right on sleeping. She mumbled, “There is no easy way to come up with a quality, obtainable News Year's resolution. Perhaps I should just give up.” She didn’t want to just give up.\n\nShe wondered, “Just exactly what have I accomplished?” She reached down to pet Indy. \"Well I have bought my house. That was not an easy feat. Is that an accomplishment or just something people do?\" Indy just purred. She wasn’t sure about accomplishment or just a thing people do. She loved her house and was happy She owned it but it is after all just a thing. \n\nShe had a lot of things updated in the house that She bought on her own. Well technically She had a little, ok a lot, of help from his sons. From new windows to new carpeting and floors she had made real progress with her new home.\n\nWhile all of that was great her favorite update was her new garage door with an electric garage door opener. The old door was so heavy and hard to lift. Now She could go to the app on her phone and open her garage from the warmth of her living room. The ease in opening what once was a heavy garage door still made her smile. \n\nWhile all of these things brought her joy She didn’t think they were meaningful. She was searching for something meaningful, important and obtainable. Setting up a resolution to do home projects just wasn’t what She wanted for this fresh brand new year. She pondered again why She couldn’t come up with anything that fit her bill for a New Years resolution. She rejected the notion that a good New Year's resolution simply may not exist. \n\nWhile She sat staring out the window her mind wandered back in time. She remembered the day She brought her daughter home from the hospital. Such a tiny little bundle of joy. The love She felt transcended her entire being. She wondered if She was using the word transcended correctly so She looked it up. It said that it means to go beyond the limits. \n\nYes that was how She had felt during that period of becoming a mom for the very first time. She had loved her daughter beyond the limits of love. There was nothing like it. This tiny human had completely stolen her heart. Nothing could compete until the day She welcomed her newborn son into the world. She held him and that feeling of an over abundance of love returned. Not that it had left but She felt it now for this new child, her son. \n\nOh the joy of raising children. While not an easy task it sure brought her joy. At one time they had a small unofficial, kind of hobby farm. She thought about it for a moment. Yes, they had two children, three dogs, two cats, some fish, an iguana, a guinea pig and a lizard. To her that fit the bill of a small, unofficial, hobby farm of sorts.\n\nShe remembered how accustomed they got to having an iguana walk around the house. She didn’t find it strange at all until a new person came into the home and was scared, shocked or both when the iguana moved. \n\nShe didn’t know She could love children as much as She loved her own until her son told her She would be a grandma soon. When She held her first grandchild She felt that old familiar burst of love. She felt it again when her next grandchild entered this world. This child gave her so much hope for a brighter future. She thought She had everything but then She was told another grandchild was coming. This grandchild would be born on her birthday. \n\nWith him, two children, two step children, two in law children and three grandchildren she thought her world surely was complete now. Then her daughter told her She was going to be a grandma again. Against the odds this baby came into the world and this new baby swept her off her feet. Well maybe She should have guessed there could be more love, however, She certainly did not. Her daughter, who was told by doctors it was unlikely that a pregnancy would happen for them, was going to have her second baby. Soon there would be one more baby to love. \n\nAs She bit into a leftover Christmas cookie She thought how sad it was that this baby came before He had a chance to even know her daughter was pregnant. When this baby came the love She felt helped her heal from the heartache of losing the He to go along with her She. It was a very hard time but her family as well as her friends helped her. The love She had for her children and grandchildren was as deep as it could be, not to mention the love She had for the rest of her family and her closest friends. \n\nShe took another sip of her coffee and couldn’t stop herself from going down this road a bit further. She thought of the day She met His first grandchild. Even though the blood may not match the love is just as strong. She thinks She should know better than to think the love is now complete. Because the day came when She got to meet His second grandchild. Now She knows there can always be more love to go around. \n\nShe held her empty coffee cup in her hand as She thought, “Well none of this is helping me come up with a loving, important, obtainable New Years resolution.” \n\nShe looked out the window and watched the squirrels play in the yard. She saw a neighbor walk in the park. There was a light layer of fresh snow barely covering the ground. It sure has been a mild winter in Minnesota. One She knew He would have appreciated the extra time He would have been given to do anything instead of removing snow. \nShe placed her coffee cup in the kitchen sink. She had just about given up on finding her new year's resolution when She thought more about \nChristmas. She reflected on what happened after everyone was done eating. They carried gifts down and placed them under the tree. The gifts were quickly delivered to the children as the adults watched. The younger children squealed with innocent delight. The older children were more discreet but their young faces shined with happiness.\n\nThe adults then played a trivia Christmas gift game. It was the first year they had tried it. She thought it went over rather well and hoped to continue with this as their new tradition. She liked how it seemed to bring loved ones even closer. In her heart she believed He would have enjoyed this past Christmas.\n\nShe took another bite of the leftover Christmas cookie and thought about how much She wished He was here. She could feel him so She felt He was here, just in a different way now. He was there in that same, different way on Christmas. Like her He would have thought of all the grandchildren as ours. It’s not the blood that makes a family. It's the love. \n\nShe was sitting on the couch enjoying her Christmas cookie. Indy looked at her and purred. Along came Peeps who cautiously placed herself on her chest. With Indy on her lap and Peeps on her chest She realized just what her New Year's resolution would be for this year. It was loving, important, obtainable and kind. Yes, her new resolution was perfect! \n\nShe would get more cats!" } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on 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 Gone Wrong\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 3001\n\nPrompt:\n\nEnd your story with total oblivion." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "There are times when making love would definitely be the better part of valor. \nMy partner, Jeffrey, often jokes that ‘screwing for my country’ is in my job description. Why couldn’t this have been like my other assignments? You know; action-packed, but ultimately predictable and boring after fifteen years of service?\nSetting the question aside, I took a goon down with a spin kick, then buried a handy crowbar in his skull to make sure he stayed down. Such messy contractors… I’ll have to remember to send them a card for leaving so many handy tools around this unfinished parking garage. Another underling took his place almost immediately; this was getting tedious. Their boss, Linsman, was getting away and so was the leak, Silva!\nI ducked under a metal bar swung at my head, giving myself over to the fight. Grabbing the arm wielding it, I used the attacker’s momentum to swing him into the wall, batting someone else’s gun away before he could discharge the weapon in my face. Ears ringing from the gunshot, I bent my current opponent’s arm backward until it snapped, using the man’s weight to stop two others in their tracks. One fell out of the ‘window’, losing to gravity as he held his broken and bleeding nose. He might have even survived if we weren’t currently seven stories up. The other dropped to his knees almost comically, family jewels defiled. Putting my foot in his face, I let the first man’s broken arm go, pushing him out of another one of the spaces for natural light to shine before grabbing someone else to attack. I’d lost my gun somewhere in the chaos of those first few seconds of fighting, so finishing them off wasn’t easy. Still, I was doing pretty well.\nBefore I could get cocky about that, a knife slid into my belly, lancing white-hot pain through me. I gasped in shock, somehow remembering to slam a knee into my assailant as I backed away. Unfortunately, the force of my desperate spin, combined with the thug’s refusal to let go of the handle, left me with a deep gash in my stomach. Grimacing as I desperately tried to ignore the pain, I looked down and uttered a sigh of relief that my intestines weren’t peeking up at me. Of course, the bleeding was still pretty bad; I’d need treatment once this was all over. The last guy standing decided to rush me, pushing us both down an unforgiving flight of stairs. I used his body to cushion my fall. As I stood, I absently noted that his neck was twisted at an impossible angle; he wouldn’t be a problem anymore. One step past the stairwell, though, and my right leg crumpled under me. Damn it! Wincing at the pain, I pulled the jacket off my impromptu surfboard and used it to staunch the bleeding from my gut. I frowned at the look; it wasn’t exactly the next cover of GQ magazine, but it would do in a pinch. Wound taken care of temporarily, I limped my way into another section of the parking structure, wondering how the hell I was going to get out of here now. I called on years of agent training to push the pain away as I moved. I could deal with it later; if I lived through this clusterfuck of a mission. The leak was still out there.\nMy mind was whirring as I limped my way through the empty building. It occurred to me that I should be grateful I was on the outskirts of the city instead of the city center. I very much doubt Seattle has the same ‘See No Evil, Hear No Evil’ policy as my home base of New York City, after all. The mission was simple; find out how the Linsman drug syndicate was getting their hands on Omega Agency secrets and plug the leak. I expected this to be an easy fix. In fact, I’d been attending an opera when my contact approached me; I hadn’t even changed out of my formal tuxedo before accepting this assignment. Looking down at the long, ugly tears and powder burn singes in the bulletproof fabric, I knew it was money well spent.\nWhat the hell am I doing, standing in the middle of a parking structure turned warzone deciding whether to buy another tux? It seemed like more than my mind was spinning. I could really use a partner right now. Why didn’t I insist Jeffrey join me like normal? I’m usually so thorough and cautious; the opposite of accepting a solo mission without even telling him. Ah well, pride cometh before a fall if I remember correctly. Although the top secret covert organization Jeff and I both worked for - the Omega Agency - usually sent its agents out in pairs, there were exceptions, like this mission, that deemed only the use of one agent. Silva told me she’d already identified the leak that had led to the deaths of eighteen CIA agents and three Omega agents over the course of six years. When the woman approached me, she told me that she had the leak cornered and that she only needed some backup to finish the job. Closing a case like this could lead to serious clout in both of our agencies. Not willing to share the glory, I’d left the opera with her. I didn't even bother to give Jeffrey a heads up. A decision I was deeply regretting now.\nDucking bullets brought my attention back to the present. I found cover, scanning the room I’d stumbled into for the source and saw two thugs closing in on me. Gathering myself, I pushed his arms up and out of the way before he could shoot again. He seemed to anticipate this, bringing up a knee into my unhurt side while slamming his fist across my face. We dropped and rolled, his gun falling out the ‘window’ - damn it, can’t I just get my hands on one gun today!? - And I used the confusion to lurch to cover.\n“Betcha didn't see this coming, Agent Tyr Lattimore,” one of the up-and-comers in the drug ring shouted after me, flaunting the fact that he knew who I was. If I were any newer to the espionage game, I might have frozen up completely, giving the man the perfect shot at my back. Damn you Silva! The funny thing was, I've always known not to cultivate friendships in my line of work. You never knew who would give you up for pride, for promotion, or simply to save their own ass.\n“Silva set you up but good, Tyr,” the man laughed, sounding closer as he tried to goad me into a response. “You Omega agents never cease to amaze me! She may seem warm as a summer day, but inside, that bitch is stone cold. Old ‘Great Aunt Silva’ was just so eager to get you the information you needed, wasn't she?” I could hear the man moving as he taunted me. “I love how you morons never made the connection that she was the one turning you guys in! After the first fifteen agents or so, you would think someone would be suspicious. But no, let's move that shit right up the chain! Even better; let's get the elite Omega Agency involved to clean up the CIA’s mess! Not only that, let's send our best agent; after all, with Silva involved, it's practically a done deal. Gotta hand it to her, that's some Oscar level acting shit right there. That bitch-”\nSeeing the gun muzzle of the silent partner come into line of sight, I yanked it forward and down, using my elbow to fracture his jaw. The gun went off in an explosion of sound - haven’t these idiots ever heard of silencers? - killing the gloater across the room, but I had it in my hand and to the silent man's head before the next round chambered. Two bullets to the skull and I was back on the trail of my target.\nSurprisingly it didn't take much time to catch up to her, even with my injuries. I tripped over her prone body as I rounded a corner of a parking lot stall. Violet Silva was a stellar agent - persuasive, athletic, and intelligent. But it seemed she was as easily betrayed as anyone else.\n“Never trust a ‘Bob’,” the older woman griped, picking at the remains of her cocktail dress. The powder-blue silk of Silva’s gown - a match to the silk bowtie I was somehow still wearing even after all this - was marred by the crimson pouring from her form. I surveyed the damage dispassionately. Her gut wound was a match to mine, only much deeper; I had no doubt she was in agony and would only last a few more minutes. But then no one would know she was a traitor. I knew what I had to do, and for the first time in a lifetime, I found myself hesitating to do it. In Great Aunt Silva - as she insisted on being called - I’d found something resembling family.\nI felt more than saw the attacker stalk out of the shadows. What I didn't expect was the broken-off parking meter in the giant’s hand. Only a decade and a half of instincts saved me from having my ribs caved in. Instead of standing against the swing, I let myself be batted into the far wall of the room. My teeth nearly cracked from the strain of not crying out as my body lost its battle with solid concrete.\nThe pain was familiar; too many beatings as a child in the foster care system. One of my ribs was either cracked or broken. Wonderful. Doubling over to catch a breath, I was surprised to realize that I hadn’t lost my gun in the midst of my flight. I groaned as I forced myself upright, spitting out a mouthful of blood that made me wonder if my lung was about to come up for air.\n“So you’re the Lattimore character everyone’s been talking about,” the giant snorted, throwing his makeshift club away as he chortled. His body was almost cartoonishly massive. Here was a man who either did too many steroids or spent too much time at the gym. Maybe both. “You don’t seem like much to me!” He was approaching fast, yellowed teeth prominent in a wide smile. Oh great, another gloater. Too bad he didn’t notice I was still armed. My vision was cutting in and out as I fought for consciousness. I won’t die here; not without completing my mission.\n“What, nothing to say?” he asked with mock concern. “Silva said you were a man of few words, but I figured you’d at least-” whatever else the bastard had to say was lost in a squeal of anguish as I shot out his kneecap. Without giving the man time to react, I put two in his skull and stumbled my way back to my target. I had to get out of here before more reinforcements arrived. But twenty-one agents demanded justice before I could go about surviving this night.\n“Not a drop of joy in you,” the woman coughed, the line of bloody saliva dripping from her chin becoming more pronounced. “You've solved a six-year-old case, caught the traitor, will likely get a promotion once everything is sorted… yet you can't even crack a smile. I often worry about you, Tyr; I worry about what this life is doing to you.”\n“So much so that you had your pet syndicate try to kill me?”\n“Seemed like a good idea at the time,” she quipped, groaning even as she laughed. “You are such a perfect weapon. You remind me of myself - did you know I was an orphan too? My story isn’t as… traumatic as yours. But I was still abandoned just like you. Most people would have given up and swallowed a bullet after just some of the shit you and I have been through. But, Tyr, haven't you ever wanted to be free?”\n“You killed twenty-one agents and betrayed your country, all in the name of freedom?” I asked blandly, determined to stay focused. Getting lost in the past right now was guaranteed to get me killed.\n“Yes, you would only see that,” she said angrily. “I could bore you with all the reasons, but it all boils down to this: I was in love. Haven’t you ever been in love? To the point where you would do anything for them?”\n“You killed-”\n“Yes I did,” she shouted at me. I waited patiently for her gagging coughs and gasps to stop, bored with her attempts to ‘reach’ me. “I just wanted a way out. He said he loved me, he showed me what life could be like. I know it was stupid, but he asked so little in return… I know it was wrong, child, but for the first time in my life, I was free.”\n“And now you’re dead.”\n“At least I lived first,” she snapped back at me. “You have never lived, Tyr. You’ve never loved. All you do is hunt. And how the hell can you judge me now?” she cried angrily. “I’m dying for Christ’s sake!”\nTwo in the head, two in the heart; the mark of a traitor. Just like they taught me in training: the Omega Agency Special. I’d never had to use it before; lots of firsts for me tonight. Mind carefully blank, I dropped the empty Glock on her chest and caught myself before I aggravated my wounds by letting out a full belly laugh. I really must be gone; such outbursts are usually beneath me. But something about the fact that she would be curled up in pain if she were still alive was truly amusing me right now. \nNo matter. My mission was complete, but I was in bad shape. My head was spinning - likely a concussion. I had to find cover before my body shut down for repairs. Looking myself over as clinically as possible, I started down a set of stairs. My mind was already on escape tactics. I turned a corner and attacked the man I found there, only to realize it was me. Looking in the now cracked mirror, I shuddered at my reflection, marveling that I still didn’t recognize myself.\nMy six-foot-four frame was bent over like a hunchback from my stomach wound and guarding to the left to take pressure off my lungs so that I could breathe. My usually smooth, honey brown skin was mottled with the beginnings of nasty bruises. I looked like a common street brawler that had just been through a turf war rather than the Bond-style secret agent I was. It also didn’t help that my right leg was dead weight, making staggering in a straight line a serious challenge if I wanted to breathe. Damn it! There’s no way a hulking stranger like me wasn’t going to raise eyebrows once I was out in the open. Still… Better out in the open with civilians than in this death trap with trained killers. I made it to the ground floor before hearing Linsman on one of the upper floors of the parking lot.\n“Where is that bastard? Damn it, that whore said this would be easy!” the crime lord shouted, unconcerned with how loud he was being. Apparently, being a master of the underworld meant losing your inside voice. Interesting. I heard a dull thud as someone kicked something I strongly suspected was Silva’s body. “Find him! Spread out; we can't let him get away!!”\nDamn it! I had to move. As conspicuous as I was at the moment, it was the empty five-in-the-morning streets that were going to kill me if I couldn't find a place to hide from prying eyes soon. Looking around as I quickly limped my way to safety, I spotted an old U-Haul truck down a side street a few blocks from Linsman’s parking lot. Assuming it wasn’t empty, it would make a good hiding place. Again, my training was saving my ass despite my injuries. I had already started laying false trails leading my pursuers away from the trailer while my mind was still asking ‘what should I be doing now?’. Hooray for muscle memory - my brain felt like it was treading molasses trying to catch up to the situation.\nBy the time I lost the thugs, the sun was peeking over the horizon and I could hear the civilian population stirring to go about their regular day. Damn it! All it would take was one of those well-meaning citizens glancing out their window to blow my cover. I was no longer in any position to fight; I’d just pulled my gaze from a three-minute staring contest with a dandelion according to my broken watch. Luckily, the street I was taking refuge on was still empty. I moved around to the trailer latch, doing my best to look as if I belonged.\nOnce the back rolled up, I knew I'd hit the jackpot. Whoever this trailer belonged to had packed it floor to ceiling, and tightly to boot. If I could just squeeze my way into it, Linsman’s men would never suspect a thing. Grabbing the blankets sitting in the entrance, I cleaned the blood off of the handle and my hands, wrapping it around myself to further staunch the blood now that the jacket was soaked through. Another GQ cover to be sure. Instead of dwelling on my vanity, I closed the door before I could be seen. Working off my mental image of the space, I somehow managed to maneuver my way through the clutter, blankets in hand, and land on the loveseat I'd spotted in the back. Covering myself with more of the neatly folded blankets, I finally surrendered to oblivion." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on 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 PHOENIX ARISES\n\nGenre: american\n\nWord Count: 2997\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character who has reinvented themselves, but realizes it's not always easy to outrun your past." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "THE PHOENIX ARISES\n\nThis story is true; compiled of facts from personal knowledge and conjecture derived from newspaper reports and there are three main actors.\n\nThe first was a gangster from Chicago, name o’ Murray Humphreys, an associate of Al Capone and the brains of The Outfit, who, once Capone was imprisoned for tax evasion, left the windy city and settled in Norman, Oklahoma. Humphreys, a main player in Capone’s rise to the top, though he was not Italian, was revered for his money making ability.\n\nThe second, another gangster, from New York, name of “Owney” Vincent Madden, had made a fortune from prohibition. Best known for owning the famed Cotton Club, Madden, suspected o’ the murder of another violent man, Vincent “Mad Dog” Coll, was made to understand that it was time to leave New York forever, settling in Hot Springs, Arkansas where, with the complicity of a corrupt city government and police force, he continued to thrive.\n\nOur stage is a small town barbershop, name o’ Timmy Joe Sullivan’s which offered, as the sign said: “the best damn haircut in all of Oklahoma”. Men gathered here for a trim and to take part in the jocularity that formed part of the everyday conversation.\n\n“Hey, Timmy Joe, can you trim my nose and ears, while you’re at it? I know it’s nature but it just keeps growing”.\n\n“And stops growing in the place you do want it; on the top of your head”.\n\nEvery man, sitting patiently on faded, ancient banquettes awaiting their turn, would join in the laughter. You can picture the scene:\n\nTimmy Joe Sullivan’s barbershop, Texhoma, a great place to shoot the breeze, vent about the Sooners’ poor form or whatever. For the twenty odd minutes that it took Timmy Joe to give the man on the throne his undivided attention, maybe only ten minutes was allowed for the trim and the rest was devoted to chat. Timmy Joe, with his soft Irish accent, knew exactly what all o’ his regulars wanted in the way of a haircut, remembered each’s little idiosyncrasy and, to all o’ his customers, felt like a close friend in whom they could confide without fear o’ judgement. Satisfied with their new coiffure, they would disappear back into their worlds and not give Timmy Joe another thought until that time, two to three weeks hence, when they would require his skill with scissors, once again...and that’s just how TJ liked it.\n\n“Hey, Timmy Joe, how would you describe the business o' barbering?”\n\n“Well, personally, I like to say I am engaged in deforestation”.\n\nTJ had set up shop in the town way back in ’22 and the barber had soon become a favourite o’ the local community, not least, on account o’ the ten cents for a cut, five cents for a shave that was the fixed price for the next two years; no appointments necessary and no jumping the line. Everybody knew the rules and, if’n anybody left the premises for even ten seconds, his place would be forfeited in the queue. Womenfolk trusted their young ‘uns to Timmy Joe because, not only did he have a wooden board that he would place across the armrests o’ his barber chair so that kids could sit, proud and tall, staring into the mirror, but Timmy Joe remembered all the boys’ names, their favourite games and the like and the young boys all loved to jaw with TJ and looked upon the barber as they would a favourite uncle.\n\nIf'n a mother insisted on waiting for her boy, Timmy Joe always ensured that there was a copy o’ Modern Woman or the new craze, Vogue, positioned in the magazine rack along with Time and Reader’s Digest and, for some strange reason, The Chicagoan, all o' which TJ subscribed to.\n\nIn ’26, four years after setting up business, the barber had proposed to Lily Evangeline, a young widow, who had been bringing her son, Charlie, for his monthly trim ever since his father had died in an automobile accident, twelve months previously. Timmy Joe had kept a respectful distance from the widow and had gone out o' his way to lift the sorrow that engulfed the eight year old in the chair and barber and boy had become fast friends and, after her period of mourning had ended, she had accepted Timmy Joe’s offer o’ marriage with alacrity. Lily had inherited the farm, almost four hundred acres devoted to soybean and rice, upon her husband’s death and was considered a catch by all and sundry but Timmy Joe, though he began to live on the farm, had made it abundantly clear from the get go that he wanted nothing, financially, from the spread and considered it to be Charlie Evangeline’s future; to be protected at all costs.\n\nThat’s the kind o' man that Timmy Joe was, an honest teetotaller admired by all that knew him. TJ was a devoted husband and, though he knew that he could never replace Charlie’s real papa, he was determined to be as good a step-father as it was possible to be and they were, indeed, a happy little unit.\n\nMornings were quiet in the barber shop, which suited Timmy Joe just fine. He’d make himself a cup o’ coffee and settle down in the one and only barber chair to read the latest periodical and could, quite contentedly, have stayed in that position all day long but, as customers began to drift in, he enjoyed catching up with those he hadn’t seen for a few weeks and hearing their latest news. Sage advice was lavished, laughs were many and, occasionally, sorrows were shared in genuine empathy.\n\n“Hey, Timmy Joe, did you ever see a man without a beard?”\n\n“Yep, many times. They call ‘em women”.\n\nBut, every now and again, Timmy Joe would be asked a question that seemed to, momentarily, flummox him and, if anybody had really been paying attention to the way he answered, they may have noticed inconsistencies. One o’ these questions was to do with where TJ had originated from? Depending on who the questioner had been, TJ came up with a variety o’ different Irish locations. The other thing that people asked was why TJ subscribed to The Chicagoan, Chicago being so far north. To this, Timmy Joe would, sometimes, say that he had passed through the city, one time, and taken a shine to it or that he had subscribed in error but couldn’t be bothered to cancel the subscription.\n\nI, as a regular frequenter o’ these premises, was savvy enough to have picked up on these nuances and, as an attorney at law, my curiosity was aroused. My office was above the barbershop and, when the law business was quiet, I would wander down and brew a coffee for us and sit and enjoy the repartee that was as normal as the sound of scissors clicking. In this way, I became close with Timmy Joe, intrigued though I remained about his background.\n\nBut, apart from these minor anomalies, life for Timmy Joe could not have been better. He was happily wed, lived in a fine house, loved the day to day calmness and steadiness o’ tending his barber business and the years passed peacefully and uneventfully, the business making enough to more than cover the needs o’ Timmy Joe and his family and the farm making a modest, annual profit, all o’ which was ploughed back into the agricultural business in the form o’ machinery upgrades.\n\n“Hey, Timmy Joe, what d’you call a line o’ people waiting for a haircut?”\n\n“A barbecue”.\n\nThat’s about when nature began to take a turn for the worse, in a way far more destructive than anybody could have foretold. The drought came in three cruel waves: ’34, ’36 and ’39 and it were the in-between years that fooled most people into thinking the worst was over and encouraged them to borrow heavily and reinvest in their land, only to be caught out, yet again, the following year.\n\nThe lack of rain, combined with the high winds served to sweep the unanchored topsoil into clouds o’ dust, known as Black Blizzards, reducing visibility to mere feet, making agriculture impossible, leading to the death o’ crops and the bankruptcy o’ thousands. Banks foreclosed on mortgages and families, known as Okies, were forced to uproot and head west. The Dust Bowl had arrived!\n\nThrough it all, Texhoma suffered greatly, including the Evangeline acreage but they had two great advantages: firstly, they were beholden to no bank, having no mortgage on their land. Secondly, they had TJ. Though he had never seen anything like this disaster, TJ kept a cool head in a crisis and he reasoned that the three o’ them could live on the money his barber shop brought in, even though business had slowed considerably since the mass exodus of Okies.\n\nThe barber shop became the place for gatherings to debate the whys and what nots o’ this cataclysmic event and everybody had an opinion on cause and solution. Timmy Joe managed to earn enough to see his family through the disaster, long as it lasted, and he strongly advised that the four hundred acres be left fallow with not a single dollar spent on it until the crisis was over for good, as it surely would be, one day. Trusting TJ’s wisdom, Lily and Charlie did exactly that. They watched others invest money, usually mortgaged, into their land and, for a time, look to be recovering, only for a new wave of drought to suddenly arrive and destroy everything.\n\nIn ’38, those leeches, the land grabbers, made their move. They, too, knew that Mother Nature would turn eventually and they started to buy up huge tracts o’ land for cents on the dollar. Many families felt that they were lucky to get anything for their acres o’ dust and accepted a pittance for land they’d farmed for generations.\n\nCharlie, when first approached, politely declined the derisory offer made. The second such overture was not presented so pleasantly, with a number o’ the Dixie mafia hovering menacingly in the background. Charlie, now a young man o’ twenty one years was not easily intimidated and, once again, refused the offer made. Lily, though, sensed that these men would be back, unwilling to countenance that anybody would dare to reject their proposal but, despite her fears, she urged her son to say nothing to TJ. Why, exactly, I cannot say. Maybe, intuitively, she sensed something hitherto undisclosed about her husband.\n\nIt did not take long for Murray Humphreys to realise the golden opportunity that the catastrophe o’ the Dust Bowl presented and, joining forces with Owney Madden, they began to buy up as much land as they could across the three states o’ Texas, Arkansas and Oklahoma. Where farmers refused to sell cheaply, intimidatory tactics were used and reports o’ homes being firebombed and owners disappearing, never to be seen again, proliferated.\n\nIn Timmy Joe’s barbershop, talk o’ these happenings was becoming more and more regular but, on account o’ Lily assuring him that no such threats had been made on their property, though he listened with interest, to the stories his customers told, TJ felt no undue concern for his own family’s wellbeing.\n\nSo, when, somebody rushed into his barber shop, one day, and yelled that the Evangeline property was ablaze, nobody was more shocked than Timmy Joe who urged me to drive him home in my car but, by the time we had driven the twenty miles, the barn had burnt completely to the ground incinerating livestock that had been contained within. The house was untouched and Lily and Charlie, though traumatised, were unharmed. TJ was just pleased that his family was safe, reasoning that they could always rebuild a barn as everything had been insured. But Charlie, devastated by this event, was no longer willing to remain quiet and, despite his mother’s protestations, blurted out the truth o’ the attempts to intimidate him into selling the land. Timmy Joe was deeply shocked, as was I. Without another word, he asked me to drive him back to Texhoma but, en route, insisted on stopping at a bar on the lake and ordering a double bourbon, the first drink, he said, that he had taken in almost fourteen years. When he ordered another. I was dumbfounded. Worried for my silent friend, his face betraying all sorts of internal emotions, I kept him company but confined myself to sarsaparilla. By closing time, TJ had consumed an entire bottle o’ bourbon but, far from appearing intoxicated, he seemed resolute and calm and asked me to drive him home.\n\nMother and son were waiting anxiously and smothered him with hugs and kisses for they surely loved that man. I stood in the background as he addressed his family. This is a verbatim account o’ what he said, best as I can recall:\n\n“I have things to tell you; things that I have kept from you. I mean to get this out and, then, you can judge me, one way or the other. My name is not Timothy Sullivan. It is Tommy O’Connor. I am better known as Thomas “Terrible” O Connor. I was born in County Limerick and was brought to America by my parents as a young boy. I got into bad company in Chicago and began a life of crime, working as an enforcer for the Outfit. That’s where I gained the moniker of “Terrible” for, when my blood was up, there was not a man alive that did not quake upon mention of my name. In 1921, a corrupt cop tried to shake me down and I administered a severe beating. I was staying in a motel when he and several others surrounded the place and a shootout occurred. With shots raining down on me, I was firing blindly in an effort to escape and one of my bullets hit and killed an officer and I became a hunted fugitive...”\n\nI could tell that Lily was astounded to hear this tale, coming from the lips of her husband. Charlie, however, seemed engrossed. Me? I was busy putting together all the clues I had noted over the years: the different birth places, that need to keep up with news from Chicago.\n\n“I was on the lam for two months but was finally arrested in Minnesota and brought back to stand trial in Cook County where I was sentenced to hang by Judge Kickham Scanlan, yet another corrupt official of that disreputable county...”\n\nWe all gasped. A condemned man?\n\n“Four days before my execution, I contrived to escape with four others when I overpowered a guard and took his gun. At that time, there was no Cook County sheriff’s department so I was able to cover miles and miles of open countryside without being detected. Long story short, I ended up in Norman, working as an apprentice to a barber, found I had an aptitude for cutting hair, moved to Texhoma and set up my own business, where I determined to live a good, honest life, as far removed from my former ways as possible but, sometimes, fate decrees otherwise. There you have it but, I mean for you to know that, now that my family has been threatened, I aim to exact my revenge and no man can stop me. My blood is up”.\n\nWith that, TJ stood, kissed his wife and step-son and reached out to me for the keys to my automobile which I handed over without question and I watched him walk out into the darkness o’ that fateful night, the last time I ever saw him.\n\nThose are the facts. You now know the truth o’ the third character in my story’ my friend, the mild mannered barber, Timothy Joe Sullivan who was really Thomas “Terrible” O’Connor and, we three, had borne witness to this phoenix arising from the ashes.\n\nFrom this point on, my tale relies on conjecture and you can draw your own conclusions. According to the Hot Springs Sentinel, that same night, a lone gunman entered the hotel and casino complex, The Southern, that Owney Madden had established in Hot Springs, Arkansas and where the likes o’ Lucky Luciano and Frank Costello were frequent visitors. The description o’ that gunman, for sure, fitted TJ to a tee. Seven o’ the Dixie mafia were killed in the ensuing gunfight and Madden, himself, was fortunate to escape with a flesh wound.\n\nThe following night, my car was found abandoned in Norman, Oklahoma and the Norman Transcript wrote of a gunman who had shot dead two bodyguards outside the home o’ the notorious Chicago mobster, Murray Humphreys, before entering the house and confronting the occupant. Later, the gunman left, with Humphreys, who was unharmed, admitting to having recognised the intruder but refusing to say who he was or what had taken place between them.\n\nThereafter, strange as it may seem, the mob’s involvement in the lucrative land grabbing o’ the Dust Bowl years, ended abruptly as they focused on their other illicit activities. I never saw TJ again and Lily and Charlie, a few days after these events, took train for parts unknown and have never returned to Texhoma. The four hundred acres lay, just as they were, still in the name o’ Charlie Evangeline, though the rains, as TJ had prophesied, returned in ’40 and the land was reborn. In ’42, quietly, without fuss, the farm was sold in a private transaction that fetched top dollar. I, myself, handled the legal transaction.\n\n“Hey, Timmy Joe, you should only charge me half price as I’m almost bald”\n\n“Sure, I should be charging you double as it takes me so long to find your hair”.\n\nI miss my friend, I surely do. I miss the laughs we shared but, most of all, I miss the best damn haircut in all of Oklahoma." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Poor Unfortunate Souls\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 2997\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart your story with the narrator or a character saying “I remember…”" }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "I remember other things about that year too. That was the year I stopped getting an allowance. The year I turned ten and my mother signed me up for Girl Scouts to teach me a lesson. It was the year I had my first kiss. But that's never what people want to talk about. Whenever one of us mentions that year, 1990, twenty-five years ago, we're really talking about Freddie.\n\n***\n\nKayla's tenth birthday party came during the middle of May, a day so hot you could taste the promise of the upcoming summer vacation. The Louisiana air was heavy with the kind of humidity that made seagulls lazy. The A/C in my mother's station wagon was broken, so we drove to Kayla's house with the windows down. My mother had spent forty-five minutes flat ironing my curly hair that morning, and I watched in the rearview mirror as the wind undid her hard work. During the drive I occupied my time imagining the party. I had a good idea of what to expect.\n\nThe Monday before, over lunch, Kayla explained how her mother implored her to invite everyone from our class. \"I ain't inviting any of the white kids,\" she said with a mouth half-full of PB&J. She took a swig of chocolate milk and added, \"And no boys either.\"\n\nI didn't tell her that there were only three white kids to choose from, all of whom were boys. Instead I bit into my apple and nodded my approval as usual.\n\nShe surveyed the cafeteria until her eyes stopped a few tables away. When I followed her gaze, I saw Freddie Harris laughing at something someone said. His smile was missing a tooth, but it made him look as tough as Mike Tyson. He just kept laughing and shaking his head, his dreadlocks swinging like little metronomes. Kayla's eyes crinkled. She had a hint of a smile when she said, \"I might invite Freddie though.\"\n\nIt didn't shock me. Once, during the middle of library reading time, Kayla crept up behind Freddie, armed with a pair of scissors. He was turning a page in his Hardy Boys book when she yanked one of his dreads and snipped it off in one swift motion. I have to give him credit, though: He flinched and patted the spot where his dreadlock had been seconds before, but he didn't snitch on her, didn't say a word.\n\nWe pulled into Kayla's neighborhood around noon. \"Make sure you grab her present,\" my mother said, as though Kayla's gift hadn't been sitting beside me in the backseat the whole ride. As though I hadn't been envisioning the face she'd make when ripping through the wrapping paper. I grabbed the present and my mother grabbed my hand and we went.\n\nShe rang the doorbell and we heard a voice waft through the open window: \"I'll get it!\" Moments later Kayla herself answered the door, dressed in a black tutu and a plain T-shirt with a glittery number 10. The tiara on her head sparkled with rhinestones. She looked only slightly disappointed to see that it was me standing on the other side. But then she grinned and said, \"Well, get in here, Cece!\" and we joined the other girls in the living room while my mother joined the cluster of ladies and mixed drinks in the kitchen. \n\nThe living room looked the same as always: family portraits on the mantelpiece, African rugs checkering the floor, bulky box fan jammed in the window. As far as I could tell, the only difference was the group of girls lolling by the fan's breeze, our classmates. An oasis of cornrows and beaded braids, hair frizzed from the humidity.\n\nNo dreadlocks.\n\nLeft to our own devices, Kayla grabbed a broom from the laundry room and instructed Amina and Adina, the twins with matching cornrows, to hold it steady. We took turns playing limbo, seeing how far down we could go before things got dangerous. I got eliminated during the second round, but Kayla advanced to the finals. She was crouching down low as the coffee table, wobbling forward, when the doorbell chimed.\n\n\"I'll get it!\" she hollered, bounding to her feet and knocking the broom out of the twins' hands. Over the whine of the fan we heard her squeal, a noise like a tea kettle whistling. Her words came piecemeal, energetic peaks and dips muted by the wall. Minutes later she re-emerged, Freddie in tow. The other girls smiled and chanted, \"Hi, Freddie!\"\n\nI didn't feel so strongly about him. Our speaking terms began and ended on the first day of fourth grade, during one-on-one icebreakers, when he asked me to tell him something interesting about myself. \"I have a dog and three goldfish,\" I said, and he responded with \"I don't know how to swim,\" and believing I had to match his level of confidentiality, believing these secrets would remain between the two of us, I confessed \"I still wet the bed sometimes.\" He thought that was the funniest thing he'd ever heard and sprang out of his seat to tell his friends. I sighed and traipsed over to Kayla and before I could sit, she asked if Freddie had mentioned her. \"No, but did you know he can't swim?\" Even combined our laughter wasn't as loud as Freddie's was across the room.\n\nSince then I'd refused to talk to him, even after I caught him staring at me on more than one occasion, during class, lunch, recess.\n\nNow he scanned the ocean of girls as if somewhere another boy was buoyed. His lips twitched when our eyes met. He looked away before I could see which way his mouth turned.\n\nAs it turned out, Freddie wasn't much better than me at limbo. The twins returned the broom to its original height but he couldn't even get past that. He crouched down, his face contorting, and the moment he stepped forward, he flopped to the ground. Some of us giggled—I know I did.\n\nHe glowered. \"This game is stupid.\"\n\nKayla said, slowly, \"Yeah, it is.\" Then she snatched the broom and replaced it with the dirty laundry.\n\n***\n\nAn hour into the party, Kayla wanted to open her presents, so we all gathered in a semi-circle around her. I stood beside my mother as we sang Happy Birthday, smelling her sweet-and-sour cocktail breath.\n\nWhen Kayla opened our gifts, she wasn't delicate. She grabbed and yanked, eager to see how well we knew her. She smiled when she unwrapped the twins' Boyz II Men CD. She exclaimed \"Yes!\" after discovering a giant box overflowing with name-brand candy. She unctuously thanked Freddie for his dollar store birthday card and half empty bottle of perfume, even after he walked away.\n\nThen she got to the last gift: mine.\n\nShe clawed at the packaging, ripped it with abandon until, at last, we all stared at the big, bright box advertising the Malibu Barbie Dream House that I'd bought with my mom fifty-fifty, spending all my stockpiled allowance money. The room was quiet save for the whir of the fan.\n\nHer mother piped up. \"Well, Kayla? What do you say?\"\n\n\"Cece,\" Kayla said, turning to me, her face inscrutable. She spoke deliberately. \"This ain't something ten-year-old girls play with.\" I blinked in confusion, so she added, \"This is for nine-year-olds, for babies. You know that, right?\"\n\nAt the time, I blamed the fire in my cheeks on the day, the sun, the humidity. The box fan wasn't enough to cool me. My mother tightened her grip on my shoulder.\n\nI excused myself to the bathroom. No one had anything to say to that, so I went. Snippets of conversation trailed me, Kayla's mother's reproachful voice: \"Is that what you say to someone who bought you a gift, missy?\" Then plaintively, to my mother: \"I'm so sorry, Betty.\"\n\nThe bathroom was locked. I tapped my foot, rapped on the door, listened to the sound of pee striking the water. The toilet flushed and the faucet burbled and the soap dispenser wheezed. Seconds later the door opened and Freddie appeared, inches from my face. We both recoiled.\n\nThen he crossed his arms, slouched against the doorframe, and smirked. \"You finally learn how to use the bathroom, Cece?\"\n\nI rolled my eyes and tried to squeeze past him, but he intercepted me. His smirk was gone. \"Hey, I'm only kidding,\" he said.\n\n\"Well, it ain't very funny.\" I felt my mouth curving around the word \"ain't,\" borrowed from Kayla's lexicon. It had a nice taste to it, flat vowels and jagged consonants.\n\nFreddie tilted his head. His tongue fidgeted with the gap left by his fallen baby tooth. \"Maybe you're right,\" he whispered.\n\nI tried to think of what Kayla might say. \"You gonna move or what? I have to use the bathroom and I don't got all day.\" I chided myself for not substituting \"don't\" with \"ain't.\"\n\n\"You sound like Kayla when you talk like that.\" He didn't say it like a compliment.\n\n\"How would you know? You don't speak to me.\" I tried again to slip through the opening between the doorframe and his body.\n\nFreddie stayed put. He hadn't taken his eyes off me. \"That was pretty lame what she did, wasn't it? Calling you out like that.\"\n\n\"No, it wasn't,\" I replied, because what else are you supposed to say when you're ten and your best friend is being defamed? \"She's right, we're too old for that kind of junk. We ain't babies.\"\n\n\"Then you're cool with what she did?\" he asked. \"You would've done the same thing in her shoes?\"\n\nI opened my mouth, and shut it just as quickly. I recognized the statement as a trap, a trick question, but I didn't know how to answer it. Or, maybe, I didn't want to answer it truthfully, didn't want to admit to myself the unbridgeable gap between me and Kayla.\n\nI was still thinking of a retort when Freddie stepped forward and put his lips on mine.\n\nThey were chapped and it felt a bit like kissing sandpaper. His eyes were closed and I thought maybe I was missing something, so I closed mine too but didn't feel any different. I stepped back and he stood there, lips puckered like a fish. Again my words failed me.\n\nIt didn't matter. Without another word, Freddie finally stepped out of the way and straggled back to the living room.\n\nMy heart thumped as I entered the bathroom. My lips were still tingling when the water scalded my hands.\n\nBy the time I returned, the adults had retreated to the kitchen. Glasses clinked and laughter soared. But in the living room we were quiet, adrift in a sea of wrapping paper. A few girls gave me sympathetic glances, but I just shrugged. The Malibu Barbie Dream House, I noticed, was relegated to a corner of the living room, away from the other presents.\n\nA few minutes later, after a lukewarm attempt at getting us to play pin the tail on the donkey, Kayla announced a change of plans.\n\nShe paraded us through the house, past our tipsy parents, until we came to the sun-stained backyard. The house had an in-ground swimming pool, her family's one concession to the upper class lifestyle. The shallow end came with a set of steps that led to the shimmering blue water. The deep end, eight feet to the bottom, had a diving board with enough bounce to put trampolines out of business.\n\nWhen we were all outside and Freddie slid shut the glass door, Kayla clapped twice and said, \"Let's play The Little Mermaid.\"\n\nShe'd informed us beforehand of the possibility of playing in the pool, so we feverishly doffed our sweaty shirts and skirts, revealing two-piece swimsuits in a rainbow of color. Whatever momentum Kayla had lost when she criticized my gift, she now regained.\n\nYou have to understand: the movie wasn't even half a year old and we'd all seen it in the theaters over fifty times collectively. Our parents, desperate not to sit through the film again, even tempted us with R-Rated alternatives like Pretty Woman, but we refused. We wanted nothing more than to live vicariously through Ariel, to find princes and happy endings of our own.\n\nWe settled into the water, felt its coolness nip at our skin. We looked like we could've been posing for a magazine cover, or part of an elite all-girl swim team. The only outliers were Freddie, who watched us from the edge of the pool with his hands buried in his pockets, and Kayla herself, who entered still wearing her tutu.\n\nWithin a minute she assigned our roles. Tanisha, blessed with a faint Creole lilt from her parents, was chosen to be Sebastian the crab. Unsurprisingly, Amina and Adina got Flotsam and Jetsam. Kayla gave me the part of Princess Ariel not because of my singing voice, which sounded like a cat sticking its paw in a paper shredder, but because out of everyone in the group, my skin was the lightest. \"And I get to be Ursula,\" she proclaimed at the end.\n\nWe splashed through the water, grateful for the cold. We recited the lines we knew by heart. At a few points, Freddie even finished the prince's dialogue for Amina, whom Kayla had double cast. He'd seen the movie too, a victim of his little sister's Disney infatuation.\n\nIt was after the belting of \"Poor Unfortunate Souls,\" after the part in the movie where Ariel trades her voice to become human, as Oleta Watley was doing her best sea king impersonation, that Kayla turned to me and said, \"I saw you two kissing.\"\n\nWe looked at Freddie, who observed us all with feigned disinterest. I wanted to duck my head under the water and never come up.\n\n\"What?\" One word but my voice still shook.\n\n\"My mom sent me to apologize. I saw you two.\"\n\nI said nothing.\n\nWithout warning, Kayla fast-forwarded to the part in the movie where Prince Eric and Ariel go into the sea to fight Ursula. She wielded her tiara like a weapon, pointed it straight at Freddie. \"Come over here and save Ariel,\" she demanded with an edge to her voice. \"It's a kiss scene. We need a boy.\"\n\nFreddie stared at us girls like we weren't just of another sex but another species. Tentatively, he walked to the middle of the pool. He dipped half his big toe into the shimmering water before Kayla stopped him. \"You're gonna rescue her from the middle of the ocean? That ain't how it went in the movie. What kind of prince are you?\" She pointed to the other side.\n\nGlancing over his shoulder at the deep end, Freddie looked more like Flounder than Prince Eric. He cupped his palm over his eyes, blinked.\n\nI looked at him and shook my head. \"You don't have to if—\"\n\n\"You ain't supposed to talk, Ariel,\" Kayla interrupted, voice as cold as the pool water. \"You ain't got a voice, remember?\"\n\nI thought I might say nothing, let Kayla have her way as usual. The words left my mouth before I thought them through: \"Shut up and don't tell me what to do.\"\n\nKayla squinted like she didn't know who I was, like she was just seeing me for the first time. Or maybe it was just the sun in her eyes.\n\n\"Don't do it,\" I said to Freddie, steeling my voice.\n\n\"Cece,\" Kayla warned. Floating there like that, with her black tutu billowing out around her, she really did resemble Ursula.\n\nFreddie rocked back and forth. Half a minute passed before he pivoted and trudged to the deep end. With his chest puffed out, he strode to the end of the diving board, the point just above the eight-foot marker. Standing there on the edge of the board, he leaned down as if assessing how deep the pool really was, how far it went.\n\nIt looked like he was still contemplating this when his body pitched forward, and Kayla and I learned at once that he had been telling the truth all those months ago.\n\nFreddie hit the water like rain in a bucket. He popped up seconds later, gasping and flailing his arms and spraying chlorine in every direction. His dreadlocks glistened and his eyes were alive with panic. He opened his mouth, to speak maybe, to scream, but the pool water filled his mouth and drowned his voice, and just like the day Kayla cut off a piece of his hair, he didn't say a word.\n\nNeither did we.\n\nWe watched, paralyzed, as Freddie struggled against the weight of his body. I wanted to do something, say something, yell for help, but I didn't. I was ten years old. I was like Ariel, voiceless after a bad run-in with a sea witch. And I knew, right then, the ugly truth about happy endings.\n\nThe splashing became less manic as Freddie tuckered himself out. He gave up spitting out pool water. Then he just gave up altogether. His dreadlocks moved like octopus tentacles as he limboed to the bottom of the pool. One of the twins started to sob.\n\nRipples from the deep end pushed against the water like waves. Then the pool fell still, kept in place by our collective effort at holding our breath. The sun glinted off the water, off our bathing suits and our faces and Kayla's tiara, burning with the impending promise of summer and freedom. It felt hotter than it had ever been.\n\nThe sliding glass door squeaked open. Bursts of laughter drifted from the house. Flip-flops smacked against the ground, one pair followed by many, but we didn't look to see who it was. We didn't move at all. We stared straight ahead at the blue water where Freddie Harris had been seconds before and waited for the truth to come to the surface." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Two Sides Of The Same Coin\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 1021\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart your story with the narrator or a character saying “I remember…”" }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "I remember my childhood in bits and pieces, like framed pictures of specific events that exist independently of all the other memories. There was the time I challenged my brother to a foot race down the steps of the rocky hill on the side of my grandfather’s house. My mother warned us to never run down the hill lest we injure ourselves. But that did not thwart us at all. We waited for her to go to work and proceeded with our plans. What else was there to do in the hot summer sun but run, hide, play, and take in all of the day’s light. There was also the time I climbed the mango tree in my grandfather’s backyard and got stuck. So I snacked on mangoes and hoped the house girl would find me before my grandfather came home. The Haitian sun was always more bearable in the shade of a tree and a cool breeze, and this tree was my favorite. It had the juiciest mangoes, branches that extended every which way, and was so full it shaded almost the entire courtyard. \nMy grandfather, a tall, lanky man with a balding spot at the top of his head that he regularly covered with a gray felt hat; a hat that looked like it had seen as many good and bad days as he had, hated when we climbed his mango tree. He’d complain that we’d shake the fruit right out and that they’d burst and spoil when they fell on the ground. Though he was a man of few words, he spoke with a deep voice; you could not help but stop whatever you were doing and listen. \nNow, as I watch my daughter play in the grass under the tall oak tree in our yard, I wonder how much she’ll remember. I wondered if this day of swinging in the shade, twirling in the specks of sunlight, and inspecting blades of grass for ladybugs would make it into the archives of her memories. I wondered if I would be part of this memory or if I would fade into the fuzzy details of the day. Nothing of particular significance happened to me on the day that I got stuck in my grandfather’s mango tree. Nothing I remember, at least. It was not the first time I had been stuck in a tree. Climbing was never the issue; it was always the trip down that scared me. And yet, I remember that moment, the juiciness of the mango, how sticky my fingers got, and the look on my grandfather’s face when he found me in the tree. \nBut the thing about memories is that the more you member them, the less reliable they become. My mother, who grew up in that house, does not remember a mango tree. No matter how much I described it. \n“Not my father’s house,” she would say. “We were never allowed in the courtyard. How would you have gotten to a tree?” She’d ask in wonderment and confusion. I’m sure, if she could, my mother would call me a liar. But, instead, she said, “these memories are not yours, dear,” and waved me off, as all Haitian parents do. As if my memories could somehow belong to someone else. It did not matter. If my memories did not reconcile with hers, it was as though they never were. \nI remember visiting my grandfather before he passed. I wanted so badly to believe my memories and hold on to that day as it was; I booked a flight and made the one thousand five hundred mile journey back to Haiti to ask him about the day he found me in the mango tree. \n“My child!” he exclaimed with a smile and a warm embrace. In his arms and the warmth of his body, I felt that it had been too long since our last embrace. “What has an old man done to deserve this visit?” His voice, scent, the breeze, and the faint sounds of life passing just beyond the house gates all reminded me of how much I had missed home. It brought tears to my eyes that surprised us both. \n“Do not cry,” he quipped “you are here now.” \nAnd I remembered how uncomfortable tears made him feel. I never understood how a military man with so much strength and discipline could handle bullets, bombs, and the chaos of the battlefield yet floundered at the sight of tears. It made me smile. We sat in silence for some time on the bench facing the courtyard, enjoying the afternoon breeze and the evening sun. \n“Do you remember the mango tree, grandpa?” I asked him.\n“You mean this one right there? That you fell off of after I told you not to climb it?” He responded affectionately while pointing at the tree that cast shade on us. \n“Yes,” I smiled. I had forgotten that part. Or maybe I had blocked it out of my memory entirely. “Mama said we were never allowed in the courtyard.”\n“The courtyard? My courtyard?” He interrupted. \n“Yes. She said,”— \n“No.” He interrupted again, this time more certain. “Not my daughter. She would not say such a thing,” he continued shaking his head. “She and the boys were always in the yard, climbing my trees and spoiling my mangoes,” he chuckled. “No matter how much I insisted or how many times I punished you, I could not keep you off of it.”\n“You mean mama, right?”\n“What?”\n“You mean you could not keep mama off of it.”\n“Right,” he replied, almost in a whisper, and looked at me as though it were for the first time. “That’s what I said. Maybe she is confused,” he continued. “Those memories aren’t hers.” \nI remember we sat in silence afterward. The evening became dusk, and our versions of events filled up the space between us. I wonder if there will come a day when I will dismiss my daughter’s recollection of her life. If this disconnect is a right of passage into motherhood, and if she will quietly accept it as I have." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: The Lost Episode\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 2044\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character sowing seeds for the future (literally or figuratively)." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "This farmland is stationed in the middle ground between data and deduction, between thought and action, it lies at the summit of man's anatomy and the pit of his understanding. You are traveling into another dimension, not one located in a distant galaxy but rather nested at the base of every human experience. It is a region of analysis and interpretation. Journey not into the abyss of space and stars but into an imaginative exploration of our humanity.\n\nYou are about to meet two farmers. Opolo and Cervell. They sow seeds, till the ground, and produce fruit unlike any apple you've tasted. Their land spreads out in grooves and pits beyond what the eye can see. Two farmers soon to be presented with a single seed. How they choose to cultivate it will determine the survival or destruction of more than just their land.\n\nThe oblong seed came through the portal with a burst of light in the manner in which all seeds did. Cervell was still bent over the last pip, encoding its contents into the spongy surface of the field when he noticed the light. Opolo was already rushing towards it, eager to claim it as its own. Yet both farmers were well trained in the established protocols of the regions and tempered their enthusiasm by placing the seed atop of the pedestal-like structure that pierced light into the seed revealing its figures.\n\nThe images danced within the capsule in vivid details showcasing what the optic department had gathered. Opolo and Cervell watched intently as the scene revealed itself for them. The boy and his father sat on uncomfortable wooden stools in the rundown corner store. The baseball game played out on the small television set that sat on the faded and sticky yellow counter. The boy, whose feet did not yet reach the lower footrest, and whose young attention span could not be kept by flashes of flags and high pitch singing, entertained himself by rocking his chair side to side thrilled by the possibility of falling.\n\nHis father, who sat beside him, pressed his finger into the boy's thigh indenting his skin slightly with his nail, causing all movements to seize. His father's gaze trailed over to the glass door as the small silver bells that hung from it jingled weakly. Through the threshold entered a Black teenage boy dressed in a black sweater and blue jeans. The boy at the stool sat quietly, glancing up towards his father's face that now bore a grimace the young boy did not yet recognize. Looking back towards the new patron the boy noticed a hint of red poking out of the boy's sweater pocket. It was far too small for anyone other than a child growing up among candy wrappers to noticed.\n\nThe teen walked through the aisles making careful selections as the boy's father paced back and forth at the front of the store. Finally satisfied, the Black boy approached the counter placing a bag of chips, a grape soda, and two chocolate bars on the counter. The boy's father, whose grimace had now morphed into an uncomfortable mixture of anger and disgust eyed the items without saying a word. The teen, who now stood directly next to the young boy, reached into his jeans pocket and retrieved a crumpled five dollar bill and held it out for the boy's father.\n\nTapping his index finger on the counter the man indicated for the money to be placed down rather than handed directly to him. The Black boy not quite understanding the reasoning placed the money as he began to gather his now purchased items. He placed the candy bars in his sweater's pocket and held his soda with the same hand that now interlaced its fingers around the bag of chips. Extending his right hand towards the man the Black boy looked up absentmindedly awaiting a return.\n\n\"What?\" the father asked sternly.\n\n\"I need a dollar back.\" the Black boy responded.\n\n\"No. You owe me five dollars. That's what you gave me five dollars.\"\n\n\"No, I only got four things. The chips, the soda, and the two bars. That's four dollars, I gave you five, you owe me one.\"\n\nThe young boy at the stool, whose heart had begun to race though he did not quite understand why, knew enough about simple math to agree with the Black boy though he dared not speak.\n\n\"What about the Skittles?\"\n\n\"What Skittles?\"\n\nThe boy at the stool immediately glanced at that Black boy's pocket remembering the hint of red he had seen.\n\n\"The Skittles you're trying to steal.\"\n\n\"Man, I came in with these. I didn't get these from you.\"\n\n\"Yeah right, well you got them from someone you're going to pay for them.\"\n\n\"Man, stop playing with me. Give me my change!\"\n\nThe insulted boy demanded, reaching towards the register to press random buttons he thought might open the cash drawer. With a crooked smile that suggested this was what the man had been waiting for he leapt into action. Jumping over the counter briskly. Attacking the young Black boy without mercy. Yelling racial profanities as he pinned the teen on the ground demanding that his son call the police which he eventually did once he was able to get his feet to move.\n\nNow the two white male cops were in the small space at the front of the store with a growing crowd of spectators gathering outside. The man and the teenager interrupted each other as they both yelled their version of the story. One however was able to do so with both his hands free. The young boy which had returned to his place atop the stool dug his finger nails into his thighs trying to keep his nerves from pouring out all over the scene.\n\nOne of the police offers approached him gently. Picking him up and sitting him down on the worn out counter so as to be at eye level with the boy. Roughing up the curls of light brown hair on his head the cop closed in on the boy, lowered his voice, and asked.\n\n\"What did you see, son?\"\n\nThis is was the precise moment the flare of light had illuminated the region Opolo and Cervell managed. The images inside the pulsating seed culminated there, as did most seeds, with two clearly defined choices and one looming decision.\n\nOpolo grabbed the seed and began to cross over the chasm that separated his field from Cervell.\n\n\"Why do you assume it should be planted in your region?\"\n\nOpolo turned around in genuine confusion over Cervell's question.\n\n\"What do you mean? It's obvious. Do you really think that this one requires debate?\"\n\n\"Of course it does.\" Cervell answered, approaching the divide. \"You can't just take it.\"\n\n\"But the right choice is clear. We both saw him notice the red wrapper when the boy walked in. He knows the truth.\"\n\n\"The truth is not worth more than his father.\"\n\n\"What are you saying? Of course it is. The truth is more valuable than anything.\"\n\n\"For once, Opolo, don't be so simple. You cannot reduce every moment to the here and now. This one decision can have a lifetime impact. His father is making a false claim, a claim that can end up getting him arrested, an arrest that Cravon will be blamed for. Think about what his father will do to him. Look at what he has already done to this other boy. If Cravon sides against him, he will beat him. And what's worst, Cravon will blame himself for all of it.\"\n\n\"What kind of character are you building? Of course this will have lifetime implications, even the more reason why I should take, why we should make mark him as a person that does what is right even when it is difficult. If he is made complicit in this act you will set him on a course of destruction. This singular choice, this decision to willing omit or flat out fabricate a lie will mark him. It will curve his will towards what is convenient, towards what is wrong.\"\n\n\"I am not senseless, Opolo. Of course I know it is wrong but the alternative is worst. This will be a simple guilt, a momentary lapse of judgement. One that he will feel shame for but can eventually surpass. What you are suggesting is for him to turn his back on a man that has proven himself to be careless and violent and unfortunately in control. We can't dictate what his father will do next, but we can protect Cravon from what we both know could be worst than guilt.\"\n\n\"Guilt easily disregarded. He'll carry it around long after this moment. Rendering him useless to himself, imprisoning him in his own cowardice.\"\n\n\"You don't have to make a hero out of him every time. What good did it do him when he stood up to that boy behind the apartment building? He hasn't recovered from your little spur of bravery.\"\n\n\"What good did it do him to lie to his mother about the vase?\"\n\nDrawing Opolo's attention to the seed he cradled in his grip, Cervell noted, \"It is crystallizing. We must plant it before it cements above ground and he begins to grow accustomed to not thinking.\"\n\n\"You're wrong on this one, Cervell. We have disagreed on countless incidents, perhaps disagreeing is our only purpose. But up until this moment, every decision, every call we've made has only hurt or benefited us in the end. This is the first time we have to decide on the fate of another. This is how we build his character.\"\n\nLooking across the vast expanse of ridges and grooves that surrounded them Cervell steadied his hands, \"You may be right, Opolo, but in the end self-preservation will outlive character.\" And with this Cervell leaped towards Opolo, limbs outstretched towards the seed.\n\nWincing backwards Opolo fell backward on his side of the chasm as the seed rolled into the abyss, out of the reach of both farmers.\n\nYears passed since the incident. The seed took root in the dark, isolated recess of the boy's mind. Without proper cultivation it grew as do most weeds, wild and rampant. Opolo and Cervel noticed when the first leaves began to pierce through the opening, but being so far from its roots all they could attempt to do was trim the portions of the plant within their grasp. Eventually the tree grew beyond their reach spreading above both fields, shrouding the land in perpetual shadows to the detriment of both lands.\n\nOne day, the tree that grew from the depths of Cravon's mind began to bear a single fruit. This was not unusual, for larger trees did this all the time, especially one this size. Yet, what was interesting was the size and orientation of this one. Most fruits were perfectly round with a steady core that pulsated in predictive intervals like rhythmic drums. This fruit however was oddly shaped, with dips along its edges that gave it a deformed appearance as though the tree itself rejected it. Opolo and Cervell observed it as it grew larger and larger containing within itself images that concerned both farmers. Images that they could no longer argue about, or decide upon, for the fruit grew all on it's own.\n\nOne fateful February evening, while the scores of a baseball game blared from a car radio, the fruit began to tremble. Its core, with its irregular beating, began to spin wildly. Opolo and Cervell stared in horror as the fruit, no longer able to contain its seed burst open, pouring out its content on the blood stained ground like a spilled bags of Skittles. Destroying Cravon and a different, yet very similar innocent Black teenager.\n\nFarmlands. Allocated spaces designated for the cultivation of things edible and things suggested. Some are emerald fields that stretch out across vast distances bearing exotic fruits and alluring vegetables. Most are tucked away nearby, beyond what the naked can eye can see and yet what is detectable to the senses. Forever growing and expanding, bringing to life actions that can create and destroy, in a region, a farmland known as the human mind." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: A Mother's Secret Dream is your Destiny\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 1685\n\nPrompt:\n\nFormat your story in the style of diary entries." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "\"She said her children will be a Force to be Recon with\" \n\nPearl Fisher was born in the middle of a flowing field one golden morning of June sand clay to the Sante Estherville South Carolina.\nShe learned the way her great-grandmother Nin 1894 til she transcended the invisible walls of captivity. Tuesday morning Aug 23 1977 and grandmom Angeline April 15, 1979, an Easter Sunday morning at the same time moments confusion left her life and brought her miraculous sight. The first of 13 gifts born to her parents, a blessing to enter their lives. Sunday morning June 29, 1941, close to the time the atomic mushrooms sent shock waves through time that are still vibrating in the atmosphere.\n\nMy Black Pearl's of Wisdom\n\nThe greatest mother a black child could be blessed to be born. Beloved as Black Pearl's of wisdom, Benin, the Black Butterfly and Grapes. A mother who just did not lived and cry for her own black children but she cried for the whole world. This sister danced in the sun, talked to the tree, birds, and babies. All this love she had inside her soul lead her footsteps to write Rhythmic Rays, A Color-less Reality, Geneva was my Home and No Second to Make Myself Real. She left this earth saying the best is yet to come ME. The Power of Creation Ahayah New Day In the Beginning it was Black. A healthy living she shared with anyone who would take time out to listen.\n\nHer love for her Heavenly Father was the greatest my family had the pleasure to witness and be a part of the Most High blessings in her life. She went from a 6-grade education- to a cigarette, a lemon pie and a Pepsi soda, a typewriter, and a dictionary to become a poet, activist with spiritually blessed insight that has inspired throughout the globe. She wrote many letters, plays, and books. and sent them all around the world. This woman was a daughter of Zion who was strong enough to be herself- no matter what anyone thought of her piculiar ways. She walked to the beat of the Most High trumpets in her heart and found her home with the son Christ. She carved her legacy in my hearts that inspired the Power of Creation born in ME\n\nShe \"said\" Reach your fullest potential and ride the Black Rocket thru time awaiting your intellectual challenge Knock at freedom door. Knock Hard. It will open slowly but Fear not my Sons and Daughters for No Black Man ever walks alone\n\nAs, I rose this morning and thought of this woman who love me from her warm womb. I was just thinking about the relationship between a mother and daughter. How it can be one of the most surprising and extremely difficult energy that are connected together. It can be a loving and crazy journey that is full of both positive and negitive energy. Spirt that's filled of love and hate emotions. Up and down feelings that establishes the pathway of their passion and compassion. It is so amazing to see how spiritual growth develops between the two searching confused girls that only time allows them both to become wise righteous. and powerful.\n\nMy mother is the Black Butterfly and I am the Oak Tree\n\nThe Oak tree that, I have learned to be today is strong as an Oak. Just like she said to ME, I would become. Sculpte by the strength of my mother's gift of power. She wisely shaped and molded my heart to be equal to my mind with the soft warm sweet comfort of her beautiful loving strong black wings. Sometimes she used very very harsh instructions to whip my little black ass. Not agreeing back then; but today, I know it was all done by her careful plans and wise decisions for my personal growth. Correction is what she knew, I needed to establish God's way of living on my path. I'm thinking my mother simply wanted ME to be able to stand strong in the many stormy winds in life that she knew, I would face on my life journey.\n\nI Was a Hard Rock Headed Stiff Neck Rebellious Black Child\n\nMy mother guided my direction to creatively think and taught ME how to seek for the light in darkness. Reliance was formed out of her actions that, I know was all done for the love she had for the Most High and ME! She deeply loved all of God's natural creations in a special kind of way. Remembering her profound action, I pray someday I could do the same. My Black Pearl's of wisdom was my first teacher of aspiration and her crazy consistent ways lead me to see all the confusion in all the world's to find my needed answers.\n\n. Her Secret Dreams Was My Destiny\n\nI'm thinking maybe to her, I was the extention of her secret dreams. I mean a beautiful reality born in the image of her self that she was always trying to create a solid destiny in my life. A new baby girl that arrived to her as her special miracle baby. 7 months premature. Another start in life that came to her in a little version of her black unique beauty. I bet my mommies feelings of hope for my furture were so deep that she truly wanted me to have the ability to do better than the life she had lived many years in agony and pain.\n\nA Great Gift From The Most High\n\nI can only imagine through her loving eyes she seen ME as a great gift from the Creator. Laying in my bed in the still of the night, I could hear my mother singing and praying unto the Creator that, I have a better life than her own. The wisdom and knowledge my mother acquired on her long painful journey, I should definitely respect it. So every day as I live, I keep her comforting words of wisdom tucked close in my heart of mind to try to always shine the light, I seen in her that still after she's gone helps me to smile.\n\nA Woman Pain Runs Deeper Than What The Eyes Can See\n\nI learned that the experiences of a developing woman's hurt and pain runs deeper than what the natural eyes can see and sometimes their approach in life can be a little misleading to a young girl, who has not begun to live out her own gift of greatness. Still the advice given from a spiritual mother should be treasured and used when ever it's needed. I found out about life the long way when, I ran and hide from my mother's hurt and pain. In my beginning, I ran away without trying to understand the mass confusion created in her life. Road blocks created the downfall for me making too many mistakes.\n\nBalancing The Hurt\n\nIn the middle of my painful journey, I grew and learned how to listen more and respect the position the Most High gave to her over ME and with that one humbling decision, I made a simple choice that gave us both the obedience to stop the fight and hear each other. We begin to balance all the hurt and pain and create unity with truthful open communication. Their was so many issues that had no bonding power for us to hold on to any longer. I let go of the hateful feelings then became free from my pride to respect the only woman on this planet earth who loved me from her warm womb.\n\n A Mother's First Thought For Your Destiny\n\nLiving this system, I do realize that some mothers are not as wise as the other mothers we may see in the world's; but they all had a starting point of confusion and countless lies. This empire creates a long painful journey for us to seek and find our balance in life. Therefore we all live each new day to only learn that there are so many bad worldly influences and many road blocks that can affects a persons path and that may have clouded up their mothering skills. Then the judgement of their character may haunt and hurt you deeply. Forgiveness is always free. I'm thinking that it is always better to think and re-think your decisions about their journey before you act off hurtful emotion that may disconnect you from the womb that carried your life or at least try to find the secret or hidden answers to their life story that may have created the pain and disappointment you may feel in your life today. Because a mother's journey along with her hurt and pain may reflect your current reality. Knowingly or Unknowingly we hurt in silence.\n\nForgivness\n\nI'm thinking maybe having these secret answers added to your life just might be the way to forgive the woman, who only had what was presented to her in life to survive. I strongly believe that no matter what else you get in this twisted up sinful world that is truly good. The greatest gift to your life was the gift from the Most High. The seed of your Father and the warm womb of your Mother. And. I would bet that you are so much greater in your life choices and decisions; because of their confusion and pain.\n\nThe hurt you may feel from the disappointment in her ingorant actions, just may have caused you to manifest into her silent prayers and secret dreams. I mean her first thoughts of you and your destiny. The feelings she most likely had the first second she looked at you when you entered the earth as her baby girl. Im thinking we both can win when we desire to reach higher and use our power of creation to forgive the programming of ingorance.\n\nThe Most High Forgives So We Can Too\n\nKash, Tanzaniyah. The Power of Creation Ahayah New Day: In the Beginning It Was Black (p. 200). Lulu Publishing Services. Kindle Edition." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Wake up and Grow up Foolish Thinking People\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 1127\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart your story with the words: “Grow up.”" }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "GROW UP!\n\nThe disconnection in our dysfunctional families are created by unlearned parenting skills cell phones science ect. and our own bad decisions to support the world wicked ideals as verity. It is a program agenda accepted too easily every second of the day without us having any real concern for each other image. When the image we all should be reflecting is the gift of God's image that is free which is ( ABSOULUTE GREATNESS). When we create negative behavior toward each other consequently we stay apart hating each other while seeking the other nations for love and approval to be a part of their prosperity scheme that has always been built on hatred and death.\n\nGROW UP!\n\nTHEY DON’T HAVE THE POWER SOME OF US ARE SEEKING\nToo many of our people think by loving their oppressor more than they love their own people will change their current reality. But they can’t and they won’t because they don’t have the power or light that some of us need. The power of unity was born in you to create and build your family to be stronger. Maybe that’s why we are all still surviving thru this earthly hell lost until this very today. The respect you want and truly deserve by our family and the other nations must be the reflection you want to create in your homes.\n\nGROW UP!\n\nWhen we all can clearly see in this sinful empire that the other nations desperately try very hard to look and attempt to act like our people when we reflect our greatness and share our blessed talents throughout all the worlds. Every nation on this earth has proven to all the world's and all of us over and over to keep our people so low down on the ground by them stealing everything that we produce and create. They keep! And that's comes with some ignorant nigger’s not needed undeniable unconditional illiterate willing help.\n\nWAKE UP!\nAND\nGROW UP!\n\nUNDENIABLE FOOLISH UNLEARNED, SELF HATING, NIGGER COONS\nAll of us have witness a few of our people escape out of our broken hoods. But what about the majority of our families who continues to drown in this wicked system. A planned program that was a designed to kill our righteous images we follow. By now we all should know that our footsteps are ordered together by our father holy commands. Everything in this life has happen for our Creator's good purpose and for all of us to rethink and consider our sins against him willingly. Every second that is lived is a moment that counts for any real progress to be free from this last captivity.\n\nGROW UP!\n\nSee we are all in control of our own creations by our daily thoughts and our daily actions and that will control our behavior positively or negatively. YOU ARE IN CONTROL OF YOUR CREATIONS BY YOUR DAILY THOUGHTS See we all were born with the power of creation to create a better foundation in all the worlds for all our love ones. It is possible to build healthy families with change and that would be the righteous blessing to our people and the other nations. In this very moment it is very sad to “say” this about too many of our people have learned to love and worship dead things that can’t breathe or create our family unity. Today as we go forward we no longer have to blame ourselves or the misguided teachings of our true history or for the state of our hearts and minds. But we must exchange all the lies to remove the fear to finally live in truth. To give respect and receive respect from all nations is powerful. During our healing process as we grow wiser in our creative new thoughts, we must hold our brothers and our sisters including ourselves accountable for our behavior once we receive the Good News to change our direction in thought.\n\nWAKE UP!\nAND\nGROW UP!\n\nThen our positive actions within our homes and our communities will finally work together as one brilliant wise thinking people. When our people find the courage to care, help and learn how to share their hard-earned funds with each other without self-serving hate, we will create the power that’s needed to build our communities without having to march, beg or dance for our change that will never come without us all coming togather in thought.\n\nGROW UP!\n\nThere is so much original talent and great visions in our nation of family that we don’t never ever have to look in the worlds for immoral, vile corrupt entertainment that most times creates our needs to stay in sin.\n\nWAKE UP!\n\nLOVING YOU LIKE I LOVE ME AND YOU LOVING ME LIKE YOU LOVE YOU\nBrothers and sisters this is the love and unity the nations fear and don’t want to have to deal with at all in their controlled programed system. The structure that they created for all of us to stay apart fighting is real clever. Not ever do they want all of us to wake up and grow up and unite our father image, talents or our green paper dollar bills. Here is another hidden secret to building back our nation of lost people in your hurt and pain- is when you don’t suppress truth with false made up lies. Fabrication that keeps our Creator from turning back around to us with his Almighty Power.\n\nWAKE UP!\nAND\nGROW UP!\n\nThis new change in our thoughts changes our thinking that has the hidden power for grate actions and it can start with me loving you like, I love me and you loving me like you love you- as a nation of brilliant wise intelligent people. Our passion and compassion joined together connects to our daily decisions concerning our choices money, greed worldly goods and our learned feelings of hate that we sometimes feel toward each other unknowingly but willingly.\n\nGROW UP!\n\nUnity in a nation is tranquil and superior to all things created in the earth and it is having the authentic power of the Most High ways leading our path without Satan controlling our thoughts. Creating our unity in these last days is the most intelligent ingredient that the other nations have been displaying in the earth since we got off the Jesus Slave ships and it is the piece in our life that we are still missing.\n\nGROW UP!\n\nTo throb with greater possibilities by walking into what awaits in our present-day awaking is..\n\nTHE AUTHENTIC POWER TO CREATE UNITY AND PEACE IN ALL THE WORLD'S!\n\n\n\nKash, Tanzaniyah. The Power of Creation Ahayah New Day: In the Beginning It Was Black (p. 198). Lulu Publishing Services. Kindle Edition." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Twyla's Picnic\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 1128\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about an afternoon picnic gone wrong." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Twyla hobbled through the forest of Spanish moss draped oak trees, carrying a large sweetgrass basket tucked into the crook of her right arm. The wrinkled mahogany fingers of her left hand, grasped onto a tall carved walking stick, which she used to pull each of her ancient steps forward. \nEventually, she reached her picnic destination, and sat her old bones down on a tree stump near the edge of a lagoon. As she was pulling out miscellaneous items from her basket, a few algae-covered logs in the murky green water began to drift towards her. \nTwyla was taking a slow sip of cool sweet tea from a mason jar, when the largest log, a twelve foot long alligator, crept out of the lagoon behind her. It crawled towards her and let out a low growl. Twyla turned her head to the source of the sound and was greeted by a massive set of jaws, filled with sharp teeth.\n“Good afternoon Gertie, baby.” she said with a smile. \nTwyla set down her tea, and opened up a parcel of seasoned fried chicken, wrapped in brown parchment paper. She tossed a crispy drumstick into the hungry mouth of her scaly green friend. Gertie gobbled up her treat happily and nuzzled the old woman’s hand in gratitude. \nThe pair were soon joined by other alligators, turtles, and snakes. Some enjoyed bites from Twyla’s picnic spread,while others basked nearby in the warm afternoon sun. \nThe old woman read aloud from a story book, pausing every now and then to nibble at a piece of cornbread, drizzled with tupelo honey. Gertie rested her colossal bumpy head at the base of Twyla’s feet, and listened to the soft twang to the woman’s voice as she read. \nA sudden boom of gunshots and the frenzy of frightened waterfowl jolted Twyla’s attention away from the book. Several more shots followed, causing the creatures to hiss and slide into the lagoon for safety. Twyla lifted herself up from her stump with the aid of her tall walking stick and stepped onto the surface of the water. \nWith a quick nudge of her staff, she created a gentle wave beneath her feet, which she used to propel herself forward to the direction of the disturbance. Gertie followed closely behind. \nMost of the locals had the good sense to stay out of Twyla’s woods. Children grew up hearing stories of the mysterious swamp witch and her legion of vicious alligators, panthers, and venomous snakes. \nSome swore to have heard haunting whispers of disembodied voices and sightings of eerie moss-covered creatures lurking in the shadows. \nOccasionally, a few of the local women would brave the woods and venture up the rickety steps towards her hut, desperate for healing tinctures, love potions, or other enchantments. When they came, they traveled through her woods as though they were walking through the palace of royalty. They were always careful, quiet, and respectful of her wild kingdom. \nTwyla peered through a veil of Spanish moss, hidden away from the eyes of a burly man with plump red cheeks and a twirly ginger mustache. \nHe carried a long wooden rifle slung over one of his hefty shoulders. He wiped away a puddle of perspiration from his wide sweaty forehead with a silk pocket square from his mint seersucker suit. \nA lanky boy with skin the color of gingerbread, bent down to collect the body of a mallard lying near the big man’s feet. The boy’s eyes were filled with immense sadness and grief for the bird. He lifted its limp body gently, almost as if it were made of delicate glass. \n“Monty, fetch me anotha mint julep.” the burly man barked.\nThe boy placed the duck in a burlap sack and moved with haste to prepare the man’s drink. Once his beverage was presented to him, the big man snatched up the frosty metal cup and tossed the used sweat-covered pocket square in the young boy’s face. \nTwyla’s tiny body vibrated with anger as she watched from behind her curtain of moss. Gertie let out a low growl, and glanced up at Twyla awaiting orders like a soldier poised for battle. The old woman squared her shoulders and lifted back the curtain of moss with a wave of her staff. \n“You need to get up out of here with all of this mess.” she said, pointing a tiny wrinkled finger at the man. \nMonty knelt down and lowered his eyes in respect as soon as he saw Twyla emerge from the trees. The big man looked the small old woman up and down, and erupted into a boom of deep laughter. Gertie snarled and stomped forward, enraged by his blatant disrespect towards her mistress. \n“Shit! Look at tha size of that thing” shouted the big man. \nHe pointed his rifle at Gertie, and fired a cloud of gun smoke at the colossal beast.\nTwyla flicked the bullet away with her walking stick, as if it were a mosquito. \n“What in tha hell?” the man hollered.\n His red face paled as he stared at the old woman in disbelief. \n“What kind of devil are you?'' he asked in a quavering voice. \nHe spun the rifle away from the unharmed alligator and aimed it at Twyla’s face. \n“I ain’t gonna ask you again.” she said.\nBefore the man could pull the trigger, she lifted her staff up high and launched a swarm of vines from the water behind her. \nThe man thrashed and screamed as the tangle of vines wrapped around his body and pulled him into the water. His eyes widened in terror when he noticed a group of big logs drifting his way. Twyla nodded her head at Gertie to dismiss her from her side. She dove into the water without hesitation, eager to join in with her fellow alligators. \nSatisfied with her work, Twyla looked away from her pit of happy gators and turned her attention to the burlap bag that held the dead duck. She walked past the boy who remained kneeling on the ground below her. She closed her eyes and gently touched the bag with the tip of her walking stick. \nSoon, the contents of the bag began to stir. The mallard poked its blue-green head from the bag and greeted Twyla with a quack. \nThe boy watched her in amazement as she turned around to face him. \n“Monty is it?” she asked gently. \nMonty nodded a quickly as the old woman looked down at him. \n“You need some meat on your bones. Come along with me.” \nShe then took the boy’s hand and helped pull him up from the ground. The two then rode a wave back to her tree stump where they enjoyed the remainder of the picnic." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on 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 Light of Good\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 1053\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about light returning to a place that has been deprived of it for a long time, literally or figuratively." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "So many people are standing in a crowed room full of family and friends and still feel lonely. Especially when they truly need anyone to care. It's like having a dark shadow of separation and division that continues to haunt their path. In that moment they may need your time, money or great thoughts. But most times receiving only answers of promise. A promise that you know you will not keep- you give to them anyway. For it is always better to leave a person with a yes or a no then a wishful hopeful maybe. Living in this system we learned to cover the light of good with darkness when we create unnecessary pain to others with our false hope. Although our loving feelings from our heart to help can be real- we still know our abilities in that moment; but choose to give them hope without ever considering the pain caused out of that same promise. The words spoken of hope in the promise we leave behind us. Then they wait for nothing and that nothing has the power to leave that person speechless down on the ground in the last second to solve their current issues. In panic they will rise and still learning to create lighter outcomes is when you can truly imagine wearing the same shoes that hurt. Staying in the light of life is our hope to build. When you are truthful to say what you can and will not do in that same moment of need- truth allows the person to change their dark problem into light actions by them trusting the Most High while going forward quickly out of darkness to seek his light without us creating more pain with empty promises while they are in the dark.\n\nTHE PROMISE YOU CAN’T KEEP\nPromises that create separation are mostly over our time and our money. This kind of division can stop when you are honest about your abilities then your truthfulness gives a person room to search for other solutions. Why not begin to communicate differently to preserve our relationships. Sometimes we create unnecessary pain with our promises from the heart knowing our abilities and most times not understanding the unknown. I lived a longtime holding on to dead promises and, I should have kicked my own self in my black ass. The unrealistic wait on a lie caused me so much disappointment, pain and hurtful emotions. The dishonesty created bad feelings toward the people, I loved and respected. But by my own rebellious ways, I created and supported this reality. I was reaching outside myself for help by trusting other people professional abilities and not the Most High plans or power for my destiny- which ultimatly created the separation in my personal relationships.\nI BECAME A LIAR TO THEM AND A QUITE FAILURE DEEP INSIDE\n\nTHE SAFEST WAY TO CONTROL YOUR DARK EMOTIONS\nUnderstanding the power and dark force of paper money is one of the safest ways to control your emotions and the decisions you make in most money transactions. Promises or an agreement concerning money has the power to change once it hits the other person hands to deliver it to you after everything that has been said in the beginning of the agreement. Watch out for the sudden change of mind- to stay open to the way the commitment may change in the middle from the beginning. Money has an ugly funny way of changing a verbal commitment that was established before the funds are given to you, if still given at all and, if it is still given it may possibly be in a lesser amount then what was originally stated. In fact, paper green money has the power to change the perception of the receiver when it’s time for them to pay you back. They just might get mad at you for asking for its return. This is necessary and needed to look at all verbal money transactions as nothing until they are completely done and the main reason to stop giving away what you are not willing to give away freely, especially when you know that brother or sister is already down on the ground suffering in financial pain.\n.MOST OF US ARE ALREADY DOWN ON THE GROUND\nThis is not to disrespect those who have integrity and some of us do exist on this planet and had to grow to get here by our negative experiences for personal growth. For whatever the reasons the commitments changes in the amount that was first addressed maybe understandable; but most people become very self-serving and greedy to rethink their own spoken words or even “say” that they did not “say” what you know you heard them commit.\nWE ALL MUST GROW TO BUILD FOR CHANGE\nWhen we use the power of creation over the money that is in our hands and create more self-control in our daily decisions then we create the solutions to the current problems within our communities. If we would begin to look at the Most High beautiful trees as the value- in which they were created it just might connect us back to respecting nature again- to see the live energy in all our living black souls to realize that the green paper dollar bills will be exactly what they are green dead paper that we use to survive in this empire. We truly need to begin to appreciate the lives of our brothers and sister that is standing right in your face- which is absolute greatness in thought. Then we could grow stronger together as one power- just like the many different trees we pass by every day. There are so many beautiful trees that produce so many leaves that lives and dies in the changing seasons- just like we are born and die in a never changing system. We could create the power needed to pass our black history and our wealth to the next generation to come and that will place us all in the position to bear good fruits- just like the many trees bare good fruit and supports our lives to live in greatness.\nRIGHTIOUS UNITY IS ABSOLUTE GREATNESS\n\nKash, Tanzaniyah. The Power of Creation Ahayah New Day: In the Beginning It Was Black (p. 191). Lulu Publishing Services. Kindle Edition." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Fate?\n\nGenre: american\n\nWord Count: 2775\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about someone trying something completely new." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "The film began with a sunset that blazed across the Colorado sky, pulling deep reds and oranges into the world. Violet sat holding hands with Leo. His hands were clammy, hers were, too. And he turned to her, pulling at the edges of a frayed blanket to dust away the blades of grass. She knew what was coming when he stood. The film slowed down as he reached into his back pocket and knelt.\n\nThe proposal was perfect.\n\nViolet beamed. Leo beamed back at her and they sealed their love with a kiss. The screen faded to black.\n\nThe next scene was of the two of them touring homes. Their words came out snippy and angry as they stood in linoleum kitchens with tiny bay windows. She didn’t want a yard; he said HOAs were dumb. Their realtor stood just outside of their conversation, raising his bushy eyebrows with each word. Everyone walked out wordlessly.\n\nApparently, they found a house because the third scene of the film was Violet and Leo leaning over a crib. Inside was a precious little teddy bear. Portraits of the two of them in black and white hung on the wall. She had a veil. He had a smile. She had a round stomach. He laid his hands on it.\n\nThe fourth scene was Leo hoisting a girl in a red mini skirt onto his desk. The diamonds of his wedding bland glinted from the shaft of light streaming through his office window. She was so very pretty. The words: THE END flashed momentarily and Violet wiped tears from her eyes. \n\n\n“It's not a guarantee of the future, Vi,” pleaded Leo as he lazily stirred his iced latte in the cafe fifteen minutes later. \n\nViolet scoffed, “Please, do you know of a single couple these days whose future didn’t come true just as the film predicted?”\n\n“So I guess we’re done?” asked Leo as he pushed out his chair. Violet nodded. She pulled out her phone to check the time; Isabel would be arriving any moment. She waved at her (now) ex-boyfriend and he shook his head. She swore he whispered, “Crazy bitch,” before walking away from her forever. \n\nIsabel’s long black hair was in a braid. She stood in the line and provided her order before marching to Violet’s table where she sat in the chair still warm from Leo. “Why’d you dump this one?” she asked Violet who dramatically finished her work email before looking into her friend’s coal black eyes as she took a long sip of her coffee. \n\n“He cheats on me, Iz,” Violet said. Her friend’s mouth hung in a dramatic smirk. “With the secretary,” she added. Violet took a breath and said, “Who was barely 19!” \n\nIsabel rolled her eyes and stood to collect her coffee at the sound of her name. When she returned, she asked, “How do you know how old the girl is?”\n\nViolet laughed and replied, “Because I remember what I looked like at 19.” Isabel took a sip of her drink and a deep breath. Here we go-here comes the lecture from the woman who has been married for over a decade and won’t shut up about it. \n\n“Hon, I just…worry you’re a bit obsessed with Living Theatre. How much money have you given them over the last five years?” asked Isabel. She was trying to put it gently, even though this was the broken record of their friendship.\n\n“Five hundred dollars a film is cheap compared to wasting years of your life on the wrong guy,” huffed Violet. But she was wiping away tears with that napkin, not adjusting her mascara. And Isabel knew it. From behind the napkin, Violet added, “Plus, usually the guys are willing to go at least halvsies on it.”\n\n“So you spend $250 on a predictive service of what your future is likely to look like,” Isabel enunciated each word as she quoted from the commercial that blared every twenty seconds on every social media platform or radio station. \n\n“But it has an accuracy rating of over 85%!” argued Violet. She began ripping the little paper cover that held her straw to bits. \n\n“That’s not 100%,” said Isabel. She frowned at her friend’s wrinkled brow. “I’m just saying, don’t you think you have a bit more control over your future?”\n\n“Don’t you want to know when Aidan will finally give you a kid? Or if he just, straight up, never will?” Violet demanded. Her words stung and she wanted to take them back the second she glanced at Isabel’s red cheeks. The silence was deafening in the loud cafe.\n\n“So I guess I’m back to the drawing board,” babbled Violet. Her voice cracked on the very last word and came out softer. “I just…I want what you have…” she sighed the words like a child who couldn’t bear to make eye contact with their parents after breaking the rules. “You make it look so easy,” she said. \n\nIsabel resisted the urge to argue that marriage was, in fact, not easy at all. She thought on all the sleepless nights after arguing over when to finally start trying for a child. She mused on all the moments of miscommunication, all the bad days, all of the times her husband just wasn’t the soul mate she met all those years ago. Then again, neither was she. \n\nInstead, she smiled at Violet and patted her hand. “Give it another go, Sweetie. He’s out there. Just waiting for you,” she assured her friend and they made a plan to go out to dinner in two weeks to talk. Isabel offered a quick hug before running off to work, leaving Violet with her own thoughts. \n\nViolet, for her part, tried her darndest to see the world in a more romantic light. She eyed the nice man with the long beard when he held the door open for her at work. She laughed longer at Simon’s joke at work because she knew he was single, once again, just like her. She even stopped by the local bookstore on her way home to give the world plenty of opportunities for her next “meet cute.” But it didn’t come that day. And Violet returned to her empty apartment-sans Leo. She heated up a bowl of soup, had a bigger bowl of mint chip ice cream, and fell asleep.\n\nHer dreams were snippets of all of the disasters she saw while sitting in that dark screening room. There was Sam who would likely be hated by her parents, Lee who would be a dud at every party they go to, and Patrick who was just a little too obsessed with cats. That was a secret that she was thankful to have out of the bag by month two. \n\nBut somehow, the real life memories were worse than the films. Violet couldn’t shake the way Sam had let her pick where to go for date night every time, or the way Lee wrote a little joke on a napkin for her lunch each day, or how Patrick made her feel like the luckiest girl alive when they kissed. Leo had laughed at all her jokes, he had always bragged about the work she was doing to the whole world, he had held her all night long when she had to put her childhood cat of fifteen years to sleep.\n\nWhen she awoke, she half expected a text from her ex, asking that they try again, promising that he wouldn’t sleep with his secretary. It was a text never truly fated to arrive. Violet walked to work, without her ear buds in, in case a cute guy was going to compliment her on her dress. But instead, she just heard a few whistles from the construction crew a block away from her office. She brought an extra cup of coffee to Simon, but found Lizzy was already sitting on his desk, twirling a lock of flaming red hair around her finger. \n\nViolet considered re-starting her online dating profile. She logged in and read through her bio. She thumbed through recent photos and even sent a few to Isabel to approve. But she just couldn’t bring herself to click the green “update” button. She knew what was awaiting her: endless hours scrolling through bullshit filled resumes on people who weren’t that serious, anxiety filled evenings when she didn’t get any messages, or worse, hot tears rolling down her cheeks when her date doesn’t even bother to show up at the bar after she spent 90 minutes perfecting her red lip in the mirror. No, she decided it just wasn’t worth it. \n\nViolet so desperately wanted to meet a guy “like the good old days.” She could picture it now: he’d be tall, dark, and handsome. He’d open with a joke. She’d counter with a good story. And they’d spend the next few weeks building the anticipation that comes from knowing you’re about to go on a first date with the love of your life. She’d do something stupid like spill red wine on her blouse, but he’d offer her his jacket so she’d go from embarassed to flattered. He’d use it as an excuse to see her again and show up with flowers the next week. They’d go to carnivals and amusement parks and the drive-in movie theater. He’d ask for her hand in marriage, which her father would gladly give since he “was the first decent guy she brought ‘round the house.” They’d spend their engagement picking out the perfect flowers for the best day of her life. \n\nAnd the wedding would be perfect. It’d be on the beach. Isabel’s little one would be the perfect flower girl. His friends would crack the best jokes during the toasts. And they’d move into the little blue house(the one Violet always dreamed of living in) on the corner of Lynn Drive that magically went on the market just as fate intended. They’d have two boys and a girl. They’d get a chocolate lab to keep the kids entertained. And most importantly, all of this would be shown in vivid color in the screening room of Living Theatre which he will insist they go to, just so they all know exactly what they’re getting into. \n\nViolet relayed this great life plan to Isabel over cocktails at dinner that evening. Her friend offered a coy smile and a proposition. “What if I told you…Aidan has a friend who is newly single?” asked Isabel. She watched with glee as Violet lit up with glee. “His name is Tucker and he has one rule…” Isabel dragged her words out cautiously, holding up her index finger. She’d make a great mom one day.\n\n“I can take it. I’m willing to adapt,” Violet insisted. \n\n“No Living Theatre,” chirped Isabel over her cocktail glass. Violet sunk back into her seat. All of the gears began turning slowly. “He thinks it’s made up,” she said; her words were more for herself than for Violet. “Which I agree with because every time you have ever gone there, it ends up being, like, some dramatic plot twist you swear you could have never predicted. But like, they’re always totally cliche, too?” her voice raised an octave at the end, indicating a question that she didn’t really view as a question. “Like, seriously, sleeping with a secretary? How cheesy can you get?” she asked. “But my point is, he wants to just throw caution to the wind and fall in love for the sake of falling in love,” she said. She grabbed Violet's hand saying, “Please, give him a chance? His name is Tucker.”\n\n“Tucker,” repeated Violet. She finished her cocktail and told Isabel, “Give him my number.”\n\n\nIt was halfway through their first date that Violet decided she was in love with Tucker Lewis. She loved the way his eyes twinkled when he told a really good joke. She was flattered by the way she managed to keep his gaze off the waitress with longer legs than her. She held her breath when he asked if she’d like to linger for dessert and didn’t bat an eye when she cleaned her plate. Instead, he offered a hearty grin and said, “I like a woman who isn’t afraid to eat.”\n\nThat was when she, imbued by alcohol’s warm embrace, asked, “So why don’t you ever pay for Living Theatre?”\n\nHe sighed and she was sure he wouldn’t ask for a second date when he stood, mumbling that he needed a bathroom break. She slumped in her chair like a deflated balloon. But he returned-Tucker Lewis returned-pink cheeked and all. He pulled out his chair and took a sip of water, choosing his words carefully, “I think it’s unethical.”\n\n“Unethical?” she exclaimed. Then, lowered her voice upon noticing the sets of eyes that suddenly found their little corner booth. “How could it be unethical? It just gives you the answers that you need to make accurate choices in the world of modern dating.”\n\n“They’re not answers. They’re predictions,” he hissed his words through gritted teeth and reached for his water. She watched his Adam’s Apple bob with every gulp. “Damn,” he cursed, “You should work for them.” He shook his head while staring down at the remnants of creamy garlic mashed potatoes. \n\n“I would,” she replied indignantly, finding herself reflexively sitting up in her chair a little straighter. \n\n“Ha!” he scoffed. “You don’t know what it’s like,” he said-eyes remaining on the plate.\n\n“And you do?” she asked. \n\n“I do!” he shot back. This time, raising himself a bit straighter in his seat as well. His eyes found hers and bore into them.\n\n“Oh,” she said. \n\nThe waitress returned with a lava cake. It was decadently garnished with the perfect amount of whipped cream and a cherry on top. She flashed her pearly whites while encouraging the couple to enjoy another cocktail, but they both shook their heads. Neither party reached across the table for the cherry until the whipped cream was a bubbly puddle at the bottom of the plate. Their current drinks remained untouched. Their laughter, which had seemed so easy before, seemed to evaporate.\n\n“I was one of the original engineers,” Tucker said. “I helped design the code; I helped pitch the company, I was a fuckin’ founder. And paid handsomely for it, too. ‘Never work another day in your life,’ they said.” It seemed his words weren’t for her. \n\n“What happened?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. \n\n“Money. Greed,” he answered. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this. We were just helping people see if they would be compatible.”\n\nViolet’s eyebrows furrowed as she considered the array of questions that leapt to her mind. She knew she had maybe three before Tucker would be walking out that door, “But it works. Your algorithm works. You’re a genius.”\n\nTucker Lewis laughed. But it felt like the guffaw of a man over the edge. He threw his hands in the air as he protested, “No, no, no. My algorithm was designed to just give couples a percentage-a single idea of the likelihood of the success of their relationship. But then, the more people wanted, the more money the company could make. People are willing to sign over their whole lives just for a little more information.”\n\nViolet’s quizzical look gave him all the information he needed. “Oh yeah, you didn’t know that, huh? I can tell,” he began laughing like a maniac again. “When you signed on the dotted line all of those legal waivers full of words no normal human could understand, when you let them take your thumbprint? Yeah, that gives them the right to all of your digital data. Every purchase you’ve ever made, every ad your eyes linger on, every post on social media you’ve ever scrolled past, much less liked! They have all of it. That’s how they create the movie, Vi.”\n\nHer name sounded like poison in his mouth.\n\nThe couple sat in silence again for a few minutes. The waitress stopped by the table. She offered the check which Tucker took. He reached for his wallet to pull out his cash. It was a foreign sight to his date. “Huh,” she muttered. He gave her a chuckle and watched as she sat up in her chair, reached her hand across the table, plucked the cherry from the dessert, and popped it in her mouth. She smiled appreciatively saying, “So I guess we’ll just leave it up to fate.” He reached for the silver spoon and nodded before taking a bite of the sweetest dessert he’d ever tasted." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: In The Clouds\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 1333\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about a scientist." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Strange and unusual. My father once used those words to describe his career as a meteorologist. Some people are surprised to discover meteorology is regarded as a science, and for that, I blame The Weather Channel. Because, hey. Do smart scientific-minded people willingly go into places others have been told to evacuate? Crazy people perhaps, but scientists? \nDad wasn’t a television personality broadcasting from a fancy studio or one of those aforementioned “crazies,” the ones who smile-talk while being hammered by hurricane-force winds and brutal rain bands, all in the service of accurate reporting (although, I will say we owe them a debt of gratitude). My father, Alonzo Smith, worked in obscurity as a weather officer in U.S. Air Force, then as an executive for the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA). He was also one of the country’s premier Black meteorologists at a time when Black rarely preceded the word, scientist.\nComing of age in 1930s Harlem, Dad was already a bookish science-nerd when, one day in class, he learned clouds had names. Cirrus. Cumulus. Cumulonimbus. His fascination took off like a plane in the stratosphere, but aspiring to be a scientist in Harlem required a Herculean focus since the voice of easy money bellowed out in the midst of gripping poverty.\nRacketeers and drug peddlers were street-corner businessmen. Gang members used the term “social club” in their recruiting efforts. Swindlers, who’d mastered Three-Card Monte, did their swindling. However, Dad was determined to navigate around this enticing mix of people, even as some of his friends fell prey. Yet, sometimes deception came from within his classroom.\n“Negro children shouldn’t go to school because you’re going to end up being janitors and bus drivers, anyway,” Dad’s white teacher told her Black students one day.\nFortunately, Dad was being raised by his Grandma Jo, who was sick and tired of being sick and tired. Like many in her generation who’d migrated from the South, she couldn’t read or write but she possessed good instincts and she protected my father like a lioness safeguards her cubs. No one was going to mess with her grandson’s education. After Dad told her what his teacher said, Granny Jo marched over to the school and gave the teacher a piece of her mind. That incident cemented Dad’s lifelong dogged determination. If anyone told him he couldn’t do something, that served as motivation to prove them wrong.\nIn his late teens, my father was drafted into the Navy and served in the South Pacific during World War II. After being discharged, he enrolled at Howard University, a historically Black institution in Washington, DC, where he majored in mathematics and joined the Air Force ROTC Program. As fate would have it, some groundbreaking war veterans were instructors in the Department of Military Sciences. These men coined The Tuskegee Airmen, were not yet the heralded Black fighter pilots they would come to be known as, and many of them sought teaching positions only because they were denied jobs as commercial pilots upon returning home from the war.\nOne of these men, Captain Robert Smith, encouraged Dad to secure a spot in the Air Force’s weather forecasting school, an eighteen-month intensive training program. Dad applied and was accepted into the program at New York University. His strange and unusual career began in 1952, and he never looked back.\nAs a weather officer, my father traversed Europe in support of military pilots who flew jumbo transport jets and planes designed for airlifts. He gathered and analyzed raw atmospheric data to issue storm warnings and create flight plans, the blueprints for getting from one location to another safely. Meteorologists applied thermodynamics and complex mathematical calculations to the process of flight planning, and back in the 1950s, this type of number crunching was done manually. It was tedious work that demanded accuracy, but my father had found his purpose.\nWhat’s heartbreaking, is that once he returned to the states, even with his status as a war veteran and military officer, he had to navigate around Jim Crow, just like he had to tiptoe around the gangs in Harlem. The Air Force assigned him to several cities and towns over the years, yet he (and my mother) was often tasked with securing off-base housing and finding accommodations on long road trips while being victimized by discrimination. Often, VACANCY signs mysteriously went dark after my parents pulled into a motel parking lot, or shameless landlords would proudly announce they didn’t rent to Negroes.\nGrowing up, I heard many stories like this. However, the narration of my father’s life, his demonstrations of strength and perseverance, have always filled me with pride. Like when he was stationed at Warren Air Force Base in Cheyenne, Wyoming. The base had no runways because planes weren’t needed there. This was the early 1960s at the height of the Cold War, and Warren was headquarters for the maintenance and operation of intercontinental ballistic missiles (ICBMs) located in underground silos across the region; the first of their kind deployed in the U.S. My father was handed the monumental task of converting empty office space into a weather command center, one that would provide round-the-clock forecasts should any of the missiles need to be launched. Using every ounce of resourcefulness he could muster over the course of several weeks, my father established the first-ever weather center at Warren.\nI believe this significant accomplishment rendered him a victim of his own success because his next assignment took him to the Air Station on Shemya Island, Alaska, one of the worst, unpredictable weather areas on planet Earth in one of the most remote places in the U.S. I’ll just go out on a limb and say that most people have never heard of Shemya. That’s how the U.S. government wanted it during the Cold War.\nSituated on the extreme western end of the Aleutian Island chain, Shemya is roughly 200 miles from Russia. The island served as a sentinel for American surveillance activities and it was a critical refueling stop for Air Force pilots who flew top-secret air missions. Here, Dad completed an isolated tour, meaning he was away from his family for one long year. While Shemya was arguably the least desirable assignment in the Air Force, this is where the most skilled, reliable weather forecasters were needed.\nDuring his career, my dad received a master’s degree in meteorology from The Pennsylvania State University in 1960, the only Black student in his graduating class. Although this was an amazing accomplishment, I know he wanted more. Unfortunately, he was shut out of the school’s Ph.D. program for reasons he believed were racially motivated. As well, he was denied other job assignments and promotions that he worked hard for and tried to obtain.\nEven with the disappointments, Dad went on to make important contributions toward the advancement of weather forecasting during the nascent computer age, and just prior to retiring from the military, he received the Air Force Commendation Medal for his work involving computerized flight plans.\nAfter his second retirement from NOAA in 1986, he dedicated his life to mentoring young people of color who aspired to be mathematicians and scientists. He even took on the often-dreaded job of substitute teaching at the high school level. I still laugh at how he told stories about the shocked and perplexed looks students gave him when he showed up in their classes and began writing algebra equations on the board instead of wheeling out a film projector.\nMy father passed away in 1999 at the age of 74, and I often wonder if he thought about the teacher in Harlem who implied he wouldn’t amount to anything. I’ll never know the answer to that, but I do know this. Because he defied that teacher, Dad not only helped to shape how the weather is forecasted today, but he also opened doors for many Black children and gave them permission to dream big and keep their heads in the clouds." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Sunrise in the East\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 2992\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about light returning to a place that has been deprived of it for a long time, literally or figuratively." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Daddy said the sun stopped burning when the baby died. Momma said it rises in the East.\nDaddy says when a boy sees death for the first time, it makes them a man, no matter what. He said words like heartache and pain, and explained they’re devils who come to collect the best of you when you meet loss, and you’ve gotta fight them till forever to get just a little bit of the good back. He said most people lose, while others pretend to have won, when really they just changed convincingly enough to make believe they’re back to normal, when really, that normal’s been destroyed forever, and that makes boys grow up too fast, and men lose their way. Momma says I’m eight, and I won’t be a man until I’m at least thirty-seven, God willing.\nPeople ask where the baby went, and that makes Momma sad. She never seems sad until people ask about it, but Daddy cries all the time, and if he isn’t crying, it’s cuz he ran out of tears, so he stares ahead like he’s looking at me, but Momma says he couldn’t see me if he wanted to. She said he’s trapped in a place called the Out There, and when he talks, and it makes sense, that’s when we’ll know he’s back. She says he’s been to the Out There before, many years ago, and he promised to never visit again. Daddy says promises tend to fall off the table, when babies grow to die. Sometimes when he’s mad, he asks why she isn’t right there with him. She told him it’s cuz I’ve never visited before, and it shouldn’t be a place for kids if they can help it; somebody had to stay home, for me.\nDaddy said I should’ve been sadder, and it was okay to be, if I was just hiding it. Momma asked if I even understood it. I told her I was supposed to have a brother, and I did for six days, and then one day I didn’t. I cried when she said the baby left. But I didn’t know him long enough, to miss him. \n“Mackie! Mackie!” Mom calls, and I rush down the steps, to the living room, to find her, holding a big glass bowl against her tummy, as big and round as her belly was before she had the baby. She sets her warm brown hand along the face of the bowl like she used to do to her tummy, and wraps her warm brown arm along the underside of it. It’s filled with water, and in the water’s a bright orange monster, zipping back and forth.\n“What’s that?” I ask, pointing to the bowl.\n“McKinley Yates,” Momma scolds me, setting the bowl on the glass coffee table. “Don’t act like you’ve never seen a fish before.”\n“What’s with all the screaming?” Daddy mumbles, in the way Momma told me was unbecoming of a young Black man, when I mimicked him on purpose. You won’t be anybody’s Dr. King, moaning and groaning like that Mackie, Momma scoffed, holding her hands on her hips. She said Daddy gets to do it cuz he’s forty-two and old, and anybody who’s flown a plane over the Germans and lived to sulk about it got to talk however they wanted.\n“I got Mackie here a friend,” Momma smiles, getting on her knees to look the fish in the beady eyes. “Ain’t he handsome, Rufus?”\n“Maureen,” Daddy scolds, and I almost think he’s shouting, till I realized it’s the first time he’s talked in a normal tone since the baby. “Maureen,” he scolds again, holding his hands against his hips like Momma does when I’m in trouble. “Why would you bring that wild animal in this house?”\n“Doesn’t look wild to me,” Momma smiles. “Come here, Baby,” she waves to me.\nI bury my knees into the deep blue carpet, and press my side into Momma’s, and rest my elbows on the table. I get so close to the bowl, I start seeing double, and I back up just enough to see the little thing swimming in front of me. He’s short, but he’s fat — Momma says that’s usually how it works with most things — and his skin’s as orange as a peel, but it shines like Momma’s old jewelry. I think fish are ugly. But I don’t tell Momma that.\n“Do you like him?” she asks, squeezing my shoulder.\n“Mmhmm,” I nod.\n“Maureen,” Daddy scolds. “Maureen—.”\n“You’ve gotta feed him once a day, Mackie,” Momma says, running her hand over my head, back and forth. “You’d better promise to do it, or he’ll die. Do you promise?”\n“Mmhmm,” I nod.\n“Maureen,” Daddy calls. “Maureen, he ain’t gonna feed him. Maureen—.”\n“Good,” Momma smiles. “What are you gonna name him?”\n“Tommy,” I say. “Like the baby.”\n“Maureen that boy must really hate me,” Daddy told Momma when nighttime came. I could hear them through the wall, from my bedroom. “Rufus, everything is not about you,” Momma scolded him. “You don’t spend time with him anyway, so you won’t even notice the fish, or remember his name.”\n“I’ll hear it,” Daddy argued.\n“Is hearing it worse than thinking about him, every second, Rufus?” Momma asked. \n“Well, why don’t you think about him ever?” Daddy asked.\n“Find me the time to, Rufus,” Momma spat. “You don’t work anymore, so I work for us both. You don’t cook, you don’t clean, you don’t tend to Mackie, you don’t do the shopping, you don’t do anything, anymore, Rufus. Even if I wanted to weep every minute, I do not have the time to both cry and keep us off the streets.”\n“You found time to buy the fish,” Daddy said.\n“Screw you, Rufus,” spat Momma.\n. . . \nDaddy said the fish would be dead in seven days, and he was glad to know it. But then he changed it to five, afraid the fish would live longer than the baby did, and that would make everything worse. He hasn’t said a word in three days— so far, the fish’s lived nine.\n“Mackie,” Daddy calls, and his voice shocks me. He waves to me in the kitchen, from where he stands in the living room, by the coffee table, peering down at the fish. “Mackie come feed this thing.”\n“He’s a goldfish,” I say, hopping off the counter-stool, and coming through the archway.\n“Don’t look gold to me,” Daddy says.\n“Carassius auratus,” I say, when I’m closer.\n“You learning another language, boy?” Daddy asks.\n“It’s scientific, for goldfish,” I say, screwing the lid from the fish-food jar. “I got a book from the library, about fish. Momma says we’re throwing him a party tomorrow, to celebrate ten days. She says you don’t have to come if you don’t want, but we’re gonna be real loud and happy about it, to bother you if you don’t.”\nI didn’t tell him she said the party’s cuz the fish lived double the time Daddy said he would.\n“Are you gonna come?” I ask.\n“What’d you call this thing again?” Daddy asks.\n“Tommy,” I say. \n“Not that, Stupid,” Daddy growls, and I feel tears come to my eyes, but I don’t wanna cry in front of him, cuz I know he’ll make it worse. He’d be the maddest, if I cry over a name, and not for the baby. So I try to hold it in, and I think of who he used to be, before he went to the Out There.\n“What was the other thing?” Daddy mumbles.\n“C-Cara—Carassius a-auratus,” I stutter.\n“Hmm,” Daddy says, and he takes his hands, and wipes the sides of them against my eyes, taking my tears in his skin. He rubs my cheeks in the way he used to do before he went to the Out There, and he takes my chin in his strong grip, and wriggles it back and forth. “That’s real smart of you, Mackie,” Daddy says, and he rolls his spare hand over my head. “Keep up that reading, and you’ll be just like Dr. King. He’s gonna change things around here for us, one day, you know.”\n“Are you coming to the party?” I ask Daddy, when he lets me go.\n“Your Momma better not spend a dime on that damn fish,” Daddy says, and for the first time in seven months, I laugh with my father.\nMomma bought a cake from the baker, ten candles from the party store, paper decorations, party hats, and brand new glass plates, to celebrate the fish, and Daddy sulked about it for two hours straight. Momma and I laughed cuz he looked silly sitting there, wearing a big frown and a party hat at the same time. It was the most fun, when Daddy blew out the candles to spite the fish, and threw chunks of the cake at Momma and I, hitting us each in the nose. The fish swam back and forth in his bowl, following whichever way the cake flew, when Daddy declared all out war. Momma giggled the most— but she said we’re never doing that again.\nThe next morning Momma called and told her boss her car was stolen, and her husband was kidnapped, and that’s why she couldn’t come into work. Daddy hasn’t left the house in seven months, and to think he’d do so just out of the blue was outrageous, cuz Daddy hasn’t talked to outsiders, mowed the lawn, trimmed the hedges, waved to the neighbors, or left the house for seven months. He was kidnapped, Momma said — she nearly fainted when she saw him walk through the front door.\n“Rufus!” Momma scolded, hanging up the phone before the police could pick up their end of the line. “Rufus, where — What is that?” Momma asked, pointing to the big glass box in his arm.\n“Maureen, that thing is a grown man,” Daddy said, eyeing the fish in the bowl. “He needs a house, not a soup container.”\nDaddy put the edge of the big box on the countertop, and slid it slowly onto the surface, knocking off all the picture frames, keys, and bowls onto the ground, and he told me to go and get the bag out of the car.\n“How’s he supposed to fit in here?” I asked, holding up a little house, from the bag.\n“That’s just decoration, Boy,” Daddy said, taking it from me, and putting it in the bottom of the big glass box. “Give me the plant.”\n“This plant ain’t real,” I told him, handing him the big stem, with purple and yellow leaves. \n“That means it’ll live forever,” Daddy said, taking the plant, and putting it in the corner. “Now go fill up a bucket— We’ve gotta fill this thing to the top!”\nMomma made Daddy get a job cuz she said he wasn’t using his allowance for anything productive, and the fish was running out of room to live anyway, with all the toys Daddy kept buying him once a week. Daddy works at the power plant again, and now Momma doesn’t need her second job anymore. Daddy said it’s funny how the world works. Cuz now they go to work and I go to school, all at the same time, and we all come home, and we all eat dinner, and go to sleep at the same time too. Momma says Tommy did it, pulling all the strings in Heaven, so we could spend more time together. Daddy got mad, and said he hated the way she tried to find the good in everything. Momma said the alternative of not looking for the bright side of things, is to live in the dark forever. Daddy didn’t know what to say next, so he cried.\n“Mackie!” Daddy called when I’d finished crossing off yesterday’s date, to find today the first of March. “Mackie!” Daddy calls, and I rush downstairs to find him standing in the living room, holding a big plastic bag in the air, filled with water and a little blue thing, zipping back and forth. When I get closer, I notice the white stripes traveling horizontally across its body. “The man at the store called it a Zebrafish— what’s that called Mackie?”\nI grab the book we’d forgotten to give back to the library, and I flip through the pages, searching for zebrafish. “It’s called a Danio rerio,” I say, turning the page around so he can see it. “It comes from freshwater; it’s originally from Asia.”\n“Would you look at that?” Daddy smiles, pinching the bottom corner of the bag, dumping the fish into the aquarium. “It’s exotic. Come over here, Mackie, and give this thing a name.”\n“Hmm,” I think. “Domino,” I decide. \n“Domino, it is,” Daddy smiles. “Hi Tommy,” Daddy says, waving at the little golden thing.\n. . . \nDaddy goes to the fish store once a week, and he brings a new fish home once every two. He and the owner are on a first name basis. \n“Mackie!” Daddy calls, and when I run to him he slips a party hat over my head, and pops the elastic string under my chin. His eyes are so bright, I nearly forget how dim they used to be. He grabs my hand and he drags me to the kitchen holding a hand over my eyes, and he sits me down at the table. When he uncovers my eyes, there are nine bowls of fish in front of me, swimming in circles. “Happy birthday!” Daddy cheers, and Momma shakes my shoulders in her hands. “Nine, in 19-50-9,” Momma smiles. \n“This one’s a Betta splendens,” I say, pointing to the blue betta at the end. “He can’t go in the tank, cuz he’s aggressive. And that one’s a Pethia conchonius,” I say, pointing to the rosy barb on the left, “and so is that one,” I point, to the fish in the middle.\n“I’m telling you, Maureen, that boy’s a genius,” Daddy smiles, sticking candles in the cake.\n“Well, what do you wanna do today, Einstein?” Momma asks. \n“Let’s put the fish in the tank,” I say, and Momma nods.\nDaddy sets the last candle down on the counter and brushes off his hands, before grabbing two of the tanks, as Momma and I carry one each against our bellies.\nMomma bends over to look at the tank, holding her bowl tight against her belly, squinting her eyes at each of the fish already set in place. Daddy said Tommy must’ve eaten some of them, because there’s supposed to be fifteen in total, but there are only eleven, and Tommy’s gotten fatter. Daddy and I dump the fish into the tank, and Momma stands there still, until there’s just hers left to empty. \n“Momma,” I say. “Momma, it’s your turn. What are you looking at?”\n“Ooo,” Momma coos, turning around slow to me. “I’m sorry, Baby. . . But I think Tommy’s gone.”\n“What?” Daddy asks, pushing us gently out of the way. I try hopping to see over his shoulder, but I end up crawling under his arm, to find Tommy laying on the gravel on his side. Suddenly, he’s rising up and laying at the top. Daddy walks away when Momma calls out to him, and he locks himself in their bedroom, and we didn’t see him for a lot of the day. Momma watched me blow out my candles, and she gave me a picture signed by Stepin Fetchit, and she told me Daddy must’ve knocked himself out in the room hitting his head on the dresser, and that’s why he couldn’t come to dinner.\nAt nighttime, I heard them talking through the wall, and Momma told him he should talk to me. I heard him say he didn’t mean to miss everything, he just got trapped in the Out There. She told him she wasn’t blaming him; but he needed to talk to me. I jumped down to lay on my bed when he came to my room, to pretend I wasn’t standing with my head pressed to the wall. \n“Hey, Mackie,” Daddy says, slow and steady, and I feel the weight of him on the foot of my bed. \n“Hey, Daddy,” I copied, and he smiled a little, and pulled me in close to his side. \n“Are you sad at all, Mackie?” Daddy asks, and I shrug. “It’s okay to be, if you’re holding it in,” he says.\nI shrug again. “Do you remember what Reverend Burke said, at the baby’s funeral?” Daddy nods, a little. “He said,” I say, “that all good souls make it to Heaven, and that babies have the cleanest ones. And Tommy’s never did anything bad enough to miss Heaven, so, I think he’s there too. If Heaven’s the place everybody wants to go, then shouldn’t we be happy when the people we love make it? It’s sad cuz we can’t see them anymore, but, that really means we’re only sad for us. And if we’re just sad for us, then. . . isn’t it okay, not to want to be, too? Do you believe in Heaven and stuff?” I ask.\nDaddy nods his head slow. \n“Then how come you’re sad, all the time?” I ask.\n“Hmmm,” Daddy sighs, breathing a long, steady, stream, from his nose. “Well, Mackie, one day you’re gonna grow up real big, and you’re gonna move someplace so big, and so pretty, you’ll laugh remembering where you came from. And even though you’ll be in a better place, your Mama and I’ll probably cry every second, missing you.”\n“That’s silly, Daddy,” I laugh. “One day you’ll see me again.”\n“That’s true,” Daddy giggles, tapping my nose, before tucking me into bed. \n“Daddy,” I call, when he turns out the lights. “Do you still think the sun burned out?” \nDaddy breathes hard from his nose. “It rises in the East.”" } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: If only\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 1020\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about someone forced out of their home." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Only Five years old and taking care of her 4 and 3 year old brothers, Samyiha wanted nothing more but to go to school instead she's cleaning diapers. Her parents were out for three days straight doing or selling drugs. The days they were home she knew that something bad was going to happen that one bad move would lead to being beaten with a belt or threatened.\nNobody knew what was going on, she maybe went to school six times. She didn't know much, all she knew at that moment of being home was that she had to take care of her brothers and make sure they got to eat. She went to a corner school by her house and took a couple candy bars. As they ate their bars she felt like it was horrible for their life to be like this. She had always felt like this but she didn't want them to grow up with a family that didn’t care about them.\nWhen the cops came to the house in the middle of the night and busted down their door they were scared, everyone screaming and crying. When the kids were put in the back of the cop car they were all crying until they got to the children's home. The thing was she was terrified she wouldn’t be able to find a family. She was always visiting her three year old brother Zymir. She was emotional and happy that they got out of the situation they were in. \nWalking through the children's home she was worried that she and her brothers would never find a family that would want them. She went to her room and cried. Everyday she prayed that a family would come and bring her to a nice home with animals and great food. That the foster mom would tuck her in at night and read her bedtime stories and the foster dad who would make great meals and would teach her how to dance in the living room. She prayed that holidays would be filled with cheer. She imagines a Christmas tree filled with lights and ornaments. She Imagines her foster dad lifting her up to put the star on the top of the tree.\n Everyday she did the same thing: woke up, ate breakfast, took a shower, talked to her friends, ate lunch, watched TV, ate dinner and went to bed. Her day was easy, she knew it by heart because there was not much to do today, except for Saturday’s. The children's home would have a ravel, she won one and got a doll. She was so happy that she screamed so loud you could hear her from a mile away, because she had never had a doll before. She thought wow what a great thing to be holding, her own doll that she gets to keep. \nAll of her friends and brother Zymir got a foster family but her and Lymel were still there. Samyiha thought that they wouldn’t find a family ever. She was so upset she wanted to punch a wall.\nAfter five years of waiting everyday for a perfect family to come through the front doors and bring her home, They finally did. When they come through the doors they looked like the perfect family but it was not to take me and my brother but the one person who would never leave me, my best friend, Annebelle . But then days after Annebelle left a nice family walked in looking for 2 kids and they pointed at Samyiha and Lymel. Samyiha was so excited and jumped up and down. \nWhen they got into the car they were shy but excited, they couldn't talk until they got to the big house. With their mouths wide open they thought wow I’m going to be living here. They walk into very nice things that they would have never thought they would be in a nice house. As they walked through the house they came to find an ice cream bar, they had never had ice cream. They stuffed their faces leaving only a little ice cream left.\nAfter finishing their ice cream they ran up the stairs and chose their rooms, Samyiha chose the room with blue flowers and Lymel chose the room and superman colors. They jumped on their beds and danced like no one was watching. Their foster parents Hazel and Chris walked up stairs and said “it's time to get ready for bed.” Samyiha and Lymel walked into their very own bathrooms. \nOnce she got out of her bathroom she made sure that Lymel was ready for bed and tucked him in and sang to him. She went to her room.\nHazel walked in and told me: “you don't have to tuck your brother in anymore, I can do that.” She was surprised that she said that because Samyiha had to take care of him and make sure he was okay. \nSamyiha was scared to go to sleep and went downstairs without a word. She just sat on Hazel's lap and fell asleep, she felt safe with Hazel. She never felt safe with anyone, ever. She was taken care of the way she thought Hazel was going to.\nAfter three years both Samyiha and Lymel got adopted by Hazel and chris. On adoption day they were nervous and wanted everything to go well and it did. Walking out of the courtroom feeling good about themselves. They went out for lunch and opened some gifts. Samyiha became Makayla and Lymel became Jackson, they changed their name and it was great to start over.\nYears after being adopted Makayla soon found out that her younger siblings got adopted by a family across the river. She wanted to find them but she had no luck. She didn't really know where to look because the social worker got fired and wasn't heard from. \nMakayla in the future would be 24 and is getting her law degree in family law. She hopes to help kids in need of a great family that she found for her and her brother." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: An Unlikely Chance\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 1063\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about somebody in love with someone from their past." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "A brisk wind blew across my face with the smell of changing weather. My lungs steadily inhale the cold air while walking through the park. The leaves radiated yellow, red and orange as some subtly fell around the ground. I sat on the bench, absorbing the sun's warmth, finding a couple walking with their hands intertwined. A sigh escaped my breath as I pictured myself with an old flame in a setting such as this. I remember as if it was yesterday, the loving gazes we shared, the kisses that were sweeter than honeycomb, and the soft expressions of love spoken between us. They forbid it for a black woman to be with an Asian man. In the late 1930s it was taboo, but I guess even love was colorblind. I didn't see him as anything but a good man who first talked to me in the library. He was so handsome from his muscular body to his short brunette hair, chiseled jawline, soft lips, and gentle eyes. He introduced himself as Akimitsu Takahashi, who was attending school to become a doctor. I introduced myself as Lorraine Johnson. I had just got into college studying to be a nurse. From when I had entered school, my parents told me the value of schooling and how black folks struggled to receive a strong education. I didn't want any distractions and focused on making a future for myself, causing no troubles. But this guy pursued me every time I went to the library to study. He was always there. Knowing that I was in college to be a nurse, he offered to help me while I helped him. With suspicion looked into his eyes, but with a nod; I agreed. I never seen a man possessing such a bright smile as if I told him I was rich. We studied together, learning about each other. He was a complete gentleman, intelligent, funny, and so much more than I can imagine. I never imagined that I would have anything in common with a man like him, but with each day being with Akimitsu, it was a wonderful experience. I fell in love with him but kept it to myself, fearing he would reject it, leaving my heart broken. One fall evening, when there wasn't anyone around, he confessed his love for me. With tears flowing in my eyes, I received it and returned it. Despite the stares and whispers, we continued our growing relationship. We each had a wall to climb as it became a challenge from late hours of studying to my so-called friends who tried to dissuade me from my relationship with my boyfriend. I learned from Aki it was the same for him. But banding together, we stood our ground and moved forward. It was difficult, but after graduating from our respective colleges; we married despite his parents’ objection. It was a mercy from God that my folks were loving and gave their blessing. We settled in a modest house near the park where he and I confessed our love. He found work as a doctor in a small hospital in which I worked as a nurse. It was hard as I continued to handle patients, black folks both young and old, and Akimitsu became a well-respected doctor throughout the hospital. Despite our hectic schedules, we still haven't forgotten to work on our marriage and love. It was our own American Dream until it became a nightmare when Pearl Harbor was bombed by Japan. I could hear the fear of the people as they looked at every Japanese citizen as a suspect, including my husband. I begged him we needed to leave for not only his safety but the safety of our newborn child. But he refused to leave our home or the patients that needed a doctor now more than ever. I was worried that the patients wouldn't want anything to do with him and myself after what had transpired, but in a surprising turn of events; they wanted him to stay and treat them. Then one day, soldiers knocked on our door demanding that my husband needed to be taken to what they called an internment camp. I wanted to follow, but my husband softly kissed my lips, told me he loved me and our son, then promised to find us. With tears flowing down, I watched with sorrow as they dragged my love into an army truck with other Japanese families. My parents caught word of what happened and brought me and my son with them until they released him. I received letters from him telling me how it was in the camp. He used his skills as a doctor to help as many as he could. It was heart wrenching from how the soldiers treated them and fear of how Akimitsu handled these treatments. I prayed for their safety each day in that hellish place. Four years, we sent letters back and forth until one day; I didn't receive a letter from him. My heart pounded in triple time in fear because in one of those letters, he told me he was going to enlist in the army to treat the soldiers. From what he told me, it was pure hell, from the many patients who were groaning with pain from various injuries. I placed my son in his crib when I heard a knock at my parent's door. With a shuddered breath, I watched as my father slowly turned the knob before opening the door to a faceless soldier. Opening my eyes, I remembered where I was, sitting in the park and the sun giving out a golden shine to the sky. With a sigh, I rose from the bench, feeling my bones objecting until hearing a familiar voice.\n\"Lorraine!\"\nI turned to find a welcoming sight slowly walking towards me with a limp, \"Well hello there,\"\n\"You know it's getting colder, right?\"\n\"I do, but I love how the leaves change color,\"\n\"I know, all too well,\"\n\"Did my son Hideyoshi get you to come get me?\"\n\"Yes, but I knew where you would be.\"\n\"Ya'll think ya’ll know me, don't you?\" I said with a chuckle.\n\"Well, of course, would you do me the honor of walking alongside me?\"\n\"How did you find me, Aki?\"\nMy husband grinned despite his age. \"I will always find 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: When Doves Try\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 1877\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart or end your story with someone saying “You’ll never know unless you try.”" }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "My husband, Sinclair, looked like a black lumberjack. He bounced into our room and took out my yellow suitcase and dragged it across the hardwood floor leaving stuff marks along the way. I sat on the edge of the bed and watched him piling his clothes inside. I knew that he was going to ask me if I wanted to go to the convention with him and he knew that my answer was going to be the same as it had been the ten hundred other times he had asked. \n“Do you want to go with me to the convention?” He asked me to fold his white tee shirt and put it in the suitcase. \n“No, I told you that I didn’t want to go. There is nothing that interested me about a woodworking convention. You go and have a good time.” I said. \nSinclair tried to close his overstuffed suitcase and I put on my bunny slippers on the floor beside my bed and grabbed my robe and went downstairs. I needed a strong cup of coffee. \nSinclair and I met at church. I had just moved here after my friend, Michelle convinced me that I should. I had just been laid off from my boring job and she told me that I should come to her city and get a husband. I had no intention of finding anything but a job. I was 40 years old and had never been married and had no children and didn’t have any desire to have either. Michelle was married and had four kids. She believed that I should be like her. I disagreed. \nI bought a house and got a new job that I loved at a TV station. My life was finally getting better. And I loved it. \nI had found a small church a few blocks from my house. Sinclair’s big brown eyes captivated me. I couldn’t take my eyes off of him in the third row of the choir. After church he introduced himself. He told me that I looked beautiful. I knew that was a big lie. I had my hair pulled up into a tight bun on the top of my head and was wearing my dull purple church dress with the lace collar. It was so snug that it showed off a little too many curves that I wanted to hide. I also knew that my light brown skin was a little too shiny from the baby oil and the only makeup I had on was lip gloss and mascara. \nWhen he shook my hand I never wanted to let go. We had our first date a week later. He brought me a dozen of red roses. I didn’t know how he knew that those were my favorite flowers but I was glad that he did. For each date he brought me different colored roses. He moved into my house a year later. \nSinclair was good at working with his hands and when he moved in with his tool belt I knew that everything in the house would be repaired. When Sinclair was laid off from his construction job I was not worried. He had 24 units before he completed his degree in engineering. But Sinclair had other ideas. He wanted to take some courses in woodworking. So, after a few months and $2000 later Sinclair was done with the classes and our garage looked like a small furniture store. There were stools, tables, desks and chairs all over the garage. Finally, we got a loan and he opened up a shop around the corner from our house. The store did well and he went from being unemployed to being a small business owner in less than a year. \nFor the first 8 years of our ten year marriage it was great. I went fishing with him even though the thought of a fish dangling from a pole moving around made me want to throw up. And camping was no thrill either. I didn’t like to be out in the wilderness listening to animal sounds all night thinking that some wild animals would come in the tent and eat me alive. And the football games that I sat through took too long to end. But I endured those things to get to know him and he went to long foreign movies with subtitles with me and watched what he called “girly” movies with me a couple of times per week. We also went out to dinner twice per month just to get out of the house and keep our romance alive. We toasted\neach other with expensive bottles of wine and ate big plates of pasta and garlic bread and the occasional fish dinners for him. \nNow Sinclair’s idea of a romantic dinner and a movie is sitting in front of the TV watching one of his home improvement shows and ordering from the fast food place down the street screaming our order through a box speaker and coming home opening greasy bags of food and eating lukewarm hamburgers and soggy fries while sipping on watered down soda through a straw. \nI used to love the feel of his big arms around me as we laid in the bathtub together as I pressed my back against his body. I never wanted to leave those strong arms. I felt that I had found Mr. Wonderful and I was glad that he had found me. Nowadays I wonder where Mr. Wonderful has gone. \n“Are you sure that you don’t want to come? It is going to be in Vegas.” Sinclair said, poking his head into the kitchen. \n“No. I don’t want to go. I don’t even like Vegas. I don’t gamble and neither do you. You go and have a good time.” I said sipping on my now lukewarm cup of coffee. \nSinclair rubbed my shoulders and then kissed me on the cheek and went out of the door to the garage. I waited for him to return a few minutes later. He always forgot something. Sinclair ran up the stairs to our bedroom and came down holding his cell phone. \n“I forgot my phone.” He said. \nHe walked back over to me sitting at the kitchen table and bent down and kissed me again on the cheek. This time he let his lips linger a second longer. I was grateful for the effort. \nMy phone rang a few minutes later. It was my friend, Michelle. \n“Hey girl. Did Sinclair leave yet?” She asked. \n“He just left.” I said. \n“So, what are you going to do?” Michelle asked. \n“What am I going to do in general or today?” I asked, knowing full well what she met.\n“What are you going to do about your marriage?” Michelle sounded irritated. \n“I think that we need counseling. We just don’t communicate anymore. He comes home and plops down on the couch and watches some home improvement show on cable and I cook\ndinner and go to bed with a good book while he goes to his office. We say very little to each other.” I said. \n“Do you think that he will go?” She asked. \n“We talked about it and I think he will be open to it.” I said. \n“Well, good luck. I am about to pull into the parking lot. I will talk to you later.” Michelle hung up the phone. \nI walked back upstairs to my office. I needed to work on my story and for that I needed my laptop. I turned it on and the screen stayed black. I didn’t even hear the beep that I hate after I turned it on. I knew that it was dead and I forgot to charge it. I plugged it in and walked to Sinclair's office and sat down on the wooden chair he built behind the desk he also built using an old wooden door. I turned on his computer and put in the password. What I saw on the screen made me do a double take. About ten bikini clad women popped up and they were messaging him things that I couldn’t repeat in mixed company or ever. So, this is what he does when he comes to his office to “work.” I thought. He was talking to bikini clad women. I closed the computer and before I knew it I had put it under my arm like a football and ran down the stairs. I opened the patio door and threw it in the deep end of the pool like I just scored a touchdown. I wiped off the water that splashed on my clothes and went back inside. \nI picked up the ringing cell phone and slid the button to answer.\n“Hey, Anna. I am here.” Sinclair’s voice echoed on the other side of the phone. \n“Glad you made it. Hey, my computer is dead and I need to do some work. Can I use yours?” I asked. \n“Well, my computer has a virus.” Sinclair said as his voice started to crack the way it always did when he lied. \n“How do you know it is a virus? “ I asked. \n“Well, I don’t know what else it could be. It’s not acting right. Don’t you have your work backed up on your work computer?” He asked. \n“Yes. Do you have your computer backed up?” I asked. \n“No. I don’t.” He replied. \n“Well, maybe you should.” I said hanging up the phone.\nA week later we were sitting in front of a marriage counselor in a dull brown office building. He was our age, in his early 50’s. His salt and pepper hair was slicked down to his head and his mustache matched his hair. He sat there with his legs crossed on a black office chair across from us wearing black slacks and a white shirt. I couldn’t help noticing his brown loafers. They reminded me of the ones that Sinclair had which he wore every time he dressed up. He thought that those shoes went with everything. I disagreed. \nThe marriage counselor asked us some questions which I thought made no difference at all in our situation. But, I answered them thoughtfully. I told him about the early days of our marriage and now. When it was Sinclair’s turn to talk he would answer in one or two words and on occasion in a short ten word sentence. Then he would turn his gaze to me. I would ignore his “I want to be anywhere but here” look and look straight ahead at the counselor. \nSix months later we knew that our marriage could not be saved. I told Sinclair that I didn’t want to be married any more and I know he was just waiting for me to say what he was thinking. He moved out of our bedroom that day to the guest room down the hall. A month later he had rented an apartment a few miles from our house. I watched him as he packed the last box and as he was putting it into his cherry red truck he turned around and said, “Baby, we sure did give it a good try.” \nI looked at him and smiled. “You don’t know unless you try.”" } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: The Brave Get Beaten\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 2599\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story where fortune doesn’t favor the brave." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Trigger Warning: Story about slavery, make some assumptions.\n\nMy mother once told me that fortune favours the brave. And for a long time, I believed her.\n\nThe sun’s blazing heat hammered my naked back. With aching limbs I strained to pluck the cotton pieces from their plants. I tossed them into my basket, one that’d been weaved of dried sweetgrass and flower stems. I looked across the large plantation, wiping a sea of sweat off my face. As far as I could see, there were people who looked like me. \n\nAnd only people who looked like me. \n\nThe same colour of the rough soil that I walked across, of the sturdy baskets I filled. Not those the same colour as the tiny fleeces I picked. Not even those whom I picked them for.\n\nNot one.\n\n“AAAHHH! AAAHHH!” A terrifying scream seized everyone's attention.\n\nA handsome White man with a large face trotted across the fields on his magnificent white horse. It was Harry Ford, one of the master’s watchmen. Attached to the horse, roped up and being dragged across the coarse dirt, was a female slave.\n\nA runner.\n\nRunners were those brave souls who wished for a better life. Those who thought their skinny legs could race past bloodhounds, horses, and rifles. Those who put on the fool’s mask, truly believing that they’d escape from these hellish lands.\n\nThat’s all the brave really are. Fools.\n\n“Quiet you filthy monkey!” Ford shouted as she struggled to break free. \n\nTears streamed down the girl’s face as she howled in agony. Her frail body was hauled into one of the empty barns near the field. Ford drew a leathery strip from his waist. A whip. No one saw what happened in that shed. We heard it. Sharp, loud cracks of lightning. Thunderous yells of torment. My imagination didn’t fail to help me picture the twisted, devilish smile on Ford's face.\n\nI knew from experience that fortune didn’t favour the brave.\n\nThe brave got beaten.\n\n***\n\n“Wendell! Come over here!” \n\n“Comin’!” \n\nReginald was an older slave, one that I respected as if he were my own father. I’d never met my real father. My late mother always said he was a foolish man. Someone who didn’t want to see me. Someone I shouldn’t want to see. A fire of resentment towards him kindled inside of me. \n\n“Tell me about that crazy girl,” Reginald muttered. He was crouched down, his spider-like limbs picking at the cotton plants.\n\n“Which girl?” I followed his lead, fearful of getting caught.\n\n“The runner.”\n\n“I know as much as you do,” I flushed.\n\n“Don’t lie to me boy! I hear things.”\n\nTwo weeks after she’d been caught, I ran into the young lady. Her appearance was disturbing. Her body was covered with streaks of bumpy, purple flesh. Her eyes were as swollen as a toad’s. Yet, under all the injury, I couldn’t help but notice how beautiful she was.\n\nI spotted her as we headed to the sleeping grounds. By now the sun had set, leaving the faint moonlight to shine upon her fair features. I tried hard to tear my eyes away from her- failing. She looked back, her gaze meeting mine.\n\n“What is it?” she asked, her voice sour and uninviting.\n\n“N-Nothing,” I stammered, looking down in shame. She walked towards me, lifting her arms and revealing a horrid collection of scars. A hair-raising chill swept over my body.\n\n“There,” she frowned, “And please, if you reckon me a fool, then say so.”\n\n“Why would I think that?” Sure, she might’ve been a fool, but now didn’t seem like the time to tell her that. \n\n“Everyone else seems to think that,” she sighed wistfully.\n\n“I don’t.”\n\n“Is that the truth?” she asked. Her words felt dangerous. The distance between us was small enough that I could hear the lively thumping of her heart.\n\n“You don’t believe me?” I asked.\n\n“Say it. Say that I’m not a fool. If you lie to me, I will hurt you. And you ain’t pretty enough to survive that.”\n\nA thin smile crept upon my lips. “I think you’re…very brave.”\n\nHer voice dropped to a whisper. “I’m glad. If you want…there's some free room in the back of my shed.”\n\nMy eyes widened in realisation. I slowly nodded. She grabbed my rough hands and began to lead the way.\n\n“W-Wait a moment,” I said, “I forgot to ask your name.”\n\n“Maribelle,” she said. “My name’s Maribelle.”\n\n\n\n“What happened after that?” Reginald croaked.\n\n“W-Why, that’s a private matter!” I exclaimed.\n\nThe old man laughed. “I think it’s nice that you’ve found someone special. You haven’t got anyone else, and I won’t be alive forever.” \n\nFor weeks I met with Maribelle in the back of her sleeping quarters. She liked to talk. Talk about life, her family, and dreams of freedom. Some nights, she let her actions do the talking.\n\nWeeks turned into months, and months turned into a year. After a backbreaking day of labour, there was nothing I wanted to do more than to hear her voice. \n\nThat is, until she got pregnant.\n\n***\n\nOne month later…\n\nMaribelle made the decision as soon as she realised she was having a baby. She would run once more. For her own freedom, and to give her unborn child a better life. When she came to me with the news, I was shocked. For the first time in a while, I didn’t sleep in her shed.\n\nI’d seen what happened the first time she tried to run. For a second offence, however, the punishment would be harsher. She would die. If I ran with her, I risked being caught and made an example of. I would die too. \n\nFor a short moment, though, these thoughts cleared from my mind. I imagined a life where we were free. The crying of my baby. The smile of my baby. Watching them grow into a fine young person. The thought of being there for them was what made my decision.\n\nI would wear the fool’s mask.\n\nLeaving tonight was our best option. We were in the climax of Maryland’s winter, and the long nights made it easier to cover more ground. Our journey to Canada would take us four months.\n\nDuring the colder parts of the year, male slaves either cleared snow or tended to livestock. I, a youthful, strong man, was sent off to clear the streets. As the day came to an end, my body was in terrible pain. I returned to the sleeping sheds exhausted. I saw Reginald for what would be the final time.\n\n“Good luck Wendell,” he spoke softly. \n\n“That’s all you have to say?” I laughed, my eyes watering. \n\n“Take these.” Reginald placed four cotton pieces in my hand.\n\n“What for?”\n\n“So you remember me. Remember this.” He gazed over the snowy fields of the plantation.\n\n“I’ll have nightmares,” I wiped my eyes, placing the cotton in my pocket. “I can’t forget, no matter how bad I want to.”\n\nReginald smiled faintly, “A young man like you has a yet to see the world yet. When you do, you might forget where you come from. If you do escape, they’ll be there to remind you.” He pointed to my pocket.\n\n“And if I don’t escape?”\n\n“...Then I pray they soften the lashing of the whip.”\n\n***\n\n“Are you ready?” I asked Maribelle. \n\n“Yes.” She didn’t hesitate.\n\nA scraggly guard was placed near the lengthy hog fence. Even without seeing him I knew he was pacing from one end to the other. The patter of his footsteps grew loud. Louder. Then faint. Fainter. Then, they were gone.\n\nWe made a dash for the fence, keeping light on our toes. I helped Maribelle over first, then leaped over it next. I prayed the dark of the night would hide our tracks. We ran without looking back.\n\nAfter each passing mile I found it harder to breathe. The cold air burned my throat. I had no choice but to keep going. Maribelle looked half-conscious, being kept from passing out by only the freezing snow.\n\nFinally, we made it off the plantation, stopping to catch our breath. A thick bundle of crooked trees surrounded us, and through the dim moonlight I could see a string of houses and a cobbled dirt road.\n\n“Are you sure she’s going to be here?” I asked Maribelle.\n\n“Yes,” she responded, panting. “She will.”\n\nOn cue, a short Black woman appeared beside us. Her hands motioned for us to follow her. Her mysterious emergence frightened me, but not enough to overwhelm my tiredness. We went along with her. \n\nThe woman peeked out of the forest. I heard the clip-clop of a horse, and the creaking of carriage wheels. What’s going on? I wondered. Was this one woman crazy too?\n\nFrom what I could observe, the coachman was a portly White man. I tried to pull Maribelle away, but she resisted. The coachman stopped in front of the short woman.\n\n“Get in,” she told us. Maribelle followed her into the carriage. Reluctantly, I followed.\n\nInside the coach was an elderly White lady. In her bony hands were brown-coloured sheets that’d been tied to wear as cloaks. She handed them to me, Maribelle, and the short woman. We slipped them on and covered our faces, following her lead.\n\nMoments later, the carriage began to move. I looked at the short woman, noticing her stern expression. I understood that we had to be quiet, but I had an important question to ask.\n\n“Who are you?”\n\nShe smiled. It was a glum, sad kind of smile.\n\n“My name is Harriet. Harriet Tubman.”\n\n***\n\nThree weeks later…\n\nWe’d made it to the outskirts of Maryland, and closed in on Pennsylvania, a free state. The journey would become easier once we’d crossed the border. Still, we feared being caught. The vast land of brittle white snow served as a reminder that we were always surrounded.\n\nI’d learned a lot about Harriet. She was a freed slave who’d escaped to Philadelphia, yet she returned many times to help other slaves escape. Along the way we’d joined with, by my count, twenty other runaway slaves. I was in awe of her courage. \n\nA system called the Underground Railroad was used to help us hide from slave patrols. Homes, churches, and other establishments gave us locations to eat and rest. \n\n“Not too far away now,” Harriet shouted to the group. We walked in an orderly line, women and children took the front, men took the rear. I was at the tail end. \n\n“There’s a church just North of here,” she called back a second time. Cheerful chatter began to spread among the group. Mothers hugged their children. Some elderly folks broke down in tears. We’d finally made it. It seemed unreal, as if it were only a dream...\n\nBANG!\n\nAn ear-splitting sound pierced the air- and someone's body. One boy dropped hard to the snow-covered ground, red liquid oozing from his belly.\n\n\"RUN!\" Harriet shouted.\n\nThe group scattered in different directions, weaving through the trees and bushes. I did too. The boy was dead. We couldn't save him now.\n\nI darted towards Maribelle, grabbing her by the shoulder and pulling her behind a tree. The gunshots didn't let up. People were dropping dead faster than Mayflies.\n\n\"Follow Harriet,\" I huffed. Despair inked Maribelle's eyes.\n\n\"What about you?\" She wailed loud enough for every slave owner in Maryland to hear.\n\nI swallowed hard. \"Tell my child...that if I could be there for them...I would. Please...promise me that.\"\n\nShe scrunched her face and nodded violently, tears dripping onto the snow.\n\n\"Now GO!\" I yelled.\n\nI ran towards the sound of the guns, not daring to look back. I spotted where the firing was coming from: Two White men with powerful rifles. One of them looked familiar.\n\nHarry Ford.\n\n\"Oooh, ooh! Aaah aah!\" I screamed, aiming to grab their attention. Gunshots rang out, bullets grazed nearby branches. I began to run West.\n\n\"After him!\" Ford called out.\n\nSnow crunched loudly under my feet. There was no way to hide from them. All I could hope to do was drag them as far away as possible.\n\nBANG! A second later, and a tight, burning pain invaded my shoulder. The bullet nearly knocked me over. Gritting my teeth, I kept running.\n\nUp ahead was a small drop down a hill. I jumped down without a second thought. A soft pile of snow softened my fall.\n\nAt the base of the hill was a small cave. I quickly hobbled inside. Moments later, both Ford and his accomplice dropped onto the pile of snow.\n\n\"We're splittin' up Arnold,\" he spoke gruffly, \"You check the cave, I'll keep going West. He can't be too far from here.\"\n\nThe one named Arnold cautiously crept into the cave. I'd hid near the very back, behind a collection of jagged rocks. The darkness of the cave would make it hard for him to spot me.\n\nArnold inched towards the back slowly. His eyes darted in a flurry of directions. He was...scared. He peeked his head around, sighing. A sigh of relief.\n\n\"AAARGH!\"\n\nLike a tiger stalking its prey, I pounced on him the moment he lowered his guard. I wrapped one muscular arm around his neck. With the other, I stripped him from his rifle.\n\n\"Get off...of me you...stupid Nigger!\" he uttered with what little breath he had. I shoved the rifle's barrel onto the roof of his mouth. Arnold's face grew pale.\n\nI pulled the trigger. BANG! A soupy mess of bloody flesh and brains was left on the stony cave floor.\n\nI returned outside to the Maryland cold. Ford stood a good distance from the entrance, waiting. His rifle twirled loosely in his hand.\n\n\"I suppose he's dead then?\" he smiled nastily.\n\nI pointed my rifle at him tensely, but I couldn't speak back. He marched towards me. My body began to shake uncontrollably.\n\n\"Master told me to bring you back alive,\" he cackled, \"But I can always tell him that this is how I found you.\"\n\nI slumped to the floor. I felt neither the warmth of blood nor the cold of the snow.\n\n\"The bullets we shot you with were covered with a strong poison...one that would kill an average man in minutes. But you, you're special! You all are! It's a shame, though, that for such amazing physical specimens you lack the brains to shut up and listen.\"\n\nFord wrenched my rifle from my arm's and aimed it towards me.\n\n\"If only you'd been smart enough to run.\" He pulled the trigger.\n\nNothing happened.\n\nOr rather, no bullet's came out of it. The rifle, in its entirety, exploded. The impact was jarring, breaking Ford's arms and shoulders. Sharp pieces of plastic dug deep into his face, piercing his skull.\n\n\"AAAGGHHH!\" he howled in agony, gripping his face. He fell to the ground, flopping around like a fish out of water, until finally, he was dead.\n\nIf he'd been smart enough to check the barrel of the rifle before firing, he'd have saw them. All four of them.\n\nFour pieces of cotton inside of it, jamming the gun.\n\nBy now I'd lost all my senses to the fast-acting poison. I couldn't hear, see or feel. But I could think. I could pray.\n\nI prayed for Maribelle's safety. I prayed that my child would grow up healthy and happy. I prayed for myself; That I would be able to meet my mother in Heaven.\n\nFortune favours the brave. Her words were never more false.\n\nThe brave get killed." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: The Meeting In The Girls Room\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 1246\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story where fortune doesn’t favor the brave." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "It was an ordinary day for Dee Dee, as she climbed the first floor center staircase of Nathan Hale Elementary School to the girl's bathroom after lunch. And who would be standing there on the door, but mean old CC Cugno. \"Not again,\" Dee Dee said under her breath. CC Hugo was a 6th grade girl who was mean to all the 4th grade girls, and Dee Dee and her friends hated her.\nDee Dee had enjoyed going to school up until this point. She loved learning, and was active in chorus and she was president of the Spanish club. The dilemma with CC Hugo was something, big and Dee Dee did not know how to get around it.\nCC Hugo was a big ugly white girl, with huge bulging eyes. She had: yellow dog fanged buck teeth, dirty blond stringy hair, and big knock knees. She would talk loud to the 4th grade girls and hold her fists up and say, \"if you don't like I'll just knock you out.\"\nIt was clear to everyone that not only was CC a bully but a tomboy as well. Yet she always wore dresses and horrible scuffed up brown and white saddle back shoes. On the other hand Dee Dee was average height for a 4th grader, she was a light skinned colored girl, with nice hair and she had shinny silver braces on her teeth. Her brother would tease her and say they looked like train tracks... of course she didn't like that description. Dee Dee loved coordinating her school outfits with colorful sneakers.\nEvery day after lunch, CC would position herself at the girls bathroom and scare the mess out of the 4th grade girls. \"Where do you think you are going girlie girl?\" She would bark. \"Bathroom\", Dee Dee said, starring down at CC's scuffed up shoes. \"Well unless you give up a quarter, you ain't getting in.\" And CC put her hands on her hips and her big old ugly shoe on the bathroom door. Dee Dee fearfully reached into her pants pocket and pulled out a dime. \"This is all I have.\" She said . \"This will do. I'll let you slide this time, but remember it's always a quarter to get in.\" Dee Dee rushed past CC and gave her a nervous smirk.\nShe felt bad about giving her the money every day, and she and the other girls were frightened of her. Dee Dee's best friend Marsha would give her fifty cents. Marsha was very tiny and really afraid of CC. Marsha always had extra money, her parents were rich, Dee Dee thought.\nCC Hugo sure made life hard for Dee Dee and her friends at school. She made sure she had enough money to pay CC to use the bathroom, so she wouldn't have to deal with the thought of getting a beat down.\nOne day, Ma told Dee Dee she did not have extra money to give to her and her little brother this week. And they would have to do without money for snacks. Dee Dee was very upset and quickly told Ma, \" well I can't go to school today! I am afraid if I don't give CC Hugo bathroom money she is going to do something to me!\" Ma said, \" excuse me, what are you talking about Miss Dee?\" ( Miss Dee is what Ma called her when she wanted to get her full attention)\nDee Dee told Ma about what was going on with the bathroom situation and having to pay money to CC. Ma asked if she had told the teacher and Dee Dee said no because she was afraid CC would really beat her up then. She told Ma how CC would let Lucy Williams in the bathroom without paying, because she was big and bad and had brothers and they would whip CC's butt!\nMa grew very quiet and calmly said, \"well Miss Dee in order for her to stop pushing you around, you might need to push her around, and that will let her know that you are not afraid and you have a right to use the bathroom without paying one red cent.\"\nDee Dee said, \" she's bigger than me and all the girls are afraid of her as I am.\" \"Well tomorrow after lunch you go to the bathroom and tell her that you are not paying her any longer and if she doesn't like it to see you after school on the playground. Dee Dee you must be brave and bold and stand up to her in front of the other girls. Be prepared to fight after school.\" She said.\nDee Dee could tell Ma was getting angrier by the minute, when she said,\" You have a right to use any bathroom without paying someone....those days are over!! If you have to fight her remember to pull her hair, if she wears glasses pull them off, and keep your face away from her face. As a matter of fact put vaseline on your face so you won't get scratched. Also kick her in the knees, that will make her fall. Sometimes in life you have to stand up for yourself in words or deeds...you might as well learn this now.\" Dee Dee was shocked about what her sweet, mild mannered Ma was telling her to do....yet she took it all in and was prepared to stand up to CC Hugo.\nThe next day, Dee Dee dressed just right for a fight. She put on a pair of old pants, her good sturdy Converse sneakers, and pulled her hair back in one braid. She told her cousin Betty what was going down. Cousin Betty was in the 6th grade and she knew that CC Hugo was a bully. Dee Dee could depend on Betty to be there in the background if she needed her. All day long Dee Dee could hardly concentrate on her school work. During lunch she was not hungry. She also told Marsha and her other friends that she was going to stand up to CC during the bathroom break after lunch.\nAfter lunch Dee Dee approached the 2nd floor and turned the corner towards the bathroom, her heart began to pound, she felt afraid because she knew she was going to get in CC's face. Sure enough there was was CC leaning up against the door as usual. \"\"You got my quarter girl?\" Dee Dee forcefully stepped up and said in front of the crowd of girls, \" I am not giving you a cent today or any other day, I have a right to use the bathroom and if you don't like it we can fight this out on the playground after school.\" The crowd of girls looked and couldn't believe that Dee Dee had the courage to be brave and step to CC. She was in her face, with her hand on her hip telling her NO! They started to laugh at CC and she was caught off guard. CC said, \"Ok, I'll let you in but we will settle this on the playground after school and I'll get my money from you later, you little pip squeak, 4th grader!\"\nDee Dee could hardly believe she had stood up to CC. Back in the classroom her friends gave her high fives!\nThey told her they were afraid for her to fight after school and maybe she should tell the teacher." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Breathe.Hold.Release.\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 1092\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character who has a ‘hot and cold’ personality — or is affected by someone like this." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "“What kind of person stands over their mother’s casket crying in relief that she's dead?” I brushed away tears trying to rid myself of the shameful thoughts. But they kept coming. “I’m so sorry dear,” came a voice and soft hand on my shoulder. It was one of mama’s high school friends. I gave her a hug without uttering a word and turned back to mama’s lifeless body. I’m supposed to honor my father and mother. Since daddy died a few years ago my trips home became less frequent. I knew the pandemic would mean less going out for her so I returned to help. Our last days together were as familiar as looking at yourself in a mirror. We were a mother and daughter who were more like Friday Night Lights than Steel Magnolias.\n“Eyes forward, don’t respond,” I whispered to myself. She baited me often and I’m not sure why I always fell for it. I wanted a mother who made sense. Who doesn’t want that? All the medicine, prayer, and therapy in the world and look at us. Our day of running errands got off to a shaky start when I suggested she change her shoes. “You can hardly walk in those boots. You’re going to fall,” I said as she got in the car. She looked down at her feet and considered it. I knew she hated being told what to do, but I was trying to help. By now I should have learned it is not always what I say, but how I say it. I spat the words at her because I resented having to deal with her and she knew I was right about the shoes. She didn’t change just to spite me. I put the car in reverse and headed out the driveway.\n “I think I will change my shoes,” she eventually admitted. I sat in the car while she went back inside. Her indecisive behavior is worse than ever and we have a long day ahead. I just couldn’t help thinking this was a precursor to how the whole day would be while we were out. I hoped things would be different and prayed for peace when we finally left home. “I don’t know why someone would want to poison me,” Mama murmured as she put her face mask in place. I pretended like I didn’t hear her. Her paranoia and mood swings were the reason I’d left home long ago and rarely returned. “My mask smells funny,” she continued. “Someone wants me dead.” I didn’t say a word and just handed her an unopened mask. She gingerly opened the package and discarded the one she thought was tainted. I had learned long ago not to try to reason with her. It wouldn’t do any good. Once her mind was fixated on a scenario that only made sense to her, the downhill spiral was like sticky syrup down the side of a bottle. The descent into darkness would be followed by more irrational thoughts and accusations that even the best detangler couldn’t fix. \nOur first stop was the bank. She enunciated every word she spoke to the teller perfectly and made her transaction as we sat at the drive-through. She handed me money and said it was for gas. “You don’t have to do that mama,” I insisted. I kept driving and she placed it on the console anyway. Each time she tried to give me money it always felt like reparations for a previous trauma. I listened to torturous words and ideas that usually left me emotionally wounded. Any time I was with her it felt like verbal abuse or mental torture followed by gifts of some kind. Money, gift cards, clothes, or some trinket she saw on television for $29.95. It was a pattern I had come to expect with a side of sadness. It was like she knew she was sick and cold, but gifts were her way to make up for it. If she only knew, there is no gift to compensate for what she has put me through. In the past, it would have taken me days and some schedule II narcotics to recover. My time in therapy has given me new ways to cope. Breathe. Hold. Release. Repeat. It actually worked! It lowered my stress level for sure. \n“I don’t need to go into the drugstore. We can pick up my prescriptions at the drive-through,” she suggested. That was fine with me. We waited our turn in silence. My coping strategy did help, but the tears behind my sunglasses began to stream down my face as I slowly moved forward as I thought of the relationship I wished we had. We should be laughing and sharing stories. Instead, we are quiet. Her thoughts are who knows where and I am just trying to avoid more words I won’t be able to forget. \nOur last stop was the grocery store and she insisted on going in herself. She cleared her throat as she straightened her mask and situated her purse on her shoulder. She shuffled toward the store and wiped down her basket as she entered. I let down the window and enjoyed the cool evening breeze quietly while she shopped. By the time we arrived at home and unloaded the car she was using every breath to clear her throat with a dry cough. She sat in her favorite chair looking out at the cardinals on the patio while I put away the groceries. She was tired and complained of a horrendous headache. I rarely touched her, but reluctantly felt her forehead. She was as hot as the Louisiana sun in July. I gave her a home test and she was positive for Covid. “I will be okay,” she said, looking into my eyes. She reached for my hand, but I recoiled slightly before allowing her to touch me. \nTouch was her love language. So many times she wanted to hug me and I needed to be hugged, but a loving embrace from her only indicated pain was not far away. I grew to recognize one didn’t come without the other. After being fooled so many times I finally withdrew from even wanting her affection. By week’s end, her only contact came from hospital staff. My last touch, while she was alive, came from her warmth due to a disease that ravished her body like a wildfire through a drought-ridden forest. Breathe.Hold.Release.Repeat. A refrain I’d practice knowing I’d never hear words or experience pain from her 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: Things are looking up\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 1814\n\nPrompt:\n\nEnd your story with a character looking out on a new horizon." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "The buzzer on Briana’s desk phone went off. “Briana, can you come into my office please?” said the voice on the other end. “Yes, just a minute”, Briana answers. She pushes herself back from her desk, grabs her notepad, and heads into her boss Mark’s office.\nWhen she enters the room, she notices that Mark has a disheveled look about him. She sits in front of his desk and asks if he’s okay. Mark brushes his hand across the top of his head, scuffing up his hair more than it already was. “Mark, what’s wrong?” asks Briana. Mark looked at her with tear-stained eyes and said, “I just got a call from the hospital, my parents have been in an accident. I need to leave, but we have the Wilkerson presentation in 30 minutes. Can you handle it without me?”\n“But Mark, I’ve never led a presentation before, can’t we reschedule it? Surely they can understand that you have an emergency?” Briana became tensed, nervous, and almost in tears herself. Mark stands and comes around his desk to sit in the chair next to Briana.\n“Listen, Brie, you can do this. Wilkerson is on his way out of the country and plans to make a decision on this contract before he leaves. It’s now or never. I know that you can do this, and if you can pull this off for us, I promise that I will recommend you for the Management Consulting training program. All you have to do is go over the changes that Wilkerson wanted, just like you heard me practice yesterday. If he has any additional questions, just let him know that I had a family emergency, but we knew that he wanted to move forward. Answer his questions as best you can and if he still isn’t satisfied, let him know that I will follow up with him in a couple of days. Okay?”\nBriana took a deep breath, “Will you shadow me in the training program?” “Yes, I will request to train you and recommend you for JR. VP once you complete the program. This deal will make us or break us. I know that you can do it. When you look at Wilkerson, just pretend that it’s me. Just guide him along in the review like you did yesterday. Wilkerson only looks mean, but he is a gentle giant. Mark rubbed his forehead again. Brie, I have to get to the hospital, can I count on you?”\nYes, go ahead. Once the presentation is over, I will stop by the hospital to give you an update. If you need me to bring you anything before I get there, just call and leave me a message. I’ll be praying for your parents. Mark jumped up, gathered his jacket and briefcase, gave Briana a shy smile, and ran from the office.\nBriana walked quickly to the lady's room to calm her nerves and get herself together. As she sat in the handicap stall, she reviewed in her mind the changes that she incorporated in the presentation for Mark earlier in the week. She reviewed all of the errors that Mark made while rehearsing and also remembered how calm she was in giving him feedback to make sure that his statements were accurate.\nBriana took another deep breath, said a quick prayer for Mark, his parents, and for the presentation. She knew that she could do it, however, Mark had never allowed her to take lead before. She always felt that he was threatened by her and he had a way of making her feel less confident than she was. This was her chance to prove that she had what it took. She found herself praying as she washed her hands, fixed her hair, and headed back to her desk to retrieve her laptop that already had the presentation queued for Mr. Wilkerson.\nAs Briana approached the conference room, she could see Mr. Wilkerson already seated, along with the rest of the team. She walked in, greeted Mr. Wilkerson with her Vanna White smile, and ran that presentation as if she had been doing them all along. By the time she was done, Wilkerson was not only ready to sign but thanked Briana for carrying on for Mark in his absence.\n“Young lady,” Wilkerson said. “Normally I would have not shown up in a situation like this, but my wife asked me to give you a chance. We received a call regarding Mark’s emergency and that you would be doing the presentation. Betty just happened to be in my office when the call came in. She made me promise that I would give you a chance. She’s actually waiting for me downstairs. I will not only let her know that I gave you a chance, but that you shined. I want only you and Mark handling my account and if that can’t happen, then I don’t want to move forward.”\nWilkerson glanced to the end of the table to get the approval from the higher-ups and once received, stood, shook Briana’s hand, and told her that he would give her and Mark a call in about two weeks. Briana smiled and told Mr. Wilkerson thank you and to thank his wife and for them to enjoy their trip. Once she got back to her desk, she saw that Mark had left a message on her phone to bring a few items from his office with her. She went to Mark's office to retrieve his workout bag, grabbed the files from his desk, and headed for the hospital. She decided to wait until she go there to give Mark the update on the presentation.\nAfter fighting through the afternoon traffic, Briana reached the hospital and parked. She followed the instructions Mark left her so that she could find him when she got there. When she entered the emergency department, Mark was standing at the front desk completing forms. She could see the worried look on his face. She looked at the nurse at the front desk and asked if there was any way she could assist her boss with the paperwork and bring it back out to her. The nurse looked at Mark with a snarl, sighed, and said sure, you can take them back to the back with him, just make sure you get them completed and returned in the next 15 minutes. Briana gave her a smile, took the clipboard from Mark, and motioned towards the door once she heard the door release.\nMark no longer looked like the confident man she was used to. He looked more like a little boy who was lost and couldn’t find his parents. Briana reassured Mark that everything was going to be okay and that she would be there to assist in any way that she could. After getting back to the waiting area where he previously sat, Briana started asking Mark the questions that were remaining on the form. She asked him for his id, credit card, and insurance card. She told Mark that she was going back to the front desk and would be back shortly.\nBriana returned from delivering the paperwork and handed Mark back his cards and paperwork. She explained that his card would not be charged, but they needed it on record for any co-pays that may come back from the insurance company. Mark waved his hand, put his cards back in his wallet, and put the forms into his briefcase. “Briana, I don’t know what I would do if you weren’t here. I know that it might have seemed as if I didn’t appreciate you, but that’s not it. I have a lot going on, and I just wanted to make sure that we got this deal. By the way, how did the presentation go?” Mark asked while staring at the floor.\n“It went great! I was so nervous, but after I said a prayer for you and your parents, I asked God to help me prove myself and get this contract. I sucked up my nerves and did my thing. Whenever I started getting overwhelmed, I remembered what you said and I pictured you sitting there instead of Wilkerson and I was able to push through. At the end of the presentation, Wilkerson said that he was ready to sign and that he only wanted you and me to handle the account. Management had no choice but to agree. You, know, I need to send Wilkerson’s wife a thank you gift, because if it wasn’t for her, Wilkerson wouldn’t have given me a chance.”\n“That’s great Briana. I knew that you could do it. I’ve been grooming you for a long time because I knew the day would come when I would need to count on you to do more. You have really proven yourself to me and to management. As long as I’m at this company, you and I will always team up on accounts. Management is aware of my wishes. As VP of Accounts, I promise you that I’ve got your back. Brie, you didn’t have to do this. You didn’t have to come to the hospital, but by doing so, you are showing me just how much I can depend on you. I know that I’m a mess now; I’m just so worried about my parents. Once things settle down, I owe you a weekend on me.” Mark looked at Briana with a shy smile, “thank you so much. Words cannot express how grateful I am for what you have done. Now, I want you to go home, no, take yourself out to dinner on me.”\nMark reached into his wallet and pulled out a hundred-dollar bill.\n“Go treat yourself. You don’t need to stay here. I’ll be okay.” Briana asked if he was sure because she didn’t mind hanging around and he reassured her that it was okay. Briana touched Mark’s hand and said, “I just believe that your parents are going to be okay, I can feel it. I’m going to do what you’ve said, but if you need me, you know that you can call me, anytime, okay?” Mark smiled and agreed. Briana left the hospital and while on her way home, called her girlfriends and invited them out for drinks.\nWhile sitting at the table with her girls, Briana relived the day and all that transpired. She looked around at her girls and told them how blessed she felt. She smiled, raised her glass, and thanked God for blessing her more than she could imagine. Things are looking up. As she lowered her glass, her friend quoted their favorite scripture:\n“For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” Jeremiah 29:11 NIV\nIn unison, they all said, “Amen.”" } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: The Card-iologist\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 1040\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character who finds Valentine’s Day sickly sweet." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "\"Hiiiii. Welcome to Hallmark Greetings & Gifts. May I help you find something today?\"\n\"Well, uh, yes. I'm looking for a Valentine's Day card. For my niece.\"\n\"Perfect. Our Valentine's day selection is over here.”\n“Are you sure?”\n“Am I what?”\n“Are you sure? I mean, these cards are assorted blues and yellows and greens.”\n“And?”\n“I was looking for Valentine’s Day cards. I was expecting a selection of cards in reds and pinks. Maybe some glitter.”\n“Sir, we are an inclusive card store. I can assure you that blues and yellows and greens can express your festive wishes just as well as reds and pinks.”\n“Fine, can you at least point me in the direction of cards for nieces?”\n“Nieces?”\n“Yes, I need a card for my niece. You know, like my brother’s daughter.”\n“Niece? Brother? Daughter? I’m not sure what you mean. We have a very nice selection of person cards. They can be found in any of the three aforementioned colors.”\n“Listen, young man. If I didn’t care enough to send the very best, I would walk out right now.”\n“Young man? What are you? Some kind of neanderthal? It is completely inappropriate to force your traditional identifiers on us. Do I need to call my personager?”\n“No, wait. I’m so sorry. I assumed you were a man. I mean, your septum ring’s engraving reads— It’s a man’s world.” \n“Sir, you’ll note my personal self-expression is intentionally ironic. I think both you and I completely understand it’s a human and huwoman’s world.” \n“Of course, of course. So, do you have any huwoman’s cards?”\n“Please, sir. If you don’t stop with your offensive archaic patriarchal classifications, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”\n“Beg your pardon?”\n“Here at Hallmark, all of our cards are gender neutral and nonbinary.” \n“Wait, you’re trying to tell me that you don’t believe there are two sexes?”\n“There you go again.”\n“There I go again. What did I do this time?”\n“You used the word sexes.”\n“Excuse me, genders.”\n“And there it is again.”\n“What?!”\n“SEX-es. EX-cuse. Tell me you didn’t use words with x’s in them—just to make fun of me.”\n“Why would I do that?”\n“Oh, so now you’re using Y. Don’t think I know you aren’t gaslighting me with your references to x and y chromosomes.”\n“You’ve got to be kidding me. I need to avoid using the letters x and y? That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”\n“Kidding? You really said kidding? We do not recognise age here. We at Hallmark are also non-numeric when it comes to age. Have you been living on a deserted island? Are you Gilligan or Mary Ann?”\n“Actually, I prefer Ginger.”\n“You prefer characters named after seasonings?! You do realize that seasonings are objects, thus you must support the objectification of persons who are neither seasonings nor objects.”\n“I’m not objectifying anyone!”\n“One? Anyone? Typical of someone who is not supportive of the community. You’ve automatically assumed not only my gender, but also my number. I am not anyone. I am anytwo. And my pronouns are Alpha and Omega.”\n“I understand and thank you for educating me. Now, could we please just start over?”\n “At Hallmark, we believe that everyone, everytwo, and everythree can start over. Would you like to see the Starting Over section of our greeting cards?”\n“I would just like a Valentine’s Day card to send my niece—my person—”\n“Do you own this person?”\n“No, of course not.”\n“You said ‘my person’ like you owned him or her or they or them or ze or hir or xe or sem or hy or hym . . .’\n“You forgot thou, thee, thy, thine, and ye.”\n“Ye has been canceled. Kanye West is officially over.”\n“My God, who thought getting a card would be so difficult.”\n“I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt because you are obviously retarded only in the exact clinical definition of the term. And we don’t want to use the term card.”\n“You are shitting me.”\n“I wouldn’t shit you as you are quickly becoming my favorite turd.”\n“That’s not funny.”\n“I know, but using the word card isn’t funny either.”\n“Why the hell not? Because playing cards have kings and queens? And kings are always boys and queens are girls?”\n“Hey, you’re right. I hadn’t thought to be offended at that, yet there is more. Diamonds are a girl's best friend, but there are no more girls. A spade is a pejorative name for melanin over abundant persons. Do I really have to explain all this?”\n“I’d love a club right now so I could—”\n“Could what? Are you threatening all my selves with violence? I assure you, anythree of my personas would gladly open up a can of whoopass on you. Now here. Take this and go.”\n“What is this?”\n“This is a folded up piece of cardstock with glitter and typography expressing heartfelt sentiments along with an envelope for $5.95.”\n“This is a card.”\n“If you insist on using that term, I suppose it is.”\n“Let’s see what it says. To the offspring of my sibling. I am platonically fond of you and aware of your boundaries. Have the day of your choosing and seek the desires of whatever bodily organ you choose. This is horrible. Do you have any others?”\n“Try this one.”\n“This isn't a card! This is a Chinese takeout menu.”\n“I don’t appreciate your cultural appropriation. Just open it up.”\n“I apologize for the paternal Greco-Roman-based hegemony and its underpinnings of modern society. I just want a Valentine’s Day card, not to atone for Western civilization!”\n“Just doing my job, ma’amsirthem.”\n“Fine. I’ll take the first one. I talked to my mailman, and he assured me if I got it in the mail today it would be there by Valentine’s day.”\n“The mailman will get it in the mail? Have you not learned a thing? Were you even listening?”\n“As little as I possibly could. What new rule did I break now?”\n“You need to get it to your person-person so they can get in the person.”\n“Whatever.”\n“Whatever to you, too. Have a non-specific day and thank you for shopping at Hallmark.”" } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Silver Lining\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 1036\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart your story with a character saying “Are you there, God? It’s me…”" }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "“Are you there, God? It’s me, Terence. I can't say I understand what’s going wrong with me. It’s like I'm losing control of my mind. It's slipping away from me. It’s terrible in there. It’s killing me softly. I'm dying slowly. Please! God, say something.”\nTerence is having a hard time with himself. He can't place his finger on a particular cause for his troubles. He’s just sailing through them in the hope that one day everything will be assuaged permanently.\n“Mum, can I be honest with you?”\n“Oh! Definitely my dear.”\n“Mum, I feel like running somewhere far and away.”\n“Oh! Terence dear you’ve started with one of those your fantasy talks.”\n“No, mum. I indeed mean this. It’s for sure.”\n“Oh! Dear. What’s the problem? Why do you want to run far and away? Can you please let me in on what troubles you?”\n“Mum, it’s my mind. It’s ...”\n“I have told you time and time again. We've discussed about it in our devotion. You've heard about it in church that our mind can't be more powerful than us. Our minds can't take the wheel and chauffeur drive us. We have no excuse to have dark, murky and weak minds. Have you forgotten what the scripture says about renewing your mind through the Word of God?”\n“Mum, what about if the mind is wilful and obstinate?”\n“Then, you aren't making use of the scriptures. There’s nothing beyond God’s infallible Word.”\n“I know mum. You’ve told me several times. I have heard about it time and time again from my childhood.”\n“I'm glad you can still recall.”\n“Mum, how about if God chooses to be silent about my battles? How about if His Word refuses to break the ice?”\n“Are you disputing the potency of His Word?”\n“No, mum. I’m not.”\n“Then why do you talk like that?”\n“Mum, there are some things beyond us. There are some raging tempest that cannot be quelled by His Word. His light doesn’t beam on them. He just lets us journey through.”\n“No! Don’t sound like that. You sound like an infidel. Where is your belief? Where is your faith?”\n“Mum, I haven’t thrown away my belief. I'm still living the faith life. It’s just I don’t know when I'll get through my mind troubles. It seems they have come to stay. I just need to learn how to rearrange the items in my drawer.”\n“No! Son, No! Dear. I won't allow the devil make you believe in fallacies and heresies.”\n“Mum, the devil is not behind the scene. I'm not pulled by his strings. It’s just that some things are veiled from us despite they gnawing at our minds.”\n“I don't think so. He has made all things naked before us.”\n“Then why did Jamie’s wife die? Didn’t you pray? Wasn’t she a good person? Wasn’t she a believer? Mum, you testified to it that her heart yearns for God. You also said you haven’t seen a young lady that is as considerate as she was. Mum, you said it wasn’t pretence that you could see through her.”\n“Yes. Oh! I could see through her as clear as glass. She was one in a million. Oh! Her death was a huge loss. Jamie was devastated. Oh! My son is having a hard time opening the door for someone else. But for your case, you need to see Reverend. I think yours is exceptional”\n“No, mum. I'm like everyone who has unanswered questions to their plight.”\n“But, how come you don’t show it. It doesn’t reflect In you.”\n“Because I choose not to wear my heart on my sleeves. It’s can be crazy within. It’s a fight. It’s a tussle.”\n‘I don’t think I really understand you. I feel Reverend should.”\nIt was a glorious Sunday service. The auditorium was electrified. After service, there was a long queue of people who wanted to see the Reverend. Terence wasn't taken aback. It happens nearly every Sunday.\n“Good afternoon Reverend.”\n“Good afternoon Terence. Hope you were blessed by today’s service?”\n“ Definitely. I’m always blessed by your teachings. It’s like water poured on parched ground. It runs through my cracks and crevices.”\n“Thank you, son. I'm honoured.”\n“You're welcome, sir.”\n“Yeah. Lest I forget. Your mother said she would want me to see you, that you have something important to discuss with me.” \n“Reverend, did she tell you anything about the matter?”\n“Not in depth. She just said you have some issues with your mind. That there’s a tussle going on in your chamber.”\n“Chamber?”\n“I mean mind. Your mind.”\n“Yes, truly. Sometimes I feel I don’t own my mind. I feel like an alien to it.”\n“Please, tell me what the problem is.”\nTerence narrated his ordeal to the Reverend. He empathized with him. He advised him not to throw in the towel. He said running to hide somewhere wasn't the solution neither would being a recluse. He said with his humble position as a Reverend and counsellor, he has met his likes but a few. He said although it’s a hard nut to crack, there’s something very unique about him and his likes and he only needs to channel his strength aright barricading everything unwholesome. He also said that it could be a herculean task but with time the summit would be lowered.\n“Oh! God, I know I don’t pray that very much though your Word said we should pray without ceasing. Please, Father, help me not to lose my marbles and strengthen me to keep holding on.”\n“Hello! Wake up son,” she touched him lightly.\n“I was just praying a while ago.”\n“Yes, I know but you slept off.”\n“Oh! I was pouring my heart to Him. I don’t know when I slept off. ”\n“Yeah, He has heard you. He said you shouldn't worry. He’s always standing by.”\nTerence turned and looked at the woman tears streaming down his face.\n“Who are you?” he asked.\n“Don't worry. You would soon get to know when the time comes,” she said.\nTerence stood up and went home wondering who the woman was. She looked different from every aged woman he had seen in his district and neighbourhood." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Mistakes\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 3006\n\nPrompt:\n\nEnd your story with a character saying “Thank you, God. Thanks an awful lot.” (sarcastically or not)." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Trigger Warning: This story contains the use of a gun.\n\n “Where there’s a will, there’s a way.” That’s what Jerome always said. He must have willed his way into jail cause that’s where he’s been since he accidentally shot his best friend in the leg. This would have been fine if his best friend wasn’t Cappie, Pastor Mackenzie’s son, which would have also been fine if Pastor Mackenzie didn’t have it out for Jerome in the first place.\n\nAccording to Grandma, after the incident, Pastor Mackenzie was overheard saying that Jerome should have been locked away behind bars since he was 7 when he stole money from the offering bowl at church. Grandma said that it must have slipped Pastor Mackenzie’s mind that Cappie was also involved in the theft by instigating and daring Jerome to take the money in the first place and that both boys were found guilty. Now, she said, it seemed convenient to forget Cappie’s part again and blame Jerome. She said that history had a way of repeating itself and that now, Pastor Mackenzie was not going to stop until his form of justice was served. Grandma said she couldn’t believe that a God-fearing man like Pastor Mackenzie could blatantly misconstrue the offenses of boys as crimes but then again, she said she believed it because it was the fearing side of people that made them think that punishment was always the answer for people’s mistakes.\n------\nWhen the gun went off everything stopped and started moving again in slow motion. Out of the corner of my eyes I saw Mama charging from the back of the house with the washing still in her hand looking like the time that water fell out from underneath Reena in the middle of the market. Mama dropped to her knees and grabbed me and patted me all over. She did the same thing to Aneesa who was standing next to me and who had begun to cry in that open mouth and no sound kind of way. When Mama didn’t find what she was looking for she took off into the house but dropped the washing at the top of the steps. I grabbed Aneesa’s hand and tried dragging her with me to the house so we could find out what was happening but she yanked her hand away and ran home. Just then, I heard screaming and crying coming from inside the house and it was a man’s voice. I had never heard a man’s cry before and it frightened me so much that I began crying myself.\n\nMama’s voice rang out, “Oh Gawd! Pickle, run down to Mr. Jesse’s house and ask him to dial the ambulance, tell him it’s an emergency!” I turned heel and ran as hard as I could and passed the message along to Mr. Jesse who said he had heard the bang and had called ahead to the police already but that he’ll call the ambulance as well. I ran back down the road and by the time I got home a crowd was already surrounding our gate cause of the screaming and wailing coming from inside. I pushed my way past them and ran through the gate and was about to run up the stairs when Grandma came down the steps and grabbed me in her arms. “Child there’s been an accident. Ain’t nobody dead inside. Just foolishness, you hear. Just plain foolishness.” I wanted to know what happened but I knew better than to ask so I let Grandma hug me and let my questions disappear inside my head.\n\nThe ambulance showed up first and I watched with Grandma as they ran inside our house and then brought Cappie out on the stretcher. He was still crying when they loaded him up in the back of the wagon and as they were about to close the doors he yelled out “somebody call my Papa! Please!” I looked up at Grandma only to see her shake her head and muttered “Here we go,” and then the police showed up.\n-----\nI had never seen the police up close before and when they walked through the gate and over to me and Grandma, I could see that they were young, like Jerome and Cappie. Grandma pointed them inside the house and they touched their hats and went in. They were all inside for a long time and then we heard screaming and it was Mama’s voice and she was yelling “No! You can’t do this! It was an accident!” Jerome came out the door with his head hung really low and he had blood all over his shirt and pants. He looked like he was crying and I had never seen Jerome cry before and it made me feel tight inside and so I started crying too. Grandma squeezed my hand but I was afraid to look up at her so I kept my eyes on Jerome and watched as he ducked his head into the back of the police car and kept watching until they drove off down the road.\n\nOur neighbors at our gate started to leave and then we heard the clanging of Papa’s truck coming up the road. Mama ran out of the house towards his truck yelling “They took our boy Chalky! We got to go get him!” And she got in and they sped off.\n\nGrandma and I must have stayed in the same spot for a long while cause by the time she moved all the people had gone and it was nearly black outside. “Come child, let’s fix you some milk and molasses and get you off to bed,” was all she said. I wanted to protest that it was too early and that I wanted to know what was happening and without meaning to I started to cry again and that made Grandma stop walking and bent down to look at me. “You scared?” she asked, hugging me and I nodded into her shoulders. “Me too, child.” “You want to know what happened huh?” I nodded again, slower this time because I wasn’t sure if I wanted to know or not. “Ok, come inside. I’ll try my best to explain it to you.”\n-----\nWhat started the whole mess was Cappie got hired down at the junkyard as the night watchman and he was issued a gun for his safety. He was supposed to lock the gun away and leave it after his shift had ended, but instead the first thing he did was bring it over to show Jerome. They were going to go shooting by Pulliam Creek.\n\nGrandma said that before they even left the house the two of them were showing off in the mirror and that’s when they started tussling over who was going to hold the gun next. One of them accidentally pulled the trigger and that’s when Cappie got shot in the leg.\n\nWhen Mama and Papa came home that night, they looked tired and Mama looked like she’d been crying all day. Her whole face was swollen like it was about to burst and spill water all over the table. Grandma fixed them some coffee and bread and it was some time before they started talking. Mama said that when they got to the station Pastor Mackenzie was already there raising hell about how he knows that Jerome was a criminal and that he should be kept behind bars. She said they tried to plead with him that it was an accident and that even Cappie admitted it was an accident but since he was still technically a minor the whole issue was left in Pastor Mackenzie’s hands and he went ahead and pressed charges on Jerome. Papa said that he even tried talking to him, man to man, but it made no use cause he had a vendetta and wouldn’t listen to reason. Papa said that they were going to keep Jerome in custody and that if it escalated, he could get charged with assault and that his bail would be thousands of dollars. When he said that, Mama started crying all over again. Grandma pressed her hand to her mouth and turned away real fast and then Papa must have realized I was still in the room cause he sent me off to get ready for bed immediately. I know better than to make a fuss or argue with Papa so I excused myself from the room but I didn’t go off to bed either. Instead, I hurried out of the room and when I turned the corner to go up the stairs I stopped and squatted down by the bottom step and tried to listen some more. For a long time, all I heard was crying and Grandma saying, “hush child, hush. It won’t happen. It was an accident. Don’t you fret. Where there’s a will. There’s a way.” Everybody was quiet again and so I tipped-toed up the stairs and went to bed.\n-----\nAt breakfast the next morning Grandma said that there was no way we could come up with that much money. She said she was going to go talk to Pastor Mackenzie after breakfast and see if she could reason with him. Mama spent the whole day pacing through the house and cleaning so I stayed out in the yard the whole time cause I didn’t want to get in her way. I wanted to go over to Aneesa’s house to play but knew that Mama would tan my hide for even thinking about leaving so I spent my time in the back playing with the chickens.\n\nIt was late in the day when Grandma came back and she looked madder than the time she caught Jerome and Cappie playing inside the water drums we kept for emergencies. I snuck into the house and overheard Grandma call Pastor Mackenzie “a darned fool of a man” and then slam her hand on the table. “Does that mean he’s not dropping the charges?” asked Mama. “I’m afraid not, child. He looked me in the eyes and said that what happened was unfortunate but we have to let the law play out. I nearly lost my temper but I held my tongue and left.”\n\nPapa came over that night and said he spoke to the lawyer who was working on Jerome’s case. He said that there would be a hearing in the next few days and till then there wasn’t much we could do except wait.\n------\nOn the morning of the hearing Grandma left me in charge of Pop-pop while they drove to the courthouse with Papa. She said she had to go cause her prayers were stronger in person and that I was old enough to help. All the same to me, I didn’t want to go and watch a bunch of hand-wringing at the hearing anyway or listen to Pastor Mackenzie say anything bad about Jerome. Pastor Mackenzie might have everyone in town convinced that he was a saint, but not me. I knew he was mean since the time I heard him call Mama a Jezebel when he thought we had all walked away after service one Sunday. I had bent down to buckle my shoes and heard him say it under his breath. When I asked Grandma what a Jezebel was, she turned around and almost slapped my mouth clean off. She asked me where I heard that word and when I told her that I got it from Pastor Mackenzie she made me repeat the whole story word for word and made me promise never to ever say that word again nor tell Mama what happened. Grandma said that sometimes when people don’t know a story, they make one up instead and judge people wrongly based on their assumptions. Later, that day I asked Jerome what a Jezebel was and when he told me I spat I was so mad.\n\nLast month Mama sent Papa out of the house and now Papa rents a room over top of Ms. Annette’s salon. Papa no longer shows up to church on Sundays and I overheard Grandma saying that he’s been doing time at Creepy John’s bar at the edge of town almost every night. Nobody talks about why Papa left or if he’s coming back to live with us, not even Grandma. I miss him but I don’t talk about that either.\n-------\nSometimes I wonder why Pastor Mackenzie is so mean. I wonder if he started out that way with the fear of God so high in him that he must make sure that everybody has the same fear too. I never feared God and have no plans on starting either. Grandma said that God is better than the best thing in the world and is so full of love that there is absolutely nothing to fear. So why would I fear the best love in the world? What Grandma has to say about God feels righter and truer than anything that Pastor Mackenzie has ever had to say on his best day in church.\n\nGrandma says that God is all love and that a thing that is all love cannot even think of anything that is not loving. She said God made us all so we are all God, even Pastor Mackenzie but I don’t know about him, he seems meaner than a serpent in a pit of scorpions. He has everyone convinced that he’s a saint but me and Grandma know better. Grandma also said that we could never sin and that there’s no such thing cause if we are all God, why would God make himself a sinner or even punish himself for making mistakes. She said not to pay any mind to Pastor Mackenzie, that he’s just patching together what he thinks and what he got taught, just like everybody else. I asked grandma why we got to go to church if we think differently from what he’s teaching and she said we go to church to commune with God, not with Pastor Mackenzie.\nIt was evening by the time I heard Papa’s truck come clanging down the road. They all came inside and Mama busied herself making coffee. Everybody looked tired and no one even asked me if I fed Pop-pop yet, which I did, or if I was okay, which I was. Grandma sat at the table looking down at her hands. She must have been wringing her hands all day cause there were dry patches on her knuckles and I could see the wrinkles on her hand and in the web of her fingers.\n\nI knew better than to ask what happened so I tiptoed out of the house and climbed up into the back of Papa’s truck like I used to when it was living here with him. I moved his rake and shovel aside so I could lay down and stare up into the sky. I watched as the blue left and made room for the black. I watched as the stars were suddenly everywhere, like they were there the whole time. I listened as the crickets started their dance and as the night-time slowly settled in. \n\nI must have dozed off cause the next thing I knew Papa was standing by the truck saying “Pickle, your Mama’s looking for you.” I sat up and he lit the end of his cigarette and took a long drag before blowing it out through his nose. I watched as the smoke circled and drifted up into the lamp light. When I looked back at Daddy, I could see that he was shaking and knew that he was crying even though his head was down. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Papa cry and watching him made me sad to my stomach.\n-----\nThat Sunday I got up and got ready for church but when I went downstairs nobody was dressed. Grandma said that we were never setting foot back into that church as long as Pastor Mackenzie was at the pulpit. It turns out that the whole town followed suit cause we heard that no one showed up for church that Sunday either. By the end of the week, we heard that Cappie got released from the hospital and that Pastor Mackenzie packed his family up and left town. Apparently, he got placed in a different church outside of Raleigh on the other side of North Carolina. Folks were saying that he left cause no one respected him anymore and that he pushed too hard and turned an accident between boys into police business and that it just wasn’t right.\n\nWhen we were in town earlier, someone said that they saw Pastor Mackenzie over at the police station and that they overheard him dropping the charges against Jerome. It must have been true because that evening Papa pulled up and he and Jerome got out of the truck together. Before Jerome could even walk up the steps, Mama was out the door and hugging and kissing and checking him all over. “I’m sorry, Mama,” was all he said before Mama was squeezing him again. Papa bent down and picked me up even though I was too big to be picked up anymore. Though he was built bigger than a house I heard him strain when he propped me on his hip. He mustn’t have realized that I had grown but I clung on to his neck, anyway, smelling his aftershave and his sweat. Instead of going up into the house, Papa walked back over to his truck where he grabbed his suitcase from the bed. Grandma met us at the door this time and looking Papa square in the eyes she said, “Don’t you ever risk this family on booze again, you hear me Chalky?” Papa didn’t even flinch and he looked at me and said “Loud and clear Ma’am. Loud and clear,” and we all went inside. Thank You, God. Thanks an awful lot." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: The Ruby Vacuum Cleaner Salesman\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 2242\n\nPrompt:\n\nEnd your story with a character saying “Thank you, God. Thanks an awful lot.” (sarcastically or not)." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Noreen was home performing her daily cleaning ritual, which was fierce, as she firmly believed cleanliness was next to Godliness. She had been married to Fredrick, a pentecostal pastor for nearly 23 years at that point. They had a total of 8 children. Their children were in various stages of their walk with the Lord. Naturally, Fredrick and Noreen want salvation for all of them, but the bible is clear, true acceptance must be a matter of free will. Of all the children, Mookie was the most worrisome, as he had fallen in with a notorious street gang many years ago. He had already been hospitalized twice due to gang related injuries. There was a stabbing incident that cost him a finger and a shooting that very nearly cost him his life. In fact, the damage from that bullet, which entered his thoracic cavity and bounced around before coming to a stop, was so severe it continues to wreak havoc on his body to this very day.\nIn addition to being a pentecostal pastor Fredrick was a middle manager for the city. No one was surprised when he was one of the first African Americans named to a managerial post within the city. Owing to his strict upbringing on a farm where work came before everything, except God, made him a meticulous worker. On top of that, he was a decent and fair man in all his dealings. Even before he was named to a managerial post he started investing in real estate around the inland empire. When he moved to the area from Los Angeles in the early days the place was thick with orange groves, grape vines and walnut trees. There were very few houses. He had given Noreen a choice: they could buy a fancy house, in which case she would need to continue working to help pay the bills. On the other hand, he took her to see a lot with four houses on it, three of them somewhat run down, and explained that if they purchased this property they would live in the larger house and he would fix the smaller three houses up as rentals. The income from the rentals would in essence allow her to focus on being a housewife, which he knew she would love. What he didn’t know was how badly she wanted it. He quickly found out. When presented with the option to be a full-time housewife she practically leapt at the chance. As he shared his vision to one day tear down the corner house and erect a church in its place her eyes lit up! She started to jump up and down as she said, “Yes Freddy, I can help you raise the money to build the church since I won’t have to work!” At that moment, he knew this was the right decision and Noreen was the right woman to help him make his dream a reality.\nIt had been years now since they bought the four houses on the lot. So long in fact that the corner house had been demolished and in its place now stood the beautiful church he had dreamed of building. Rent receipts along with income from his city job and pastoring the church allowed them to buy a house in a more upscale neighborhood in the same town. Their frugality over the years along with some very good investments even allowed them to splurge and buy their first BMW. Fredrick had been eyeing them for several years but didn’t dare think of buying one until their reserve had reached a certain amount. And frankly, he had adjusted that amount up a few times before finally buying it. No one who knew him well envied the purchase, after all, they knew what a hard working family man he was.\nThere is a high end door to door vacuum cleaner sales company, which we shall call the Ruby Vacuum Cleaner Company. On this day the salesman from the Ruby Vacuum Cleaner Company knew he was short on his quota. He desperately needed a sale so he figured he had to choose his next client carefully. As he cruised the nice little upper middle class neighborhood with nicely manicured lawns and shiny cars parked in driveways he asked himself, “hmmm should I pick the house whose driveway has the Cadillac, the Oldsmobile, or maybe the Lincoln? Then he saw it, a shiny white BMW sitting in a driveway! Yep, he knew which doorbell to ring. \nAs he stepped up to the doorway, he couldn’t help notice how meticulously clean the area around the door was. He rang a lot of doorbells so he knew that very few people really bothered to scrub the area outside of their front door. When the door opened he was surprised to see a pleasant African American woman wearing a very nice dress on the other side of the door. “Wow, and he thought the outside was clean!” was what came to mind. He was a well spoken, very handsome, African American young man himself so he quickly said, “Hello Miss, my name is Michael and I’m with the Ruby Vacuum Cleaner Company. May I please know your name?” She responded in kind by telling him her name was Noreen. Not missing a beat he pointed past her and said, “I can see you keep a meticulous home Miss Noreen, may I call you Miss Noreen?. She happily gave him permission to call her Miss Noreen. He wasted no time getting to the point. His next question was, “Miss Noreen, May I ask what brand of vacuum cleaner you use?” He could only pray her response wasn’t a Ruby because if it was, he was done. When she said, “Hoover,” he could have danced a jig right there in the entryway. Instead, he broke into his well practiced spiel about how her carpets only looked clean, they weren’t really clean, and he could prove it. He was forced to back up and calm Miss Noreen down for a minute though. Having a stranger insinuate that her house wasn’t clean did not sit well with her at all. Once he had calmed her by explaining it had nothing to do with her housekeeping skills, only the equipment she was using, she agreed to let him vacuum the thick white wall to wall carpet that was installed throughout the house in every room except the kitchen, breakfast area, and bathrooms. As he looked closer he couldn’t believe there wasn’t a speck of dirt to be seen anywhere on the carpet. I mean really, did these people walk around with plastic bags on their feet or what? Not to worry, he hadn’t been doing this very long but he had been doing it long enough to know there would be plenty of dirt lurking underneath if she had been using a Hoover all this time.\nBecause the house, including the white wall to wall carpet, was so spotless he removed his shoes and vacuumed every inch of carpet in the house, knowing full well that Miss Noreen probably went over those floors with that Hoover at least once a day, maybe twice from the looks of things. When he was done he needed to be able to show her a pile of dirt to convince her that purchasing a Ruby vacuum cleaner was in her best interest. While vacuuming he took notice of the French Provincial living room furnishings, custom draperies, and Chippendale dining room set in the formal dining room. He thought to himself, “It’s pretty clear Miss Noreen or someone in her household knows quality and doesn’t mind paying for it. He even wondered whether she had any single daughters. This might be a nice family to marry into. She had told him about her husband being a manager for the city, as well as a pastor, which told him they should have no problem affording the steep price tag of the Ruby vacuum system. Especially since he knew they had eight children. There was no doubt in his mind that some, probably several, of their eight children were quite successful. He eyed the many photos sitting around the house as he vacuumed and they seemed to support this theory. When he got done and showed Miss Noreen how much dirt had been lurking in her carpet she was mortified. He figured there was nothing left to do but move in for the hard sell. But when he quoted the high price Miss Noreen’s eyes practically came out of their sockets as she said, “Sir, we didn’t even pay that much for our youngest daughter’s car!” Young Michael was accustomed to the way things worked in his home. His father made all the decisions, always remarking how his mother, like most women, had no head for business. As he scanned all the finery in Miss Noreen’s house he decided her marriage must work the same way. Surely her husband would recognize the good sense in purchasing a Ruby Vacuum System that would surely last 50 plus years and keep the house meticulously clean, as he clearly demanded. With that, he looked at Miss Noreen and said, No Ma’am, Miss Noreen I can not let you pass this opportunity up. I simply will not leave your house until you have purchased a Ruby Vacuum System. Now understand, I’m doing this for your own good. If I have to wait until your husband gets home from work and show him how it’s in your family’s best interest I will do it, Miss Noreen.” Stunned by what she was hearing, Noreen felt the blood rushing to her head. Her first thought was to pick up the phone and call Fredrick at work, but she stopped when she remembered he was at a meeting in downtown LA. Plus, from what she could tell she was in no danger. Then she thought to herself, Mookie just moved into the house behind the church and I’ll bet he’s home from work already. She looked at the Ruby salesman and said, “I’m going to call my son.” This didn’t seem to bother him at all. In fact, he said, “Excellent Miss Noreen, I’m keen to speak with a male member of your family. We can sit down and work out all of these confusing numbers. Go ahead, call him.” So Noreen walked over to the sofa, ears scarlet with rage, sat down, and dialed Mookie’s number. When Mookie picked up the phone she could hear male voices in the background. This let her know he had company, and judging from some of the language she overheard, they weren’t churchfolk. Good, she thought, as she blurted out, “Mookie, I let this man in the house to demonstrate a vacuum cleaner and now he saying he ain’t gone leave less I buy it.” Realizing what he had just heard but having a hard time believing it, Mookie loudly roared, “SAY WHAT NOW?” When Noreen said, Mookie… this… man won’t leave unless I buy his vacuum cleaner and it’s real expensive. The last words she heard Mookie say were, “I don’t give a damn what it costs, I’m on my way!” Hearing Noreen’s voice crack, the man tried to reassure her by saying, “Noreen, this is all for your own good. Women just don’t understand business matters like men. When your son gets here I’ll explain it all to him, get him to sign the contract for you, and be on my way. Look at what a nice vacuum cleaner you’re about to get.\nThe Ruby Vacuum salesperson’s first inkling that he may have misjudged the situation came when he heard the very loud sound of tires squealing at the end of the street. This was in fact the sound of Mookie and his crew making the right hand turn at the corner, RATHER QUICKLY, on their way to his parents home. If the squealing tires wasn’t enough to convince him, the sound of cars coming to what my father used to describe as “a screeching ass halt” in front of the house along with multiple doors being opened and loudly slammed convinced Michael the salesperson that he’d better take a peek out the front window, and I mean fast. What he saw made him forget everything he had entered the house carrying, except his ass! Mookie had come with 3 cars full of ‘er associates prepared to convince Michael that it was in his best interest to leave Miss Noreen’s house post haste. Several of his associates appeared to be carrying tools of their trade as they moved swiftly towards the front door. Seeing the looming threat caused Michael the Ruby Vacuum salesperson to take off running out the back door of the house where he proceeded to jump over the back fence only to disappear into a canyon. He was never seen by Miss Noreen again. His car sat where he had parked it in front of the house for several days until a tow truck finally came to pick it up. As for the Ruby Vacuum equipment he had been using to demonstrate Once the Ruby Vacuum Cleaner company learned the nature of Michael’s sales tactics they insisted that Miss Noreen keep the equipment as compensation for her time and trouble. Given the way things turned out, Noreen couldn’t help but say, “Thank you God. Thanks an awful lot.”" } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Made for More\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 2180\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart your story with a character saying “Are you there, God? It’s me…”" }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Prologue\n“Are you there God? It’s me, Caden.” He was alone in his dressing room about to head out on stage for the last show of his tour. He had performed in over thirty sold-out shows in a little over a month. With little time in between shows, he’d made appearances on morning shows and had done radio promotions. He had managed the month before to perform at three award shows and finish a few songs with other artists. It had been a busy few months and practically no downtime. Despite the screaming audience waiting for him, all he wanted was peace and quiet. He called out to God as he sat in muffled silence. “God, I know I should be happy with my life, but I just can’t seem to find any rest,” he said softly. His plea would go unanswered for now as he was called to the stage. A quick prayer with his team and dancers, then the music began to play. \nCaden Shaw had just finished the last song in his set. The light show as he held the last note sent the crowd into a frenzy he had come to adore. He pulled his phone from his pocket and opened his camera app. He took a picture of himself among thousands of fans who were as tired as he was. They sang along with him for the last two hours. They knew every word and he was always amazed. The words meant as much to the fans as they did to him when he wrote them. Writing and making music was one thing, but he felt like he came alive when he performed. The shy kid from Louisiana disappeared and a tiger took his place on stage. \nWomen, on the other hand, were a different story. He had never been shy or choosy. Maybe that was the problem. It had been hard for him to keep his eyes off her during the entire show. Their eyes met a few times and he liked what he saw. He nodded to his security guard and that was all it took to know he would see her later. He had developed a certain type and he was never disappointed. He looked forward to seeing what she had to offer. \nAfter the show, he spent time signing autographs and taking pictures with the premium concert goers. His security team escorted him back to his dressing room and when he entered she was sitting on the couch. He knew she had a name and he would get it later. For now, he took her hand and brought her to him. He held her close and told her she was beautiful. That was no lie. She wore the smallest, thinnest black dress he had ever seen. It hugged every curve he wanted to touch. He made the same decision after every show and in every city. The women were the only difference. His team knew to leave him alone for the first hour after his shows. It was his time. A little something to remember each place by. At this point, he honestly didn’t even remember what city he had just performed in and it really didn’t matter anymore. It wasn’t home. He asked if she wanted to be there with him and she answered with a kiss. He led her to the shower and together they washed off the night. \nAmid the crush of fans, he smiled and waved one last time before allowing the dark window to go up. His head quickly went to the headrest and he let out a sigh. The chauffeur made his way through the crowd and left the noise behind. As they pulled away from the venue, Caden was one step closer to some much-needed downtime. There was no alone time just yet. His security, manager, and personal assistant were all riding and vying for his attention. He still had a few meetings and decisions to make. But home was at least on the horizon. \nHe listened to everyone talk about what he needed to do next, he found himself drifting off briefly only to be awakened by someone asking, “Caden, are you listening?” He wanted to not pretend he was asleep and really be asleep. But he knew if he spent some time now allowing everyone to have a piece of him, he just might find some peace later. Hopefully. \nHe would get to fly home to Louisiana in a few days. Until then, he would go back to Los Angeles to settle some business. It was nearing midnight when they returned to the hotel and Caden had a few minutes alone. He stood on his balcony and looked out over the city. He always went live on social media after a show. His fans had come to expect it no matter the hour. He did not want to disappoint. He allowed them to see the view from his balcony overlooking the city as he spoke. “This tour has been everything I’ve ever imagined,” he began. “The crowds, the music, and the women,” he continued with a chuckle. This country boy couldn’t have ever dreamed of a life like this and I owe it to each and every one of you. Thank y'all for believing in me and supporting me. I love y'all. Until I return,” his voice trailed off and he ended the livestream with the view. In every direction, there were lights and noise. Most people loved the city. Lights, action, oceanviews, and celebrities were exciting when he first arrived. But he had come to no longer enjoy it. People tend to think of his life as glamorous and something to envy and in many ways, it is just that. He could pretty much get anything he wanted most people would consider him lucky. There was nothing he could think of or request that he likely couldn’t have. Yet with all he had, he still felt like something was missing.\nChapter 1\nCaden could smell the ocean as soon as he stepped into the light. The only noise was a gentle breeze coming off the Pacific as it made its way around the houses on his street. He entered the house as the driver placed his luggage just inside the entryway. The house smelled of his favorite meal being prepared by his Aunt Tricia who always came over when he had been out of town for an extended period. She made the best homemade gumbo. The scents wafted through the air and beckoned him toward the kitchen. He found her standing at the stove with a pot that nearly took up half the cooktop and was wider than her small frame. She was thin, five foot seven, and loved to cook. Her small arms were stirring in the pot with what looked like a paddle. “Welcome home!” she said as she turned to him. She enveloped him in a hug only a southerner could give. He was twice her size yet she seemed to smother him in love. \nWhen he first got signed to a big label and headed to Los Angeles, his mom told her sister Tricia to make sure you keep him close. He was glad she had. She was as close to home as he could get when he was so far away. Whenever he was home, they made a habit of having Sunday dinner together just like his family did back home. No matter what he had going on with work, Aunt Tricia was always there. He knew he could count on her. She wanted nothing more than what was best for him. Even when he didn’t know what that was. She fixed him a steaming bowl of gumbo with a mountain of jasmine rice and they sat down at the kitchen counter. They held hands as she prayed over their meal. The first spoonful was a meld of flavors he savored as he closed his eyes and tried to identify every spice. “You have no idea how much I have missed real, home-cooked food,” Caden began. “I’m not saying I didn’t have good food in all these places I visited, but there is nothing. I do mean nothing like food cooked by someone who loves you!” Aunt Tricia laughed and took the loving compliment. \nBy the time his spoon hit the bottom of his second serving, he had told his aunt about the places he’d visited and some of the tour craziness. He definitely couldn’t give her all the details of life on the road. She would lay holy hands on him for sure! He always brought her\nback something from his travels. When he traveled abroad the first time, she went with him. Having her around was like being with his mom. Sometimes when his mom came out to visit and those two got together, his house smelled like it did when he was a child. Cakes made with butter and tons of sugar. He would have more soul food than all the restaurants in Atlanta. It was made with just the right amount of everything and filled his home away from home with love. He enjoyed every minute of it. \n“When you text and said you’d be home in a few days, I headed to the fresh seafood market and got the best I could find,” Aunt Tricia said. “You had most of the other ingredients from my last shopping trip and since you never cook it was an easy choice.” Caden was grateful and so was his belly! “What do you have planned before you head south?” Aunt Tricia asked. Caden walked his bowl to the sink and filled it with water. He explained his plans to meet with his lawyer to sign some contracts and make sure everyone was paid on time. He also had an appointment tomorrow with his management firm to discuss some new opportunities. “I will use tonight to unpack, wash, and repack before leaving,” he continued. “I love that your mom made you promise to do your own laundry when possible to keep you humble,” she said with a laugh. He laughed too because it had worked. “I’m rich and world-famous and wash my own clothes,” he chuckled. Aunt Tricia patted him on the back and put their bowls into the dishwasher. “And you do it so well,” she teased. He said goodnight and gave her a kiss on the cheek as she headed to the guest room. “I’ll leave you to it,” she said as she headed toward the back of the house. \nAfter loading the clothes into the washing machine, Caden headed out to the patio. He pushed back the glass doors and let in the last of the sunlight as he stepped outside. White-capped waves were washing over the sand gently and he sat on the edge of the pool with his bare feet on the steps as he watched the ocean. He pulled out his phone and used the panoramic view to capture the sunset. “Perfect!” he thought. The orange, yellow, blue, red, and a hint of purple were spectacular to behold. No matter where he was in the world watching the sunset never got old or went unappreciated. He had enjoyed many sunsets growing up. He was always fascinated with the colors the sun left behind. Every day was different. No two sunsets were the exact same. Even when he was on the road and spending late nights making bad choices, he always found time to sneak away and catch the sunset. Whether he was in L.A. or Louisiana, tonight was no different. His phone was filled with pictures of sunsets from all over the world. When he first started writing songs, he was always inspired by the sun and anything in nature. He would take pictures with an old camera his mom gave him. He took a picture before the sun disappeared and called home. He admired his new picture while he listened to the phone ring then leaned back as he stared at the sky above. His mom’s voice was as warm as the Louisiana evening sun in early spring. \nHe told his mom about his travels and she listened intently. Just as he did with his Aunt Tricia, he left out some of the on-the-road antics and hit the highlights instead. But his mom was always intuitive and eventually insisted on seeing her baby son’s face. They turned their phone call into FaceTime and he knew he would no longer be able to hide the deep dissatisfaction that was starting to grow inside. “I can always tell there’s something going on with you when I see your eyes,” she began. “You are skilled at hiding things, but your eyes tell it all,” she continued. He knew she was right. Even when he was little they gave him away when he had lied easily and said he finished his homework, knowing good and well he hadn’t even started! He breathed in all that surrounded him and slowly let out his troubles." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Loyal to the end\n\nGenre: american\n\nWord Count: 3042\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story that hides something from its reader until the very end." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Loyal To The End\n Oh man, he’s late! Oh man, he’s late! Dang it, where is he? Where can he be? Usually, he is home by now and we are sitting on the couch watching our favorite show.\n I know that I am sounding a little paranoid about it, but I have been cooped up in this house the entire day by myself and just about to go crazy if I don’t get some company soon. Why can’t every day be like Saturday or Sunday? We get to see each other the whole day and have the opportunity to share our love.\n Is that him? . . . oh yes, finally.\n Stupid wind. I hate it when it blows that hard and rattles the garage door.\n Hmmm? I wonder why he is late? Usually, even if I am busy with chores, he will call and at least leave a message on the machine. \n There was that time about a month ago when he was late because he stopped to help an elderly woman change a flat tire. I am sure it is something like that. He is always helping other people. He is always saying, “The sole reason we are put on this Earth is to help people.” Ya, that’s gotta be it. I just so badly want to feel the warmth of his arms wrapped around me. There is no better feeling.\n How many times are they going to show this commercial? I can’t sit here any longer. I know he usually does it around this time, so I think I will help him and go water the grass.\n The moment I push the door, I hear that sound again. Hesitating for a spell, I wait to make sure that it is the actual garage door opening and not that blasted wind that often encircles our neighborhood.\n The sound is lasting longer and is more systematic like that of a machine or motor and I know for sure that this time my love is finally home.\n As the creaking sound of the door to the inside of the house signaled his arrival, I couldn’t resist. I missed him, wanted to be with him, and wanted him to hold me.\n At first, I race towards him . . . and pause as I draw nearer. There is a strange odor about him. Some different scent I have never smelled.\n His head is lowered as he approaches closer to where I wait to feel those loving arms around me. The nearer he gets, the stench upon him becomes stronger.\n I am not sure how to react. The smell is totally gross at first, but intrigued by it, I step forward.\n Forward into arms wide open.\n Though I wanted to construe the devilish odor that entered my nostrils as I approached him, having those arms wrapped around my slender body is really all I wanted. So, thrusting myself upon him, we embraced.\n The best thing I have felt all day.\n Within seconds, every ache that I have felt with taking care of our house during the day faded in an instant. Every empty moment without someone to consort, left my being with that one solid, long lasting embrace.\n Whispering softly into my ear, he said, “I love you, Abby.”\n I wanted to return his loving gesture, but that awful, intriguing smell became unbearable. I had to know. \n I felt bad for whiffing the way that I did at first. I didn’t want him to feel as if I suspected that anything was not the norm, but the putrid, yet sweet combination compelled me to investigate.\n The putrid was easy to determine. He had been working on the field. A combination of sweat, dirt, more sweat, and grass. \n The sweet upset me. Something that I only smell on her. Briskly, I removed myself from him.\n Actions that immediately caused a reply, “Don’t worry, hun. A woman’s car ran out of gas and I gave her a ride to a station.”\n I sighed heavily in relief. “Pretty bad, huh. My truck smells even worse.”\n His truck is covered with the putrid smell and laughing as I reenter his arms I tell him, “Welcome home. I love you, too.”\n My stomach begins to growl and I take his hand and lead him to the dinner table. I know that he is surely hungry as well. Dinner should have been hours ago. \n Since the day that our love began, he had always eaten in the exact same way. Telling me every time, “Dinner is time to eat . . . not talk.” I think he got that imbedded into him as a middle child of seven that had to fight for every morsel. \n I have always respected his beliefs and merely ate speechless as we sat across from one another. Besides, it was my favorite meal and I was starving, so didn’t feel like speaking much either. There will be plenty of time for that later.\n He insisted on doing the dishes when we finished, so I went and prepared the couch for our nightly tradition of watching our favorite shows. By far, the best time of every single weekday. \n As he sat to join me, I moved in closer to cuddle with him. The smell was not as bad as it was before. We both seemed to just get used to it. \n He placed his arm around me and together we sat and watched our show.\n During commercial breaks, we talked about each other’s day. Clearly, the conversation was typically one sided. There’s really not much to share on my end. I would relay the same things that I do every day, which is not only boring, but typically takes less than the time a commercial set lasts.\n Though he was not much of a ‘talker’ himself, he would share some of the things that took place at work. He teaches and coaches at a high school pretty close to where we live. Most of what he would say would simply reflect on what had happened during the day. Most of the time, they were the ‘same ‘ol, same ‘ol’ stuff that routinely takes place in the classroom or the field. Every once in awhile, there would be a story of a fight between students, a funny tale of an event that happened in class, or, my favorite, interesting observations of the many animals that visit the field each day.\n You could tell that today was a difficult one for him. Whenever his eyelids slowly start to close in the middle of his favorite show, the day was rough and exhausting. \n It was still too early to go to bed, however, and he got up and walked outside for some fresh air. I followed him. I, too, was getting a little bored just sitting on the couch.\n Once outside, we sat on swing together. His head was lowered. Something must have happened today that has him a little depressed. In attempts to show my man that I support him, I placed my hand upon his knee.\n He lifted his head and smiled at me. It was a warm smile that in its own little way said “Thank you”.\n We then shared a moment just looking into one another’s eyes. It was strange, but I could sense that there was something heavy on his mind as we looked at one another. \n He, as well, seemed to be doing the same to me.\n But, what could he sense? There is nothing pressing in my life what-so-ever.\n His eyes squint as if he is trying to read my mind through my eyes. It makes me a little nervous, so I look away. I look at him again and he is still doing it. One thought, and one thought only, begins to encompass my every thought, ‘Can he?’ Some people are born with such gifts. Is it possible that he knows that I am hiding something from him. Something personal that I have done or seen? \n My thoughts whirl as I look away again. His stare is so deep and I am starting to get scared. \n Questions on top of other questions pop in and out of my head as I look to him, away from him, to him, and away again. This is really making me nervous.\n Does he know that my days aren’t really as boring as I lead them out to be? Does he know that sometimes chores are not being completed because of other things that happen in this house during the day while he is away? Has he figured it all out by some clue that I mistakenly did not cover up?\n As they continue to come in and out while intermittently looking at him and away over and over, I wonder the big question - Will he find out? Will it end the days of love?\n Thoughts I couldn’t take anymore. Politely, I excused myself and walked back inside the house. So many things going through my head as I did.\n While he stayed outside and rocked to and fro while looking at the stars, I was freaking out inside. Both in the house and inside myself. If I tell him, I will surely lose him. If I don’t, I will have to continue living with the fact that I am hiding something from him. Something he should know. Something that shows my loyalty to him.\n Pacing around the house took on a whole different meaning. I kid you not, I felt like one of those experimental mice running through a maze in search of cheese. The only difference was that I knew exactly where the cheese was hidden, but wasn’t sure if it was the right time to find it.\n With all that was going on, I grew tired. Exhausted, really, both physically and mentally, and decided to go to bed. I couldn’t do it to him now. I love him too much.\n Exhausted or not, I could not sleep. Tossing and turning, with those same questions running through my head, the realization that I wouldn’t be sleeping this night became obvious.\n It was real late when I decided to get up and get some water. My pipes were burning some, and I really wanted to see why he had still not come to bed. Trying the best that I could, I pretended like nothing had happened. I walked to the refrigerator and took out the jug and began to gulp the water down. Looking at him while I did.\n He had passed out on the porch swing. Knowing that whenever he does this that it was best to just let him stay, I grabbed a blanket that I had lying on the floor and went outside to cover him.\n The extremely loud snoring clearly signified that he was out for the rest of the night.\n Now, not only will I be awake all night thinking that he may have an idea of what I am hiding, but won’t have him near to feel the warmth of what love may still remain.\n The fact that he did not return inside and come to bed, totally informs me that he knows. He had only not come to bed once since our love began. A late night party where something else consumed him and caused him to wet the bed. Embarrassed, he slept on the couch.\n Obviously, this was different. He did not want to come to bed and rest next to someone that has broken their trust.\n Daylight flickered through window blinds and readily caused me to spring from the bed. Rushing to an arcadia door that led outside, I rushed through it to see my love. Sadly, he was not there. I had missed, most likely, the last opportunity to feel the warmth of his arms around me.\n It was already about 8:00 a.m. judging by the sun outside, and I knew that he was already off to work. Dropping my head and dreading the fact that I had to live with my secret the rest of the day, I headed back inside to continue my daily routine.\n What the heck was that? A very strange sound rang and rattled the whole neighborhood. I would like to relate what it sounded like, but it really is something that I have never heard. \n I immediately rushed to the front of the house and peered out the window; nothing. Raced to the East side, and again; nothing. It had to be happening on the West side. When I got to the son’s window, I saw him.\n Unbeknownst to me, my love had taken off the day to get some things done around the outside of the house. Heavily, I sighed that the sound was nothing serious and that, perhaps, I wouldn’t have to hold this thing inside me the rest of the day.\n Done yet? C’mon? What are you doing? It looks fine. C’mon already? It is getting close to lunch time.\n I was going nuts. I had to tell him. I read once that if you really love someone or something sometimes you have to let them go. What is best for a person is sometimes all that really matters.\n And, after seeing the depressed look in his eyes the night before, I knew that no matter how much I loved him, I still had to show my loyalty to him, even if it costs losing him for the rest of my life.\n Finally, when the sun was directly above me, he came inside.\n He walked towards the refrigerator and started to pull out some lunchmeat to make his lunch. Yes, I should’ve stopped him that instant, pulled him aside, and tell him, but this was always an exciting time during the weekends when we were both home. \n Unlike dinners, where conversation was looked down upon, lunches were totally different. He would share his meal with me. It was amazing.\n I let him prepare his lunch and waited for him to go and sit on the couch. I even ran out into the garage and got him a dinner tray so that he could eat and watch a little television.\n As he sat down, I took one last opportunity to feel his warmth. He wrapped his arm around me when I approached him. A clear signal that he had forgotten about all that happened last night. I took in every single second; knowing that it could be my last.\n He may have had forgotten, but it has been twisting my insides every single second since the time I realized that he may know.\n “I love you.” I say while flopping off the couch.\n He doesn’t really pay much attention to my actions. I know that there is still a lot on his mind. Hopefully, soon, I can take it all away . . . no matter what the cost.\n While turning the corner, I directly head to the location of what I need to gather. It is difficult to open at first. An old drawer made by his father that has definitely taken a lot of damage throughout the years with moving from one location to another. After a few tugs, it loosens and opens.\n I know exactly where it was placed. In between the guy with the long nose with a bird on it and four young teenagers dressed totally weird inside a library. To make sure, I look at the image on the front. Yep, that is it – a pretty good looking guy lifting a pretty teenager above his head. \n Even though I know it could be the end, I grab it and rush to his side. \n At first, he pays no attention to my actions. He looks at me blankly like he wants nothing to do with me.\n I have lost him. \n With love and hesitation, I place it on his lap. \n “I don’t have time for this Abby. I want to get this done before dinner.”\n He still cares. He still wants to have the time we share. He still loves me. Maybe I have blown this way out of proportion. Maybe he wasn’t reading my mind and just wanting to stare into my beautiful eyes, and end his horrible day lost in complete thought of just me.\n Too late.\n He opens the case and without even looking at the DVD inside it, opens the player and puts it in. Saying as he does, “Ok, honey. I think I can spare an hour or so.” And pats on the couch next to him a signal for me to come join him.\n Instead, I back myself into the closest corner I can find. An action he pays no attention to at all. It no longer matters. I no longer matter. It is over.\n Sounds of human bliss echo off of silent walls. He bows his head in disgust. Stands up and walks to the nearest wall. From it, he rips off an 8X10 photo and throws it against the floor.\n The next thing I know, he is in another room. Afraid to approach him I stay still, afraid. Afraid what he might do to me. \n It is clear from the sounds what is going on. He is packing things into a suitcase. He is leaving me. \n I don’t blame him. Such a cruel way to find out that someone has been cheating on him. But, I love him and loyal to the end.\n He grabs his stuff and before walking out grabs something with a familiar sound. I get a little excited, but not sure if I should act on the excitement. Until he walks with it towards me.\n With leash in hand, he proclaims, “Come on Abby! Let’s get out of here. I knew she was up to something.”\n Before leaping into his putrid smelling truck, he signifies his ultimate love towards me by patting me on my backside and saying, “That’s my dog! You did good girl!”\n And, as I panted and wagged my tail, proud that I was loyal to the end, I looked into his eyes. The look of worry and depression was no longer prevalent. A warm and smiling gleam radiated as a new life began." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Thank you God, thanks an awful lot.\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 1600\n\nPrompt:\n\nEnd your story with a character saying “Thank you, God. Thanks an awful lot.” (sarcastically or not)." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "THANK YOU, GOD. THANKS’ AN AWFUL LOT!\nProfessor Alan Dale Dickinson\n(Copyrighted)\nThank you, God. Thanks’ an awful lot! Oh, for what am I so profusely thanking you for, asked the Lord? Well let me ponder that enormous, and quite relevant question for a moment or too, and then respond.\nOkay, God, here we go, first and foremost, you save this old saved scoundrel from going to Hell, not passing ‘Go’ and going straight to Hades. Where there is only misery, pain, continual hurting all over your body, constant suffering and the gnashing to teeth.\nThey say, and you know who they are, right God? They say, that it is hotter than hell, in hell, however, I think it might also be colder than hell, in hell as well. A place of perpetual darkness, and a very lonely, and pathic place to spend eternity.\n I hear people joke and say, “I will have lots of company when I get to hell, all of my friends will be there.” Well what kind of friends are you hanging around with, may I ask?\nAnd, by the way you will not see them, even if they are there, because you will be in total solitary confinement. It will dark, it will be dreadful, and it will be dank, beyond your wildest imagination. \nI have friends in High Places, like you God, and your Son, Jesus, and all of your many Angels. Those people, and once again, you know who they are, right? have friends in low places, the lowest place of all, hell!\n Now, let me be crystal clear here, if I may Lord, just because I am on my way to ‘Heavenly Places,’ in-lieu of preceding straight to hell, and not passing ‘Go,’ does not mean that I am perfect.\nIt does clearly does not mean that I am error free, and it certainly does not mean that I have never done anything wrong. As a matter of material fact, I probably have done more wrong things, and or thought wrong thoughts, that a lot of people who are in hell, right now!\n However, as you know better than anyone else, God, because you sent you only precious Son, to sacrifice his life for me; as well as all others who believe in Him, so that even with our very dark human nature, we shall avoid hell, and hell itself.\n Furthermore, it does not even mean that I have not committed lots misdeeds, taken lots of missteps, and/or made many, many ‘faux-pas.’ For as you know full well, God, I have to many ‘boo, boo’s,’ to count. Way, way too many!\n As you also know already know, God, I try and try, and I try again, albeit, I just cannot get everything right. I say the wrong things, I think the wrong things, and I act like a person going to horrible hell, instead of someone who is lucky beyond measure, and on my way to the Pearly Gates.\n No God, I really just do not understand it, I cannot fathom it, I cannot grasp it, nor can I ‘wrap my little brain’ around it. It is my faith-based position, I guess you might say.\n Since I took your gracious, loving and generous grace, and accepted it totally by my faith, I get to go to Heaven instead of that other place, and you know what I mean.\nSecondly, if I may continue my little ‘Thank You’ letter to you, God, you have in the past, healed me from various sicknesses, and lots of other illnesses. You have provided all of my needs, over and over, again!\nNo, you did not always, give old me everything that I asked for, my wants so to speak, because you knew that whatever they were, they would not have been good for me to have.\nNow, because of my stiff-necked self, on occasion you, God, have given me what I begged you for, and each and every time, it was a total disaster, or worse.\nThat is why people say, “Be careful what you ask for.” And I have learned over the many, many long years of my life, not to ask for my wants, just my, needs. And he has, and still to this very day, provided all of them. Indeed.\nPlease allow me to give you just a few examples of how selfish I can be, a) I asked God to make me rich, and He did. I was born and raised in a Barrio, in East L.A. (Los Angeles, California), and I had very humble beginnings.\nHowever, by the time I was forty years old, I was a millionaire, then someone, a very bad person, stole all of my fortune away from me. I was sad, very, very sad to lose my life savings.\nThen you, God looked down on me and said, “Alan, my son, you cannot handle being rich, so I had to take it all away, however, in its place, I am going to make your famous.”\n“I am going to make you an Internationally known Mystery Novelist.” You will not be wealthy any-longer, but you will be well-known, very well known, all around the Globe.\nYes, God, I am trying, trying really hard, to be a better husband, a better citizen, a better dad, a better writer, a better neighbor, and especially a better man. So why, God, do I keep failing, you may ask? Well Lord, why do I keep falling down.\n Just when I think that I have arrived, I say something stupid, think something, and/or do something stupid. I just do not seem to be able to prevent myself from falling into the abyss over, and over, again.\n Thirdly, God, I ‘Thank You’ for telling me that that is okay, Alan, I know that you tried very hard, and yet failed, and that is alright with me, because you are a man after my own heart, and you tried your best to succeed. \nGod, you know that I have always treated ‘all’ your people with civility, and also R. E. S. P. E. C. T. As the incomparable Ms. ‘Aretha Franklin’ (by the way; I just love Ms. Franklin), said so well in her marvelous and Gold, record song by the same name.\nI also loved marvelous voiced, Ms. Etta James, and my favorite song that she rendered, “At Last,” is one of my all-time favorite songs. It truly is.\nAs you know, God, I am white on the outside, and that is what people who do not know me see, albeit, on the inside, I am part Hispanic, part Black, part Korean, part Native American, as well as part white too. \nThirdly, God, as you well know, I have worked the mean-streets of East L.A., Compton, Watts, and south-Central L.A. (Los Angeles, California).\nI have never met any nicer, kinder, and/or gracious people, anywhere in the State, than the people who live in those areas. Even the gangbangers did not bother, stab, and or shoot me, which they could have done many, many times, because I treated them with respect.\nThey knew that I did not condone they criminal activities, and yet they could see that I thought of them as human beings, and not just dirt-bags, like some of the other cops did.\nMost all of my friends on the LAPD (Los Angeles Police Department) treated them fairly, just as I did, however, there are a few Bad-apples, everywhere that you go these days.\nPolice Chief, Michael Moore, and his whole administrative staff, believe just as I do, and they get rid of the biased and bad-cops, whenever, and wherever, they find them.\nOf course, they did not condone their criminal activities either and yet they also did not disrespect them. And they always tried to treat them as ‘human beings,’ many of who came from broken homes, lived on the rough streets and some of them, had horrible examples set by their parents.\nIn addition, God, I have found that if you give just a little bit more than you’re asking for, you will have a long and very fulfilling, joyful, and successful lifetime. And you will get along with almost everyone that you meet in this crazy, ole, mixed up world.\nAs you know God, my life has been a very long, winding and quite interesting journey. It truly has, with clowns to the right of me and jokers to the left of me, and there I was stuck right in the middle of all of them.\nAlso, during the duration of my living life while time passes on, sometimes slowing, too slowly, and sometimes faster than a ‘speeding bullet,’ that you have had me encounter some very nefarious, vicarious, and extremely meanspirited people.\nWhy was that God? I have especially been harassed, oppressed and unfairly defamed by several attorneys. Ones who consider them ‘above the law’ because that can almost kill you and claim ‘litigation’ privilege!\nI am pretty sure, and now to think about it, I am absolutely sure, that I am not even aware of all of the things that you have done for me, during my lifetime here on this old Globe.\n As a matter of fact, I am totally convinced of that major material fact that I seem to know deep down in my Soul, that is true beyond-a-shadow whatsoever. There were a number of times that I almost died, yet I did not because you were there to save me!\nI must say, once again, if i may; \n\"Thank you, God. Thanks an awful lot.\"" } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Christmas Campout\n\nGenre: american\n\nWord Count: 2515\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a festive party gone wrong that’s saved by some holiday magic." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "“Christmas Campout.”\nThese are two words no ten year old kid should ever have to hear put together in a sentence. They should never be used within six months of each other. They belong at opposite ends of the solar cycle, at opposite ends of any sane kid’s philosophical paradigm, at opposite ends of the universe, where they can never be combined to form the worst kind of holiday misery. \nDad spoke them in a moment of crisis, his arms convulsed around grocery bags filled with frosting and charcuterie cheeses. It was December 24th and bits of sodden gypsum board dangled from the ceiling in front of him. The carpet reminded me of a sea grass plain I’d seen on a BBC nature show about manatees, though the ocean in our living room was only four inches deep. Our Christmas tree wallowed on its side, waves gently lapping against the weakly flickering lights. A steady stream of water burbled merrily from between the exposed ceiling joists just above it.\nDad stared desperately at all the ruined atmosphere. He swallowed, then something seemed to break inside his brain and he said, “I’ve always thought a Christmas campout might be fun.”\n“But what about our party? I invited all my friends!” My sister, Angelica, was 13 and she was convinced there were people who liked her, though I couldn’t fathom anyone being that desperate for company.\n“The party’s canceled, Sweetie,” Mom had her strong face on. She placed a gentle hand on Dad’s shoulder, “Let’s not stand in the water Dear, I think you might get electrocuted.” She pulled him back onto the porch with the rest of us.\nMy dad loved Christmas. He loved the music, he loved the eggnog, he loved the cheer. He was the guy on the block that outdid everyone by putting one million LED bulbs up on the house every year. He was the guy that wore a caroling Christmas tie to work starting on all-saints day. He was the guy that went to the home improvement store the day after Christmas and bought out the whole holiday section because he was already planning for the next year’s party.\n“Insurance will covering everything,” Mom cooed, rubbing Dad’s back.\n “Everything except tonight,\" Dad’s voice cracked, “Unless Santa has started wearing a wetsuit.” \nI knew the truth about Santa already, but my dad still dressed up and came downstairs at midnight on Christmas, making enough noise to be sure I would get up and come see what was going on. A vision of him wearing a sleek velvet wetsuit popped into my head, a pipe shaped snorkel sticking out of his fake beard while he splashed around the sunken tree in Christmas themed flippers. I couldn’t hold in a snort of laughter.\n“That’s the spirit,” Dad looked down at me, a little too much white showing around his eyes, “you’re up for a Christmas campout aren’t you Jimmy? Everyone knows Santa loves stopping by the woods on a snowy evening.”\nI shook my head emphatically, worried this was headed somewhere dark and deep.\n“Honey, don’t you think it would be better if we got a hotel? Insurance pays for emergency housing and hotels always have nice trees in the lobby.”\n“Fake trees,” Dad said. He spun towards the garage, still gripping the grocery bags, though the contents could be little more than mush at this point, “Grandpa Thomas left me that canvas wall tent remember? Now’s as good a time as any to figure it out. It even has a little pot-bellied fireplace. Nothing says cozy like a pot bellied fireplace, and nothing says Christmas like cozy.” He set off briskly towards the garage, snow crunching under his feet and buttercream oozing out the bottom of a grocery bag.\n“Alright kids,” Mom said quietly, “this is going to be a difficult time for your father. He’s going to need our support.”\nAngelica rolled her eyes without looking up from her phone, “We’re not like, actually going to go camping, right? It’s like, 5000 degrees below zero.”\n“I don’t think it will come to that,” Mom put a thoughtful hand over her mouth, “but I do think we need to humor him for a while and then we’ll just pull over at the best looking hotel we see before we get out of town.”\nIn the garage, camping gear was strewn across the floor, and Dad’s mumbling echoed down from the upper reaches of the storage racks. \n“See, we have everything we need for winter camping.” A pair of ancient snowshoes sailed out from the racks, followed by some lumpy looking snow pants and a pair of mismatched ski boots. \n“How old is this stuff?” I asked, eyeing the rusty pot bellied camping stove he’d pulled out.\n“From the 90s” Dad hollered.\n“Didn’t your Grandpa Thomas give up his guiding outfit in the 80s?” Mom must have had the best voice control of anyone on the planet, as her “bright but curious” tone did not match the expression on her face.\n“Maybe it’s from the 70s then.” Dad puffed down the ladder and began jamming things into the car, “they made stuff better back then anyway.”\nIn an alarmingly short amount of time, I found myself inserted into the back seat with nothing but a moldy smelling bundle of canvas in between me and my nauseatingly pre-teen sister. But mom looked back at us, her eyes promising she wouldn’t let things go too far, even as Dad put the car into gear whilst whistling “God Rest Ye Merry, Gentleman” loudly and out of tune.\nMom underestimated the level of Dad’s disturbance. She underestimated it when we passed the city limit sign going 70 in a 55. She underestimated it when Angelica started complaining her phone was out of service and Dad answered that “all we needed to communicate was Christmas spirit,” and she underestimated it when the car came to a stop in front of a campground gate with a “closed” sign posted on it.\n“Just as well,” Dad rolled the window down and exhaled a puff of steamy breath into the frigid mountain air, “don’t think the car would make it through any more snow drifts anyway.” \nMom shot us a relieved look, but it was premature. Dad jumped out, pulled on a Santa stocking cap and began hauling gear over the fence. \n“He’ll never get the tent up,” Mom said reassuringly, “when he fails, he’ll be ready to go.” But again, the conviction in her voice did not match the worry in her face.\n“Here Jimmy boy, why don’t you give me a hand with this,” Dad opened my door and pulled the moldy canvas across my lap, “I’ll show you how to set it up.”\nI looked at Mom for help, but she just mouthed “give it 20 minutes.”\nThe snow was deeper than the tops of my tennis shoes and bit where it touched my skin, so I did my best to put my feet where Dad had already made tracks. \n“Here’s a good spot, no rocks or lumps.” Dad chirped.\n“How can you tell?” I asked, eyeing the blanket of snow.\nDad didn’t seem to hear me. “You take this corner and pull it out that way.”\nThe yellowed old canvas unfolded over the white snow, and revealed, surprise, surprise, a bunch of mold spots.\n“Alright, now we just find the aluminum poles,” Dad said, rubbing his hands together, “and slot them into their sleeves—”\nA car door slammed and Mom came down, hugging herself against the chill.\n“Did you see the tent poles anywhere,” Dad asked, peering under the canvas as if we might have dropped them there somehow.\n“Isn’t this the kind of tent that you cut poles for?” Mom said, her chattering teeth making it harder to execute her legendary voice control. \n“Oh, right.” Dad looked at the surrounding forest, “I don’t think I brought anything for cutting poles.” For a moment, he seemed at a loss.\n“Well, maybe we should just leave all this stuff here and head back to town as fast as—” Mom started to say, but Dad cut her off.\n“I did bring a lot of rope though, eh? We can make it work! On Dasher, On Dancer, On Prancer, On Vixen!” He jogged back to the car.\nMany more than twenty minutes later, the moldy canvas sagged between some trees, the roof just high enough I could stand up inside. Everyone else had to hunch. Even Angelica had come down because it was starting to get dark and all the heat had left the car. Dad fumbled with matches at the pot bellied stove. \n“Just like “The Little Match Girl, classic Christmas story,” he chuckled.\n“I hate “The Little Match Girl,” Mom whispered and by now there was no discrepancy between her tone and facial expression.\n“There we go!” Dad cried, as a little wad of newspaper caught fire. The flame wobbled limply and a strand of cold looking smoke began to issue from the pile of twigs.\n“Gather round, gather round,” Dad invited, “it's time for a little holiday warmth and—” here he fell into his Bing Crosby impression— “wieners roasted on an open fire!”\n“That’s disgusting!” Angelica chattered. \nAs much as I tended to disagree with her as a basic rule, she was right about this. The fire wasn’t warm and didn’t cook the hot dogs. And just because ketchup, relish and mayonnaise are red, green and white doesn’t make them good holiday fare. \nIt was the caroling that finally did it for Mom.\n“Alright, who knows “Frosty the Snowman?” Dad waved his arms like he was conducting an orchestra. Angelica looked at him like he was the devil in a tutu. I coughed because of all the smoke coming from the fireplace.\n“All together now!”\n“No, Frank, we are not going to sing.”\nDad froze, his mouth stuck at the beginning of the word “frosty.” \nMom’s lips were turning blue. She was wrapped in one of those crinkly silver pieces of plastic that come in a package marked “Survival Blanket.”\n“For years, Frank, I haven’t said anything about the maxed out credit cards every December. Or about how much I would prefer a quiet, low stress Christmas. Or about how much I hate eggnog and that stupid singing tie you wear everyday for two months solid. I haven’t said anything because I love you and I know how happy all those things make you. But this is too much, Frank. I will not sing “Frosty the Snowman” while freezing to death inside a tent that is more fungus than fabric, and I will not permit you to make the children sing either. I am sorry Christmas is ruined this year, but from here on you aren’t going to keep making it worse.” \n Dad's arms lowered slowly. The crazed look went from his eyes and he glanced around the tent like he was finally seeing it for what it really was. \n“I’m sorry,” he swallowed, “you’re right. I don’t know what I was thinking. I’ll go warm up the car.”\nHe crawled to the door flap and even though it was well below freezing out, he looked totally melted.\nThe three of us stared at each other, teeth clicking together. A gust of wind shook the tent. The sound of a car trying to start but not starting because the battery was dead reached our ears.\n“Oh God.” Mom said, and it was a prayer, not a swear. \n“Huddle together for warmth,” she instructed us and exited the tent, her survival blanket crackling behind her like a low budget superhero cape. \nIt was the worst night of my life. Mom and Dad returned to the tent with very solemn looks on their faces. It took a few hours, but Angelica and I did end up huddling together for warmth. At one point, Angelica clutched me to her chest, sobbing through her shivers that she had always imagined she would die clutching one of the Jonas Brothers, not her actual brother. \nIn the morning there was a small Christmas miracle. We were awakened by the crunch of heavy boots in the snow and a voice calling “Hey, is there anybody in there?”\nDad’s head popped out of his sleeping bag and all of us followed him through the tent door on our hands and knees. I have no idea what the man outside must have thought of us. Dad still had his Santa stocking cap on. Mom still wore her reflective blanket. Angelica's face was stuck in the “devil in a tutu” expression, and I imagined I looked just like someone who had been squeezed and freezed to death all night. \nThe man was almost everything you would expect. He had a jelly bowl stomach and a big white beard, but he wore a green brimmed hat and a badge that said \"Warden.\"\n“You know this campground’s closed don’t you?” he said, looking us up and down.\n“Umm, yes.” Dad answered.\n“You guys get lost or something?”\n“Umm, no.” Dad answered.\n“You have to leave.”\n“Yes, we're leaving.” Dad answered. Mom elbowed him.\n“Oh, you wouldn’t happen to have jumper cables would you?”\nI have never felt anything in my life as good as the warm air coming from the heater in our little car that Christmas day. Angelica even let me have a turn directly in front of the single back seat vent, as long as I never repeated anything she might have said about the Jonas Brothers.\nAfter we made it to the highway, Dad apologized for the ordeal and promised that next year, we would do Christmas the way Mom wanted.\nI thought he would be depressed with Christmas ruined and all of us almost dying, but he was still humming snatches of Christmas songs under his breath as we pulled up to our flooded house.\n Before he got out of the car, he looked over at Mom and said, “Well, even after everything, this turned out to be one of the most magical Christmases ever didn’t it?”\nMom rolled her eyes. “Oh Frank. Please. He told us he came to the campground because he saw tracks going up the road on his way to town.”\n\"Of course that’s what he said, but why would he just decide to follow them? And what game warden wears his uniform going into town on Christmas day?”\n“Frank, he gave you a five hundred dollar ticket.”\n“I was obviously on the naughty list, but the jumper cables were the real gift. Just the thing we needed more than anything else.”\n“Lots of people carry jumper cables.”\n“Well,\" and Dad's eyes actually started to shine like a kid who really believed he'd just seen Santa Claus, \"I’m just saying…he did look the part...except for the badge.”\nMom could only shake her head, but later that day I thought I heard her humming “Jolly Old Saint Nicholas,” though it was hard to tell for sure over the roar of the wet/dry vac." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on 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 There, God? It's Me, Henry\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 2204\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart your story with a character saying “Are you there, God? It’s me…”" }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Are You there, God? It’s me, Henry. Listen, Big Guy. I don’t really know You. My mom keeps telling me to talk to You. I don’t know why. It’s not like You’d listen anyway. You’re probably up there wildin’ with the angels or something. I haven’t been to church in years. I bet You’re mad about that, huh? Are You even listening to me? Are You even real? I don’t know who I’m even talking to. Probably just a puff of air. Oh, well. If You’re there, God, please let me get some sleep. If You’re not, then…I’ll just get some sleeping pills. Good night, whoever You are.\nI finished scribbling on my journal and went to sleep.\nThe next day\nHey, God. You still there? Good. Sorry about that rant last night. I guess that’s what You’re for, right? We get to rant to You about our problems and You have to deal with it. Oh, well. Time for school. Wish me luck, God!\nLater that night\nHey, God, The final exam is coming up and I’m far from prepared. I have been too busy playing video games. I’m so stupid. God, help me out here, Man. You’re big and powerful. And you seem to know everything. So, can you maybe help me out a bit? That would be great! Thanks, God!\nAfter finals\nHey, God. So, I did well on the exams. Not too bad. I got an A on most of them and a B on a few others. Thanks, God! That means so much to me.\nLater in the summer\nHey, God. Can you explain this to me? So, I was at the beach minding my own business and out of nowhere, a tingling sensation started going all over my body. Then I saw a vision of a cornfield. Then a tornado. What was that all about, God? Is there a meaning to this dream? Is my old hometown going to be blown away in a storm? If it is, God, why would You allow this? In fact, why would You allow innocent children to suffer, or people to die? Why so much suffering, God? Why any at all? I don’t understand it. Why can’t we all live in peace and harmony? Was the world not meant to be that way? I want to like You, God, but at this point, You seem to be making it difficult.\nBefore school\nHey, God. So, I decided to buy a Bible. I told Mom about the dream and she kept bugging me about buying a Bible. So, here I am. I didn’t know where to start, so I asked Mom where I could start. We decided to do a Bible study and started in Daniel and how he interpreted the king’s dreams. And I was blown away.\nI asked Mom, “Why don’t we have Daniel in our lives?”\n“Well, sweetheart, we don’t exactly need a ‘Daniel’ in our lives. We have the Lord to help us interpret what our dreams mean.”\n“So, what did you think that dream about the tornado in the cornfield meant?”\n“I don’t know, baby. But I do know is that a few things to do to interpret a dream is to ask God first.”\n“Which I did.”\n“Okay. And you write the dream down. Jot down as many details as possible.”\nI nodded.\nAfter Mom gave me a few more tips, I decided to follow some of them. Writing them down, looking more into the book of Daniel, and talking to God.\nAlright, Big Fella. Talk to me. Why are You so silent on this? What does this dream exactly entail? Will my hometown be destroyed? Is this whole thing symbolic? What are You trying to say to me? Is this dream even sent from You? Should I worry about it? Is it just some random dream I should just brush off? Just give me a sign, Man and I’ll follow it.\nMiddle of the night\nGod. I’m scared. I’m literally shaking right now. What was that? I had an even scarier dream! What does this all mean? Why are you doing this to me? What are you trying to tell me? Answer me! Please! I’m crying right now! God, are you there? Are you there?! Or am I just talking to air? I’m probably just talking to air. My best friend is right. You really are not real. I should have known I’ve wasted time with You. Good night, whoever you are.\nThe next morning\nHey, God, or whoever you are. I don’t know who I’m talking to. Probably to myself. Oh well. I couldn’t sleep at all. Thanks a lot.\n“Hey, babe,” my girlfriend, Tiffany said. We were both out at my backyard, laying on beach chairs. We were both wearing sunglasses. “You seem quiet today. Everything okay?”\nI sighed. “Not really. I’ve been having weird dreams about my hometown.”\n“Such as?”\n“Well, one dream was about a cornfield in my hometown being destroyed by a tornado.”\nShe looked to me, raising her sunglasses against her forehead.\n“And the other one…” I sighed, trying to fight back tears. “was the same dream, but worse. The hurricane was twice as big and seemed to destroy the whole city.”\n“Oh, my God,” she whispered.\n“What do you think that means?”\n“I don’t know, babe. Hopefully, it was just a nightmare.”\nI pressed my lips, then thought of something. “Do you think I should visit my hometown?”\n“It’s up to you, Henry. If you think that it’s best.”\n“You know what?” I sat up. “I’m going. You wanna come with me?”\nShe nodded.\nWe went to Dallas, Texas this weekend. Same town. Same houses. Same cornfields.\nMom lived near me, but she was staying with my Uncle Frank. We used to live with him when I was little after my dad passed away. It’s a two-story house with poor electricity.\n“Why, come on in!” Uncle Frank said in his husky voice. He had a tobacco in his mouth. He led us into the living room.\n“Hey, uncle. This is my girlfriend, Tiffany. We’re just here to visit.”\n“Nice to meet ya, darlin’.” Uncle Frank beamed at Tiffany, then to me. “Why don’t y’all go ‘head and have a seat? Can I get y’all somethin’? Ya like a light?”\n“No sir. We’re good. Is Mom here?”\n“Yessir. Mahalia!” He called to his older sister.\nMy beautiful mother stepped down the wooden staircase.\n“Yes, Fra- Oh, hey! There’s my handsome son!” She walked over to kiss me on the cheek. “And his beautiful wife-to-be!” She hugged Tiffany. “So, what’s goin’ on?”\n“Just wanted to say ‘hi’.” I leaned to my mother to whisper. “And to tell you about another dream I had.”\n“Well, why don’t you share it over here?” She walked to a couch and motioned me towards the one across from her. I sighed as I sat down, resting my feet against the rug. Tiffany sat next to me and Uncle Frank sat next to Mom.\nI took in a deep breath. I told everyone about the two dreams I’ve had and how they have kept me up. I didn’t know why they were special enough to tell my loved ones this, but I felt that I had to.\n“Wow, son,” Uncle Frank said, chuckling weakly. “Those are some bad dreams there.”\n“What do you think it means, uncle?” I asked, hoping that he would have an answer for me.\n“Welp…” He switched his tobacco to the other side of his mouth. “It could mean a lot of things. Figuratively or literally. I ain’t good at interpretin’ dreams, but I’ll try my best. Maybe there’s a storm comin’.”\n“A-a figurative or literal one?”\n“I don’t know, son,” he said, slightly impatient. “Like I said, I’m not good with dreams.”\nI nodded.\n“I’ve had a lot of crazy dreams during the Navy. Yessir. It was a lotta crazy dreams. One of ‘em was an elephant stompin’ on some of my soldiers.”\nI tried not to laugh. It sounded ludicrous.\n“Another one is a few ballerinas twirling around in the minefield without gettin’ hurt.”\n“Wow, uncle. You sure had some…interesting dreams.”\n“Yeah. But the one that stuck out to me the most was me dyin’ and goin’ on to Heaven.”\nI didn’t want to even think about my uncle, or my other loved ones dying.\n“What exactly did ‘heaven’ look like?”\n“Mm. Like what you probably could imagine. Clouds everywhere. A bright light. Angels singin’.”\n“Wow.”\nWe continued with our talk of dreams. That night, I did more research on prophetic dreams. I looked more into the book of Daniel, then the story of Joseph, but I still couldn’t figure out what these dreams meant.\nI prayed again to God.\nGod, if You’re there, please give me a sign. What do these dreams mean? I really want to know! If You do, I will give my life to You. And I’m not just saying that. I really will do it. Good night, God. If You can hear me.\n“Son, son! Wake up!\nI stirred, being in the process of waking up. “What’s going on?” I put on my glasses and faced Mom, my eyes still half open.\n“You have to hear this.” Before I could respond, she grabbed my arm and yanked me out of the guest room. Uncle Frank and Tiffany were already down in the living room. The television was on. It was set to the news channel.\n“Breaking news!” Tom Hawkins said. “A hurricane will be coming to Dallas, Texas!”\nUncle Frank had us store food and other belongings and hide in a cellar. The news reporter predicted that the hurricane may come by this afternoon. We stayed in there by then. Meanwhile, we sang a few hymns. Well, mostly Uncle Frank and Mom. Tiffany and I just sat in silence.\nI took out my journal and furiously wrote in it.\nGod, why are You doing this? Is this part of Your sick plan? To kill us all? What did we do to You? Is it because of my disbelief in You? What are you trying to tell us. Just tell us and we’ll listen!\nHours have gone by. I didn’t know about the others, but I took a nap. I napped until Mom woke me again.\n“We can get out now, son.”\nWe exited the cellar. Thankfully the house was intact. We looked around the neighborhood and it looked like nothing was touched. Did the hurricane even happen at all?\nWe drove around and saw that the hurricane had indeed come. The crops near the farm were completely destroyed. But the farm itself was still standing. Tom Hawkins told us that no one hurt during the storm.\nWe all hugged and cried, happy that we were all okay.\nThat night, I wrote in my journal again.\nGod, thank You so much for saving us. Yes, there were a few crops and houses that were completely destroyed, but I’m glad everyone was okay. Hopefully the houses will be rebuilt and the crops will grow again, but I doubt it. I still don’t know why You allowed this to happen, but for some reason, I’m trusting in You. I know You’re not doing this to harm us, but to test. At least that’s what my mom has told me. My mom prayed nonstop and I decided to join her. She cried and spoke in tongues. I don’t know how anyone does that without learning it. She told me that it is a gift from You. Someday, I’ll give my life to You, Big Guy. I don’t know when and I don’t know how. But someday, I will.\nA week later\nHi, God! Guess what? I gave my life to You! Isn’t that exciting? I got baptized at Mom’s church. The water was…cold. I don’t know what to feel. I’ve never gotten ‘saved’ before. People kept telling me that I won’t regret this decision. I hope not. Others have told me that it won’t be easy being saved. We have to be committed to You. Like we have to obey the commandments such as reading Your book, communicating with You, and sharing Your Good News. I’ve tried that with Tiffany and she wouldn’t listen. I then tried sharing it with my friends, but they rejected it also. Well, not all of them. One of them stayed and heard what I had to say. He went to church with me and said that he enjoyed himself. Hopefully, like me, he’ll have a relationship with You.\nGod, ever since I gave my life to You, things were different. I’ve lost friends, but gained new ones. I lost my job, but got a new one. I stopped doing the things I used to do. I broke the habits of smoking and playing video games. I’ve been doing more Bible studies with Mom and continued talking to You all night. This is awesome, God! Thank You for allowing me to be Your friend! I wish some of my other friends could be Your friend. They would love You! Well, talk to You later, God! Thanks for being a good Friend. I love You!" } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: The Secret Princess\n\nGenre: american\n\nWord Count: 1545\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart or end your story with a character finding out the love of their life is actually royalty." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "\"Hej (hi), Benny, I have a secret to tell you!\" my girlfriend eagerly whispered into my ear, hoping to snag my attention.\nIt was 12/16/2023, my 25th birthday (which I do happen to share with a somewhat-similarly named member of ABBA, just wanted to let you all know that), and so far it had been going quite well, with the exception of a balloon loudly bursting and almost making me cry due to my sensitive ears.\n(It didn't.)\n\"Sigh. Astrid, can you please tell me your secret?\"\n\"Nej (no), but I shall give you a hint: it relates to my Swedish heritage,\" she replied.\nNow, despite my sweet Astrid having been born in the US, both of her parents were born AND raised in Sweden.\n\"FYI, Benny, but that is only a minor clue. Please tell me the whole secret,\" I nervously whispered back.\n\"After I go to the bathroom, I'll tell you, alright?\"\n\"Mhm,\" I deeply sighed - this wasn't like how Astrid normally was.\n~~~~~~~~~\nAfter she returned from the bathroom, I eagerly waited for her to reveal the secret.\nHowever, all she gave me was yet another hint.\n\"The secret is related to royalty.\"\nI was confused - could this mean she actually has Swedish royal blood in her, or did someone officially proclaim her as a \"dancing queen?\"\n\"I'm sorry, but I still can't guess your secret. Please, darling, tell me the secret. I promise I won't tell a single soul unless you say it's fine to do so,\" I pleaded.\n\"I still need some time to figure out on how to say it. Don't worry, though, I shall tell you the secret by midnight tonight. Is that alright with you, Benny?\"\nI didn't know how to react - you see, normally, whenever Astrid had a secret for me, she'd tell me right away at the first possible opportunity WITHOUT using cryptic hints I cannot understand.\n\"Ah, that, that's fine, my love. Just remember to actually TELL me the secret! I can't stand the waiting anymore!\" I pleaded as I tried not to cry.\n\"Remember, sweet Benny, good things come to those who wait. Even if you have to wait many, many, many hours. It shall all be worth it in the end,\" she lovingly consoled me.\nHere we go again. Ugh.\n~~~~~~~~~~~~~\nA couple hours had passed and my dark-blue watch now read 6 PM. Astrid now had six more hours to keep her promise regarding the secret.\n\"Sweet Benny, I have two things to say to you: the next hint is that it'd be something that makes me quite excited and that for dinner, we shall be ordering in from Olive Garden. What do you want to get from there?\" she texted me.\nAfter letting out a long, disappointed sigh, I had an answer.\n\"Wow, still no secret reveal? WEAK! Anyways, I'd like a Chicken Parm.\"\n\"K. See you in a bit.\"\nI weeped - Astrid STILL hadn't revealed her secret, yet we were getting dinner from my favorite place.\n\"I shall only hope that Astrid keeps her promise. She hasn't been acting like herself at all since she told me about her secret. What was up with her?!\"\n~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~\nHalf an hour later, dinner still hadn't yet arrived and I was quite antsy. I had been rapidly rolling all over the rug in the apartment we shared in boredom and anxiety.\n\"Astrid, darling, why haven't you told me your secret yet?! I have been waiting all day for you to tell me it! PLEASE TELL ME IT NOW!\"\nAs she sat down on a nearby couch, she slowly turned her head towards me.\n\"Benny, sweet, sweet Benny, I know you have been waiting all day for me to tell you my secret, however, however, it does not yet feel like the proper time to tell you so. Only I will know when it is right to tell you so,\" she calmly whispered to me.\nI was stunned at her response; it was like all my words had suddenly been vacuumed out of my mouth.\n\"Sweetheart, don't you at least have a HINT for me?!\" I begged.\n\"Yes, but this hint is the final one: at some point during our dinner together, a gift I give to you shall give you a clue so huge, it will pretty much give away my secret at the first moment in which you see it,\" she calmly explained as she went to bring in the food. \"If that does not work, then, I shall tell you. Either way, by the end of dinner, you will know my secret,\" she sighed as she went to collect our food.\nHope suddenly flared up within me; during our shared dinner, at a yet unknown point, Astrid would give me a gift that would, hopefully, reveal her secret to me.\nIf the gift hypothetically did not give away the secret?\nShe would verbally explain it to me instead.\nEither way, soon enough, the chamber would be open, and at long, long last, the secret would finally be revealed.\n~~~~~~~~~~~~~~\n\"Wow, thanks for buying this. You know that I am quite grateful for this, right?\"\n\"Mhm. I know you love Olive Garden, so I selected that as our dinner tonight. Now, let's eat before it gets cold,\" Astrid lovingly cooed as she unpacked the DoorDash Order.\n\"Alrighty.\"\n~~~~~~~~~~~~~~\n\"Benny, you have been waiting long enough. Here is the gift I mentioned to you earlier today.\"\nI dropped my fork in shock - this was only a light blue gift bag!\n\"The gift is inside the bag, if you couldn't tell.\"\n\"Ha ha, very funny, Astrid,\" I groaned as I put my arm in the bag and felt around for a bit, before revealing a smaller box with a blue velvet casing. This box was quite heavy.\n\"Is it what I think it is?!\" I pondered.\nAstrid's face suddenly displayed a large grin.\n\"Mhm. Open it, Benny! OPEN IT!!\"\n~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~\nI suddenly felt like I was once again 10 years old instead of 25.\n\"Ooh, what is it?! What is it?! Could be a special pen?! Perhaps a jewelry box?! Maybe it's a ... CROWN?!\" I giggled.\n\"You'll only know once you open the box! SO, OPEN IT!\" Astrid begged.\n\"Fine, fine, I shall open the box.\"\nWhat was inside shocked me to my core.\n~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~\nInside the box laid a silver crown topped with blue gems, a small package of cleaning material, and an even smaller box containing a necklace with a special charm - a charm which displayed the crest of the House of Bernadotte - the house of the SWEDISH ROYAL FAMILY!!\n\"Astrid, darling, are you joking?! I still do not understand what this all means!\"\n\"Well, to make a long story somewhat short, I did some DNA tests with a well-known company, and ... let's just say that they ALL confirmed that I have Swedish royal blood on BOTH sides of my family, putting me in the VERY back of the Swedish Royal Line of Succession, which means that there is a very unlikely chance, in other words a next-to-nothing chance of me becoming Queen. But hey, the chance is there!\"\nI was stunned and at a sudden and total loss of words.\n\"WAIT WHAT?! This is too good to be true - alright, so it IS true. Wow, wow, oh my, I, I, I cannot believe that you, my sweet, darling Astrid, ACTUALLY have Swedish royal blood within you, much less on BOTH sides of your family. Wow, I ACTUALLY am dating royalty, even if they are very minor royalty. I am a prince - alright, I WILL be one if I marry her. My, oh my...\" I mumbled.\n\"My sweet prince, do not worry. We will still live in the US for now, although, we might consider moving to Canada someday. Life will be the exact same as before this. Now, how about I put that crown and necklace on you for a quick pic before putting them away in order to keep them clean?\"\nI suddenly lit up with joy.\n\"Would my current outfit be fine for this picture, though?\"\n\"Mhm. Your outfit's fine. Let's set things up.\"\n~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~\n\"Alright, please adjust that crown a little bit, Benny. Beautiful! Now, the secret has been revealed at last! Smile! Awesome! Now, please look a little confident. Alright, one more picture! You look stunning, sweetie!\"\nI was blushing like mad.\n\"Thank you, darling. This surprise was definitely worth the wait!\"\n\"Aww, you're welcome, Benny, my sweet, sweet prince. How about we have some ice cream?\"\n\"Alright. But please make sure to add ALL the toppings!\"\nAstrid nodded.\n\"Of course I will! After all, I'm a princess!\"\n~~~~~~~~~~~~\n\"Mhm, this is good! My darling, you are a true princess! I am so, so, SO delighted right now! Even though I'm alive and well, I feel like I am in heaven!\" I gushed with happiness.\n\"I knew you would adore this, sweet prince. I wanted the mood to feel just right before the reveal. Happy 25th, my darling Benny.\"\nI didn't know how to reply to my princess, my actual royalty princess.\nEventually, I only muttered, \"Thanks.\"\nThat word was all I could truly say." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Adam and Akachi\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 2961\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about two characters whose first impressions of one another are wildly inaccurate." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Week 1\nAkachi\n“Do they have these back home?”\nDid he really just ask me that?’ I thought. There's no way he could have been serious. They had warned me that people in the states tend to think immigrants are lacking knowledge, but this couldn’t be real. I give time before responding. He could have been joking. But I sat there with a slightly dumbfounded face long enough for me to know he was not joking, and for him to think I didn’t know what he was talking about. \n“Do we have…restaurants?” I asked\n“Yeah um, I mean like these, sit down places and stuff?” He quickly spewed in response\nI could tell he didn’t mean to offend me so I gave a quick “Yes” and we continued walking. This is why I hadn’t talked to Adam very much. He was my new roommate and I was grateful for helping me there. I had invited him on my walk because I had hoped he would show some things I was not used to around the compound. It had only been a week, I was expecting to be wowed by city life, the “American Dream”. But truthfully, this seemed very familiar. I had always imagined if I ever made it to the US I would be in shock. All the bright lights, a new atmosphere, the opportunities. But as we walked the streets and alley’s I was underwhelmed. The blacks walking in groups, the chipped paint and graffiti on old buildings, even the littered roads. If I squinted I could almost pretend I was still in Cameroon. But whether walking American streets or otherwise, I wouldn’t imagine I'd be walking with a white man! Not to mention live with one! He would ask me more ignorant questions and I would give him one-word answers. It was not a fun walk.\nAdam\n“Do they have these back home?”\nAs soon as the words leave my mouth, I feel like an idiot. I look at him, he thinks I'm an idiot too. I don’t know why I said that, I panicked. But in all honesty, the longer he took to answer the more unsure I became that the answer would be yes. Now I didn’t know what to think.\n“Do we have…restaurants?” He asked slowly\n“Yeah um, I mean like these, sit down places and stuff?” I quickly spewed\nI don’t think that was a very smooth save. I don’t think he thought so either. In hindsight that was a dumb question. But I kinda realized how unprepared I am at this. Akachi has been in the states for a few days now and I still can't read him. He’s really reserved. When I helped him unload his stuff in the apartment he barely said a sentence. Since then he's always been at school or the library. We go to the same college and I still never see him! I know we don’t have to be best friends or whatever but id like to get to know my roommate a little. So when he invited me to go on a walk I was hoping I could spark some convo but I got nothing. I don’t know anything about Cameroon (didn’t even know it was a country until about a month ago). I’m really not sure how much he knows about…stuff. I know that sounds bad, but I just can’t tell. Some things in the states just amaze him but I can never guess what or why or else I’ll just look stupid again. He doesn’t exactly seem impressed by the neighborhood either. I tried to talk about other things beforehand but nothing was really sticking, except for the restaurant thing but that didn't land quite right. I asked some more questions as we walked. He didn’t say it but I could tell he wasn’t impressed. It wasn’t a fun walk.\n`\nWeek 2\nAdam\nI always have a little anxiety on the last Thursday night of the month. It's just me, an overhead light, and a scattered table of endless bills. I swear the mess of papers and invoices just gets messier and messier. Like I don’t even know where these things come from half the time. I had a roommate now so that helped but honestly not as much as I’d hoped. Don’t get me wrong, living off-campus is still the best option but I still have to scrape my cash together every month to afford it. I might pick up some more overtime shifts at the store but I'm gonna hav-\n“MY GOD!”\nI jumped a little and yelled across the apartment\n“Akachi, you alright?”\n“Come here!” He yelled in response\nI went to the kitchen and he just pointed to the cabinet. I opened it and knew that he saw the rats. They were gone by now but I could see the droppings and here their pitter-patter\n“Sorry man there's an infestation in the building, it gonna be a while before we get an exterminator”\n“Adam, my friend, why do you live like this? We should move nah?” He asked\n“Ha! I wish! Who's got the cash for that?”\nHe kind of pauses and just looks at me. Then he looks over my shoulder and sees the bills on the table in the living room. Then he kind of just apologizes and goes back to cooking. What was that about?...\nWait, how much money does he think I make?\nAkachi\n“MY GOD!”\nI didn’t mean to yell as loud as I did but I think I’ve had enough. This compound is not what I had hoped it would be. We live in a rather poor area. I could live with that, but RATS? How can a white man live like this? If I reported these things to home they would think me mad.\n“Akachi, you alright?”\n“Come here!”\nHe looked preoccupied but he had to see this. He walks in and opens the cabinet. But he doesn't yell. I assume he doesn't know they were there so I get ready to explain when he tells me\n“Sorry man there's an infestation in the building, it gonna be a while before we get an exterminator”\nThat's it? That's all he had to say\n“Adam, my friend, why do you live like this? We should move nah?”\n“Ha! I wish! Who's got the cash for that?”\nI froze. It was the last thing I ever thought I would hear from him. I looked back at the table I saw working at. I don’t know how I didn’t realize, but those were bills. They stretched across the whole desktop. And I knew he had been there for at least an hour. \nAll the stories. All the uncles and Aunties who made it to America. They spoke of the whites as if they walked on streets of gold. But Adam, he was the palest man I had ever met. And yet there he was scratching to find cents let alone gold. He didn’t look how they would paint him. His stressed but hopeful face was more like mama's than anything else. Who is this man?\nI just apologized and tried to find something to eat, making sure to whatever I open I sealed tightly.\nWeek 3\nAkachi\nI get back from classes every day at 3 and every time I do I resent this compound more and more. The place is always filthy and smelling. These people have no care for their living area. It is shameful. I try not to think about it too much. I just head straight for my building and plan to rest before I start studying. I enter and I can hear something playing on the TV speakers.\n“Hey Akachi, you’re back?”\n“Yes. How are you? And what is so loud?\nHe turns it off and pops his head through the doorway with headphones on.\n“Oh yeah sorry about that, you weren’t in the house and the neighbor is all at work so I usually crank it pretty loud when I play.”\nI followed him into the living room where he continued\n“You wanna play? I could use a second”\nI was a bit hesitant to agree but then I realized what he was playing\n“Is that ‘Devour’?”\n“Yeah, how did you-”\n“I and my older brother would play from time to time”\nI hadn’t played this game in years. I had lost my original one a long time ago. I didn’t know Adam enjoyed video games. Don’t get me wrong, he wasn’t very good but he was having fun even when I beat him. For a moment I had forgotten that he was more than my roommate. He was a person with his own interest and personality, a fun personality at that!. It was weird, we had something in common. Cool\nAdam\n“You wanna play? I could use a second”\nI can’t lie, I wasn't totally sure if Akachi knew how to play video games. I know, I know how that sounds, but I just didn’t know. But I didn’t let him know that (wasn’t gonna make that mistake again)\n“Is that ‘Devour’?”\n“Yeah, how did you-”\n“I and my older brother would play from time to time”\nI handed him the other controller and we started playing. He was good, really good. He said this is one of the few games they could get growing up so he played it all the time. It was why he wanted to be a programmer. We had been living together for 3 weeks we go to the same school and I still didn’t know that somehow.\nHonestly, after a while, I stopped paying attention to the game. I started getting more into the conversation. I couldn’t get over how old he sounded. In a wisdom kind of way. We were both in our 20s but he somehow was past that, he had a plan, clear goals, and was already halfway there, and on top of that he was destroying me!\nWeek 4\nAdam\nWorking in fast food has got to be one of the weirdest jobs out there. It looks so easy and it kind of is but then some days…some days you’re breaking up a fistfight between a customer and a cashier (that’s not what happened today, but I still felt beat). And I had classes earlier this morning. My battery is just dead. As tired as I am I try to pry my eyes open. I'm gonna make a cup of coffee, do the laundry and all the other house stuff for a few hours, make something to eat, and figure out how to go to sleep if I'm still hopped up on caffeine. I know this isn’t exactly the best plan but it's not exactly like I got options here. I just gotta get through it. We're gonna get through it. I walk in.\n“Akachi, you home?”\n“Yes, welcome back. Give me a second.”\nHe was doing something in the kitchen but I didn’t really notice. I was too stunned by the mess in the apartment. It was gone! When I left this morning I promised Akachi I would clean up my mess in the living room, I'd finally clean the bathroom, and I kept telling him id arrange the pantry. But it's all done. He even did the laundry! \n“Adam, you hungry?”\nI walk into the kitchen cautiously. On the one hand, I’m really happy I can just relax the rest of the night, but if this ever happened in my family someone was “not mad, just disappointed”\n“Hey man, I'm sorry about the mess, I promise I was going to clean it as soon as it got hom-”\n“Nonsense, it's ok. I made fish stew and there’s rice in the pot.”\nHe made me food too! And it smelled fantastic! I kinda feel stupid. When Akachi first got here I thought he wouldn’t know all that much. I was ready to show him how to do chores work the appliances and everything else. I was an idiot. From the looks of it, he could show me a thing or two.\nAkachi\n“Adam, you hungry?”\n“Hey man, I'm sorry about the mess, I promise I was going to clean it as soon as it got hom-”\n“Nonsense, it's ok. I made fish stew and there’s rice in the pot.”\nI could tell on his face he was a bit confused and I think I knew why. With most people, I think I would be upset to live with someone who doesn’t clean up after themselves, but I couldn't bring myself to be upset with Adam. He’s not like this on purpose. He works from morning to evening. School and work almost every day. We do split rent but he pays all the other bills. I respect his work ethic. I had the day off and I still don’t know that many people in the city so I decided to help him a little bit. Besides, I was looking for an excuse to cook for him. He eats 50 cent noodles constantly. He needs some real food.\nWeek 5\nAdam\nIt was around 11PM. Akachi and I take this night class together on Friday’s so we had just gotten back to the apartment. After a little bit we both ate some leftovers and then we somehow just started talking in the living room. I don’t know why or how but we did. And it got deep fast. He just asked me a question and it went from there.\n“Adam I have to ask. Why do you work like this? You’re killing yourself.”\nNow trust me, I was well aware I work day and night. But there was something about somebody telling me I do. Weirdly I was glad someone acknowledges I worked really hard, but at the same time…why am I doing this? Is it worth it?\n“Sometimes I don’t even know man. I just have a lot to do I guess”\n“I know. The bills just keep coming right?”\n“Yeah but it's not just that. I just want to support my mom too. She’s not going to be able to retire at this rate. So if I get a job and go to college she’s got on less mouth to feed and I can support when I get a real job. She’ll never admit it but I'm her best hope of getting out of debt. Can’t let her down.”\nI don’t think I had ever told anyone that. I don’t even think I told my mom that. But I just felt like he would get it. Like I said, it got deep fast.\nAkachi\n“Yeah but it's not just that. I just want to support my mom too. She’s not going to be able to retire at this rate. So if I get a job and go to college she’s got on less mouth to feed and I can support when I get a real job. She’ll never admit it but I'm her best hope of getting out of debt. Can’t let her down.”\nWho really was this man? He was more than skin. I could see it clearer than ever now. We were the same in this. In his face, I could see my face, in his voice my own. It was like he was reading my life like a book with his eyes closed, he didn’t even know he was doing it. He was more than skin, he was a man who knew me, who knew what I felt. How?\n“I tell you. My parents did not want me to leave. But I’m doing these things for them. At home, we’re all stuck where we are, where I can go up and I can bring them with me.”\nAdam\nIt was like looking into a warped mirror. He was so different. It didn’t make sense that we would share this much. But a lot of things don’t make sense I guess. If I wrote a memoir on my life I might’ve considered asking him to write it. He knew exactly what I had felt for so long but had never said aloud. Who is this guy?\n“I hear that. Sometimes I just want to quit you know. If I had even a few more options I would have quit work AND school years ago.”\nAkachi\nYes! Exactly!\n“I tell you. These professors want for kill me! I understand why people drop out of school in this country so much. But we… were survivors nah?”\nAdam\nI knew he could write my memoir!\n“Yes sir! We’ve come too far, we ain’t stopping now!”\nAkachi\n“Not today my brother!”\nAdam\nWe kind of just talked like that for another hour or two. Didn’t even realize it was past 1AM until it was close to 2. I don’t know what happened really. It's like the flood gates just opened and we just poured out. It took a while but we just clicked.\nAkachi\nI won’t lie and say I expected to bond with Adam at all during my time here, but I’m glad I was so terribly wrong. It was like someone flipped a switch and we just got to know each other.\nAdam\nI still don’t know that much about Africa but I think imma try and learn a little. It's the least I could do. Don’t want him to go back to thinking I'm an idiot\nAkachi\nHe really is just another man. A good man, I see that now.\nAdam\nI'm not sure how Akachi feels about that night but I know how I do.\nAkachi\nI hope Adam feels the same way when I say…\nAdam and Akachi\nThat night I 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: Macy Blue\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 2529\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart your story with someone finding an object labeled with their name." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Macy Blue\nMacy picked up the rock sitting at her feet. It was a smooth one like the ones she would find at the beach in her hometown. She ran her soft fingers over the grey-blue stone and turned it over. The rock nearly melted in her hands when she read the inscription: Macy Blue.\nShe hugged the smooth stone in her palms and plopped down on the nearest bench. Her chest moved in and out as she searched her mind for how this stone knew her name. The name her father called her. This park would have never known him. It lived in Brooklyn, New York. He lived in El Dorado, California. It would have never had the GPS to find its way atop autumn leaves in a neighborhood park, but it did.\nOnce Macy caught her breath, she walked-ran home and called the only person who would assess this as not happenstance but more like a plot twist in a bizarre story. Her fingers twitched as she dialed her sister’s number, and she sighed, relieved, when she answered. “Toya!”\n“Uhhh…hello Macy. Why can I smell your breathing?”\n“Sis, I found a rock.” She couldn’t stop the words from flinging out, and once they slipped through her lips, it was too late to realize how silly she sounded.\n“Okay?”\n“No. No. The rock said Macy Blue.”\nHer sister sat up at this. Her warm, brown curls, bounced around her neck. And her eyes flew open.\n“You are shitting me.”\n“I am not.”\n“SHUT UP.”\n“I know.”\nThe air between them fell silent, and their heartbeats seemed to dance to the same rhythm.\n“You still there, Mace?\n“Yea, I just don’t know what to think right now. I know it is probably just coinci…”\n“Girl, stop right there. A coincidence is wearing the same brown sweater as your teacher. This is just…weird.”\n“I know. I feel like it’s a sign.”\n“Me too.”\n“Toya?”\n“Yea?”\n“You think it’s time to visit him?”\nThe space between them grew heavy again, and before Macy could make out words to fill the air, her sister answered her…\n“Yea. It’s time.”\nFall was hard for Macy. Her sister usually caught the flu around this time, but Macy caught another, more nefarious type of illness, seasonal depression. She always said that is why “Blue” was made for her. But really it was because it was her mother’s first name. Her father started calling her Macy Blue after her mother died.\nMacy got the news in 3rd grade right in the middle of science class. She was presenting her project on photosynthesis, struggling to pronounce ch-lo-ro-phyl, but nailing the presentation, nonetheless. When she got to her seat, her tall, slender teacher, Ms. Clarabel bent forward and whispered in her ear that she should report to the office. I did so good on my project, they must be giving me an award, she thought.\nThe school counselor got eye-level with Macy and shared that her mother had been hit by a car while on a bike ride. She told her that her mom had been a fighter from the moment she was admitted into the hospital but couldn’t survive. The words flew in Macy’s ear like little birds and flew back out the other end. She was looking at the floor, so the counselor was really talking to the coarse hair bun atop her head instead of her eyes.\nMacy sat in that brown, leather chair for 30 minutes without the slightest hint of movement. Whenever she tried to speak, a large marble nestled in her throat. When she tried to look up, a weight rested on her neck. The principal, counselor, and her teacher all tried to break the grips of stoniness, but she just sat there until her dad could pick her up and walk her to their car.\nThe funeral was long and dull. Macy sat restless in the front row and periodically turned her head to see the sea of faces who deeply loved her mother. Blue was a successful artist in Brooklyn, everyone knew her. Though anguished, Macy felt a sense of relief to see the faces, to know her mother was loved. But there was one face she couldn’t take her eyes off. It was a little girl, perhaps her age, perhaps a bit older, with brown eyes, caramel skin, and a round nose just like hers. The two locked eyes a few times during the service but both quickly looked away as if staring at each other was a sin. It felt like a sin.\nWhen the service was over, the other girl walked up to Macy and introduced herself. “Hi, I’m Toya.”\n“I’m Macy.”\n“Sorry about your mom.”\n“Mhmm. It’s alright.”\nBoth girls held the hems of their dresses, trying to find words to say to each other, when a woman came to grab Toya.\n“Toya baby, it’s time to go!” The woman shot a look at Macy that said sorry for your loss, but in sharp way not in the delicate way Toya had said it.\nMacy walked over to her father, who was talking to the minister, and tugged on his suit jacket.\n“Daddy, who is that girl?” she said and pointed to Toya.\nHer father turned to look at the girl, allowing his gaze to linger a moment. Tears started to bubble in his red eyes, and when Macy grabbed his hand, it felt like a river. He looked down at his daughter and said, “I don’t know Mace,” and continued talking to the minister. Macy turned back to the door and caught Toya’s eyes again. This time they let their stares linger.\nMacy and Toya arrived at John F. Kennedy airport two hours before boarding. Toya was a stickler for time, which annoyed Macy who was just fine sprinting through the airport five minutes before take-off. They both wore long trench coats and suede boots. Macy’s had a peep-toe and Toya’s were at her knees. They both wore big purses and cute knitted hats. They were New York girls through and through.\nNeither one of them had seen the father they shared in a decade. A week after the funeral, people stopped talking about how tragic Blue’s death was, how unmatched she’d been as a friend, and started talking about the other woman. How audacious was she to come to the funeral! The stories then became nearer and nearer, almost closing in on Macy and her father until it was too suffocating to deny that John had had a long-term affair with another woman and fathered a child the same age as Macy.\nWhen the rumors became too much to bear, John knew had to do something. He chose his family, all of them, and moved Macy, Sandra, and Toya in with him. This lasted two years. Sandra found herself like Blue, sucked of her joy. Being with John hadn’t been the fairy tale he promised, plus, somehow the noise of the rumor mill followed them, so she took Toya and moved to Brooklyn. Macy followed them when she turned 18. Though her father and she emailed monthly after her moving, their bond stiffened. There were too many lies between them, so the emails only scratched the surface. Are you dating anyone? How is the music going? How is school? Soon, the time between those messages stretched out months and years until they stopped. Toya owned the pangs of jealousy she felt at those messages, but she refused to send her own and ignored the few from him.\nLong Beach airport was a striking but small box lined with Palm Trees in the middle of the city. The sisters smirked as they let the slight wind cool their skin and their eyes beamed behind their dark sunglasses. They were New York girls now but had a soft spot for El Dorado and couldn’t help but feel a bit robbed that their lives could’ve had more sun.\nWhen they got into the cab headed to their father’s house, they clasped hands in the backseat. The blood that flowed between their hands warmed them. They would need it as a barrier for what they might see when they stepped into John’s door. ALS was an unfair disease. Toya’s neighbor’s aunt suffered from the condition for 3 years. In her final year, she lost her ability to speak, then to eat, and finally to breathe. She could have lived months on a breathing machine but decided not to. She died at 40 years old.\nJohn was sick but had wealth on his side. This kept the more serious symptoms at bay and afforded him small pleasures. He could still talk (though it took effort), which meant he could entertain guests. He could move his arms but not grasp well, so he needed his girlfriend, Myra, to feed him. On good days he painted. On bad ones he stayed in bed. On all days he missed his daughters and kept up hope that they would come see him.\nThis was that time.\nThe cab rolled into the long, winding driveway and stopped at the front door. The house was a modern and massive stucco dwelling with towering wooden doors and a swimming pool as the lawn. Macy winced at memories of pool parties and the game nights they had in the 500 sq foot game room. The girls stepped out of the cab all New York in LA and headed to the front door.\n“Heeyyyyy Girls!” Myra enveloped her almond arms around both girls and summoned Andre, the butler, to take their bags. “Your dad is upstairs! Oh, he will be so happy to see the two of you!”\nToya let out a forced smile and Macy, a chuckle.\nThey followed Andre up the marble staircase and crept down the halls to their father’s room. When Andre motioned them inside, Macy’s breath hitched.\n“M…m…Macy?”\n“Hi Dad.”\nJohn was in a wheelchair. He was already facing the door on the other side of his double-king sized bed when his daughters walked in: Macy in front and Toya right behind her.\n“T…t…Toya.”\nToya didn’t speak but waved at her father. He was a stranger to her, and it was even stranger to see him like this. Barely talking and not walking, almost invisible.\nHe motioned for the girls to come to him, so they walked over and sat in chairs that faced him. Even in a wheelchair he was imposing. He was dark brown with large hands and had a seriousness to his eyes. His mouth quivered a bit as he tried to talk, but his voice was still velvet and deep. “My…girls…my girls.”\nHis silvery voice began to crack and soon tears crept out of his eyes. First in droplets and then small streams. He tried lifting his hands to wipe the tears from his face, but they didn’t do what they were supposed to, so he just rested them in his lap. Andre rushed over to him, but Macy got up before he could grab a Kleenex and wiped her father’s face.\n“It’s okay dad,” she said.\nToya still sat calmly—at least on the outside. Inside of was a swirl of emotions that ranged from frustration to sadness.\nJohn waved his hand to Andre and whispered something in his ear. Whatever it was, it signaled him to pull something out of his dresser and hand it to John. John cusped the object in his hand and turned it over a few times. He titled his head up in Toya’s direction; it was a motion that said hold my hand. Toya gulped as she stretched out her hand and grabbed the object. The rock was smooth and greyish-blue, and she could feel ridges on the underside. She turned it over and read the words: Toya Smith.\nFor the first time in years, she looked at her father, directly in his face. She deeply searched for answers to the many questions she’d harbored, and she wanted to know why he kept this rock. Why hadn’t she discovered it in a park atop leaves like her sister had.\n“I…I am sorry,” he started, as if it were a response to all her inquiries. He continued to talk, sharing all the details that painted their lives. The affair, the separation, and the life he chose to live without his girls. He mostly told him that he’d never forgotten them and that his love for them stayed strong like those rocks. He had visited New York for work when Macy started college and left the rock at a park, hoping she’d find it and find him.\n“So, why did you keep mine?” Toya said.\n“I kept yours because…I knew eventually, you’d come. You are m…my stubborn rock,” he let out a chuckle. “I missed you girls with my whole heart, and now that you’re here…I don’t have much time.”\nMacy extended her hand to touch her father’s arm and Toya joined her.\n“We’ve missed you too dad. So much,” Macy said. “How much time…did the doctor say?”\n“Two months…tops.”\nThe girls let out sighs that echoed through the room, and Macy knew what they had to do.\n“We’ll stay!”\nToya shot a look at her sister. Her expression was twisted, and her eyes were empty.\nShe cleared her throat and said, “no sis…you’ll stay.” Toya leaned in closer to her father and grabbed his brown hands. “Dad, I love you, but I spent most of my life without a father. I walked toward you, and you turned away from me. I will take this rock, but I cannot stay here. I hope you and Macy can heal, together, and close those wounds.”\nShe blew her sister a kiss, grabbed her purse, and headed toward the door.\nAs she walked through his mansion, she studied the walls for signs that she existed. There were photos of dignitaries he’d met during his work as a diplomat and walls and walls of artwork. As she looked closer, she noticed that at least half of them were signed Blue. On the wall across from her was another picture. Finally, family! She rubbed her finger over the portrait. A little girl in a white dress and a pink ribbon around a high bun enveloped by two adults: a stunning woman with sepia skin and an imposing man on the other side of the girl. Her eyes swelled as she searched the picture for herself. No matter how hard she looked, she came up empty.\nShe charged down the hall, found her bags, and pushed the door open. When she stepped outside it was as if the warm sun on her back melted the ice she felt within. It was a reminder: she was loved. She did not have a father, but she had a mother. A mother that never left, and she could be okay with that. She dug in her pocket and felt for the rock. It was still there, still smooth, still sturdy and it had her name. She turned back to the mansion, blew a final kiss, and walked down the driveway.\nShe was going 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: Life takes my breath away\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 1048\n\nPrompt:\n\nSet your story in a nameless world." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "I was getting ready for my skating party my bestie on the line asking if I wanted to wear her soft pretty sweater I wasn’t aware she felt like we had a sharing bound which she lent me her most important favorite items so I knew from them on I can trust that people choose you not the other way around so as the day turned to night my bestie suggested we call our ride to pick us up from her house she never said to me oh girl I got you a blind date I’ve never met anyone by first sight. So my heart was pounding with excitement and fear but what the heck I went for it he was the most kindest guy I have ever met so when we were on our way to the car I noticed a difference in how he opened the car door he went before me to make sure the seat was clean i then bent in to hop in so I grabbed his hand but he was handicapped but his self esteem was so confident that our friendship turned to a relationship that lasted 4 years but no children because I was a bit shallow in my younger years I told him I was not sure I wanted to stay with him in fear of me having children with that handicap and he understood so later through the years he showed me that his kids were fine 😇we linked up once more but we just couldn’t get back to that moment but I’ll always remember him from\nready for the world record (Tears) song it still gives me goose bumps first love ever that I cherish and I was 14 teen I’m now 54years 😉 so it shows that we never really grow up. But we keep in touch but not numbers but in passing from our previous friends as I felt he lived a fast life which landed him in jail yes jail like I said he’s as normal as the next guy I watched his life go from fun ,partying drinking drugs and it’s a barrier that hard for him to bounce back from so I’ll often thank the love ones who stuck by me while I figured out how this thing called life goes it doesn’t there are rules and when adhere to them there’s consequences so with that being said I was not only interested in the first guy I felt love in my heart without pressure so I met my son’s dad and he was the other guys thrown in the side other words competition may the best man win well my sons father wasn’t standing down how did I not know they both attended the same high school how I found out I had picture day and I wanted to share my photo with this kind young man that was the most well mannered guy ever so I cut it out and gave it to him well he use it for good luck and set it on the bench which my sons dad saw it mind you we were only 15-16 years of age so with me in the middle of who I would choose I became pregnant yes I did but had the worst miscarriage my cousin thought I was on my period so she helped me by secretly taking me to the doctor never mentioned it to mother who would have killed me cause I was liked at as the good girl after that ordeal I left all male beings alone for awhile but my sons dad never stop till we became the couple we had been together 4 years then the next year but 4years after miscarriage we had a healthy little boy and we now have 4 grandkids we’re not together but we’re still the best of friends with support to our grandkids taking turns sharing grand parenting we all take family trips together I guess what I’m saying if your true to yourself about how you want things to be it takes working together as a team all the things that life has to offer won’t seems so challenging if we all just get along I don’t just stop with my past we still have extended family brother uncle sister aunt who bakes cooks and love to share all our recipes with each which makes life more enjoyable and in between I had two other sons which their dads also fits in the circle as well by two different relationships but as the boys aged my oldest has health concerns which makes us stay bounded and one of them battling alcohol issues but over all Amy youngest has grown to see how he has to have control over his life or it will take over your life and as I noticed must youngsters don’t understand that being a parent is not a fun thing but it’s some one’s life and it’s fragile once mislead there’s no turning back so it’s crucial to listen to children there only small once and when they’re grown you won’t be able to reach them the way would have while living with you and make sure they know they are loved no matter the short comings all I know is that we use too tell them what we expected it’s now how to support with the way they think which it very different then we remember as our ancestors would say you don’t think fat meat greasy? Really do we ok don’t be hardheaded listen to someone especially if they willing to talk to you nowadays haha the saying goes it takes a village to raise a child my saying is reach one teach one goes a long way so I figure if we as adults set a start line a lead to great accomplishments youth are so interesting kids says the darnedest things just the other day my grandkids were on the phone asking me to make a video so they can put it on tick-tock I was like I’m not doing they come grandma we can make some I said how muck I get she said grandma I’ll call you back I said that what our generation has come to 😌" } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: The Hatch\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 1282\n\nPrompt:\n\nYour character runs an inn for resting mountaineers. It’s a calm life, until they encounter a twist of fate." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "“Isn’t this the best thing ever?” said Annie to her husband, “It’s gotta be the best hot chocolate I’ve ever had..like ever. But Rhett didn’t hear her. He was transfixed with the wintry view outside. He had been so lost in his head with the wedding plans and wedding itself-the last few weeks in themselves had been such a blur. He was just enjoying the peace and the calmness of not having to do anything at that exact moment. The River Bend B&B was just what he needed.\n The newlyweds were ready to unpack and get settled. They felt like they’d been through a worldwind, with the wedding and all, and the quiet their room felt so peaceful, \n “What do you wanna do first?” said Annie, who was exhausted but eager. However Rhett had already passed out on the bed. Annie snuggled up next to her new husband and decided a nap would be a good idea. \n The next day, they were fully rested, and ready to have a blast on their honeymoon. They were making new friends on the slopes from nearby places and were enjoying getting to know each of them. They met the George’s from Vermont who had brought their 2 little children, The Moeller’s, who were an older couple from Germany, The Simmons Family, who looked liked they had never touched a ski in their lives, and a couple younger adults who seemed more interested in picking up members of the opposite sex then skiing. It was definitely a mixed crowd. Which was fun for the new Mr and Mrs Todd, who didn’t normally get out all that much. \n Later that night, as they were relaxing in the common area hot tub, 2 members of the Simmons family came to soak. They got talking, not so quietly, about some rumors they’d heard about the area around them-the town and the river. Rhett and Annie began to get a little annoyed, but it was a common area so they couldn’t really do much. But they couldn’t help overhearing their silly rumor talk.\n So they tried to ignore them. They started rambling on about how this area had been a “hotspot’ after the Civil War, and how supposedly somewhere on the grounds was a hatch, where the slaves could get to a place to hide and wait, wait for however long it took to catch the next “train” (horse/wagon) and get to the next safe place. \n Annie finally chimed in and said, “Please guys, we’re on our honeymoon and just want a little peace and quiet..” \n “Oh, I’m sorry ma’am, we are just so excited to check it out tomorrow. That’s the only reason we came here. I know y’all can tell we ain’t no skiers, right?” \nThe Todd’s tried to stifle a laugh but it was pretty obvious. Annie said sheepishly, “Is there really a hatch around here somewhere?” \n“Well if there is, we plannin on finding it tomorrow,” said the older of the 2, “We ain’t trying to bust our backs tryna skiing again! Lord have mercy, I am sore!”\nThen the brother finally spoke up and asked how come it seemed like they didn’t believe them.\n“Well. I’m not sure I do believe you.” Annie said quietly\n“Well that’s all well and good, and I’m sure y’all got your reasons, but boy are you gonna be surprised when we prove y’all wrong.”\n“What about you?” He nodded to Rhett.\n“Heck, I don’t know. That was a long time ago. And I’m not even sure I believe the underground railroad was real.”\n“Hold up,” Now you can not believe in a lot of things, but you cannot deny all the negroes that made it up north and became free. Go ask Ms Sherry at the B&B about the quilts-she knows.”\n Annie and Rhett didn’t know what to think at this point. They looked at each other and shrugged. “Who knows?” said Rhett quizzically as he scratched his head. \n Annie mentioned talking to Ms Sherry, the owner of the B&B later, but Rhett was already grabbing his towel and watching the football game on the big screen through the big glass panel. \n She told the Simmon’s she’d like to hear the story and so they told her to meet up and come with them later that day. They’d be going out ‘adventuring’ and they’d tell them everything. \n Around 3:00 they met up in the lounge for drinks and nestled in a corner booth. It was gonna be a long story, Annie could tell.\n “Miss Sherry,” they hollered over to the bartender, “Come tell these people about them quilts and all.”\n “Yea, yea, I’m coming,” She responded, pouring herself a cup of coffee. She headed over and looked at the Todd’s. “So you don’t believe in the underground railroad, I hear, is that right?” she asked, kind of annoyed.\n Annie started to explain that it wasn’t that, they just weren’t sure, but Miss Sherry cut her off.\n What I’m about to tell you is 100% true, passed down from many generations, from the ones who experienced it. “Y’all ready for this?” she teased.\n “Yes, yes!” said Annie , and even Rhett had become eager by this point.\n “Well the truth about the underground railroad is that it was not underground, and it was not a railroad.”\n The Todd’s looked at her, confused, while the Simmons just smiled, because they already knew.\n “Fact of the matter is, that’s just what they called it, to confuse the white men. What it really was, was houses-all over, where runaway slaves could hide until the next rider came through and could take them north, to freedom. Some houses had hatches, or hidden rooms.”\n “That must be the hatch we been hearing about!” said one of the Simmons boys. \n Annie stared off…”What were the quilts for, Miss Sherry?”\n “Oh that’s the best part!” she said excitedly, “The quilts were the negros’ way of secretly communicating with all the other riders, and runaways.” \n “What do you mean?” asked Annie\n Sherry responded, “It was like a code, it told the runaways and riders where the next safe house was.” \n “Now that doesn’t even make any sense,” said Rhett smirking at Shelly “How’s a quilt gonna tell anyone anything?\n Sherry chuckled, “You know this place here, called the River Bend B&B? The legend says the quilt to get here had a winding river sewn into it, and it led them this way. And we had one with mountains quilted into it. So they knew they’d be heading to the mountains straight away after this.”\n Annie was fascinated. She knew basically nothing about the underground railroad, and Rhett knew even less. It was the quietest she’d ever seen the Simmons’. And she wondered how it must have felt for them to hear what their ancestors went through. \n “Let’s go for a walk,” said Miss Sherry, and up she got and off she went. The others glanced at each other and shrugged, but quickly followed her. They followed her way out, through the snow, to an old raggedy looking shack on the back end of the property. \n Once there, they tore down the overgrowth and pulled the weeds out of the way. Miss Sherry struggled with the door, but once the others helped and she got inside, she brushed off something on the ground and finally got it open.\n “There’s your hatch.” she said.\n All anyone could do was stare. They were staring straight into history, each from their own perspectives. It was so surreal, not a word was spoken. Everyone’s head was racing with thoughts, feelings and prayers, for every body-every soul that had been down–and up that hole." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on 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 Vacation Before The End\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 2479\n\nPrompt:\n\nYour character runs an inn for resting mountaineers. It’s a calm life, until they encounter a twist of fate." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Rosa stood with her back straight and eyes forward behind the old brown wooden desk at the inn she owned and ran. She kept her eyes glued to the glass doors at the entrance. Her small frame wouldn’t move until she saw her much anticipated guest. Rosa had been waiting for this moment all year long. Her best friend, Elosie would come once a year to visit her. They would laugh, sip coffee by the fireplace, and eat good home cooked meals that Rosa would prepare in the inn’s kitchen after the staff was dismissed for the day. They would giggle like school girls and Eloise would scrunch up her nose when she told stories about her late husband, Albert and her grandchildren. Rosa looked forward to this all year round. Rosa looked at the white circular clock on the wall behind her and realized that her friend was late. She wondered aloud where Eloise was. It was half past the hour and she was usually early not late. But, Rosa could wait. She told herself not to be so impatient that her friend would soon be here. \nRosa shuffled some papers around on the desk, mainly some brochures for the guests and stacked them in two neat piles on the edges of the desk. She fumbled with some pens and pencils trying to pass the time. Suddenly Rosa looked up and there she was. Eloise was standing at the front door. Her small petite friend dressed in a bright blue ski jacket, hat to match and brown boots rolling a bag behind her that looked almost as big as she was. Rosa almost ran to the door and yanked it open. The two women hugged in a long embrace.\n“It’s about time you got here? What took you so long?” Rosa asked when she released her friend from the long embrace.\n“I missed my plane and had to wait on another one.” Eloise explained. “But, I am here now.” She continued.\n“Yes indeed you are.” Rosa said.\n“Well, are we going to your house or staying at the inn this time?” Eloise asked.\n“I thought that we would stay here. It’s off season and there aren’t many guests and I only have a few staff members here now. Plus my house is getting a new kitchen and I would have nowhere to cook but here.” Eloise explained. “We can stay in two adjoining rooms and keep the door open like we did when we were in college and took our girl trips in the summer.” Eloise continued.\n“That sounds like a fine idea.” Rosa responded.\nRosa went to unpack and unwind after her long plane trip while Eloise prepared the dinner for them. Eloise was preparing ham, collard greens, cornbread, peas and a pot of chili with no beans. She knew that they would have plenty of leftovers for the next day. She prepared Rosa’s favorite pecan pie for dessert topped with plenty of pecans and the ice cream was waiting in the freezer for a delicious vanilla topping. She loved having Eloise here and wished that she could come up to the mountains more than once a year. But, she also saw her a few times out of the year at her house. \nEloise inhaled the sweet aroma of the food cooking in the kitchen and was standing at the stove adjusting the fire underneath the pots when Rosa walked in. Rosa had changed into some black colored jeans, sneakers and a turtleneck sweater. She stood there and breathed in the aromas of the food also. She walked over to the small table across from the stove which staff used when they ate in the kitchen in between serving guests. Eloise smiled and took out the bottle of wine she had chilling on ice.\n“So, my friend, are you ready for some food for your soul and spirit?” Eloise asked.\n“I am so ready. Do I smell ham?” Rosa laughed as she wrinkled her nose and turned her head in the direction of the stove.\n“You sure do plus a few other of our favorites.” Eloise responded. \nThe two friends gobbled down the meal and sipped the wine. They laughed so hard at each other’s jokes which reminded Rosa of how they were when they were girls in high school. After dinner the two women cleaned up the kitchen and went to sit by the roaring fire which Eloise had started before Rosa came down from her room, the fire which would warm up more than the room. Rosa noticed Eloise’s skin glistening in the light of the fire. She smiled and sipped on her newly poured glass of wine.\n“Eloise, there is something I must tell you before I go.” Rosa said gazing at the fire. \n“What is it?” Eloise asked.\n“It can wait. Right now I would just like to enjoy this glass of wine and the fire. In due time.” \nAfter a good meal and good wine and a warm fire the women went up to their adjoining rooms. They talked and laughed and pretty soon Rosa was asleep. She was “calling the hogs” as Eloise’s grandma would say, meaning snoring loudly. Eloise took that opportunity to go to her room and shut the door which brought the two rooms together. She needed some privacy for what she had to do next. \nEloise slowly and deliberately took off her wig. She was holding her new crowning glory in her left hand. She was used to the bald head and the wig she now wore to cover it. When she learned she had cancer she shaved her head two weeks later but told nobody. She went to the wig store, her head covered in a brightly colored scarf tied around her head. She asked the store clerk who couldn’t have been more than 18 where the scarves were located. The girl barely looked up from her phone and pointed in the direction of the back of the store. Eloise said to her, \n“Do you mean at the back of the store or in that general area? I can not see well so could you please show me?” \nThe girl sucked her teeth and came from behind the counter and motioned for Eloise to follow her and they walked down a few aisles of women’s dresses and pants to the back of the store where the scarves were neatly folded on shelves. The girl didn’t say a word, just turned and walked back to the front of the store to her perch at the counter. Eloise smiled at her and started shuffling through the first row of scarves. She folded the ones back that she didn’t want and took a handful of yellow, purple, blue and red scarves to the cash register. The scarves would now become a permanent part of her wardrobe. \nEloise was going to tell Rosa about her cancer when she arrived but decided that she would wait. Rosa had cooked a good meal and they had some of the best conversation they have had since they were teens. Eloise decided to tell her two days before she was going to leave. That would give her enough time to let the diagnosis sit within her head and give her enough time to say the obligatory “Sorry.” Eloise put the wig on the stand she had packed with her and turned off the lights and went to sleep. \nWhen Eloise woke up the next morning Rosa was not in her bed. She looked at the small clock on the wall and it was after 9am. Eloise didn’t realize that she had slept so late. She hurried and showered and got dressed. She found Rosa in the kitchen setting the table. From the aroma in the air Eloise knew that she had cooked some bacon and probably some hash browns and eggs to go with it. That was one of their favorite breakfasts. Rosa looked up and smiled.\n“Sleep well?” She asked her friend.\n“Yes. The bed was really comfortable. I slept like a baby and from the snoring you were doing I assume you slept well too.” Eloise laughed.\n“Guess what? We have a guest. He checked in early this morning. He’s a doctor from your state, California. He’s here for a few days. He’s staying on the third floor. I don’t know if he is married or not but he sure is one handsome man.” Rosa blushed. \n“Rosa, please. You think most men are handsome.” Eloise teased.\n“No, but this one really is. He’s tall, broad shoulders, dark brown curly hair, dark brown eyes, and at least 6 feet tall.” Rosa continued.\n“Well, let’s eat.” Eloise said.\nThe women ate and talked about everything and nothing and the circle of conversation pleased Eloise beyond happiness. She loved how they could just sit and talk and eat and enjoy each other's company without a care in the world. They cleared the table after a filling breakfast and decided to take a short walk. They hiked up and down the various trails, breathed in the cool morning air and returned back to the inn around lunch time. When they entered the lobby there was Rosa’s doctor visitor standing there with his back towards them. He was reading some kind of paper. Eloise for a minute thought that he looked like her doctor, Dr. Quieten from behind. But, that couldn’t be him. What would he be doing here. She walked closer and the doctor turned around. That familiar face of whom Rosa called Doctor Q was standing inches from her. She almost spit out the hot chocolate she had just sipped when she saw him. He nodded and Rosa smiled.\n“Hey, do you guys know each other?” Rosa asked, noticing the looks on their faces.\n“Yes, we do.” Eloise responded as she brushed past the doctor to the chair across the room. She sat down and sipped some more hot chocolate. She knew that Dr. Q would not say anything to her friend about her illness but her heart felt like it had sunk into her stomach when she saw him. She saw Rosa talking to him and then he disappeared into the dinning room.\n“Do you want to tell me what is going on?” Rosa asked, sitting across from her best friend.\n“Not here. Let’s get lunch and take it back to the room.” Eloise answered. \nA few minutes later Rosa was carrying a tray of fruit and two tuna sandwiches to the room which they shared. Rosa sat the tray on the bed and then she sat on the other side of the tray. Eloise was already sitting on the edge of the bed and she reached over and grabbed an overly ripened strawberry from the tray. The juice of the strawberry was as bitter sweet as the words she had to form in her mouth to speak. She took a deep breath and exhaled. \n“Rosa, I am sick. When I tell you my sickness I don’t want you to feel sorry for me or pity me. It is just something that happened. I don’t want any tears either. Lord knows I cried a lot and can’t cry anymore. I don’t feel sorry for myself anymore and I don’t want you to feel sorry for me either.” Eloise said. \nShe took Rosa’s hand in hers and she told her that she was sick with cancer and she had come one last time to say good-bye. She explained to her all the details of her cancer and told her that she was not going to tell her so soon but she saw her doctor in the lobby and figured that it was time. She also laughed at the irony of her doctor coming to the same inn at the same time she was there to vacation. Eloise and Rosa embraced for a long time. They did not want to let each other go from the warm heartfelt embrace that only best friends could understand. Eloise did what Rosa asked and didn’t cry although she wanted to. They didn’t mention the cancer again for the rest of the trip. They talked, ate, laughed at late night movies and sang off key to their favorite songs while cooking a lot of food. \nSix months later a letter arrived from Eloise to Rosa. The handwriting on the envelope was scratchy and shaky. Eloise looked at the envelope a long time before opening it. Inside was a long five page letter. \n“My dearest Friend,\nIf you received this letter it means only one thing. It means that I have gained my heavenly wings and I am no longer on this earth. I did not want a funeral or memorial service and told my son, Blake not to give me one. I hope that he honored my wishes. I also told him to mail this letter to you a month after I passed away. I didn’t want any deathbed good-bye’s. I wanted you to remember me from the last time we were together at the inn. I wanted you to remember our long and winding conversations about everything and nothing. I wanted you to remember our laughter and our nights sitting by the fireplace sipping tea and hot chocolate and the occasional mug of coffee to stay awake so we could chat more without the fear of falling asleep. I want you to remember us at the kitchen table and me teasing you about your cooking. You do know that you are the best cook I know but I couldn’t help teasing you about the one dish you had trouble making, Upside down strawberry and pineapple cake. Somehow the upside down part always gave you trouble. I do want you to know how much I truly loved you and cherished each and every second of our friendship. I want you to know that my heart was full and you were the best thing besides my son that ever happened to me. Meeting you in Spanish class that day was the best thing fate had brought to me two girls flunking ninth grade Spanish. Those were the days huh? I also had Blake send you a box which should have been delivered with this letter. Inside you will find a gift. I hope that you treasure it as much as I did. I love you and until we are laughing in heaven I will be your guardian angel and by the way if you don’t already know, Dr. Q is single. (Hint, Hint).\nYour Best Friend for Life,\nEloise”\nRosa opened the box and looked at every picture of them in the album. When she was done she clutched the photo album to her chest and looked upward and blew her friend a long kiss. “Until we meet again.” She whispered." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Accidental\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 1012\n\nPrompt:\n\nBegin your story with a character crashing into something (or someone) while skiing." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Amy wanted to go on this skiing trip. She really did. So why? Why was she cursed with bad luck?\n“Amy?” Sandy asked, slowing to a stop in front of the downed black girl, her pink hat askew and lost somewhere beside her. “Y’all alright?”\nRight. . .she hadn’t moved yet. Mostly because she plowed directly into her crush coming down the mountain. Brian. He had smooth dark skin and a megawatt smile that made Amy’s heart do somersaults and currently. . .currently she was on top of him in a post haste attempt to stop herself from getting injured.\n“I’m-I’m fine,” she squeaked, moving to stand and help Brian up. \n“That was some fall,” Brian mumbled, wiping down his coat of snow. “Are you sure you’re okay?”\nAmy nodded, her face warming as Brian took his scarf off and wrapped it around her instead. \n“Well,” Sandy started, her brown eyes looking between them with a teasing grin. “We were just about to head back to the cabin,” she continued, turning her attention to the pink-haired girl.\nAmy nodded again, watching Sandy walk off to rejoin her husband, Sydney. Amy turned towards Brian, suddenly nervous as she spoke, “Do you, uh, want to get a drink?” she asked, fingering his scarf as she buried her cold nose in it.\n“Sure,” Brian replied, flashing that megawatt smile. He held out his hand for her to take, squeezing it briefly as Amy took it.\nMaybe going on this trip was worth it.\nAmy laid awake that night, staring at the ceiling as the wind howled outside. She and Brian did end up getting warm apple cider together and generally talking about life. How Brian’s skating career was finally taking off and how Amy’s job in tech finally gave her some relief with this free trip. \nSandy and Sydney tagged along since she had extra tickets and didn’t want them to go to waste. It wasn’t something a group of 20-somethings with jobs did on a regular basis and she might as well invite her friends so they would get a break from work and their children. \nThe trip continued with the ski resort nearly losing power due to a sudden snowstorm and Brian being trapped in Amy’s room. Thankfully, the generator kicked in before things got too dire.\n“So,” Brian started, leaning into Amy’s space as she wrapped three blankets tighter around herself. “You gonna share?”\n“Oh. . .oh, I’m sorry, here,” Amy replied, opening her cocoon of blankets to reveal her pink flannel pajamas beneath. \nBrian swallowed, looking up as the lights flickered before cuddling up beside Amy. She closed the cocoon around them, rubbing Brian’s arms to warm them and feeling muscle underneath his thin shirt.\n“You should’ve worn something thicker,” she chastised, rubbing his wrists and hands.\n“Amy,”\n“And what were you thinking coming to my room this late, anyway?” she asked.\n“Well, I wanted to see you,” Brian admitted, looking down at Amy. \nAmy stopped her ministrations of warming Brian up, her breath puffing out as she blushed. “Oh. . .okay. Then you’re forgiven,” she replied once her brain caught up with her. \nShe was in her cabin. Alone. With Brian. \n“Am I, now?”\n“Mhm, unless you can make up waking me up in the middle of a snowstorm.”\n“I can think of a few things. You know that bakery on West Avenue?” he suddenly asked. \n“Yeah, what about it?”\n“I can take you there. On a date. Y’know once we get back to New York.”\nAmy nodded, wrapping her arms around Brian in a hug. He hugged her back, his chill finally leaving him as they cuddled beneath three blankets and a snowstorm.\nThe lights went out eventually, the pair sharing the bed.\n***\nAmy had enough of her boss pushing his work onto her. So, she met Brian at the bakery on West Avenue. Just for a quick break.\n“Hey!” she said, waving at Brian as she walked into the bakery. She took the seat in front of him, setting her laptop bag down near her feet. “What’s up?”\n“Not much, just waiting on you,” Brian answered, messing with his to-go cup of macchiato. “How’s work?”\n“Ugh, I wish it was better,” Amy said, ordering a caramel latte and a creme-filled donut. “My boss keeps asking me to do his work for him so I have a meeting to prep for in,” she checked her watch, “two hours. So I’ve got time to kill. Take you up on that date.”\nBrian smiled then, reaching for Amy’s hand as her order came. “Thanks. Y’know for accepting and all,” he said, playing with Amy’s fingers.\n“So, does this mean we’re officially dating, Mr. Jacques?” she asked, teasing.\n“Of course,” he replied, moving to kiss Amy’s hand. \nShe had the ski resort and crashing into him to thank for this. And Amy had a few ways to show her appreciation to the ski resort that brought them together. By going back and ordering a new generator. \nAmy stood in front of the mountain where it all happened. She was more cold and learning how to ski the first time she came here. However, this time was different. It had been two years since she and Brian started dating and Sandy had another baby. So, there was at least cause to celebrate and stay indoors during this go-round. \n“Amy?” Brian asked, kneeling in front of her as she turned, covering her mouth. “Will you marry me?”\nShe smiled then, jumping into Brian’s arms as she screamed, “Yes,”\nA few months later, they were expecting a wedding. At the very place they got engaged. \nAmy hummed to herself as she tugged her black and white winter coat on. She rented out the cabin she stayed in last time, thankful no one else had grabbed it while she was busy planning her wedding. She headed out of the cabin, taking in the crisp, fresh air. Today was a great day to be married to a man she had a crush on since high school." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Brewing\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 1833\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character who’s dying to “spill the tea” (gossip) about something." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "The white in the room was overwhelming. Marion Miller had lived through eight decades affording her time to get acquainted with a variety of styles. The last two years had found her experimenting with a new monochromatic trend that had resulted in a shapeless room with shadows so sharp they overpowered the lighting. Elizabeth hated entering that room. The rest of the house had also fallen victim to the trend but could at least boast of more vibrant hues. The parlor was pink, the kitchen yellow, and even Elizabeth had participated in inundating her own room with purple. \n\nSickness had befallen Marion Miller for the past seven months and murmurs among the house staff predicted she would not welcome in the New Year. Elizabeth had heard these whispers. Whispers she tried to ignore because they confirmed what she already felt in the pit of her stomach. Bed rest had dimmed her grandmother’s spry personality. It quieted her. And this was disorienting for someone who had grown up under her voice. Marion gave Elizabeth what her father never would, approval. She allowed Elizabeth to exist in a world that despised her. \n\nElizabeth’s father had married a woman whose kindness concealed her lack of pedigree. Mary was honest, hardworking, and fragile. The eldest of five daughters and hardly the most attractive. A woman desperate to marry, unaware that a life devoted to her siblings could easily be substituted for a life in servitude of her husband. Her family was poor, ordinary, but they were white. The only prerequisite William demanded. Her piercing blue eyes and yellow hair were all the lineage he needed. Once, he had even flipped her hand over to expose her wrist. Holding it against his own to show his father the blueness of her veins. \n\nElizabeth loved her grandmother, in the way a child without a mother might, with gratefulness but aware of the substitution. When she was younger her grandmother had given her everything she desired. Horseback riding lessons, singing lessons, piano lessons, no peripheral interest went by unsponsored. William hated this about their relationship. He knew Marion spoiled the child to relieve the pain of being motherless. A habit, he predicted, would embolden the girl’s already resilient constitution. Try though he might, William was never able to sway his mother from committing her life to assuage the girl’s every need. \n\nSimilarly, his father, William James Miller III, found Marion’s rearing of the girl to be repulsive. He was a stern, racist man who had fought in WWII and described himself as a self-made businessman. He spoke to Elizabeth in commands, rarely asking any questions unless it was to interrogate her about a presumed crime. He ironed every article of clothing, was never late to church, and kept a white hooded robe with a blood drop cross insignia tucked away where his spare tire should have been. \n\nHence, when Elizabeth’s hazel curls and tinted skin emerged from Mary the only logical explanation was infidelity. For the Miller men, adultery was a sin they would have liked to see punished through lashing. That such an act was committed with the race they most vehemently despised was a death sentence they deemed best executed by stoning. The girl’s birth was an immediate embarrassment. Mary was confined to solitude in her bedroom. Her sisters were turned away time and again. No servants were allowed to wait on her or the baby. So the young mother and child attempted to heal in isolation; in silence that was only broken when the Miller men would speak about her using words such as whore, n___ lover, and Jezebel near her door. \n\nOne day, Mary placed a three-week old Elizabeth in the bassinet she had once so delicately decorated in anticipation of her first child and hung herself from the upstairs bedroom window. She had done so at night and it was the wailing of a hungry and perhaps marginally aware Elizabeth that awoke the household. The two overnight maids stood by the door of the broken woman's bedroom desperately wanting to enter, to sympathize, to aid in any way they could, but fear of the Miller men kept them firmly placed inches from the doorknob. \n\nFinally, in a fit of rage the Miller men. marched up the stairs with Marion treading close behind. They flung open the door to discover Mary’s white, lifeless body swaying in the night; a public demonstration of a private surrender. Had Marion not trailed behind the two men the child would have certainly been disposed of. They hauled the woman’s body indoors, aggravated that she had not considered using one of the high beams within the room to make the process of cutting her down easier for them. The maids were mortified. Marion did not speak a single word. She took the crying Elizabeth in her arms and moved into the adjoining bedroom set to be her nursery. She did not leave the child’s side even when bathing. Maids were required to stand in the bathroom with her holding the baby in their arms in plain sight of Marion. This continued well into the girl’s toddler age until Marion no longer feared that the Miller men would dispose of her as swiftly as they had her mother. \n\nAs the child grew, so did the disdain and disregard of the Miller men. What began as outfight insults weakened to backhand comments, and finally settled as a cold shoulder, a blind eye, a deaf ear, body parts a lonely child had no idea how to reconcile. Therefore Marion became the girl’s saving grace quite literally. She belonged to Marion and the hosts of Black servants that worked throughout the house. With Marion she found protection, in the servants she found solace. And in this way Elizabeth was raised. Nursed by pity, lulled in solidarity. She was as her mother’s body had been, tossing in the wind, vacillating between love and hate for herself and for others. \n\nIn any other family she could have passed as white. Her mixed features were unique enough to warrant compliment, but faint enough to not garner suspicion. But alas, where friends saw beauty, the Miller men saw hate, where teachers saw greatness, the Miller men saw wickedness, where others saw Elizabeth, the Millers saw a symbol, a mark, a lasting representation of Blackness in a family committed to hatred. \n\nNow, as Elizabeth began to feel the nearness of Marion’s death she began to avoid her more. Distancing herself from the one family member she loved. While in health, Marion and Elizabeth spent countless hours in the same room, even when engaged in different activities. A practice that had begun as a necessity now continued as a tradition that was done by choice. In sickness, Elizabeth kept her distance. She found that the air in her grandmother’s room smelled of masked sickness and this repulsed her though she concealed it. Marion would ask the maids about the girl, but never requested that she be forced to come see her, though the maids always suggested Elizabeth do so. Often they forced the girl to interact with the woman by sending her up to deliver Marion’s herbal tea in the late afternoons. \n\nOn September 21st, the eve of her mother’s suicide, Elizabeth ascended the steps towards her grandmother’s bedroom with added caution. Naturally she did not want to break Marion’s porcelain tea set, but there was something extra, a deliberate slowness in her step; a hesitation that exceeded her typical pause. As she crept the door open she found Marion awake though her body limped to one side in defeat. Placing the turquoise colored kettle on the nightstand she served them both tea. \n\n“Why do people keep secrets?” Marion asked her granddaughter in a voice barely above a whisper.\n\n“Grandma?” Elizabeth asked.\n\n“Why do you think people keep secrets?” Marion asked again. \n\n“I don’t know. Maybe because they’re afraid.” Responded Elizabeth. \n\n“Afraid of what?” Marion asked.\n\n“Afraid of the truth.” Elizabeth replied. \n\nMarion sat in silence for a bit contemplating the girl’s response. \n\n“Do you think people are afraid of the truth, or of what people will think of them once they know it?” \n\n“The second one.\" The girl contemplated. \"You can’t really be afraid of what you already know.” She paused. “Perhaps a secret is just a lie you wish you could believe. A truth unknown to everyone else but you.\"\n\n“Do you think people can be forgiven for the secrets they’ve kept?” \n\n“You always say everyone deserves forgiveness.”\n\n“But should they be forgiven?” Marion asked again, lapsing into a fit of coughing that caused Elizabeth to rise to her feet prepared to seek out help. \n\n“I’m okay, I’m okay.” Marion wheezed, clenching her chest in pain. \n\n“Do you want me to get Ethel?” Elizabeth asked with concern. \n\n“No, no, I’m alright. Just a little dust.” Marion responded, attempting to settle down. \n\n“I have something I want to share with you.” Marion began. “Something you should have known all your life, but fear choked the words within me.”\n\n“Is it about my mother?” Elizabeth asked, feeling her stomach turn as her heart began to race. A feeling she had felt whenever she found herself in the periphery of a truth she knew was being kept from her. \n\n“Yes.” Marion replied. Exhausted and still heaving, she directed the girl to bring her the worn bible she kept in her first drawer. \n\nHanding it to her grandmother, Elizabeth sat upright in her chair. She observed as the now weakened women picked at the corners of the inner back cover. \n\n“Do you need help with that, grandma?” Elizabeth asked, wanting to tear apart the bible, anxious to know. \n\nMarion nodded in weakness. \n\nThe girl nearly leapt to her feet. Taking the bible from Marion she tore at its cover until she was able to withdraw a single old photograph. \n\nElizabeth stared at the picture expecting, desiring more. Marion’s wrinkled hands reached for the photo. As she handed it to her, Elizabeth noticed the photograph had been signed. \n\n“Who is that grandma?” She asked. \n\nMarion stared at the photo in silence. Tears welled in the corners of her eyes before whispering, “Your grandfather.” \n\nAs the words slipped through her lips a violent cough arose in her chest, choking the air out of her lungs, allowing the photograph to slip through her fingers. The coughing grew louder and more violent, sending sets of rushing footsteps up the stairs. Propelled by panic or instinct the girl rushed towards the picture, quickly hiding it in her blouse just as the bedroom door swung open.\n\nHer father and a host of maids burst through the door, pushing Elizabeth aside, as they rushed to aid the dying woman. \n\nStepping into the shadows, Elizabeth withdrew the picture to read its dedication. In beautiful cursive letters the tall handsome man in the leather jacket had written, “To the love of my life, Marion.” Signed, “Odiah Jackson - Tuskegee University, Alabama, 1941\"." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on 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 Thing\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 1401\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart your story with someone making a cup of tea — either for themself or for someone else." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "The steam from the pot misted my face and lightly coated my beard. I poured the hot liquid into her ‘Unicorns Are Mystical Like Me” mug and the “Beardlicious” mug she bought me for my birthday last year. The water seeped through the bags of my homemade blend of herbs. We have tea every time she comes to my place. Though her aura warms me up from being near her, it is a bonus to feel the well-steeped elixir coat my insides. \n I handed her the mug of tea and sat down next to her. Before my body touched the seat, she was already spilling everything that happened at work. I blew the steam-coated drink and watched my breath make small ripples in the top. I took a comforting sip before I brought my attention back to her. \n I watched her lips. The way they moved when words flowed over them like rolling clouds on a mountain. She had so much expression in the way she told stories. Her face so animated from joy to annoyance, and back around again. About ten minutes had passed before she stopped. She took a deep breath and sat back on the sofa, tucking her legs under her in the process. \n She noticed my stare, “What?”\n “Nothing,” I said, taking another sip of my tea. \n I gave my two cents on the matter. She never wanted me to fix it, just an opinion or two. One thing I loved about her, she listened when I did call her out on her bullshit. She was self-aware and accountable for her actions. I watched her continue to sip her tea slowly.\n When I met her two years ago, there was something about the way she existed in a world hell-bent on destroying our people. She spoke with passion when it came to the love she had for our culture. She danced, she told corny jokes, and she stole my heart one word at a time. \nWe had little spats, but nothing as bad as the argument—six months into our blissful relationship. I was still working on ways to express my emotions. It wasn’t something that came to me. I had only been going to therapy for a few months. The whole disagreement was stupid. To be honest, I can’t remember what started it. But I remember her standing in the middle of her living room, tears staining her perfect cheeks. \nI wasn’t good enough for her. I didn’t deserve a woman like her. She begged me to reconsider before walking out the door. My mind was made up. I was done with trying to love. Things got hard, and I did what I knew how to do. Leave. I had to do it before she did it to me. Her tears meant nothing. Honestly…they meant everything. \nI walked closer to the door, yelled that I was done with the relationship. If she couldn’t do whatever she couldn’t do at that time, I had more women that wanted me. Women that would make my life easy, and I wouldn’t have to grow to have them. She stepped closer to me. For a second, I stood there. I wanted her to reach me. I needed her to touch me. I could feel her love pulsate and electrify me. \nShe was only a few steps away, but the pride, my ego, had me out of the door before she could. We didn’t speak for a week. I fought the urge to reach out because I needed to make a point. I needed her to know that I was serious. Until I realized that I was seriously messing up. \nThe phone was in my hand; I stared at the cursor as it blinked, awaiting my confession. I had self-sabotaged, and she knew it. Maybe why she had held her ground. Or perhaps I was right; she didn’t love me like I loved her. And she was waiting on the right time for me to end it. I pushed past my fear. I sent, ‘Can we talk?’ A few endless seconds passed by before the zip of a reply came through, ‘Come Over.’\nI faced one of the scariest moments that night. I allowed myself to be vulnerable. We made love that night like it was our first. And I will never forget the first time our bodies met. Our third date. Stunning, a descriptor for her that was and still is an understatement. Before dessert arrived, I couldn’t hold my tongue anymore.\n“I want you,” I said. \nI became obsessed with tasting her honey skin. Many nights of sweaty embraces and being lost in one another. We made love for the rain to pour and the sun to shine. Our joining became the unleashing of this world and diving into the universe. I love her.\nShe continued to sip on her tea in between breaks of recounting the events of her day. I could only smile to remain calm. The tea cut the edge off. I needed it. Once she reached the bottom, I had to tell her.\nI knew. I had always known who she was to me. My forever. But I did not want to need her. I wanted it to be my choice. When I made decisions out of necessity, then it wasn’t always made for the best reasons. Need becomes addiction if it wasn’t looked after. When that switch from ‘a need to want’ happened, it was time to take things up a notch. \n“You have been staring a lot today. What’s up with you?” she asked me.\nShe took one final swig of her tea and set it down. Did I forget to plan this properly? \n“All done with your tea?” I said, nodding towards the cup.\n“No, well yeah. You’re being strange, and I don’t know if I like it.”\nMy cup found its way to the table. I chuckled from nervousness and her observation. I could have sworn I was playing it cool. The room started to feel like the back of a garbage truck, pushing in on me. I told myself a million times I could do this. I am worth all the things I desire. Being a black man saying such affirmations; at one point, I could never.\n“Can you check your cup?” A slight tremor in my voice.\n“Why? Do you want the rest of it? It’s probably cold now.”\n“Bae, please. Just check your cup.”\nShe rolled those chocolate eyes and leaned over to grab her cup. She stared in the cup. She then swirled it around as if to release the aroma. Her eyes glowed as she continued to wonder at the contents of the cup. She turned the cup up to her lips, draining the rest of the liquid.\nWhen she looked up, the ring was on her lips and her eyes darted towards me. I had already moved to one knee beside her on the couch. A single silver drop escaped her left eye. I reached up and took the tea-coated ring from her full lips. Her lips quivered and matched the speed of my heart. I couldn’t overthink this.\n“Indigo, since the day you walked in my life, I knew I had met the person I was meant to spend the rest of my lifetimes with. I love you so fiercely that it scared me. It literally terrified me to allow you to see me in that way. See me so entranced by something I knew nothing of. I was scared I would love you wrong. But you have taught me that love is the base of who we are as celestial beings and there was no way I could get it wrong when I love from my soul.”\nTears flowed down both of our cheeks. I had always thought men had to be strong and not cry. I learned allowing myself to be vulnerable, carried more strength. I was on the verge of losing it. My hands full of sweat grabbed hers.\n“Would you do me the honor of being my wife?”\nHer lips pushed against mine with such force. She nodded her head, but that was not enough.\nI moved my lips from hers long enough to say, “I need to hear it.”\n“Yes, Cy. I will be your wife.\nKnowing is one thing, but doing something about it, that is the real thing." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Chamomile, It Helps\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 1334\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart your story with someone making a cup of tea — either for themself or for someone else." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Note/Trigger Warning: This story references child abuse/death.\nThe soft whistling sound and the sight of steam emerging from the stainless steel tea kettle was what captured Charmaine Wilson’s attention. Her barefeet softly padded against the wood floors, the legs of her plaid pajama bottoms whispered softly against the floor. She made her way to the stove and turned the silver knob, causing the small red light to disappear. Her fingers then curled around the handle of the kettle as she removed the appliance from the stove ring.\nShe moved quietly around the kitchen, working in the dim light provided by the small light fixture which was displayed above the sink. Her fingers curled around the porcelain Howard University mug as she moved the object to the marble surface of her counter. She placed a small Chamomile tea packet into the mug before pouring the boiling hot water into the small mug. Bubbles formed, steam rushed into the air. She put the kettle down onto the counter then simply leaned against the counter as she pulled the navy blue cardigan around her tank top and pajama bottoms combo a little more.\nMaybe a nice hot cup of Chamomile tea would help her sleep tonight.\nSometimes the cases that she and her squad worked would get to her. She loved working in law enforcement. She had no doubt that it was her calling; that she was meant to be a driving force in this male dominated industry. She and her squad had a case closure rate that surpassed any other unit within the FBI, all because of how fiercely dedicated they all were to the job of bringing home endangered individuals. Charmaine was often praised for her ability to lead her squad; the way she always stood her ground, the way she took absolutely no nonsense, the way she would work until a case was solved.\nBut then there were cases like their latest one: a case that ended up being a recovery rather than a rescue mission. An innocent four year old child that had been so cruelly snatched from her own front yard, only to be transported across the state line and found dead in an abandoned house, nearly a hundred miles away from her home. Charmaine struggled with cases like these where an innocent child was involved. The thought of anything happening to a child was too much to bear, but she had managed to keep a rather stoic expression throughout the recovery portion. She had learned to keep it together during these tough cases. She had learned not to fall apart when conducting notifications. She had learned to not react in anger when interrogating the sickest criminals.\nBut it was when she returned home to DC that she allowed herself to just feel, and to fall apart. Since returning to her DC apartment, her mind had been flooded with images of the four year old girl: the bruises, the evidence of strangulation. Filth surrounded the child, and yet, she looked as though she was sleeping. She didn’t look scared. She just looked like she was sleeping.\nEverytime Charmaine tried to close her eyes, the image of this child flooded her mind. If she allowed her mind to wander as she lay in the silence, she swore she could hear the screams of the heartbroken mother that flooded the air when they delivered the gut-wrenching news. If she stared into the darkness for too long, she swore she could see the sinister smirk of scumbag they’d arrested for this heinous crime.\nAnd now all of that led to this moment: her standing in the small kitchen of her apartment, leaned against the kitchen counter, making a small cup of Chamomile tea.\nShe glanced at the glowing green digital clock on the stove: 3:52. Five minutes had passed; her tea was ready.\nShe removed the bag and tossed it into the trash, then proceeded to add a little honey and sugar to her tea. As she stirred the contents of her mug, the only sound to be heard was a soft clink sound as the silver spoon tapped the inside of the mug with each twirl. She was staring intently at the light grey marble tile of the wall, slowly losing herself in her thoughts once more until-\n“Charm, what you doing, baby?”\nHer thought bubble shattered as the deep voice filtered into her ears. She looked over her shoulder, only to find her boyfriend Thomas making his way towards her. Exhaustion was evident as he stepped closer, only clad in a pair of sweatpants that he often kept at her apartment. She knew he was just as tired as she was; after all, days of working a case left little room for them to sleep. However, he could sometimes handle cases better than she could. Sometimes he could push the images from his mind and just succumb to exhaustion, like he had done tonight.\nCharmaine offered a small smile; “I’m making tea.”\n“At four in the morning?”\n“I haven’t slept,” Charmaine shrugged a little as she took the spoon out of her drink; “Sometimes when I can’t sleep, I drink some tea and cry a little, and then I’m good.”\nThomas hummed in understanding while nodding his head. He figured that this had affected Charmaine on a deep level. He didn’t miss the way she was so quiet on the plane, absently staring out the window with her brow furrowed. She was quiet during the ride back to her apartment, quiet as they settled in for the night.\nThomas stroked his fingers against her waist and pressed a tender kiss to the side of her head. “Do you want to talk about it?” he inquired.\n“Not right now, baby; I just want to sit down and drink my tea.” \nThomas nodded his head. They made their way over to the stools of the kitchen island and sat beside each other. The silence wasn’t awkward but it wasn’t comfortable either. Charmaine was trying to relax and Thomas didn’t want to push her.\nThey were silent for a few moments then she spoke;\n“I keep a box of Chamomile in the cabinet; bring it out after the bad cases, like this latest one.”\nThomas nodded as he looked at her; “Does it help?”\n“Always does.”\nThey fell into silence again. Her fingers were curled around the mug as she brought it to her lips for another sip. The drink was warm as it ran down her throat. She and Thomas didn’t really need to talk right now. Sometimes, they needed to just sit in silence.\nSo they did. They sat in silence. They silently processed how they were feeling. Thomas kept a comforting hand on her back while she sipped her tea. They both knew this case hadn’t turned out the way they had hoped, but they had gotten another monster off the streets and that was a win in somebody’s eyes.\nCharmaine finished her tea before pushing the mug aside. She turned on the stool, her knee bumping against Thomas’s leg as she spoke; “Let’s try this sleeping thing again.”\nThomas chuckled a little, tilting his head as he gazed at her; “You sure?”\nCharmaine gave a soft nod of the head. “Chamomile; it helps.”\nThomas simply smiled before standing up along with her. She put her mug in the sink and made sure all appliances and lights were switched off, then she and Thomas made their way back to her room. As he climbed into bed, she tossed her sweater aside before climbing into bed with him. His strong arms slipped around her slender frame, and she found herself resting her head on his chest.\nIt was nearly five in the morning now, and she was thankful that they had today off to rest.\nShe took a deep breath before closing her eyes. Maybe the chamomile tea would help. Maybe her thoughts would finally relax long enough so she could go to sleep." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: They Say...\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 1077\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character who’s dying to “spill the tea” (gossip) about something." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "\"Grandma, who is this lady in this picture?\" Shan asked, looking up at her grandmother.\nHer grandmother, Sadie, stopped brushing her hair and looked down at the photo album her granddaughter held on her lap.\n\"Oh, that's my grandmother, Mama Shugga\".\n\"Mama Shugga? Was that her real name?\" Shan asked, confused.\n\"No, baby. Her real name was Bertice Anne Taylor. They say she was the sweetest one of her ten siblings, so they called her 'Shugga Anne'.\"\n\"Wow! 10? She was the sweetest one, huh?\" Shan asked, curious about this lady who she'd never met. \"She sure is pretty.\"\n\"Oh, she sure was pretty. I remember her just a little. She didn't quite look like this lady here in this picture.\"\n\"Tell me more about her, grannie. Please. What do you remember her looking like?\" Shan begged.\n\"Well, if you want to know. I will tell you.\" Sadie smiled as she saw her granddaughter look deeper into the picture.\n\"They say my grandmother was always the life of the party. I never really knew her, but I've heard so much about her. Growing up, I found myself standing in front of the mirror dressing the way I thought she would dress, all sassy like they say her personality was. I wanted to be just like her. I would sit for hours looking at that picture you are looking at now. She looked much different when I knew her. Her hair was gray, but she was just as sassy.\"\n\"They say that she never met a stranger and that she would \"sash-shay\" around her garden parties in the latest fashion. This was the 1960s. The pictures show her hair all done up with her beautiful flowing dresses. No one could ever match her beauty or her personality, at least that's what I heard. They say she knew all the latest news around the neighborhood. Those two words would begin her reign as queen of any party and her neighborhood. \"They say...\" is how she always began. People were bound to listen to what followed next. Whether it was about the new neighbors down the street that had just moved in or if it was about my granddaddy's new lawn mower. \"They say\" brought people to her house even when she wasn't hosting one of her legendary parties.\nIt was one of those \"They says...\" that changed my grandmother's life forever. They say that she brought up Dr. King's visit to Birmingham, AL. It was something as simple as: \"They say that Dr. King will be in Birmingham this week to march for our civil rights.\" You see it wasn't always about the neighborhood gossip. Sometimes it was about real things. They say that it was a regular Wednesday when her pastor and his wife had come to visit. At the end of that visit, they say she had made up her mind to march with her church and Dr. King to the Mayor's office to talk about the segregation of the city.\"\n\"They say...grannie...\" Shan said trying out the words a little for herself to catch the feel of them. She decided that she liked it.\n\"Listen to you, young'un.\" Sadie laughed a little at Shan.\nShan smiled, \"They say that Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. changed the world. Isn't that right? Did she meet him? Did she really march with him?\" Shan's eyes had grown big with the mention of this famous name. She was simply amazed.\n\"Well, just listen. I'll get to that.\" Sadie explained.\n\"They say she threw one of her extravagant parties, just to make sure she had a way to get more people involved and that she made one of the biggest speeches of her life, even bigger than Dr. King, at least that's what they said. They say that she stood up with the biggest voice she could muster. She made everyone aware that they had a duty in changing the world, that it wasn't proper for the world to believe that living in the South under the segregation laws made things separate and equal because things sure were separate, but they weren't equal. They say she made people think about their children and the world they wanted them to grow up in. That it should truly be an equal place and not so much separate. It was time for change, and she knew she had to take up her courage and be that change. They say the tears flowed from her eyes when she talked about the future she wanted to see and that they had never seen her so passionate. They say the people who attended her party cried too. They agreed to join Mama Shugga at the march from the 16th Street Baptist Church to the Mayor's Office. They say when the day came to march they were afraid, but they trusted in the Lord with each step they took. They say you could hear the singing for miles in front of them and behind them as they interlocked arms in solidarity. They say that Dr. King led them in prayer too, and they were all encouraged to keep the faith. They say my grandmother was brave, that they all were brave soldiers fighting in prayer and psalms until they used high powered fire hoses on them, and they even used dogs to attack them. They say my grandmother was arrested along with hundreds of young people that day, even though they were being peaceful in their protest.\n\"She did? They didn't do anything except sing and walk.\" Shan looked at her grandmother in disbelief.\n\"Yes, baby. You are right. But they say it took all of this to turn it around. That's why you are able to learn where you learn, live where you live, and someday work where you work. They say that all their sacrifice was for you and your children.\"\n\"My children? So Mama Shugga did all this? She was something, huh?\" Shan looked back at the photo of the pretty lady who somehow now seemed much more than that.\n\"Oh, yeah, baby. That Mama Shugga was something else, but not just Mama Shugga, but so many more. She and others helped change our world! Just think! It all started with a, 'They say...'\"\nSadie laughed, and Shan did too.\nSadie began, \"You know they say she charmed a man with her smile one time and got a free car...\" Sadie smiled.\n\"Grannie...what!\" Shan laughed." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on 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 Feast of Change\n\nGenre: american\n\nWord Count: 1040\n\nPrompt:\n\nInclude in your story a scene about a family's last meal before a significant change." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "The air was thick with tension as the Thompson family gathered around the dining table for what would become their last meal together before their lives changed. The aroma of roast chicken and freshly baked bread filled the room, but the delicious scent couldn't mask the unease that hung in the air.\nTheodore Thompson, a middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair, carved the chicken with precision, trying to keep up the appearance of normalcy. His wife, Sarah, set the table with their best china, her hands trembling slightly as she placed the delicate plates in their usual spots.\nTheir two children, Aliyah and Danny, exchanged nervous glances. Aliyah, a third-year college student with dreams of becoming a photographer, fidgeted with her silverware. Danny, a college graduate with a Bachelor’s degree in Computer Science, stared at his plate, lost in thought.\nAs the family settled into their seats, Theodore cleared his throat, breaking the heavy silence. \"Well, let’s dive in,\" he said, attempting a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.\nNobody responded immediately. Eventually, the silence shifted to utensils clinking as everyone filled their plates. Everyone at the table had their secrets to reveal and decided the best time to do was over Christmas dinner. \n“We have news,” Theo spoke once they were done making a prayer. There is no reason to beat around the bushes. “We have to sell the house.” His words caused all the heads to turn to him. Silence cast the house once again. \nThe Thompsons had lived in their old Victorian house for as long as Aliyah and Danny could remember. It was the place where they had celebrated birthdays, weathered storms, and forged memories that would last a lifetime. But now they were being forced to sell the house and move to a smaller, more affordable place.\n“What happened Dad?” Danny asked. \n“My business partner screwed me over and we don’t have money to afford the house anymore.” Theo held his wife’s hand knowing she would not be able to hold back her tears any longer. \nAfter a long silence of glares across the room, Aaliyah spoke. “Since we’re on the topic of sharing news, I have one. I’m moving to London with Michael.” \n“And why in the world would you be doing that?” Her mom asked, clutching tighter of her husband’s hand.\n“There’s a great photography program that I applied for and with the baby, it’s..” before Aaliyah could finish her explanation her mother interrupted her. \n“Baby? What baby?” Sarah asked.\n“That was the other thing…I’m pregnant,” she brought out an ultrasound picture.\n“Congratulations,” Danny hugged her. Despite knowing that their parents were upset with this, he was happy for his sister. She had always wanted to have children and Michael was the best guy for her. He is already a great boyfriend to Aaliyah and he would be a great father to their child.\nAfter interrogating their daughter about her details, her brother decided that it was best to reveal his secret and take the stress off his sister.\n“Ally isn’t the only one that’s moving away,” he interrupted.\n“And where are you going now?” Their father asked. \n“I got accepted into Stanford for a Master’s program,” he took out his acceptance packet from his bag. \n“Oh my God, Congratulations,” Aaliyah practically jumped out of her chair to hug her brother. “That’s amazing.”\nWithin a couple of minutes, emotions had gone from nervousness to hurt to excitement. \n“So that means that this is our last meal together in this house,” Ally started to tear up.\nSarah passed the mashed potatoes, determined to provide some sort of normalcy to the event. \"Let's enjoy this meal together,\" she said, her voice quivering only slightly. \"No talk of goodbyes or what's to come. Just a family dinner like any other.\"\nThe family nodded, and for a moment, the clinking of cutlery against plates replaced the heavy atmosphere with a more familiar cadence. They spoke of trivial things – Aliyah's projects and Danny's graduation. Yet, beneath the surface, the unspoken acknowledgment of the impending change lingered.\n“You guys should get a puppy,” Aaliyah suggested. “We’re moving away and the two of you need someone other than each other.” \n“That’s a decision for later,” Sarah responded. She never liked the idea of having pets because they were too dirty. \nDessert was served soon, a homemade coconut cream pie with a golden crust, one of the family favorites. \nTheodore finally broached the subject that hung over them like a dark cloud. “Maybe this change isn't all bad,\" he said, looking at his family. \"We will all have a chance to start fresh, to build something new for ourselves. This is not the end, but a start to new beginnings.\"\nAliyah nodded, a small smile playing on her lips. \"And there’s always FaceTime, holiday dinners. Not to mention you can’t miss the birth of your grandchild. I will need you guys. I won’t be able to do all this alone,\" her voice broke into cracks as she tried not to cry. “I’m not crying, it’s just the hormones,” she fanned her tears.\nSoon enough, the air seemed to lighten as the family shared stories of their favorite memories in the house – the time they camped out in the backyard, the laughter that echoed through the halls during holiday celebrations, and the countless family movie nights in the cozy living room.\nAs the evening drew to a close, the family sat back, content and grateful for the meal that had brought them together one last time in that familiar dining room. The plates were nearly empty, and the warmth of the shared stories lingered in the air.\nTheodore stood up and gathered the empty plates, his eyes reflecting a mixture of sadness and hope. \"Let's clean up together,\" he said, glancing at each family member. \nThe Thompsons found strength in each other and the love that had sustained them throughout the years. While this may be their last meal together in this home, there were many more to come in the future. As they washed dishes and put away leftovers, a sense of unity replaced the initial unease. Their lives may be changing, but the essence of family remains unbroken." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: He had the guts !\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 1718\n\nPrompt:\n\nBegin your story with a character having a gut feeling they cannot explain." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Borborygmi? Nah, it seemed like my tummy was rebelling against my very existence, shittt! Arghh, maybe I just needed to do that, would have relieved me of that unbidden discomfort.\n\nHeading towards the lavatory made me ponder on the unusual feeling I had been experiencing all morning, now this? \"What if physiology and psyche coalesce? I mean, thoughts, feelings and emotions are products of chemicals, the D.O.S.E. Physiology has chemicals at it's core, so it's plausible that they interact. “Whoa! I'm hitting on the next Nobel Prize, too much sense will not be the end of me\", I was just thinking out aloud.\n\nI wasn't in the best mood to step out that day and with the gastroenteritis, I thought it best to sit it out. \"Ohh, come on, the gastroenteritis is just another excuse you always proffer\", I said to myself.\n\nIt's a new year and I had decided to do away with procrastination. My new theme was 'Just do it' like my favorite designer, NIKE. However I still couldn't do away with the odd feeling, so I ensured to take proper precautions as I had the journey planned out. I was going to sit at the door side so I'd be the first to rescue myself in case of a road mishap. No ear buds in so I'll be at utmost alert. My hoodies, joggers and face cap for a cushion effect, I wasn't taking chances.\n\nHit the road some minutes past 9am, the air had a refreshing scent of lavender, I thought it would smell like trouble, this went a long way to calm my mind. The sun rays reflecting off the shiny heads of brown kids frolicking around in their undies on a mocochrome background of brown roofs and vegetation; reminiscent of people who had no troubles. This scene generally characterized this environment, and with my intentional search for something peculiar, it all seemed like a very normal day, even better than most.\n\nAs we rode along the road,I saw the police was right there in front waiting eagerly to extort the drivers of their daily wages. This is a normal occurence here and it is equally natural for the drivers to resist initially, not exempting my driver whom deemed it prudent to be headstrong. I was pissed because this unnecessary dispute was definitely going to delay us for some time and the driver would still heed to their request at the end of this comedy routine. “This is taking longer than usual” I thought to myself.\n\n\"Espirit de corps\" I blurted out. I heard this in a movie and I was anticipating some form of positive response. I soon realized that my mouth may have landed me in trouble, after noticing the change in expression on their faces. It was somewhere between disgust and confusion. Oh my God! I should have stayed home. This was it, I was in a mess and I was quite surprised I didn't pass multiple episodes of flatus before moving bowel that morning. My eyes were already welling up with tears. One of the policemen approached me with a whip that resembled that used on livestock. Was I going to become a cow or perhaps a goat today?\n\nIntroducing me to this lash was going to scar me for eternity. I quickly took the initiative, flung the door open and went flat on my chest. I started pleading for forgiveness in a most repentant tone. I explained why I had said what I said in a few words, in our local dialect. Taken aback by this act of humility from someone dressed like a gangstar, they burst into laughter. I made sure not to miss the window of euphoria as I quickly offered some money for drinks, as they had been under the sun for long. It was only morning and they hardly broke a sweat but I had to kiss up to them to prevent any further hassle. The grin on their faces indicated that they were pleased and I had automatically made a few friends in the forces.\n\nWe were soon on our way and I was thinking of the multiple ways that could have turned out. They could have labelled me a riff-raff and dealt with we severely with no one to come to my rescue, I could have been extorted to buy my freedom, so I was very much impressed with the step I took. The journey to my destination was uneventful after that occurence and I knew that I had escaped the worst possible event that could probably occur. I had heard several cases of police harassment but this was a first for me.\n\nComputer village was as rowdy as I heard, even at that time of the morning, it seemed like they never left. The energetic vibes, the street boys standing at corners hailing passersby hoping to get a little change, the wooden shops that characterized this place in it's entirety. There were only a few decent structures there but they all sold the same products.\n\nThis place was popular for getting cheap, quality gadgets. I had saved for a couple months to transition from my pitiful android mobile to an apple product. I didn't have enough to get a new one but the used ones were just as good, one just needed to buy those extra accesories that accompanies them. I saw a couple of iPhones on display and decided to commence my tour. I started asking around shops and beating down prices, they were all within the same range, just a few bucks shorter.\n\nI decided to go with the price that fell within the mid-range; it's just something that I do, not swinging to the extremes to prevent stories that touch. He tested the phone, switched it on to ascertain it was in good condition, confessed to me that the battery life was at 80% but I already knew I couldn't get better at that price. We checked all sorts, the camera was satisafory as this was a major reason I needed the phone asides from social standing. He packaged the phone and went in to get the case. Honestly, I was a little surprised he had that, it could easily pass as a new phone if my friends came around and I flaunted the case. I was excited, paid him via the POS and was soon on my way back home.\n\nMy trip back was smooth and I was glad that I averted the worst. The experience was definitely going up on my youtube channel. I checked to confirm my ATM card and cash were intact, changed my wears and sat down to unbox my phone, I was super elated.\n\nI switched the phone on and 'Hi' greeted me. The next thing was the image of a big eye, the former user of the phone must have been one dramatic fellow. I didn't even take note of the notification sound since I was used to my android; my heart skipped a beat when I saw Hi-phone boldly come up on the screen. I turned the phone and saw that the apple was almost eaten in it's entirety, all that was left was an image resembling a crescent.\n\nI started having palpitations and sweating profusely, even though the AC had saturated the room. I stomped out of the room in my inner whites and shorts and started to run. Common sense prevailed, I highlighted a cab, less concerned by the amount I would pay for chattering the cab. The driver took a shortcut as he sensed the urgency and I arrived there quicker than I expected; it seemed the universe was working in my favour. I jolted to a stop at the particular location where I got the phone and alas! It was closed.\n\nImages became blurry, I wasn't sure if it was the tears or a consequence of a headache . I started asking around and no one seemed to heed to me; this place is the ghetto and not for the light hearted. One of the street boys came to my rescue and told me he knew the location of the damn fellow. He offered to accompany me there and I was raining prayers on him. We went in the same cab that brought me as I didn't have the cash to pay the cab guy yet, so he'd have to take me home to get his fee.\n\nWe travelled a long distance but I was hopeful. We reached the destination and this 'street guy' alighted and was all cozy with the people he met there. I asked him gently about the concerned fellow and he told me to ask around, I was taken aback because this boy was supposed to help me, I mean that's why he was there. Apparently he just hitched a ride to join his pals. I didn't even know how or what to ask but I started explaining my predicament to people around in local dialect but all I got from them were pitiful gestures, insults and statements questioning my sapience. A while passed and I became exhausted.\n\nThe cab guy walked down to meet me and broke the news I never wanted to accept, I had been scammed. I couldn't understand my emotions at that point but I knew I'd beat the living hell out of anyone that remotely resembled that fellow; his image was etched in my memory and I don't think I'll ever forget. How dare he!\n\nUpon getting home, I sorted the cab guy at a fair price and then began the phase of sober reflection. I didn't want to think about it but I couldn't stop as tears rolled down my face. I had been praised for my IQ back in class but this was absolutely mortifying, I couldn't even share my experience.\n\nThat joke of a phone is in the dump right now, seeing it any further would have tilted me towards depression. I guess that's why I had the irrestible urge to take a dump earlier that morning. Such a shitty experience, I'm absolutely livid.\n\nPS: You can understand now, when I say, please limit your greetings to Hello and not 'Hi', I still have serious issues with the letter 'I' as of this moment." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: CONSEQUENCES\n\nGenre: american\n\nWord Count: 1711\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story in which a character eats something that they shouldn’t have eaten." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "CONSEQUENCES\n“Sir, I am not a bit hungry. I just want to go home”.\n“Son, you best eat it now, you hear? It could be a long time afore...”\n“Before what? I told you everything I know”.\nThe older man ignored the pleadings of his prisoner and continued dishing out the beans from the pot in his hand. The younger occupant of this rough hewn log cabin, his expensive, tailor made, business suit ragged and crumpled from being forced into the rear of the SUV that had abducted him from the basement car park of his business office, earlier that evening, began to beg.\n“I just handled some paperwork. I’ve never known anything else about this operation. I’ve given you their names, their addresses. Please, I can’t tell you anything else; I don’t know anything more. Please...I’m just a lawyer.”\n“ ‘The first thing we do is kill all the lawyers’, Henry V1”.\nThe younger man looked incredulously at this older man, this...this thug who was now quoting what? Shakespeare?\nHis captor, a slightly built man, unshaven and dressed in a nondescript, functional, sweat top and cargo pants, his military bearing exuding an air of controlled menace, sat at the table and started to eat his beans, ignoring the pleadings of his fellow diner. Having finished his meal, he picked up the enamel plate with both hands and proceeded to lick the tomato juice.\n“Best bit. You gonna eat those beans, son?”\nThe young man shook his head, no. Without hesitation, the plate was dragged across and the second plate of beans hungrily devoured. Again, the licking of the plate completed the ritual, as the lawyer looked on, slightly disgusted by this lack of etiquette. As if reading his thoughts, the captor, looking up from his plate, held up a pinky and wriggled it, his contemptuous grin revealing sauce smeared teeth.\n“One thing you learn in the military, son: you grabs chow at ever’ opportunity. It might just be your last meal”.\nA potbelly stove was issuing heat efficiently but, otherwise, the single roomed cabin was sparsely furnished with no comfortable chairs and no bed of any kind. Pointing to the cell phone on the table, he explained.\n“We just gotta wait ’til I hear from my partner. See if those names and addresses you gave us are good”.\n“Then, you’ll let me go?”\nThe older man looked pityingly across at his captive.\n“Son, you seem like an educated fella. You surely understand what consequences means?”\nThe lawyer looked questioningly at his interrogator.\n“Of course”.\n“Ain’t a damn thing we humans do that don’t have consequences. You agree?”\nUnsure of where the conversation was leading, the young man nodded reluctantly.\n“I guess I ain’t had the type o’ pampered upbringing or education that you’ve had. I am purely self taught, myself, but I’ve done a fair bit o’ reading and a lot o’ clever folks have had a thing or two to say ‘bout consequences. You ever hear tell of a fella name o’ Josiah Stamp at that fancy college you graduated from?”\n“Who?”\nIgnoring the question, and shaking his head at the lawyer’s ignorance, the older man continued.\n“ ‘It is easy to dodge our responsibilities but we cannot dodge the consequences of dodging our responsibilities.’ That were one o’ his. I like that one. What about Robert Louis Stevenson? You’ve surely heard tell o’ him?”\nThe lawyer searched his befuddled brain.\n“Treasure Island?”\n“ ‘Sooner or later, everyone sits down to a banquet of consequences’. A banquet of consequences. Love that. You see, son, one bad decision can lead to a whole heap of repercussions and you made one real bad 'un when you agreed to take those double-crossing scum on as your clients...”\n“But...”\n“Save it, boy. It don’t do no good. Sure, you gave ‘em up soon enough but, the day you helped those fellas set up their trail of corporations, offshore accounts and the like, was the day you sold your soul to the devil and you surely don’t think you can do a deal with El Diablo and still end up in Heaven, do ya?”\n“But...I had nothing to do with their actual operation...I keep telling you; I’m just a lawyer. I made sure I remained neutral...”\n“ ‘Neutral men are the devil’s allies’, Edwin Hubbel Chapin. You made your bed, son, now you gots to lie in it. My advice...best prepare yourself. We all gonna die son. Best go out with a little dignity”.\nSuddenly, the lawyer lunged desperately from the table in an effort to reach the door but the older man calmly stretched out a leg and tripped a fleeing foot, sending him sprawling, headlong, to the grimy floor.\n“I ain’t hurt you none, yet, boy. Don’t give me a reason to start now”.\n“I’m only thirty. I’m not ready to die...”. The captive began to weep, momentarily but soon stopped.\nAs he was dragged from the floor and made to sit down again at the table, he seemed, finally, to realise the hopelessness of his situation and a calmness descended over him. He was going to die. Today. He would never leave this cabin alive. As soon as the information he had given regarding his clients had been confirmed, this man was going to kill him. There was no point in protesting his naivety, his stupid greed; nothing he could say would make any difference. He breathed in deeply.\n“Sir, if it’s not too late, I think I would like to have something to eat”.\nThe wily mercenary looked at his prisoner with a new understanding, acknowledging this dawning of reality; he had seen this reaction many times in those about to face death at his hands.\n“That’s the way, boy. Now, let me see what I can rustle up”.\nHe made his way to the cardboard box filled with cans that sat on a work surface near to the stove. As he rummaged through the contents, his captive sat quietly, head down, at the table.\n“Well, can’t say I can offer you much variety, son. It’s either beans...or beans”.\n“Beans is fine, sir. Thank you”.\nThe older man tore off the peel back lid and dumped the beans into the pot that he had used previously, placing it on top of the stove to heat up.\n“Tell you what though, there’s a tin o’ peaches. We can open them up for dessert, if you like”.\n“Peaches? You mean the ones in syrup? That’d be nice. I haven’t had those for years. Thank you, sir”.\nThe ex-soldier placed the beans, heaped high on an enamel plate, in front of the prisoner.\n“May I please have a fork, sir?”\nThe older man looked at his captive shrewdly, shaking his head, before fetching a spoon and placing it in front of the lawyer. He then watched as the beans were scooped up in great mouthfuls and gulped down. When the younger man had finished, he took the plate and copied the actions of the other man by licking the plate clean of the sweet, tomato juice, grinning as he did so. The older man could not suppress a smile.\n“That’s the way, boy. Still want them peaches?”\nThe lawyer nodded and the captor rose and returned, once more, to the box of goods.\n“Damn me, ain’t no flip lid”.\nHe held the can in front of his eyes, turning it upside down in frustration.\n“You might just have to forego these little beauties, son”.\n“Please. There must be a can opener, somewhere. You promised”.\nThe captor could sense a slight return of the prisoner’s former wheedling self so, reluctantly, began to rummage in the drawers before, eventually, locating a rusting can opener which he applied to the can of peaches, turning and twisting and grunting with the effort. Several times the can opener, blunt and aged, lost traction with the edge of the can’s surface, causing it to slip and the ex-soldier to curse loudly. Finally, sweating from the effort, he placed the can in front of the lawyer.\n“You can damn well use the same spoon. God only knows how people managed to use those stupid contraptions, years ago”.\nThe lawyer prised open the jagged edge of the can and took a spoonful of juice, bringing it to his mouth, savouring the sweetness.\n“Oh my, sir. That is so good. You sure you don’t want to share?”\nAs he spoke, he spooned a half of peach from the can to his mouth and the ex-soldier began to lick his lips with his tongue.\n“Guess I’ll take half, boy”.\nFetching another enamel plate, he placed it in front of the lawyer. As he did so, his cell phone began to vibrate wildly.\n“Yeah? Yeah. Okay. I said okay”.\nQuietly, grimly, he placed the phone in a pocket of his pants. At the same time, he withdrew his handgun from his waistband and held it in his right hand as he sat across from the lawyer.\n“Times up. Best finish those peaches, son”.\nThe lawyer looked up, understanding. Taking the can in his left hand, he began to dole peaches and juice onto his captor’s plate. As he looked into the black, ice cold eyes, devoid of sympathy in the passionless face that stared back at him, he knew that he was moments away from death.\n“I’m... not... a criminal...”\n“We’re all a part o’ the same conspiracy, son”.\n“Thanks, at least, for my last supper”.\nWith his right hand, the lawyer hurled the plate of fruit and syrup at his captor’s face. At the same time, with his left, he thrust with the can at the older man’s throat, the jagged edge of the lid becoming embedded in the mercenary’s throat. Without hesitation, he sliced, left and right, and watched in horror as the blood spurted from the carotid artery, spraying everything with a deep, purple-like colour; life, itself, oozing from the killer’s being.\nAmazed at his actions and stunned by his lack of remorse at this taking of another human’s life, he calmly took the gun from the older man’s grip and placed the barrel, unnecessarily, to the back of his head.\n“ ‘Consequences are unpitying’, George Eliot”.\nHe squeezed the trigger." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Authentic\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 1392\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character setting an unusual New Year’s resolution." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Amber stared at the ceiling watching the rain hit the skylights. The mimicked the feeling she couldn’t display and felt so deeply in the pit of her heart chakra. She would have to leave soon despite the fatigue. Rolling over in the condominium she rented, she thought over the last week of the conference. That awakened a soft smile.\nAt the end of the year, she would go away for a week-long conference for the last six years. All week she met new people in her field of work and got a chance to see friends she made from previous years. This was the only time she got to see them, and cherishing each moment was an understatement. Tomorrow was December 30th, and she needed to put her best face on. \nShe kicked the covers off and sat up straight in the bed. Her mind went to the question everybody always asked around this time, “What is your New Year’s resolution?” At the time, nothing came to mind. She had the job she loved. She had the family any woman would dream of. She didn’t want to make any changes to her full figure. She worked out five times a week. Always ate veggies with every meal and fruit on the daily. She carried her size 18 with pride. \nShe didn’t conform to society’s standards or taboos, except for one thing. She took in a full deep breath. She breathed in her current reality. Holding her breath, she thought of what would complete her. She released that breath slowly and let go of the fear of the next step. \nAfter a deep meditation, Amber was able to calm her thoughts. The lighting shook the building as if in answer to her request of the Universe. The room was still too stuffy to put the covers back on. Her naked body was on full display for the elements. Serene thoughts clouded her mind, and dreams of a promising future took over.\nHe picked her up from the airport. His hand covered hers the entire ride home. Half of the time, her gaze was fixated on the scene outside. The other half, she listened to him talk about his week being at home alone. He beamed about getting work done but missing her with every fiber in his being. She missed him the same. Loved him beyond the stars in the sky. \nHe was perfection, and she couldn’t ask for more in a mate. Somewhere along their journey, she realized that she was not whole, and he was not the one to help her get that. Three years into their relationship, her best friend invited her to a play party. Apprehensive, she ran the idea past her then-boyfriend, current fiancé. \nShe sat at their kitchen island, watching him making them asiago bagels with cream cheese. \n“Barron, I saw this documentary on play parties. I was…”\n“Play parties?” His left eyebrow was already raised, and his lip turned up at the corner. “A bunch of people having sex with a bunch of people they don’t know. That is insane. I don’t know how people can do that.” \nHe passed her the toasted bagel with cream cheese. He quickly fried an egg and laid it on top with avocado. She took a bite while she took in what he said. She almost gave in, but his perspective was wrong.\n“It isn’t just random people having sex, Barron. There are many avenues in the sex industry. There are many kinds of sex workers. It isn’t this blanket black or white community.”\nHe sat down across from her and ate on his bagel. “You sound like you researched it or something.”\n“I watched a documentary. It isn’t what I imagined.”\n“Well, Amber. You know we grew up in the church, and that sort of thing is unacceptable. Sex is for our bedroom only.”\n“If that were the case, we would be married having sex only, B.”\nFinishing her bagel, he replied, “You know there are levels to these things, Am. You act like you are interested. You have never mentioned that sort of thing before. I know me; I just can’t. And I wouldn’t expect you to go into that world either.”\nAnd with that, their conversation was over. She had not lied about watching a documentary. Her bestie had told her to give it a chance, and she didn’t want to go into the environment blind. Barron came around the island and kissed her forehead before heading out to work. He was a prominent lawyer that the community loved. They knew her because of him. She had a reputation to keep.\nThat weekend, she wore a new wig and a leather trench coat. Entering the play party with her bestie, they took that black fabric from her body. \n“Damn, Am.”\nShe wore a very strappy leather ensemble that barely covered her most intimate parts. Watching that documentary whispered to a part of her that she thought she locked away. A darkness that grinned and shivered in answer. She had to stop watching several times, afraid of what was happening to her body. \nShe thought she should see what it was about, at the least. And she wouldn’t be mild about it. Opening up to Barron was a bust. She didn’t like to lie or keep things from him, but the energy inside of her said she needed to do this. Her religious background told her that the energy was wrong. But, what if; it wasn’t. \nA fairytale. That is what that night was. It answered all the questions she had inside. She found herself that wondrous night. She spent the night with her best friend; they talked about everything they saw.\n“I have to be a part of that world.”\nThey walked through the door; Barron asked Amber for details of the convention. She gave him the bare minimum. She had not wanted to lie more than she already had. Six years of lies weighed heavily on her. He just wouldn’t understand. And she did not want to lose him.\n“We have everything in order for the New Year’s Eve party. I am excited we are hosting this year,” he said after he threw his keys on the entryway desk. \nShe walked up behind him and laid her head on his back. Her honey-tinted hands slid around his abs and held him tight. She inhaled his musky almond scent. He let out an audible sound of pleasure as her hands continued to roam over him. Her hug got tighter, and the back of his shirt became wet. \nHis brows furrowed, and he turned around in her arms. She buried her face in his chest now. “Amber?”\nHis index finger tried to push up her chin, but she shook her head, denying his request. \n“I missed you, is all.”\nIt wasn’t long before he scooped her up in his arms. She loved him because he loved her. But would he still if he knew? The next few hours had them wrapped in each other. Sheets wrinkled, melodic headboard and wall, smells of ecstasy mixing. Tangled in the webs of love. \nHe laid beside her, snoring softly. She kissed his lips tenderly and slid out of their bed. She grabbed her cranberry robed and allowed her feet to carry her to the kitchen. She made herself a Bailey’s peppermint hot chocolate. Her best friend had texted her, she called her back.\n“Welcome back, Am! How was it?”\nShe sat at the island. “Spectacular. I wish you could have made it this year.”\n“Me too. Not being able to travel in my last trimester is very annoying. But I can’t wait to see you for New Year’s Eve. You got a New Year’s resolution?”\nShe sighed, “I want to live my life as one person.”\n“That’s the first time I have ever heard that before. What does that even mean?”\n“You are the only one that knows that I am living this double life. I can’t keep doing this. I want to be able to be one person. Not have to lie to anyone. Especially Barron.”\n“I know, love.”\n“I am breaking. This is too much. I can’t lose myself again. I also can’t lose B.”\n“Well, what are you going to do?”\n“I’m going to have to tell 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: Lost Souls or a New Year?\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 2986\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart or end your story with one or more characters shouting “Happy new year!”" }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Note: Contains Sexual and physical violence\n\nLost souls or a New Year?\nBy, Cal Kirby\nSusie was born on a plantation on July 4, 1836, in rural North Carolina. She was the daughter of the slave Anna and possibly her Master, James Ryan. Master Ryan was a drunkard, abusive and an owner of 120 acres of tobacco land in North Carolina. Susie was a lighter-skinned daughter Anna never really wanted, but fell in love with when the baby first opened her eyes. Anna never knew whether James or his brother, Needham, was the father.\nAnna had served Master Ryan since she was purchased from Master Ryan’s brother, Needham, when she was thirteen. She was raped by Master Ryan and Needham when she was brought to the Ryan Plantation for the sale. Both the men were staggeringly drunk. That’s when Susie was conceived.\nSusie was a very bright and curious child and was well thought of by the Mistress of the house, Rachel Ryan. Little did Rachel know that Susie could possibly be her husband’s child? On the sly, when Master Ryan wasn’t home, Rachel taught Susie to read and also write. Susie was a quick learner.\nWhen Susie was six, Anna met Luther Briggs, a free Negro and sharecropper from the farm next to the Ryan Plantation. Luther brought his vegetable crop to the plantation to sell and that is when he fell in love with the vision of Anna hanging wash on the clothes line. “She’s the most beautiful thing I ever seen,” Luther thought to himself. “Massa Ryan, is she for sale?” Luther queried. “Hell no, she’s ain’t for sale,” the belligerent slave owner exclaimed. “She’s worth more than you cud ever afford!” Anna was immediately smitten with Luther’s looks and physique.\nOver the next three years Luther worked as hard as he could and saved every penny he could to purchase Anna’s freedom. Luther also started trapping beaver and selling their pelts to earn more money. Every week when Luther went to the plantation to sell his crops, he made sure he got more and more acquainted with Anna and, to find out later, Susie. He loved Susie as well. Susie thought Luther was the nicest and handsomest man she ever saw.\nFinally, the day came when Luther came to the plantation to purchase of Anna and Susie. Luther approached Master Ryan and queried how much it would take to buy Anna and her daughter. “You ain’t got enuf money you low-down black bastard,” the sloppily drunk white slaver shouted. Luther didn’t bat an eye and just said, “How much?” “Nine hunnered dollas!”\nLuther counted out exactly $900.00 and held it up to Master Ryan and said, “Deal!” Luther grabbed Anna and Susie and headed his wagon down the back road to where he dreamed he and his new family would live happily ever after. James Ryan stood in the wake of the dust and was stupefied.\nLuther, Anna and Susie were in for a big surprise. The next day, the Sherriff, another one of James Ryan’s brothers, went to Luther’s house and arrested him for theft of two slaves. Sherriff William Ryan didn’t want to listen to Luther’s and Anna’s protests that Luther had purchased the two slaves and “paid nine hundred dollars to Master Ryan.”\nJames Ryan’s cousin, Judge Thomas Hartley, read to himself the verdict for the trial of Luther Briggs. The jury foreman then stood and announced loudly, “Guilty.” Judge Hartley, slammed the gavel on his podium and stated loud and clear, “Ten years hard labor.” Anna and Susie were returned to the Ryan Plantation and they never saw Luther again.\nNow, at the age of 9, Susie was helping her mother with the household chores and stealing some time with Rachel on her reading and writing. Rachel was very kind and so unmatched with the crude, slovenly James Ryan. Maybe when he was younger he may have been a catch for Rachel. Who knows?\nThis way of life continued for the next three years and then tragedy again struck the lives of Anna and Susie. When James Ryan came home, unexpectedly, he caught Rachel teaching Susie her multiplication tables. He went into a rage and then slapped Susie and threw her out of the house. Rachel tried to protect Susie but to no avail. James was too strong and shoved Rachel hard and she flew back into the open fireplace and cracked her head on the stone mantel. She couldn’t survive until the doctor arrived.\nJames was distraught and said to the jury, “I didn’t mean for her to die.” With his cousin, Judge Hartley presiding, James Ryan was pronounced not guilty in the death of his wife, Rachel.\nSusie was growing and becoming more beautiful every day. Now at the age of 16, she had attracted the glances and comments from the field hands and Master Ryan. One day Master Ryan came home earlier than usual from his daily rounds of the plantation. He saw Susie leaning over the woodpile in a bin next to the stove, getting wood to stoke the fire, and knew he had to have her.\nWhile Anna was outside, James snuck up behind Susie and grabbed her around the waist and covered her mouth so she couldn’t scream. He wrestled her into the bedroom, threw her on the bed and lifted her skirt with one hand while still covering her mouth with his other hand. Anna returned to the house before James had time to penetrate the young girl. Anna saw the two on the bed and screamed. James jumped up and immediately went for Anna, while Susie, crying, ran past her mother and went out the door. Anna, was not so fortunate and the burly James had his way with her again, after many years of her carefully avoiding him. At least she protected her daughter’s virtue.\nJames sobered up, cleaned himself up real nice and started courting Betsy (Shaw) Hartley who had been married to Judge Hartley’s brother, Jed, for 6 years and they had twin boys, aged 4 years. Jed Hartley was killed when he fell out of the upper level of his tobacco barn and was impaled on a pitch fork. Although Betsy didn’t really feel any romantic connection to James, she was getting desperate to find someone to take over the farm responsibilities and provide for her and her boys. They were married 6 weeks after their first date.\nThree weeks after the wedding, James was back to his drunken, slovenly ways. Susie and Anna didn’t care for the new Mistress of the plantation, or the two boys. The boys were spoiled brats and Betsy (Shaw Hartley) Ryan was a horror to deal with. Neither Anna nor Susie could do anything to please her. Anna took the brunt of the Betsy’s vitriol and decided she couldn’t take it much longer. Susie, of course, had to be part of her plan once she figured out what exactly she would do.\nThe plantation Mistress didn’t lift a finger to do anything but crochet, read and sip on the blackberry wine James kept near his easy chair. Because Anna was also responsible for filling the wine bottle from the barrel in the barn, James never paid attention to what his new bride was sipping.\nIn the quiet of their shack, Anna confided to Susie her plan to escape and head north and try to make it to Canada. When Anna had been with Luther during his visits to the plantation, he had told her about the Underground Railroad and Canada. He told her of his plan to purchase her and Susie from Master Ryan, but if it didn’t work out he would help her escape and they would join together in Canada.\nTwo weeks after Anna disclosed the plan to Susie, they each packed a knapsack with as much clothing and food they could carry. They carefully hid the knapsacks behind a large tree near the shack and went to the main house for what they hoped would be their last time.\nSusie took care of dinner for the two boys and then put them down to bed. Anna fixed the most delicious dinner and poured the Ryan’s each a tall glass of Blackberry wine. Anna had earlier laced the bottle of wine with a good amount of arsenic she had found in the barn. Anna said, “We’ll be back to clean up after you finish your suppa, so enjoy your Christmas Eve dinner and relax with your glasses of wine.”\nAnna and Susie left their shack and followed the North Star in the beautifully clear North Carolina sky. Traveling on Christmas Eve would maybe protect them because everyone would be inside celebrating the coming of the Savior.\nThe town of Damascus, Virginia, was the first Underground Railroad station about 45 miles away. They made good time before dawn and were about 11 miles north of the Ryan Plantation. Both women needed rest after working all day the day before and walking all night. They found a small hedge of forsythia bushes along the fence of a dairy farm. They hid and hoped the noises of the cows and other farm animals would protect them from being discovered.\nAfter about three hours, Anna and Susie were startled by a nosey dog, who started barking loudly. They ran as fast as they could until they were exhausted. They were able to make another three miles before finding a resting place, among a small grove of trees. They settled in and slept most of Christmas day.\nAnna and Susie made their way from the grove of trees and travelled another 18 miles before settling down in a gully running along a small river. Anna figured they were only about 15 miles from the hopeful safety of the Damascus site.\nThe morning after Anna and Susie’s escape, Luke Jennings, the plantation overseer went to the main house when Master Ryan didn’t show up at his usual time to check on things at the tobacco barn. After knocking on the door, little Jed Hartley opened the door and said “Hi’ya Luke!” Luke said, “Is Master Ryan here?” “He’s sleepin’,” young Jed said. “And so’s momma.” Luke peaked in the door and saw James Ryan slumped over the table and Betsy Ryan lying flat on the floor. After checking their vital signs, Luke realized he had to get hold of the Sherriff and went looking for Anna or Susie to take care of the boys, while he rode to town.\nThe women were not in the shack, and Luke started yelling until one of the colored field hands came running up the dirt road.\nLuke headed to town to the Sherriff’s home, being that it was Christmas day and the Sherriff would be home with the family.\nAfter the coroner examined the bodies, he said “I think they were poisoned.” The Sherriff told Luke and a Sherriff’s deputy to “Go find them bitches!”\n After retrieving some clothing left in Anna’s shack, Luke hitched a horse to the wagon and went to the back of the main house to get the hounds. Luke and the deputy headed out looking for the runaways, with the hounds running ahead. In the daylight the hounds and two men were making good time, but they were quite a few hours behind the slave women.\nWhile the terrain was a little rough for the wagon, Luke held it steady and followed the hounds closely. They made about 10 miles before it got too dark and settled down in the wagon bed for a well-deserved sleep before heading out the next morning. The hounds, stopping and sniffing every few hundred feet, made the travelling slow.\nWhile Anna and Susie had been sleeping during the day in the gully on the second day of their escape, Luke and his hunting team had made good time and were only about two miles behind them. Luke didn’t know for sure how close they were, but had a feeling in his bones that he was about to claim his prize and make them pay.\n\n“Shit,” yelled Luke when his wagon hit a rock and broke the rear axle. They were nowhere near any place to get it fixed. He decided they were going to have to go the nearest farm house and try to borrow a wagon. The farmer had a wagon that they could borrow and gave them a spare bedroom to sleep before starting out again the next day.\n\nAnna and Susie experienced the joy of finding their first station on the Underground Railroad. The station (actually a blacksmith’s stable and house on the edge of town) was run by the “Station Master,” Blacksmith Lewis Delaney, and his wife Rose. Anna had identified the Underground Station from Luther’s description he had given her. The two upside-down horseshoes, on the fence gate of the Blacksmith’s corral, completed Luther’s description. Anna wondered if she’d ever see Luther again?\n\nShortly after arriving, Anna had been transformed into an elderly black man with greying hair and a matching grey mustache. This was done in the secret room that Lewis had built in a space between the house and the stable. Rose had cut Anna’s hair to resemble a man’s cut of the day and used the cut hair to make the mustache and corn flour to put a greying look to the hair. She also bound Anna’s chest to hide her bosom under the vest of the suit she would wear. A cane with a silver handle and a bowler hat completed the new character for Anna. Susie’s disguise was a little simpler in that Rose put her in an oversized dress that Rose had sewn small pillows in to make Susie look dumpy, which was hard to do. Rose also used some of her husband’s shoe black to discolor Susie’s front teeth, so she’d look even homelier.\n\nLuke and the deputy arrived in Damascus late in the day and the hounds stopped and started barking at the gate in front of the Blacksmith’s stable. Luke went up to the door of the stable and saw Lewis banging a horseshoe on an anvil. Lewis turned with a start when Luke spoke. “Hey mister, we’ve been trackin’ two runaway slave women from down in Carolina and their scent stopped at your gate.” “Have you seen em?”\n“You durn tootin’ I have,” Lewis exclaimed “and I turned them over to one of them slave hunter fellas, who said he’d give me money when he collected the reward. They left out on the road over there headin’ south about four or five hours ago.”\nLuke said “Giddy up,” and yelled back at Lewis, “Thank ye very much,” and headed south with the hounds tied in the wagon. Luke would be in for a big surprise when he got back to the plantation and no slave women were there.\n\nLewis smiled as Luke was now beyond the rise in the road.\n\nAn Underground Railroad Conductor arrived to guide Anna, now dressed as an elderly gentleman, and his dumpy, spinster daughter, on their trip north. It took Anna and Susie a little getting used to their new looks and names. The thin black woman Conductor, disguised as the elderly gentleman’s wife, left with Anna and Susie after midnight and headed on a long journey north to freedom. The Conductor, Anna and Susie boarded a wagon and made their way to an actual train station in Richmond, Virginia. By morning of the fourth day the two fugitive slaves and the Conductor boarded the train for Philadelphia, where they would transfer and then head to a “safe house” in Rochester, New York.\n\nSherriff William Ryan was at the plantation when Luke and the deputy returned without the two slave women. “Where are the slaves?” the Sherriff screamed at Luke and the deputy. “I was told up in Virginny that a man who caught slaves and returned them to their owners for rewards was bringin’ them here,” Luke tried to explain, while trying to think what he was going to do now that his boss was dead.\n\nThe Conductor, Anna and Susie got close to being discovered outside Baltimore, Maryland. A real train conductor came through the train and stopped in front of Anna, Susie and the Conductor. Anna was slumped over against the window and Susie was rubbing her hands. Their disguises were perfect and the Conductor told the white male conductor that they were traveling back to Rochester, New York, after visiting a dying relative in Richmond. She presented their papers and said her husband was a little weary from the traveling so far. The white male conductor looked over at the “old man,” and said, “Have a good journey Ma’m,” which startled the trio.\n\nTraveling on through Pennsylvania, New Jersey and on to Rochester completed a big part of their mission. Now on to Canada.\n\nAfter a quick stay in a safe house in Rochester, with Frederick Douglass and his family, the Conductor, now back in her home territory and with her regular clothes, met a large man with wild hair and beard by the gate. He was sitting in a two-horse-drawn wagon. “Anna and Susie, this is John Brown, he’ll be taking you the rest of the way to Canada.” Anna and Susie had changed out of their disguises and were now appearing more like themselves, but with new clothes and some money in their pockets.\n\nAs the wagon turned to leave, John Brown yelled, “See you next time Miss Tubman and Happy New Year.” The Conductor yelled back, “Happy New Year and call me Harriet!”\n\nTHE END\n\nNOTE: While some of the characters portrayed in this story were actual true names of historical figures, the actions and circumstances surrounding the figures are purely fictitious renderings from the mind of the author." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on 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 Dream Turned Reality\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 1275\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story including the phrase “Better late than never”." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Drips of perspiration slid from her palms to the floor. Her skin was flush. It could rival the sun’s warmth. Misty eyes hid images in front of her. She blinked to bring them in focus. She wavered in her stance, losing her balance. \n“Are you alright?”\nThe young man who was no less than ten years her junior stood beside her, holding her up. She could hear the tiny voices murmuring in his right ear. His youthful face watched her with concern. Once she regained stability, he let her go. \n“Would you like some water, ma’am?”\nMa’am. Her eyebrows had furrowed before she noticed that her face had changed. She knew he meant no harm. She finally nodded to his question. She stumbled once again but caught herself. Looking out, there were so many faces she had never seen before. He looked around the dark area and found a chair for her to sit in. Once she was seated, he went to grab her water.\nShe watched the panel sitting on the stage—women who looked like her. The audience was full of an ocean of various hues and dimensions. She pulled out her phone and opened her camera. Her face had lost color. She was not her normal deep sepia with red undertones. Frightful and washed out were seeping from her pores. \nThe young man returned with her water in one hand and a clipboard in another. Putting away her phone, she took long sips of water. Deep breathing in between. He didn’t leave her to her panic; he looked out at the stage. He checked his watch and glanced at her. She finished her water and gave it back to him. \n“Ms. Buran, would you like to go over the questions before you go on? It might help.”\nShe looked up at him. He reminded her of when she was young. Back when she was starting her dream. That seemed like another lifetime. Nights of no inspiration. Many days spent crying and dreaming of days like…today. His face read compassion. \n“Yes, I would like that.” \nThey took the next 10 minutes going over the panel’s questions. She would have to take some from the audience, and every time she thought about it, her heart raced. The panel was closing with Q&A for the guest on stage now. It was time. \nDizziness clouded her vision like mist again—deep breath in. Deep breath out. Years it took to be here in that moment. The young man had not left her side. Whether he was assigned to her or not, she appreciated his presence. He smiled at her. Then she heard the name of her book. And before the title, New York Times Bestseller, staying in the top ten for the last eight weeks. \n“Good luck,” he said, patting her back. \nShe reached over and hugged him. She would never forget him. It was her first interview on stage talking about her journey.\n“Everyone give a fabulous welcome to New York Times Bestselling Author Rana Buran.”\nHer feet moved before her mind could think about it. The applause sounded like an orchestra. Her heels matched her pulse and forced her to walk faster. She had met the ladies via zoom. Their smiles put her at ease. She hugged the four ladies that she had looked up to for years. Issa Rae, Zane, Taraji P Henson, and Demetria L Lucas. These were goddesses that she often dreamt of being next to, sometimes unsure of how she would get there. \nOver the next thirty minutes, they asked the standard questions of a new writer. Her smile was genuine. Her nerves had finally dissipated. This was her life now. Issa opened the floor to ask questions for Rana. \n The first question came from a full-figured woman who could have been a twin to Rana in every appearance.\n “How do you have time for love? Is there a special person in your life?”\n Blushing, Rana replied, “The first part, having time for love. I have time for love because it comes from everywhere around me. I can’t miss love when I watch the sunrise or a full moon.” She chuckled. “But I get it; I could have time for love if it knocked at my door. There is no mate. And that door is not closed. We all can make time for what we want.”\n Seeming happy with the answer, the woman left and was replaced by another woman who appeared to be in her late 30s. She gripped Rana’s book in her arms, face full of admiration. Rana knew her. Not personally. But she had met this woman and been this woman. She went to appearances meeting women she admired all the time—seeing women who looked at her that way filled her with love. She had to keep from crying on that stage. \n The woman opened her mouth. She got choked up. Tears fell from her eyes, but she wiped them quickly. She cleared her throat and finally spoke.\n “How did you keep going?” The tears fell again. “I read your book, and though it isn’t listed as self-help, it helped me. I find it so hard to keep going. I am 36, and I feel like most of my life is gone. How did you keep going after your dream?” She wiped her tears again.\n Rana took a deep breath in and sat back in her chair. She looked up at the ceiling hoping the tears she was forming would slide around inside of her eyes. And yet, a few fell anyway. The ladies on the panel smiled and reassured her. Taraji grabbed her hand and squeezed tight. Rana finally looked at the woman at the microphone stand. \n “That is a fundamental question. I grew up seeing black women around me being strong. They had so much pressure put on them and were cared for the least. I saw it in everyday life. I saw it in corporate settings. Working so hard and I could see the weight of the world on their shoulders. I grew up and ended up following the strong black woman standards. I kept going no matter how tired I was. I smiled and changed the way I spoke around certain people. I worked harder than my non-black peers, and I continued to get paid less than my non-black peers. I was miserable. Until one day, I woke up and said, no more. Living a life day in and day out, I was not at my optimum happiness. You know, most people truly believe no one will ever reach full happiness in life. Let alone nirvana. I decided I would not subscribe to that notion. I wanted to live a life of my wildest dreams, and I wanted to show women just like me that they could do it too. A dark-skinned full-figured, FAT, black woman. All the things society says are not aesthetically pleasing. I am my aesthetic. I am part of THE aesthetic, which is the black woman. And I decide on if I will be happy or not. It wasn’t until I truly decided my dreams were more important than anything else that I started building a path to reach them. And yeah, I was 34 when I started making that page. Well above the recommended age.” Rana laughed, looked down at the floor and back up to the woman. “Forget what rules the world places on you. Forget it all and go after what you want, what you desire. It is never too late. And if you are late in the game, remember this. It is always better late than never.”" } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on 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 Quietest Walk Home\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 2236\n\nPrompt:\n\nAll clocks suddenly stop. Write about what happens next." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Lakysha bumped into the suit holding a briefcase who decided to abruptly stop his forward progress without any warning. Goddam rude people in the train station, she thought. She looked up and down at the back of the man’s pinstriped office attire. The train station lost its chaotic background noise in a split second.\n“Excuse you,” she offered with attitude. She walked around him and caught a sneak glimpse at the electronic readout. 11:42. Four minutes until the train departs. At least I’ll get some good, home-cooked food soon. Her stomach gurgled in expectation. No one moved around her. Panicked confusion slowly sifted into her mental mixing bowl. Why isn’t anyone moving? Lakysha waved her hand in front of the stopped man’s stoic expression. He remained frozen in place. She poked an old lady in the shoulder. No reaction. Well, fuck, what now?\nLakysha wove between the commuters, walking down the station platform hoping for one person who maintained her similar freedom. Someone, anyone, to validate her experience. She flowed through the bodies to the concrete deck's far end. Each person remained locked in place as life-sized marble statues. Lakysha noticed no eye movement, no breathing, no response to anything. Her heart quickened against her chest. Am I having some sort of mental breakdown? She fought against the growing panic. How do I get back home? How is my family? How long is this going to last? Her focus turned to getting to the family dinner table by any means necessary. She evaluated the situation as she had done during her years in the service.\nShe jumped off of the raised platform onto the rocky ground along the extended train tracks. Thank goodness I wore commute sneakers. Lakysha made her way along the parallel rails. She moved through the yard astounded at the lack of movement and sound. Several yard workers gathered in the distance. Their efforts with a broken cable stunted in the moment. She made her way to the first road crossing. Cars, bicycles, and even a news helicopter stuck in one position. Lakysha looked through her options. The man with one eye is king among the blind, she remembered. The woman moving is queen among the frozen or time-stopped or whatever they are. The human instinct in her wandered through the impulsive garden of her options. People had money in their wallets and she had bills to catch up on. No, I’m better than that. The stillness continued to greet her every action. She wondered what limitations this new reality would allow. She walked through the still world astounded by the surreal event.\nBirds hung suspended with open, small wings against the sky like mobile toys over a baby’s crib. A leaf hung inches above an empty sidewalk section as she turned around a corner. It’s as if someone pressed a pause button and everything in the movie stopped but me. Lakysha took note of a tween fleeing an older, portly cop in pursuit. The officer's face was already flush as the pursuit began. The young man held a woman's red wallet in his left hand while taunting the cop with his right middle finger. She casually walked over to the wild-haired boy. His face registered a confident grin at his youth outlasting the officer's degraded endurance. Her hands slowly undid his shoelaces and then reworked them back together into one tie. That's it, young man. She stood with hands on her hips. Mother Time says you need a time out. She wanted to watch the event play out. The option of her mother’s homemade casserole pushed her ahead.\nA half-mile later, she passed by a local bank and considered how much cash she could walk out of with. Empathy overrode the idea to its core. Someone would be fired or worse for the missing money. She embraced the reality that time could restart in a second without notice. Reaching into a cash drawer as time resumed would offer no acceptable excuses to the confused bank teller or security guard. Well, the thing that happened, your honor, is that everything stopped and I decided to take advantage of the situation, as any reasonable person would do, she imagined with a laugh to herself. Lakysha continued her way home.\nShe peered through a large, decorative coffee shop window to see an overbearing man with a distinct red cap mid-yell at a young woman wearing a rainbow t-shirt. He jammed a stiff finger inches from her face. His leaning eyebrow expression displayed an interrupted rage. The woman reared back in defensive fright with her small hands up behind her open laptop. Lakysha decided to enact clandestine justice. Her face lit up as she entered the shop. The lack of coffee aroma bothered her more than everyone being still. She loosened up his chipped buckle. His worn-out jeans with the back pocket wallet imprint slid down past his extended white socks. A dancing giggle pushed across her face. I never would have imagined raincoat, Hello Kitty covering a hatemonger’s junk, but to each their own. She moved the angry index finger into his nose. That should make for an interesting change of events if time ever gets back on track, she mused. Lakysha closed the woman’s laptop so it couldn’t be accidentally knocked onto the ground once the mayhem resumed. Maybe I’m the arbiter of justice, she considered. The one person to make some justice in society. I wonder if living in a massive snow globe would be any different than what I’m experiencing today.\nThe radiating sun hadn’t moved in several hours, creeping her out even more. The day’s quietness pushed past uncomfortable deeper into the realm of innate eeriness for her sense of well-being. Lakysha worried that her family would be stuck like everyone else. She wondered when and how the world would come back to normal. Will I ever hear Momma call me Kiki again? she considered. Will anything ever make sense?\nThe young woman came across a chance run-in with a tyrannical boss she recognized from a previous job. Shanda Brown, how good it is to see you, girl, Lakysha grinned. Looks as if, I, now hold the upper hand on your fate. She considered the underhanded ways Shanda had sabotaged her own budding romance with a cute, flirtatious Jamaican guy through slut shaming rumors and deliberately offsetting their schedules. You bitch, it’s time for your comeuppance. She considered all the ways she could harm the helpless woman. Dark fantasies bounded through her mind. The thoughts ranged from causing physical harm to removing the woman's clothes and putting them in a garbage bin. I bet I could find a knife around here somewhere. She nodded with a decision. Lakysha took the woman's designer purse and dumped its contents into a curb sewer grate. Good luck fishing out your boujee wallet and expensive lipstick. She scraped the thousand-dollar handbag across the rough asphalt and left the purse at the curb as if it had fallen on its own. There, consider your debt paid. \nShe became more brazen as her actions happened without consequences. I wonder how much more of this I will be able to do without getting caught, she considered. Her feet ached from the long walk. She went into a convenient store and took a bottle of water from the fridge. The young man behind the counter had been on a telephone call when the “stop” happened. Lakysha placed two dollars on the schizophrenic counter of impulse buys. And maybe a gum for later. She added another dollar. Keep the change, darlin’. She patted him on the cheek.\nLakysha enjoyed the water's refreshment. She spied a group of older, ranting fundamentalists while tossing out her empty container. They appeared to be protesting the new Judy Hernandez Women's Education Center. The non-profit that a local pastor decreed as blasphemy due to its young women’s empowerment agenda. She weaved through the frozen traffic and decided to make the most of the moment. Lakysha moved from one person to the next. Her smile rapidly expanded with each successful rearrangement. She stepped away from the group. Being a force of good is tiring work, she laughed to herself.\n“That’s what I’m talking about,” she gloated. Each protester had their open hands with fingers parted close to their ears like moose antlers. She carefully went back through the group and eased closed their eyes. Just like their minds, she reflected. Lakysha moved their protest signs into a nearby dumpster. Imagine the good these stupid people could accomplish if their hate had been redirected towards helping others. She placed open bags of garbage around their feet. If this doesn’t upset their protest, I don’t know what will.\nSeveral miles tore through her morning energy. Lakysha arrived at her familiar and comforting front door with a need to sit down. Her family members' cars filled the driveway and lined the street. Wouldn’t be a Saturday without a full house, she thought. A jogger remained stuck mid-stride behind her as the door opened. She entered her mother’s home with a Pavlovian smile that quickly hardened. A fly hung above a table-side appetizer dish. Seeing random people stuck in time had been one thing. Seeing her loved ones trapped in movement tapped more personal emotions. Sadness overwhelmed her. Her Uncle Smitty held his hands up as he discussed something important with Uncle Michael. Her ragamuffin nieces and nephews had been in the midst of a folding table card game. Two of the children leaned across the table full of candy bets.\nThe lack of her mother's afternoon cooking hit her the hardest. She always anticipated walking in and being welcomed by the comforting aroma before anyone's good wishes reached her ears. She walked around the house, taking in the situation with a heavy heart.\nAn interesting opportunity crossed her mind. She looked at Harold, the cousin who always needed another loan. The same young man who often filled his apartment with the newest gadgets overpaying anyone back. The same person whose wallet often held more than enough money to make good on his debts in one pass. She debated the moral implications of repaying herself. Fuck it. Lakysha slid out her cheapskate cousin's wallet and peeled out several twenty-dollar bills. Finally, some of your debt is paid back after ten years. She kissed his dark cheek while sliding the wallet back into his pocket. She stuck the folded, green bills into her bra.\nLakysha entered the kitchen cheerful to see her mother even if frozen mid-cooking. She caught the stove clock time. 11:42.The older woman appeared stuck falling forward from her chair. Her mother's eyes were wide with surprise as her hands reached out in an anticipatory brace. Her mouth held open with momentary shock. Lakysha moved to her aid. She eased her mother back into the seat's safety with a deep sigh of relief. The kitchen's sounds and sights roared back to life. Kitchen aromas overfilled her nose. The moment overloaded her senses. She grimaced at the flood of stimulation.\n\"... my god,\" Ms. Thompson called out as the unfinished sentence caught up to her. Lakysha watched her mother lower her arms. The older woman moved her head around unsure of what occurred. Her daughter being in the kitchen added another layer to the mystery.\n“KiKi, when did you get home? I thought you worked this morning.”\n\"Oh, I did Momma, it's been a busy day already.\"\nConfusion stacked on her mother’s deeply lined face.\n\"I could have sworn I was about to fall off this chair. Oof, that could have been bad.\" She dusted off of her spotted apron.\n“Maybe you just needed a small miracle today.” Lakysha sat down on an empty chair, happy for normality. “ And maybe some things don’t require more than just appreciation, Momma.”\nThe matron’s eyes filled with pride. “I always feel better with you around, Kiki.”\nLakysha held her mother’s outstretched hand across the kitchen table and smiled. She rapidly reflected on each of those that she intervened with. She held back her laughter.\nHer mother lumbered across the tiled floor to the family refrigerator.“Would you like anything to drink?” \nThe morning’s walk caught up with her. “I would love a -”\nMs. Thompson turned to her daughter for an answer. The house lost the comfort of its background television noise, family squabbling, and children's laughter. Her nose could no longer smell the meal that had been her morning's focus. Kiki sat at the table focused on the fridge without movement. Her mouth formed words that never came out. \n“Kiki,” she yelled, unsure what to do next. Someone being catatonic had never been part of her life experience. She moved to her daughter and shook her at the shoulders. Lakysha’s hair bounced in place. “Lakysha, say something.” A concerned frown formed.\n“Harold, Smitty, Michael. Someone get in here. Something’s wrong with Lakysha.” Her request caused no reaction from outside the sterile kitchen. Ms. Thompson burst into the living room to see her family firmly in position as if they had been covered in lacquer. Her heart jumped in panic. The family cat hung mid-jump between a scratched coffee table and its upper, sun-drenched perch. Nothing moved. Nothing made a sound. Nothing made sense. The wall clock indicated 11:43. Ms. Thompson tried to make sense of her place in a still world." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Last Call\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 1049\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story including the phrase “Better late than never”." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "INT. CHAPEL FOYER — NOONDAY\nBRANDY peaks her head into the chapel. People are checking their watches. Looking around. Whispering. GRANNY turns around from the front pew and makes eye contact.\nBRANDY\nAlright then.\nBrandy walks down the aisle. Her black dress just as typical as the other black attire around her. It’s her BOOBS, purple ombré MERMAID WIG, and RED STILETTOS that are the main attractions.\nShe gets to the podium and looks out at the crowd.\nINT. CHAPEL — SAME DAY\nBRANDY\nHello, everybody. Well, {giggle}, this is awkward. \nShe motions to the empty space to her left.\nBeat.\nBRANDY(cont’d)\nThis reminds me of that one time in 1991, I was in \nfirst grade, and she was supposed to meet\nus at a field trip to this print museum in\nCarson. As I got out of the school van\nto go back to class, she gets out of the car\nand says, “I was following you\nguys. That was a quick field trip.”\nPeople in the crowd chuckle. Look at their watches. At one another. \nBRANDY\nGranny, remember when we planned that spa\nday?\nGRANNY\nI do.\nBRANDY\nShe said we should go ahead, she’d meet us there\n because she had to make a couple of stops. Well, we \nhad a great spa day!\nGRANNY \nWe did!\nTwo beats\nFrom the audience DOMI notices Brandy´s nervous.\nDOMI\nBrandy, what about that time we met her for\nlunch during her work day.\nBRANDY EBBY \nOh yeah. Oh yeah.\nBRANDY\nOk guys, so we drove all the way in to Torrance \nfrom Ontario. That’s like an hour and a \nhalf driving time. \nDOMI\nAnd we were running late. Very late.\nBRANDY\nAnd we were late. When we arrived. She wasn’t\nthere. We had to wait another 45 minutes\nbefore shearrived and she worked down the street!\nEBBY\nIf I remember she stopped at World Market.\nDOMI\nYeah she did. I wanted to go to World Market, \nbut we were waiting for her at the Chinese restaurant. \nAnd there she was perusing the aisles without a care in the world.\nBRANDY\nStores distract her. If there is…\nThe crowd starts calling out.\nEBBY\nA Michael’s \nBRENDA\nA Kohl’s\nJOYCE\nMarshall’s \nJOCARMEL\nSam’s\nDOUG\nOr Costco\nThere are groans from the audience.\nGRANNY\nOh, Lord, don’t let there be a Costco\nor Sam’s. \nGranny turns to face everyone.\nGRANNY(cont’d)\nIf there’s a Costco or Sam’s, you’ve lost her. \nNow, if there’s a Costco and a Sam’s nearby each other, \nyou’ve lost her for the day! It’s over.\nShe throws her hands up.\nERIC\nA grocery store.\nGRANNY\nEven a grocery store. A .99 cent \nonly store. Dollar Tree.\nBIG BILLY stands up and walks to the podium.\nBIG BILLY\nGranddaughter, may I?\nBRANDY\nPlease.\nShe steps aside.\nBIG BILLY\nDon’t go anywhere. I won’t be long.\nDOUG\nRiiiiiiight.\nGranny glares at DOUG.\nBig Billy holds Brandy’s hand. Brandy relaxes. A bit.\nBIG BILLY \nShe’d say, Dad, I am going to stop over after \nwork and check on you today. Want me to pick you \nup anything? I’d say, No, daughter, that’s okay. \nI’ll just be glad to see you. \nA day, two days, then three days would pass, \nand then there she’d be knocking on my door. I told you I \nwas stopping over after work.\nEveryone laughs. The atmosphere has lighten up.\nERIC gets out of his seat and walks up. Pats Big Billy on the shoulder.\nERIC\nPatrice, remember she was 35 minutes late to \nour wedding. And she was the maid of honor! \nPATRICE shakes her head remembering.\nERIC(cont’d)\nBut that’s my sister.\nCARLA stands up.\nCARLA\nI’m not going up front.\nShe motions to her seat mates not to move.\nCARLA \nIf you plan for my cousin to be anywhere on time, \nyou have to tell her it’s an hour or two earlier \nthan the real time. Hopefully she’ll make it. \nBut I don’t invite her to movies anymore or schedule\n her to do my hair. I just never know when she’ll actually\n arrive! But I love my cousin.\nNods from the crowd. Tears. \nOne by one people stand and tell stories:\nBOSS\nIt would be shocking if she ever makes it in \nbefore 9:30. But once in the office, she works\n diligently. Definitely one to make up for lost time. \nEBBY\nShe is late to everything but she always picks us up from the airport on time, which is nice. No one wants to wait around after traveling cross the country. That would be annoying and rude.\nShe eyes others in the audience clearly making a point.\nBRENDA\nI was like, Marilyn, I can’t be late. \nAre you sure you want to pick me up? I can get a ride. \nBrenda, no, it’ll be fine. I know what time \nthey’re expecting you. I said I’ll be there, so I’ll be there!\nBeat.\nI am so glad I put my brother on standby. \nThis heffa called me thirty minutes before I \nwas supposed to be there: Brenda, I’m on my way.\n I just made a quick stop at the store. I’ll be a few \nminutes late but I’ll be there. I got in my brother’s car and told her \nnot to worry about it, meet me at the place. \nBrenda heads back to her seat.\nBrandy turns around to see if anyone else wants a turn. No one budges. She reluctantly gets up and makes her way back to the podium.\nBRANDY\nOk.\nBEAT.\nWell, if no one else has anything to say. \nThank you, guys, for coming to celebrate my \nmama’s life. How ironic that…\nINT. CHAPEL FOYER— AFTERNOON\nFoyer doors fly open. The ATTENDANT runs in.\nATTENDANT \nMy apologies. I am terribly sorry. This is completely. \nOh my, I. There was a fatal accident on the 405. We were\nsitting in traffic.\nHe takes a deep breath as he hold his arms over his head. \nMeanwhile two other ATTENDANTS walk in carrying an ivory CASKET.\nBRANDY\nI am sure a gajillion times in my mom’s life \nsomeone told her she’d be late to her own funeral. \nWell, we have come to that moment and in true Marilyn fashion.\nShe shrugs.\nATTENDANT\nYou know what they say: Better late than never.\nEveryone gives him a look." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Identity is Confusing and Involves Losing\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 1319\n\nPrompt:\n\nEnd your story with someone finding themselves." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "“Heavenly Father, I pray that no one in this restaurant gets Covid. I pray that no one gets Covid from me. I believe me winning my battle and walking and breathing right now is a sign of good health and fortune for me and everyone. Amen” prayed Rhonda\n\n“Amen. But you didn’t have to bring up Covid, Rhonda. People are looking at us strange now.” responded Jharell.\n\n“Let them look Jharell. I am exhibiting no signs of Covid. All is well.” assured Rhonda.\n\nJharell bore a sheepish look on his face as he turned his head to the stares of Monte, Damian, and Jaydah at the other table. Monte’s backward lean and agape mouth completed a disposition of shock and disgust. Jaydah’s raised eyebrows and tilted head conveyed a simple state of astonishment. Lastly, Damian’s light, bright smile communicated that he was interestingly amused by what was going on. Jharell looked back at his food.\n\nMonte blinked his eyes and turned to Jaydah and Damian; his jaw still hanging down to the base of his neck. “I can’t believe what I just heard.” He said. “The nerve of her” Monte said loudly, darting his eyes to the side toward Jharell and Rhonda in hopes they heard him. But Jharell and Rhonda ate unfazed. He looked back at Jaydah and Damian with a now closed mouth. “Look at them eating without a care in the world; eating like they are not putting anyone’s life in jeopardy.” Monte stated loudly.\n\n“Good food can do that,” remarked Damian. Monte glared at Damian. Damian smiled back at Monte.\n “Word, they are digging in,” Jaydah remarked as Rhonda forked an huge amount of salmon and salad into her mouth.\n “That forkful does make everything clear,” Monte noted “She didn’t give that fork a break why would she even think to give us a break” Monte joked. Jaydah laughed. Damian scoffed and looked away.\n\nMonte looked at Damian. “What?” He asked Damian. Damian looked back at Monte and noticed Jaydah mouth “Don’t” in the corner of his eye.\n\n“Nothing, Dad” Damian responded neutrally with slightly drooped shoulders. “It was just a response I had to this thought of my girlfriend,”\n\n“Is everything okay,” Monte asked.\n\n“I am sure it will be fine,” Damian responded looking out the side of his eye to Jaydah who was beaming.\n\n“I am definitely sure it will be, big brother,” Jaydah assured emphatically. Damian rolled his eyes.\n\n“Well, I am here if you need someone to talk to about it, son,” Monte said.\n\n“Thanks Dad. I’ll keep that in mind” Damian said with a half smile. Jaydah glowed.\n\n“Nice. Now, what will make this evening greater is food. Rhonda made me hungry,” Jaydah said. “Waiter, Waiter…”\n\n…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..\n\nDamian trailed behind Jaydah who was following Monte out of the restaurant door. He watched his legs flop one after another to a melancholy rhythm. He concentrated on the shifting weightlessness between each lagging footstep in hopes of sensing a newfound peace and calm with the rhythm. But the emotion that he sunk into with every moving sensation was the same as before — despair. \n\n“This world will never change for the better because its authority figures like submission and silence. Rigidity and fear. Scorn and Calculated critique.” Damian muttered to his lollygagging, sullen, 22 year old self. He finally made it onto the sidewalk. He stood several steps before 19year old Jaydah and 55 year old Monte. Damian watched Jaydah busily swipe her phone, and then watched Monte continue to yell and wave for a taxi in front of the evening Manhattan street.\n\nJaydah and Monte wore masks like many others on the sidewalk. However, Damian saw several people without masks appear within Damian’s scope of vision a moment later. And instead of masks, Damian saw them wear bright smiles or colorful facial expressions instead. Damian gave a small smile. “At least there’s that,” Damian commented. \n\n By the time Damian looked back at Jaydah and Monte, a yellow cab pulled up in front of them. Monte opened the door for Jaydah, and Jaydah went in. Monte turned to Damian. “Damian, what the hell are you doing out in the street without a mask?! Put it on and get inside,” Monte demanded. Damian sighed, put on the mask and felt his legs move vibrantly with urgency as he hurried to the taxi cab. Once Damian got inside the taxi cab, Monte followed suit and closed the door. Damian felt several tears stroll down his cheek to the beat of a thought that went off in his mind: “Where was that sense of urgency before, Damian? That can’t be the only way that sense of urgency develops. That can’t be”\n……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..,\n\n“I mean that’s sad bro,” Damian said loudly to his friend Shawn over the phone.\n\n“Nah bro, that’s real. My pops told me to get my ass in the car. I’m hurrying in the car,” Shawn responded with a chuckle. Damian sucked his teeth.\n\n“No, what’s real is the programmed fear. What’s real is that the only sense of urgency I feel in my bones is an urgency to do for others. That’s scary” Damian explained to Shawn.\n\n“That’s human, D.” Shawn countered. “We are supposed to help each other as humans.”\n\n“Were not supposed to be slaves Shawn!” Damian screamed at Shawn; shaking the phone lividly. “Were not supposed to be wandering zombies only knowing life upon fear; upon others in fear,”\n\n“So why didn’t you not get in the cab?” Shawn countered once again. The question hit Damian’s stomach hard and rendered him speechless. However, Damian’s lips quivered to the vibration of what Damian felt that moment in the car — sadness, and confusion.\n\n“Because I’m programmed Shawn” Damian yelled and then slammed his finger on the end call button.\n\nAnd then Damian plopped on the couch with his hands squeezing his hair. He breathed into that tension. He breathed through that tension into his heart and held his breath. His head tremored and hands shaked as he tried to suppress a feeling in his heart. But he couldn’t do it. So he sobbed. He let the streams of water carry away all feelings of confusion, disappointment, shame and irritation. The tension In his head, hand and heart started to fade away. And before you knew it an outstretched hand with a napkin was right before him. It was an offering from Jaydah. Damian took it.\n\n“I thought that you weren’t home. My bad,” Damian said. Jaydah smiled.\n\n“I think that’s the one thing that you shouldn’t apologize for,” Jaydah remarked. Damian looked puzzled.\n\n“What do you mean?” Damian asked.\n\n“Your crying is powerful.” Jaydah stated. Damian looked at Jaydah as if she had a third head. Jaydah smiled back. “What forreal? I knew the healing effects of crying but the way that you poured your heart out with tears compelled me away from my phone and to you with a tissue in hand. And that takes a lot,”\n\n“Well, I hope that you would give me a tissue. I am your brother after all,” Damian said. Jaydah laughed.\n\n“Good point,” Jaydah said. Damian smiled. Jaydah placed on hand on his shoulder, looked him in the eye, and spoke “D, you feel things powerfully. Kind of like Dad. And when you all go back and forth it can be a lot. But I notice that you feel things even more deeply when you accept what you don’t know, accept what you can’t control, and accept that you have to let things go” Daniel stilled in the statement’s profundity. Jaydah smiled and left.\n\nA moment passed, and then Damian snapped his fingers, opened up his laptop, opened up his Quik time player and pressed record, and spoke.\n\n“Damian’s first self-awareness log entry. Topic 1: Being Conscious of your facial and emotional reaction when coping with different energy wave current and thought pattern….”" } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Anger is Best Cleansed Before Traveling\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 2289\n\nPrompt:\n\nSet your story backstage at the theater." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "[Passing references regarding child abuse, elder neglect]\nPriscilla opened her almond-colored eyes. They fluttered, looking at the highest red, curtain she had ever seen. A curtain that reached into the darkness, touching an unseen ceiling. She looked around to acclimate herself. Nothing about where she stood looked familiar. I don’t remember this. I… I don’t know what’s I’m going on.\n\"And now, here's our guest of honor. Welcoming, Priscilla Broooownnnnn… c'mon on in.\" An announcement boomed over the room.\nShe couldn't place the voice, much like a singer she had heard several times during her early childhood. A slit opened between the stage curtains. She paused. A soothing voice behind her ushered her forward. The crowd roared with a vocal mixture of \"we love you\" and \"boo.\" She didn't know what to make of the evolving situation. Priscilla stepped across the light-wood, glossed floor to the golden-white podium, staring over the seats. Bright lights hit her eyes, blinding her to the crowd's specific faces. She could make out silhouettes in both the main room and the balcony seating without further details. \n“Um…” Priscilla spun at a loss for words. The air appeared pristine as if free from all impurities. She registered a faint wood smell. The disoriented feeling gained traction as deja vu passed through her.\nA silver-blue, lanky man stood next to the podium. Her head moved backward to accommodate his overwhelming height. A thorough calm eased through her as visually intimidated as she felt,.\n“Sweetie, they’re here to hear what you have to say.” Priscilla stepped back to look high at his portrait.\n“What am I supposed to say?” Her words unintentionally carried through the microphone.\n“You fucking loser,” a rogue statement offered from the audience’s anonymity. The words lacked any echoing as if said directly into her ears. She did her best to ignore the criticism. Frustration seeds sprouted from fresh soil. Their roots dug downwards towards her heart.\n“You’re a hero, Priscilla,” another obscured person screamed.\n“Tell them what’s in your heart.” His long hand waved to the anonymous audience.\n“Who are they?” she replied through a frown.\n“They’re all here to see you. Isn’t that amazing?” His smiling face elated.\n“What… how’s that even possible?”\n\"It's possible because you're about to cross over into a new journey of experiences. Consider this a checkpoint. But enough rattling on, tell them your story. Maybe start simple with your name.\" The tall man lumbered backward into the shadowed stage right.\n“Get on with it already,” a deep voice boomed.\n“Take your time, sweetheart,” another countered.\nShe turned to the podium. A long, thin dark microphone close to her full lips.\n“My name is Priscilla Brown.”\n“Yeah, the other dude already said that,” someone mocked at full volume.\n\"Priscilla is the best,\" yelled someone to her right, followed by individual applause.\n\"I grew up in Biloxi, Mississippi and went to Thurgood Marshall Elementary with my six siblings. We lived in a large house with my mom, my father, aunt, and my cousin. I played with my friends by the river and read under a willow tree.\"\n“What did you read?” The unemotional question boomed from the back.\n\"Oh, yeah. Anything fiction or biographical from the sixties. I loved learning about artists and musicians. The free thinkers and open-minded artists. Dylan, Hendrix, Bowie. I would spend hours and hours reading. Sometimes losing all track of time and then my father… my father would…\" Her head dropped as she remembered.\n“Your father what, dumbass?”\nPriscilla scowled at her memory. “He would beat me for not paying better attention to the hour. He would grab a switch off the large tree in the front yard and whoop me for being absentminded. In front of everyone. Anyone. He didn’t care. It was more humiliating than…”\n“You can do it, hun,” from the upper left seats.\n“Ya probably deserved it,” from the back right.\n“No, no… I mean, I may have deserved it, but not in front of my family and… friends,” the last word slipped from her lips like a passing cloud. Her anger rose. “I didn’t deserve to get beat. No child does, no person does. Not a beating, not a public beating. Not like that. He wouldn’t beat the cat or the dogs. Why did he beat me so aggressively? Why didn’t he beat the other kids as much? I was a good girl most of those days. Not perfect, but not as bad as the others. My brothers did way worse without getting beaten.” Her emotions boiled.\n“It’s because you were a bastard and he hated you for that.” A voice called out from the top rear seats.\nShe considered the idea. “No, no that can’t be possible. Just because my skin was a bit lighter than the rest…”\n“A bit lighter, ha! You were three shades too light for your kin and two shades too dark for society. You were an Oreo kid.”\n“But, that can’t be possible. Daddy would have left if momma had given birth to someone else’s baby.” She talked through her thoughts.\n“Not if he was trapped with your family and a house to pay for.”\nHer emotions boiled when she processed the 'Oreo kid' comment. \"I was not an Oreo kid,\" she screamed, remembering all the times being in the schoolyard being teased about her light complexion. Her body trembled as it had then. She could hear the faint sounds of school harassment in her head. She remembered her father stealing disappointed looks at her sleeveless arm when he thought she didn’t see him.\n“Who’s Chad Silver?” The voice asked from the bottom left.\n“Chad? Chad worked for my father. Until he was fired for… for? I don’t know why. Something about taking something that wasn’t his. Stealing, I guess.”\n\"Maybe he stole your mother's egg,\" a peal of quiet laughter erupted.\n“My mother was a good person and wouldn’t have slept with anyone besides my father.” Priscilla became fully flush with anger. “My mother would’ve told Chad ‘no’ and walked away.”\n“Or she said ‘oh baby’ and pulled him to her bed.” A heckler called out.\n“No, no, there were always too many people home. Someone was always around to see, to tell my father anything from the house.”\n“What about the barn? The one near the back road. Your mother was a slut.”\n\"That was her private place to get away from us all. She said it was off-limits when my father was away at… work.\" The puzzle pieces formed in her mind. The memories of questions about why Chad's truck had been parked across the street, poorly hidden behind some trees and bushes while Sally Mae spent alone time.\n“She wasn’t really alone was she?”\n“Your mother was a whore.” A different voice accused.\nPriscilla became increasingly frustrated. “My mother was not a whore,” she yelled. “Even if she screwed Chad, my mother was a decent and good woman.” Her face became flush.\n“Even whores can be good people, honey.” A woman’s articulation added. Priscilla couldn’t determine if the point had been a slight or a compliment.\n“Stop this, stop this right now. I’m not here to listen to your comments and questions. You don’t know me. You don’t know my family, my life, my experiences.” Her heart raced. She grabbed the podium sides to channel her anger.\n“At least you never ruined your family for thirty seconds of happiness, Priscilla.” The voice sounded somewhat familiar as if from a person she knew long ago but whose memory faded like a picture in the sun.\n“I lived a good life. I was a good person. I tried my best to help others.” Priscilla didn’t understand why she chose the word ‘was,’ but the term felt correct. “I lived through my childhood. I graduated from high school -”\n“Barely” someone interrupted.\n\"But I did. I walked across that stage… and others too. Officer candidate school for one, for my graduate degree.\" Patrica paged through her life memories. \"I walked so much. I walked down hallways and into people's rooms.\" Her life experiences became clearer. \"I was a nurse. A nurse for 47 years until they forced me…\"\n\"Why'd you get the ax, Nurse Ratchet?\" Another voice asked.\n“I…,” she looked at the answer with embarrassment as her head dropped. “I gave someone the wrong -”\n“Stool softener?” Someone chuckled. Laughter carried throughout a section of the crowd. \n\"No…,\" Priscilla trailed off. \"The wrong adrenal medicine. The patient… died. Forty-seven years of dutiful and loving care were gone in a moment. Gone.\" She looked at her empty hands. Tears streamed down her cheeks.\n“C’mon, c’mon, finish the story already. You got beat as a kid, your mother was a bastard birther and you fucked up as a nurse. Get to the ending.”\n\"I don't know the ending.\" Priscilla squinted as if reading the tiny print on a bottle.\n“Yeah, you do, stop stalling so we can get the next person through.”\nShe flipped through her thoughts. They stopped at a place called Shady Pines Retirement Home. “I don’t want to think about that.” She turned to the stranger at the end of the stage. “Please don’t make me talk about that place.”\n“You must complete your journey to move on. You’re almost there, Priscilla. Just a bit more.” He insisted from the far side. She heard his voice as if he stood next to her.\n“Yeah, quit stalling and tell us about being treated like a queen at Shady Pines.” A voice mocked.\nPriscilla whipped her head around. “A queen? A queen? I was abused worse there than by my father. At least with his hand, I could justify that as tough love. There, I was ignored and neglected worse than an animal in one of those abuse commercials.”\n“Ah, it wasn’t that bad, you’re exaggerating.”\n\"Being left in one's dirty diaper for hours at a time and getting rashes, infections and sores are not exaggerating. Being given the same food choices over and over and over isn't an exaggeration. Living in a room with a carousel of hurting, crying, yelling, and dying roommates isn't exaggerating.\" Priscilla found herself screaming. Sweat formed around her hairline.\n“You’re being dramatic.”\nShe slammed her fists on the stand. “Going to the hospital with the hopes of dying, just to escape, isn’t dramatic.” Her volume gained momentum. “Stashing pills to end it all, isn’t being dramatic. Hoping every chest pain is the out, is… not… being… dramatic.” Priscilla spun to face the tall man. “Why? Why are you doing this to me? What the hell have I ever done to you?” She screamed and cried to him. Her hands balled into shaking fists.\nHe strode to her as if floating maintaining a powerful smile. “Priscilla, you need this. This is for your own good.”\n“My own good…?” Butterflies of confusion settled on her flushed face.\n“You needed to purge your deepest anger. Anger is purged through sharing. The critical ones are actually helping you for the next stage of the journey. Those supporting you are callbacks to the selfless acts you did.”\n“What journey?” Her tears flowed as an unexpected calm passed through her.\n“Your next life of course. You’re dead and this is the place that is helping you purge you of the pain from the last one. And, I must say, as someone who has walked across my stage many, many times, this was your best yet.” His eyes sparkled as if full of galaxies. He turned to the crowd, his elongated hands clapping. “Can we give our superstar a round of applause?”\nThe auditorium burst into supportive clapping. The crescendo grew as her confusion deepened.\n“I’m dead?” She looked upwards at his warm smile. Her face crinkled in confusion.\n“Yes.”\n“For how long?” Time stopped for her, the sounds of clapping evaporated into the background.\n“For a few minutes now.”\n“Will I -”\n“No, no you won’t. You’ve crossed over.”\n“But my kids and grandkids…”\n“Will keep loving you through their memories.”\n“But I have an appointment with Dr. Juliano tomorrow.” Shock held her in place.\n\"You have only one appointment now. When you're reborn, which will happen when the clapping finishes. Until then, you are Priscilla Brown, retired Army officer, retired nurse, mother of six, grandmother of eleven, and great-grandmother of two. Not that your total life experiences can be summed up in only these, but time is finite for us and others need the stage.\"\n“Who will I become next?” Her eyes pleading for some clue.\n“That isn’t for you to know yet.” His soft words responded. “But that journey will begin very soon.”\n“Should I be scared?” She asked.\n“Do you remember being scared before?”\n“No, I don’t remember. I don’t anything remember before my life.”\n\"And you won't remember before the next. But… it is a tradition that you go out on a positive note. So, if you'll please face the crowd and tell them your happier memories, I'm sure you, and they, will feel better.\"\nThe applause sound increased around her once more. The tall man stepped to the right behind her. Priscilla adjusted herself to the crowd with a wide smile. She described a couple of special Christmas holidays, getting a puppy, getting her military commission, and the births of her children. Priscilla continued to speak through her smile as light filled the room. The applause dwindled for her. When the light subdued the golden-white podium appeared with the tall man behind it.\n“And now, here’s our guest of honor. Welcoming, Samuel Monscaaaaaaasa… c’mon on in.” A hefty man bounced from between the full-length curtains, hesitantly waving to the crowd hidden behind a set of stage lights." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Horat: The Tarot Of This World\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 2888\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about a limited edition item going on sale." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Have you ever had a stare down with the grim reaper, on the brink of death not once, but twice, Crenshaw couldn't believe he'd doubled back and let karma bite him in the ass not two but three times.\nHe was sure he had his eyes on the prize, until he found himself lying on the coach both in physical and emotional pain due to Silence.\nShe was long gone, it was 16 weeks and two days since his last intimate encounter with her and there was still no sign of her coming back.. \nNo phone calls, no text messages, no appearances. \nHe didn’t want to believe she was laid up with someone else and he had not received even a phone call or sign from his beloved twin ray counterpart. \nHow could she not be there for him during this time. \nProjecting blame onto her for not being present, made him subject to his own guilt and insecurities backfiring on him, causing him to reflect on how he had been treating her the past two years.\nNot picking up the phone, texting back, lying, partying, blowing money, with other women, refusing to go on dates, or treat her right, just f****** up because of he didn’t want to acknowledge she was pregnant by him or even show concern regarding the fact he was on the verge of losing the one and only person who truly ever cared for or loved him for who he was and not for what he had or could do. \nA tear formed in his eyes and one rolled down his right cheek.\n How foolish had he been to not admit how he really felt about her deep down inside, even more cowardly he ran away from the passion he'd ignited and the wall he'd built between them due to his own insecurity, jealousy, and fear surrounding what love should and shouldn't be, is or wasn’t, could, should or would be, instead of just chilling and going with the flow as he had once asked her to do,\nTo be him, and her who she was and allowed herself to be was too much for him. \nHe knew he didn’t want to admit to himself or anyone else what they had done or were about to do.\nHe was in love like never before, he knew for sure their love would be able to stand the test of time.\n But was that reason sufficient enough for him to keep testing her limits by keeping secrets? \nSending her through unavoidable pain and mishaps left him and her wounded in the end, which only made him feel even more defeated afterwards.\n After lying there for hours, and allowing himself to daydream, days went by, and he wanted to know more about the future, fantasizIng about her love and how he remembered having his way with her made him want to call her up for a tarot reading.\n He wanted nothing more than to be in her presence, in her arms, in her home, and deep in her womb.\nLife didn’t seem fair. \nHis love didn’t seem real and he knew when she pondered on things for way too long she had the opportunity to really get to know herself, him as the man she thought she needed to let go of, and the reality of the circumstances they had found themselves in.\nThough he had fallen in love with her, she was on the verge of marrying someone else if he didn’t speak up soon. \n In the beginning, in the back of his mind, he knew she could and would bring so much happiness, peace, love, light, and healing into his world, yet he wasn’t ready to change or embrace her.\nNow that she didn’t think it mattered anymore, he didn’t want to lose someone he had fought so hard to attract and keep.\nHe didn’t want it to be over. \nThe pain he felt within him was nothing compared to the pain he knew she felt after being exposed to all of his lies, trickery, deception, manipulation tactics, defeat, and secrets. \nIn 10 months she had came into his life and shaken him to his core, so much had changed, and suddenly he felt even she knew things would never be the same. \nTime was expiring.\nHad he not initiated the process of letting her go; God wouldn’t have brought her back from the dead.\nTwenty One (CXXI) Capricorn World\n Can you be useful and grab the toys? \nWhat's the point of you being here if you're not going to help?”\n I dropped the box of toys on the countertop and stopped to take a quick breath. \n“Damn that box was heavy,” \nI used the back of my hand to wipe a little bit of sweat off my forehead. \nSilence picked up the rubber duck and playfully waved it in her hand before throwing it back in the box. \n“Y’all should’ve paid somebody else to do this for y’all. Where Raf ass at? I’m not even supposed to be lifting heavy stuff knowing I’m pregnant!”\nI tried my best not to laugh.\n “How about I take a cut of your money and use that to employ someone else,\"\n I teased her by throwing a rainbow colored dildo the size of a horse’s penis at her. \n She almost jumped out of her skin.\n“Geesh,” She dropped the toy, obviously creeped out by it, “what can a woman do with something that size anyway. If a man has a wand that size, he isn't human!!!!” she shrilled.\n“You're right, which is why it belongs to a horse,” I replied jokingly before picking up the dildo and putting it back in the pile of other sex toys. \nI loved my friend to death, but being an Aries, she could act like a spoiled brat sometimes. \n She wasn't the blame entirely, I played a part too.\nShe could be clumsy, even a little messy and uneasy sometimes but she didn't deserve the treatment people had given her over the years.\nI didn’t know the day I met her, she would become one of my best friends.. \nOnly God knows the truth of it all.\n“Yoo…” Raf walked into the boutique nd interrupted me before I could finish my sentence. \n “I’ll meet you on the corner of MLK, drop you off at the spot, then ditch the car. Got it?.\n I smacked my teeth listening to him on the phone.\nHe rolled his eyes, “not this again.” \n“Excuse me?” shocked at his demeanor.\n\"Be careful,” he apologized.\n“You chose this life. This life didn’t choose you, and I dang sure didn’t choose it for you. You knew the consequences behind it. Hell, you brought me into it, I’m just doing my job and healing too, right now my job is to protect you at all costs,” he kissed my forehead before moving to the side.\nHe caused me to smile, but grimace at his words; the choices we made choose this life, but I couldn't believe he was trying to call me out.\n“I know you don't call yourself reading me,” I nudged his arm with my arm.\n“Nah thug, I'm just saying,” he shrugged, “It's something I'll do again if that means protecting you and my roots. Anything for the family right.”\nI could understand that, as a family that's what we stood on, so I nodded my head at him. \nHe knew what was understood didn't have to be explained. \nFor the most part, as a whole, we were solid. \nA bond formed between two people and God that couldn't be broken.\nFive years after our friend’s death, we moved to Augusta, GA in hopes of us “starting over\". \nFrom there, we opened up to a whole different world, a new world, one we’d created astrally. \nBeing introduced to what was previously known as “The New Age World”, was the best thing for me. \nIt potentially changed my life, all of our lives, including my family and social circle.\n I hate we had originally been sent on a dummy mission to destroy the earth and the world.\nMy perfect husband believed his time was up, and was becoming a liability.\nUnderground Atlanta was supposed to be used as a means of survival in the beginning, never would I have thought I would be where I am today. \nThe highest paid, most influential, successful black woman in Atlanta, GA. \nBeing the owner of several private night clubs in the US, a sexy lingerie clothing line, that included a sex toy collection; I made a name for myself last year when I signed a contract to expand Underground Atlanta across the boarder. \nI had less than 2 months before I opened the new and improved Underground Atlanta, although the name would change to Love Underground in honor of Love.\n I felt like the name was more fitting, especially with all the activity that transpired within the clubs, the best way to pay my respects to my dear husband.\n Lord bring peace to his soul.\nAfter my first spiritual awakening, I decided to use his last name after we got married and change my first and middle name to my heavenly name, once I changed my last name to Tutt, that’s what I identified by, burying the person I was before.\n I was so glad to finally be my own person and get out from under the shadow of the notorious one.\nI was beautiful, fierce, rich, and powerful with unlimited resources. \nI simply took a risk. \nA risk that has been fulfilling its purpose as intended for what today marks the fourth year. \nI was extremely proud of myself. \nFor not only deviating a precise strategy and building a magnificent team, but also doing it completely under the radar four consecutive years. \nI was shocked at how successful we were able to execute everything. \nFive years ago, I would have never thought I would be here, right now, preparing to finish Co-Operation.\n“Silence,” He snapped me from my thoughts, “you okay? Can we talk please?”\nI folded my arms and nodded my head, “yeah, I’m okay. Thanks, by the way.” \n“For?” he raised his eyebrow with a blank expression on his face. “For saving me,” I responded with much gratitude, “don’t think I ever told you how grateful I am.” It was true, I was very grateful. \nWhile I made a call to the alarm company to inform them of the false alarm, I thought about what we needed to do next. \nGod knows we didn't need the cops snooping around our warehouse.\n It would blow the entire operation, so after that incident we decided to change to a more isolated location and add more security.\n“Told you,” he pounded his hand against his chest, “it’s my job.” \nI’ll see you later” He threw up the peace sign and walked out of Sepaga.\n“See you later,” I repeated back to him before he walked out of Sepaga`, the lingerie and sex store I, well we, owned.. \nHe hopped in the 2022 Burgundy Red and Black Toyota 4Runner I bought him for his birthday with his brothers then sped off.\n“God keep them safe and everything according to plan,” was the silent prayer I sent above as I began restocking the store, hanging the lingerie pieces on the mannequin.\nThirty minutes passed by, and my stomach began to rumble. \nIt was definitely time for a lunch break.\n I checked the time; it was a quarter past two and decided to take a break and head across the street to the new restaurant Agape's Food And Drink that we’d opened almost a month ago.\n I had been hearing a few people that came through the store and club talk about it, so I thought why not try it out.\n I could smell it from across the street, whenever I came outside the store, and it smelled delicious; from the Facebook pictures I'd seen, if it tasted anything like how it looked and smelled, I couldn't wait to get ahold of the new menu. \nI grabbed my keys to lock up the store, my phone and my purse. I walked out of the store, making sure to lock it behind me, before crossing the street and walking into Agape's. \nTwenty Two (CXXII) Sagittarius Fool\n“Hi, welcome to Agape's Food And Drink, will it be to-go or can I get you a table for 1?” The host greeted me as soon as I walked through the door with a pleasant and friendly tone. I was amazed; it was beautiful inside. A one stop shop for all your food, drink, and sweet tooth needs. It was buffet style with endless selections. I couldn't wait to try the food. \n“You know what,” I thought about if I wanted to eat in or take it to go, “I'll just take a seat at the bar,” making eye contact before looking over at the bar. \n“Great,” the host replied in a happy tone, “please follow me,” she instructed me before leading the way. “The buffet has a variety of choices. Drink menus are at the bar, and the desserts are to your far right. If the buffet has too many options for you, and you only want something simple, here's a basic menu for you.” She handed me the tri fold menu. “I particularly like the chicken tuna salad with fresh fruit and the buffalo chicken dip with the restaurant chips. It is being offered at a discounted price this week as the owner is choosing to discontinue it, so if I was you I would definitely try it while supplies last. Your bartender and server tonight will be Kloe`. If you need anything please refer to her.” She flashed me a smile. ”I hope you enjoy your meal today, let me know if you need anything,” was the last thing she said to me before walking back to her station.\n“Screwdriver extra shot of orange juice,” the bartender Kloe slid a drink across the bar top to a beautiful woman. Her thick, sandy brown, curly hair was pulled back into a high bun; she had hazel green eyes and wore hoop earrings with a halter black dress. The tattoo above her right shoulder was of a rose with the phrase “For those I love I will sacrifice” written under it, instantly sticking out to me. She looked far from feminine although that’s the manner in which she presented herself. \nI had only been with one female since my transition, and that was my first night attending Love Underground, but something about her beauty had me memorized and for some reason, I felt like I had to have her. \nI walked up and sat two seats down from her, “Screwdriver extra shot of orange juice,” I smiled at Khloe` before pretending to read the menu. \n“Coming right up,” Kloe` responded eagerly. \n“What do you know about a screwdriver with an extra shot of orange juice?” the sweet innocent voice coming from the left of me made me look up from my menu.\n“Well, I'm not much of a drinker,” I lied, knowing I could dang well hold my liquor, “however, I like vodka and love orange juice, so I figured I couldn't go wrong with such a basic drink.” I smiled flirtatiously.\nThe lips the innocent voice came from curled up into a smile, and she parted her lips to speak, “Hey I’m Corinthian, and you are?”,\n I leaned over and extended her hand to me. “Nice to meet you Corinthian, I am Silence ,” I shook her hand, \nKloe passed me my drink, and I took a sip before pointing across the street at my store. “I own Sepaga’. The intimate boutique across the street. You should stop by sometimes. We have some limited edition items on sale by two for $22.22 get 2 for $11.11. I'm sure you would look nice in anything.” I tried to hide my thirst. \nShe smiled at me, “I may just do that. Check please.” She stood up and handed her debit card to Kloe`. \n“How about the next round? I got this one covered.” I pulled my wallet from my purse and handed Kloe a fifty dollar bill. “Keep the change,” I told her. “Any suggestions on what I should try?” I turned my focus back to the beauty in front of me.\nShe smirked at me, “The chicken tuna salad and fresh fruit is to die for. The buffalo chicken dip with restaurant chips is good too. So tell me Silence, will I see you again??”\n“Well Corinthian, if you stop by the store and check out our limited edition selection of items while our sale is going on this week I’m pretty sure you will. I’m in the store all this week; I’ll be on vacation next week,” I smiled then handed her one of my business cards.\nShe smiled at the card then back at me, “You have yourself a great day Mrs. Tutt.” \nWatching her walk away, I quickly learned the eye which mocks the father and despises the mother must let the raven in the valley watch the young eagle pick out the eye and eat it since it refuses to obey the proverbs." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Polar Night\n\nGenre: american\n\nWord Count: 2862\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character emerging from hibernation, whether literally or metaphorically." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "“Give me that thing”\nChunhui grabs the cigarette from Bobby’s hand. There is a moment where their fingers touch, the warmest feeling in Alaska’s Northern Slope, and then it is gone.\n“No need to get handsy,” Bobby says to her. His voice is a dead whisper against the sweeping brown coastline, but she can hear him. They’re sitting shoulder to shoulder on the dried-out vertebrae of a bowhead whale.\n“You wish, cheechako.” Her lips are around the filter now, pursed in a way he has never seen. Bobby is glad to be under six inches of parka- his boyhood is screaming.\n“What does that mean?” Bobby asks.\nChunhui puts the cigarette in one hand and grabs his red jacket in the other. Their faces are eight inches apart, and she bridges the gap with a long push of tobacco. Then she smiles. “It means you don’t belong here.”\nIt’s like static on his face, the heat traveling across his ruby nose and down to his pants. Her eyes are browner than moleskin. “Is that a bad thing?” Bobby says.\n“Depends. Are you a jerk like all the other guys in this town?”\nIt’s now Bobby’s turn to smile, and he takes the opportunity to show it off, white and gritty. Chunhui laughs and turns out towards the slushy whitewash. The scene is strips of pink and yellow against a descending orb, the sea a million snowy molehills separating the two teens from the Artic tundra. She pulls on the cigarette again.\n“You never forget your last sunset,” Chunhui says.\n“No?”\n“Never. For two months, it’s all you have.” Chunhui’s exhale is silvery, like an invisible fox. He wants to steal it from her. “So you gotta savor it.”\nBobby leans a little closer, his hand moving atop the girls. She doesn’t pull away. One day, Bobby thinks, they will end up like the bones they sit upon. But it won’t be today.\n“Trust me,” Bobby says. “There’s no chance I forget this.”\n---------------------------------------------------------------\nSakari walks up the frosty shore, as far as he can go. He is completely alone for miles. In front of him is a drop off, a collection of tan and black rocks that drift into the sea. It is the northernmost point of the Western Hemisphere- the locals call it “The End of the World.”\nHis long flowing hair bounces to a stop as he saddles five feet from the edge. He slips his hands into his kuspuk and takes a deep breath. Sakari knows the air is different out here, yet today he feels no spark. He lets it out slowly, disappointed.\nThings in Utqiagvik have felt like this for a while- sparkless- and despite the shifting colors above him, he can’t seem to recapture it. The realization had come unexpectedly months prior, on an ice fishing trip with his brother.\nThey were huddled together in a small blue teepee, the wind hard and angry against their tent. Miku, who is two years younger, had thrown white lima beans in the fishing hole, and always enjoyed staring into the blue pit, waiting for the break in color. “Oh! Here one comes!” he said in a whisper, feet doing a little patter like some antsy sled dog.\nThe rod was in Sakari’s hands, and it began to bend, not violently but with delay, as if something was chewing instead of swallowing. Sakari waited a few seconds, then began to reel at the same pace as the fish’s bite. Halfway up, the creature realized its mistake, and began sprinting back in forth, slapping the roof of the ice floor. It only took ten more seconds before the head of the artic char was breaching their little hideout, a beautiful orange 33 incher.\nMiku grabbed the line and pulled the rest of the fish out of the water. “Nice, Sakari! This might be our biggest yet!” Sakari dropped the rod, and Miku handed the fish over.\nSakari was smiling at first- that he remembered. But when that cold slime ran over his fingers, and those orange-spotted muscles began fidgeting and flexing, he felt a sudden drop in temperature within him. Sakari looked into the eye of the fish, an open black hole the size of a dime, and saw there was nothing. A trickle of blood fell from its gill flap and puddled in his frozen palm- that seemed to make it worse. He pushed the fish away, afraid and disgusted by his lack of excitement.\n“Are you OK, Sakari? Did you hear something?”\nHe shook his head, wiping his hands on the ice, but his eyes were locked on the flopping fish, and its cold, dead, upward gaze. They didn’t camp for much longer that day.\nThat was where the stain began. It drifted over everything- the deckhands on his whaling boat, the diner waitresses, his snow-shoveling neighbors- and corrupted them. Where there once was life, and personality, and fulfillment, now reeked of a truth only he seemed to be aware of. That all of this- this frozen, aquatic existence- was just a passive march towards fish eyed emptiness.\nAt the End of The World, Sakari ponders his next move. The dancing kaleidoscope above him is dimming into night, and on his shoulders he can sense the coming of a heavy snowfall. In the morning, he won’t be able to see it- there will be darkness for sixty six days, and for the first time in his life, the idea of a full Polar Night scares him.\nOutside his vision, a bowhead whale breaches the surface. There is a faint sputter of broken water, and a louder pshhhh from its blowhole before things are quiet again. As darkness comes closer, and Sakari turns towards home, he makes a note of the giant mammal, and wonders if he’ll be around when the light can reconnect them.\n----------------------------------------------------------------\nNanook wheels Yuka to their living room window. In front of them is a mural they are familiar with- the bright cream hues of an Alaskan sunset- and on ordinary occasions, they would take a stroll out to the beach to celebrate another notch on their long post of revolutions together. Yuka can’t keep her eyes open, though, and her feet are crusty and bloated. So their tradition will have to wait.\n“It never gets less beautiful, does it, Yuka?”\nShe says nothing, but answers via a small squeeze on Nanook’s palm. It is so weak that it feels like a newborns.\nNanook continues to speak in their quiet home, the crackling fireplace his only narrative aid. “Remember the year after we got married, Yuka? The sunset came early, and we were upset we missed it- too busy working in the shop, both of us.” Nanook pauses, as the sun marks its halfway journey beneath the horizon’s maw. “Remember how this one ends?”\nAnother squeeze.\n“We walked outside that night, with our hands coated in that thick motor oil that they always shipped in frozen from Anchorage. A glob of it had stained your cheek, and I remember how it felt to not recognize you. My love, turned into some greased-up motor monkey.”\nThe sun is three quarters gone- a sliver of bright red licks their snowy encampment like raspberry glaze.\n“We were desperate, overworked, exhausted. And then- you remember this, Yuka, as we left that garage? The black sky ignited into neon, right in front of us, with wavy crystal ribbons that intertwined like loose balls of yarn. A cheechako might have mistaken it for the rapture, given how bright those gemstone colors pranced across the stars.”\nYuka squeezes hard, and Nanook feels a pull on his vision.\n“And then I turned to you and grabbed your hand-“ Nanook leaned over and grabbed her other hand, standing behind the chair- “and felt the sticky lock of our fingers in the negative fifty freeze. There was a hundred shades of purple across your face, and this time I failed to recognize you in a different way. You were a goddess, a primitive spirit with no ties to the living. You were up there with those ribbons in that moment, I could tell.”\nNo squeeze, but a small grin across a thousand wrinkles, illuminated by a dying sun. There is morning dew across his cheekbones.\n“And do you remember what I asked you?” Nanook says.\nYuka moves her shriveled lips delicately, each word a raspy, singular effort. “Can… anyone… exist… as… perfectly… as… you… do?”\nThe sun is subsiding off the coastline, leaving a dusty orange residue that is being cleansed by an oncoming storm. Nanook holds Yuka’s hands, tight as he knows possible, and quiets the whimpers in his chest. Together, they look out into the departing sunlight, and wait for harder days to come.\n----------------------------------------------------------------\nWhen Randall told his beer friends that he was moving to Alaska, their reactions were mostly the same. “What they got in the Tundra that they don’t got in the South?”\nRandall lined his pool cue up to the ball, the tip compacting on the glossy face as he spewed his holiest dream. “I want to run the sled dogs.”\nBrant, the loudest in their crew, chuckled so hard that the stretched pitbull on his tee shirt began to rumble and growl. “What you know bout’ sledding, boy? The only sledding you done is with your nose down the bar line!” The rest of them, equally obtuse and disgusting, giggled in agreement.\n“I kicked that shit, long time ago. I’m done with the drinking, too.” Randall powered through the last of his frosty Miller. “Starting now.”\nBrant moved from the booth, his knees buckling under his own forgotten weight, and waddled behind Randall, slapping two thick hands on his shoulders. “You’re a fine man, Randall, for an Alabama hick. You should know, though…” Brant brought his lips behind Randall’s ear, his breath an acrid, hair-frying heat.\n“You ain’t ever gonna make it out this town,” he whispered.\nIt wasn’t a moment Randall thought about very often, those nine words in a locals-only backwater saloon. But today, as he pets Kamona’s head in the pale shiver of November, it strikes his mind like the presentation of some great achievement.\nThere was nothing easy about it- the first challenge was finding this town, the coldest gulley in all of Alaska if you account for the onshore wind chill. Then he had to find an elder to learn from, in a language he was not familiar with. That took ages, sweeping bars and online forums, pulling for a lead. Turns out, all he had to do was wait outside and listen.\nA mile from his house was a barking place that set eruption to the empty land. Randall chased the noise one morning, and met twelve leaping huskies, all riled and untethered in the six-inch sleet. It must have been strange for Sitka to witness a redneck being absorbed by the bouncing pelts of his kin. It was why Randall had to answer to Sitka’s glistening bolt-action before they could discuss apprenticeship.\nSitka was a good man, and Randall was a good worker. That was six months ago, and they’d shared a lot of coffee and frostbite since then. On his birthday, Sitka pieced him in on some good news- Kamona, the dog Randall had grown fondest of (every sledder has a favorite), was pregnant. She was due in January.\nUp above him, the sky skims and twirls in a million different arcs, like a boy learning to scribble in his coloring book. The high mountains shiver in gold tinfoil, and a small sneeze leaps from Kamona’s nose. Randall pats her belly slowly, feeling the gurgle and tensity of her chest through his mittens. This is the time of day he feeds the dogs and puts them to rest, but Randall knows that can wait. For a kid from the sticks, this is all he’s been waiting for.\n----------------------------------------------------------------\nIt is January 23rd. The town of Utqiagvik is quiet, almost to the point of religious divinity. Snow spreads across the ground like frosting, and on the exposed parts of buildings, a thick layer of white freezer burn rides up the wooden edges.\nThese are not developments anyone can notice. The sun, a shy schoolgirl, has avoided this town for two months. The others make fun of her- the wind screeches laughter on worn-out haunches, the storm clouds dump their misgivings onto those unlucky enough to be below them, the sea continues its eternal bubbling hiss. None of this encourages her to show her face again.\nToday is a new day. It is expected she will be back, recovering a flash of braveness after a dark, lonely hibernation. The townspeople cower to their windows, peeling back the frost using only their breath. Utqiagvik has been patient, patient as a town can be, and they expect to be rewarded.\nHer entrance is grand- she’s always been an agent of class, and today she shows it, warming up the sky like a pot coming to boil. The darkness fades to gray, fades to blue, and then sparks of orange and pink begin to pop between the clouds, hidden kernels against solar heat. It is an articulate dance that she’s curated, and it scares the elements away. There is no more wind, no more churning sea. Only a white canvas for her to perform against.\nThe first civilian makes their way outside. A little girl opens the front door, a slip of red nose peaking from her parka as an offering. The sun takes it, climbing a little higher and shining some hotter rays across the one-story homes, which swim over the rigid mountaintops like unseen ocean tides.\nA bark cracks across the quiet space, and then another. The sled dogs billow out Sitka’s door, their coats downy and hungry for a good shine. Randall follows the crew, and in his arms are two pups, their eyes clipped fingernails, their fur gray as the past. Behind him is Kamona, heavier and milk-laden. She rubs against Randall’s side like a housecat, knowing his smell as closely as her young.\nThe sun continues to stretch and rise, a lump of sourdough set to proof. It ignites Barrow High School, then the Whaling Museum, and finally the town common, where fifty men and women stand within kissing distance. There is heat as the sun arrives, but with the temperature still in the negatives, no one is tempted to stray from the pack.\nThis is good news for Bobby and Chunhui, who stand face to face in the coming light. Bobby’s skin, almost transparent from the lack of Vitamin D, pulls tight against his lips as he sticks a tongue out, the red wet flesh baring small, smoky trails. Chunhui giggles and grabs his hands. It is these little faces, these passing glances, that have taught Chunhui what she’s been missing all her life. She doesn’t care what anyone thinks- she drags him in until his tongue is within her own.\nAnother man hangs inside the crowd- Miku. He is a man now, and the others recognize it, like the horns of a freshly matured elk; only Miku wears it in his grizzled beard, and his creased cheekbones, and his eyes that sing like judgement day. On his shoulders is his brother’s kuspuk. The sleeves are knotted tight against his chest, medallion-like, and in his pocket he chokes a cell phone. He winces constantly at the touch of it, as if it is made of something molten. Except it’s not a physical pain- it’s a spiritual kind that comes from waiting, from not knowing. Miku stares up, into the open blue sky, and lets the heat wash over him like a winter storm. There is a twinge in his eye, and then it comes, unexpected, a forgotten feeling. It is hope, overflowing his long empty cup.\nAway from all this, and the last one to be touched by the glowing sky, is the farthest home on the hemisphere. Inside is a dusty living room- a covered sofa, an old rabbit-eared television, an empty wheelchair. The door is wide open, yet the wind doesn’t catch it, so it stays that way, a bright blue gullet with one man within its lips.\nNanook steps across the beach. Each movement is slow, and as his boots break the skin of the icy soil, there’s a loud crunch. He has never done this walk alone- never dreamed he would have to. But it isn’t as bad as he thought it would be. The warm feels good on his joints.\nAs he moves, he holds onto each crunch like he does with everything else- the patter of her eyelashes, the meeting of their noses, the soft sigh as she lowers into bed. And for a moment, it’s as if she’s behind him, walking in his trail, her skin a golden fire and her gaze a neon sky.\nNanook wants to turn around, to catch her in his tracks. He doesn’t. Instead, he moves forward, chasing the unbroken snow in front of him, and blesses the light that shines upon their small, little world." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Present Past\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 2337\n\nPrompt:\n\nA package arrives at your character’s house, but they didn’t order anything. Write about what happens next." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Present Past\nby\nEdward Hamilton\nPING!\n As soon as he heard the sound from his pocket, he felt annoyance wash over him. He pulled the phone from his pocket. A couple of swipes and a security code later, he saw the text.\nDad! The limited-edition Christmas red Rainbow Troll doll is available ONLY at Toys-a-Lot at 5pm on Dec 24th. I hope you can get it for me. Love you.\n He groaned as he stared at the text. This time of year was not a slow time for his work. He was going to get off on Dec 24th at 4pm, have the 25th off, then be back to work the 26th at 6 a.m. The thought of getting off at 4pm and then driving 60 miles to the nearest Toys-a-Lot, for a chance, at getting a collectible Rainbow Troll. Well, made him already feel tired. He replied.\nNo promises Abby. You know how busy I am this time of year. What else do you want for Christmas just in case?\n He sat at his desk staring at the screen on his phone. Seconds rolled into minutes. Four minutes later her reply came through. Finally, her text came through.\nI'll be happy with whatever I get.\n Richie felt horrible. He loved his kid but she would understand someday that \"love isn't measured in dollars or trinkets\". He put his phone away and headed home. He left the building and was walking across the parking lot towards his beat up SUV when his pocket muffled another alert.\nPing!\n He closed the fifty feet to his Durango and got into the drivers seat, before pulling out his phone and checking his message.\nShe is killing me with this troll!!!\n It was his ex-wife Trish. He smiled at the text. He couldn't imagine what she's going through, about this Troll, if he's frustrated 20 miles away and not in the same house. He answered.\nI feel ya\n He turned on the engine and watched the phone waiting. Soon her response came through.\nEVERY day with this Rainbow Troll...grrr\n He chuckled again while he typed.\nYour kid. Lol. Jk. On my way home. Text later.\n He put his phone away and took off. Twenty minutes later, he arrived at his small bachelor apartment. He was about to leave the truck when he noticed a brown paper wrapped package sitting in front of his door.\n \"I didn't order anything.\" He said to himself. He marched the fifteen feet to his door and snatched up the package on his way inside. He tossed the package onto his recliner and removed his boots and coat. After a microwaved dinner, he went to his recliner. He picked up the package and plopped down. Immediately, the stress of the day started easing away.\n Richie turned on the light beside his chair and started inspecting the mystery package.\n \"Mavis Turner is not me, Fred.\" Fred was his mailman. \"Right address. Wrong person.\" Then Rich paused in his muttering. The post date was Dec 15, 1988. \"Wrong decade too. Fred your killing me.\" He put the box on the table beside the lamp and was soon asleep.\n The next morning Richie was on his way out the door when he saw Fred the mailman a couple houses away. Richie went back inside and retrieved the parcel from his nightstand. He closed the door behind him and waved at Fred.\n \"Hey Fred.\" He shouted. The older mailman looked around before spying Richie walking towards him. Rich had a package in his hand waving it. The two walked toward each other until they were in speaking distance.\n \"Mail going out?\" Fred inquired.\n \"Nope. Post office made a mistake. Not me. Wrong decade.\" Richie said laughing. The old man examined the package.\n \"Ole Mavis Turner.\" He said with a smile. He handed the package back. \"Its yours. Enjoy.\"\n \"It's mine? No. It says Mavis Turner.\" Richie argued.\n \"Yes it does.\" Countered Fred, \"but she doesn't live here. The package is over twenty years old so it now belongs to the person residing at the address. You.\" With that, Fred turned and started walking away.\n \"What am I supposed to do with it?\" Rich exclaimed.\n \"Keep it. Trash it. I don't care.\" Fred never even turned around to answer.\n Richie walked to his SUV and tossed the package on his passenger seat. He turned over the engine and was on his way to work.\n The drive to work went quick since his mind was stuck on this mystery package. He pecked the name Mavis Turner on his keyboard. The computer returned 165,342 results. Richie typed Mavis Turner and Williamsport, OH. The computer returned 67 results. He slowly started scrolling through them. His heart started to get heavy as result after result wasn't the Mavis he was looking for. Finally, he found it. ‘Mavis Turner celebrates 84th birthday’. Her previous address was the same as his present address. She was now in an assisted living home. After a couple apps and a half dozen pages, he found the assisted living home was less than five miles from where he worked. He leaned back thinking how surprised Mavis would be to get this package on Christmas Eve. It could make the old birds year. Richie's thoughts were interrupted.\nPing!\n He took a quick glance at the message.\nToday at 5 Daddy. Just wanted to remind you. Love you.\n Rich sent an emoji back. The smiley face with hearts around it.\n It took Richie no time after work to find the assisted living home. He walked in and the helpful receptionist told him Mavis was in the Rec room. He walked into the room and there was close to two dozen men and women doing everything from playing cards to watching tv. Richie noticed a younger man in all white standing against the wall.\n \"Excuse me. I’m looking for Mavis Turner.\" Richie whispered. The nurse pointed toward an African American woman thumbing through a magazine. She sat alone at a table. Richie thanked the nurse with a nod and walked over to stand across from Mavis.\n \"Mavis Turner?\" Richie asked quietly.\n \"Huh.\" Mavis looked Richie up and down. \"Do I know you Sonny?\" She asked. Her voice was feeble and weak.\n \"No ma'am. Would you mind if I sat? I have a story for you.\"\n \"Go right ahead. Been awhile since I heard a good story.\" She returned. Richie took a seat and placed the package on the table. He recounted getting the mail, his conversation with Fred and how he found her.\n \"..and so here I am to deliver you this package that's been looking for you for nearly 34 years.\" He slid the package to her.\n \"Hope it's not fruitcake.\" She chuckled as her arthritic fingers weakly scratched at the package.\n \"May I help Mavis?\" Richie asked politely.\n \"Call me Grandma Mavis and Yes you may.\" She pushed the package back. The old tape gave away easily. Beneath the brown paper was a folded note and cardboard box. He handed the note to Mavis while he opened the box. Mavis' fingers slowly unfolded the note. She held it close to her face as she looked down her nose and read. Richie slid the open box back in front of her as she read.\n \"Oh my.\" She laid the note down. Her eyes welled with tears. Soon they ran down her wrinkled face.\n \"Grandma Mavis. Is everything alright? What is it?\" He grasps her right hand between both of his as she produced a tissue out of her bosom with the left hand. She tapped at the tears on her cheek.\n \"It's from my late husband Arthur.\" She laughed a little through the tears. \"It was my Christmas present in 1988. It was our last Christmas together. He passed away in the spring of '89\"\n \"Do you wanna see what it is?\" Richie asked. He hoped she said yes so he could see.\n \"I know what it is. We fought about whether he forgot, or it got lost in the mail like he claimed.\" She was done crying. She still shook. He could tell it was a very fragile subject. \"You see, Arthur and I were the first interracial couple in Williamsport. In the 80's, we dealt with a lot of looks and rude comments. I always told Arthur, one of these days I'm going to sit in my own home, sipping tea and reading a book, and I want that book to have the fanciest bookmark in it. So anytime I feel low, I can look at that bookmark and know we did good with our lives.\" She nodded her head and pointed at the box. Richie slowly unfolded the box. He pulled out a hand full of shredded newspaper. Underneath the newspaper was a brown bookmark with gold foil edging and Mavis spelled in the same gold foil down the middle. The tassel on the bookmark was long, nearly eight inches. It was gold and made of soft silk.\n \"Wow\" It was all Richie could say.\n \"Arthur knew about diamonds and doughnuts.\" She said lovingly as she looked towards the ceiling.\n \"Diamonds and doughnuts?\" Richie asked.\n \"If someone wants a doughnut and you spend thousands of dollars for a diamond, the diamond is just a rock to them. If someone wants a diamond, and you get them a doughnut, it is nothing but a pastry. The right gift for someone is the right gift. It doesn't matter what it costs you in money, time or effort. It's what it matters to them to receive it.\" Mavis looked deep into Richie’s eyes. \"Do you understand my boy?\"\n Richie leaned across the table and kissed the old lady on the cheek.\n \"Grandma Mavis I love ya but I gotta go.\" He had a big smile on his face and a light in his eyes.\n Richie ran from the home. He sprinted across the parking lot. He fired up his Durango and the big engine roared as it drove down the road. Fifty-two miles later he pulled into Toys-a-Lot. Richie glanced at his phone. 6:10pm. He drove like a drunken madman around the parking lot trying to find a parking spot. He finally admitted defeat and parked at the end. Richie jumped out and raced across the parking lot, dodging shopper after shopper, like a professional running back. He made it into the store and slowed to a fast walk.\n His neck craned looking down each aisle as he passed them. He saw trucks, toy guns, frisbees, footballs, action figures. He stopped suddenly, almost knocking over a small, bearded gentleman. He was about to apologize, when he saw the words Rainbow Troll at the end of the main aisle. He pushed past the talking little man. The nearer he got the more he could see. It was a display in the center of the aisle. He walked faster. Twenty steps away he could see there were two trolls left. Ten steps, a large lady grabbed one and put it in her nearly overflowing cart. Five steps and only a little bald man was in his way. Richie tapped the man on his left shoulder then passed the confused man on the right. Three steps and Richie knew he was going to be best dad in the world. His heart raced with excitement. Two steps and he saw a young dark-skinned lady pick up the last troll.\n Richie's heart broke. He stared at the woman looking at the troll. She looked undecided.\n \"Are you going to buy that?\" He asked. Rich could feel sweat running down the sides of his face. The pretty lady looked at him puzzled.\n \"Dunno yet. Are you ok?\" She asked.\n \"You dunno?\" He squealed. Then took a breath to regain his composure. He could see the dark-skinned lady was shocked by his tone. \"I'm sorry. I'm sorry\".\n \"Are you one of them crazy collectors?\"\n \"No. I need that for a present.\" He thought for a second. \"Listen. The troll is $19.99. I'll give you fifty bucks cash.\" He reached for his wallet.\n \"For who?\" The she questioned.\n \"What?\" He heard her. He was trying to get time to decide if telling her it was for his daughter was smart or not. There was money on the line.\n \"Who's the troll for?\" She asked again smiling.\n \"I'll give you one hundred dollars.\" Richie stammered\n Her smile faded. \"No. I'll buy it for my son to put on his shelf. It might be worth something someday.\" She turned and started walking away. Richie stood shocked watching his Christmas miracle walk away through a crowd of consumers. Step by step, farther and farther, until finally.\n \"It's for my daughter that I love with all my heart, and I'll give you everything in my wallet for that troll!\" He said it louder than he thought. A dozen people stopped and looked at him. The dark-skinned woman stopped. He could hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears waiting for her to do something. She turned and walked back to him.\n \"Here ya go.\" She smiled.\n \"God bless you.\" He reached for his wallet. \"I'm going to keep twenty dollars to pay for the doll but the rest is..\"\n \"No need.\" She cut him off mid-sentence. \"It's Christmas. Have a happy holiday.\"\n Richie grabbed the unsuspecting woman and hugged her. He took the troll and ran to the checkout. The woman watched him stand in line like a kid needing to pee. Right foot, left foot, right foot. She laughed at the sight. She felt good helping him have a good Christmas. She couldn't take her eyes off him until he tucked the troll under his arm and disappeared out the door. She got in her purse and took out her phone. She pushed a couple buttons and put it to her ear. Her dark eyes looked around while she waited for an answer.\n \"Hey. Grandma Mavis, you’re not going to believe what just happened to 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: Seriously?\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 2267\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart your story with someone saying “Thanks a lot” (sarcastically or sincerely)." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Thanks a lot, America. Every single day I wake up and ask myself will this be the day. Will this be the day something goes wrong on my day to day walk of life being a black man. Will this be the day that I’m at the grocery store, while I’m in the produce section trying to determine which avocado is worthy of my toast in the morning and someone says something to me that will set off a chain of events that may end my life? Will this be the day I go to grab a shopping cart and unknowingly reach for a cart that someone else was reaching for and they get upset and want to harm me over something as trivial as a shopping cart? Is this the day that someone gets upset with me for asking politely if they could remove themselves from my personal space at the check out line because there is no reason at all for me to be able to feel your breath on the back of my neck.\nIs this the day that I crumbled up the receipt and toss it in a near by trash bin and a sales associate thinks I didn’t pay for a certain item so they chase me down and asks to see my receipt? Not even thinking about it telling them that I don’t have one and they call the police on me for not having proof of my purchase. Crazy right?! Crazy that someone even has to think about that sort of thing. I bet all of my white friends don’t even think about things like that. Ever. I tell you what I know to be true, this will be the day and every single day after it that I always have to shrink myself down to make myself seem less threatening to the older white couple on the cereal aisle. Or maybe as I’m reaching for a gallon of organic milk it’s not a good idea to make eye contact with that woman so always staying focused on what I’m here to do. That’s just the grocery store! \nHow about you come along with me as I go about my every day life! You would be surprised, or maybe you won’t. I wake up in the morning and get dressed. Let’s talk about what I wear for work. I wear nice jeans, a nice button down and maybe a tie if I’m feeling myself that day. I would love to wear jeans that are distressed that have a few holes in the leg because that’s the style! You see them every where when you’re out clothes shopping. I don’t buy them because I don’t want to seem threatening in anyway when it comes to my wardrobe. Hoodies? Absolutely not. I’ve had the same hoodie for years that almost looks brand new because it’s never been worn. \nFlashy tennis shoes? Absolutely not. Someone might think that I’m in a gang if I have too many colors on my shoes. Speaking of gangs, I alway have on a belt for my pants so they don’t sag because I don’t want people to think that I’m in a gang! I also keep a belt in my bag and one at work in my desk just in case for some reason I slipped up and didn’t wear one into work. Back up belts! If something happened in the news the night before where some person of color was shot and killed for any reason I usually really amp up my attire the next day. A nice sweater vest with some khaki slacks and a matching Oxford shoe. Hair? Yeah, hair is a thing that I’m concerned about too. You know what I’ve wanted my whole life? Locs. I never was able to have them because my schools from grade school and up always had them on the list of “things that are not appropriate for this institution” in the student handbook. I was forced to have the same haircut for years of a simple close cut that never changed. I remember one summer I begged my Mom to let me grow my hair out so I could have an afro. I remember buying a pick and all the proper hair care products for my new obsession. I nearly cried when she told me she made an appointed me for a haircut the week before school. I was hoping she would forget but if you think a black Mother is going to forget something that might for any reason at all hinder your education you can forget about it. So alas I dawn a low cut so I don’t look threatening when I’m walking into lobby of my job. \nNone threatening for when I make eye contact with the front desk security guard so he can feel safe to buzz me in so I can make my way to the elevators. Ugh, elevators. You know what I long for when it comes to elevators? Me being alone in them. If I’m by myself I don’t have to worry about having to make myself invisible. I don’t have to stand in the far right corner and worry if I’m making any of my coworkers uncomfortable. I don’t have to pretend to be looking at something extremely important on my cellphone so when the person enters the elevator they might think, “well, he’s clearly too busy to harass me so it should be fine for me to get on”. \nDon’t have to worry about a white woman clutching her purse because she’s afraid that I want her dusty bag filled with cough drops and and Altoids and an empty wallet that has more cat hair and receipts than money inside. Finally making my way into the office so I can greet people and happy and positive as I can because heavens forbid if I’m having an off day. My coworkers will immediately think I have an “angry black man” attitude which might lead to HR being called. So here I am, smiling from ear to ear telling people good morning and hope every one has a good day. Not being able to respond when someone is clearly disrespecting me or talking down to me because that’s also categorized as an angry black man attitude that can get a phone call from HR.\nClean and crisp and smiling is how you will find me at my job. I have a meeting today with the leads of my department. I have to know my job and know theirs as well because I don’t want them to see me as lazy. That is a stereotype that is looked upon of people of color. Too bad I can’t receive money for two positions! I guess that’s another story! After work is done I need to head back downstairs on that elevator and try to get a cab. I don’t have a car because I’m living in a pretty big city. Public transportation is my way of getting from point A to point B. Hailing a cab can be tricky. It’s hard to get one right in front of my job so I usually have to walk a few blocks away to a busier street. There I wave my arms around like I’m bucking to be a bird in my next life. I’ve had a few taxi cab drivers look me dead in my face and drive off after stopping to pick me up. It’s pretty funny. A cab driver once gave me a hug because I tipped him. He told me “your people never tip!!!”. Yikes. The things we go through being black in this country are unbelievably ridiculous at times. I took a cab today because I wanted to get home in a timely fashion so I can make it to the gym. \nThe gym is in walking distance of my apartment so it’s not too hard navigating the streets to get there. I use to jog to the gym with my noise cancellation headphones on until a police officer was trying to get my attention who was behind me. I spare no expense when it comes to good headphones. I’m a fan of the bass so I want headphones that deliver the perfect low end to my ears! As I was jogging I was blasting Fishbone as loud as possible and never heard him say a word. I was just in front of the door of the gym and I felt someone tug really hard at my arm. It caught me off guard so I turned around and saw it was an officer. My heart felt like it had dropped out of my chest and was running back to my apartment to hide under the bed! The officer immediately apologized to me and told me he made a mistake, I wasn’t who he was looking for. He also told me I might want to turn the volume down a bit so it wouldn’t happen again. I thought to myself, I’ll do you one even better, I won’t be wearing these headphones outside the house or the gym ever again. I won’t even explain me at the gym because it’s a lot like me in the elevator. In the corner trying not to draw attention to myself. Not getting too loud whilst lifting weights or grunting too much, invisibility is key. \nAfter the gym I usually will treat myself with a sugary cup of coffee and a scone from a coffee shop that’s on the way back home close to my apartment. I make sure I’m presentable after the gym as much as I can with workout clothes on. I wouldn’t want the patrons on the coffee shop to think I was an unkept man because that would surely lead to a police officer visit in which I would have to explain my situation which they probably wouldn’t listen to anyways. I’d surely get hauled off to the “pokey”!! Luckily I’ve been in the shop enough that all of the workers know me by name and great me with a smile when I do come in so I guess they can vouch for me if something were to happen. I don’t like leaving my odds blowing in the wind when it comes to my life. I know plenty of people who would think, “there is no way things like this happens to you every single day!”. Guess what? I’d love to say you’re right! It doesn’t, but I would be lying to you and I don’t think it’s okay to lie to people especially since the truth is the easiest story told. \nIt’s very easy to tell a story about when I was a child walking around a local business that everyone went to for anything! The main reason myself and my friends went is for the stick candy they sold. It was like candy canes but they had no peppermint flavors and they didn’t have the traditional candy cane hooks. They had cherry, grape, orange and something that I’d imagine resembled lemon. One day we noticed that one of the sales associates were hanging around where we were. Being kids we didn’t know they were following us around to make sure we didn’t steal anything. We just assumed they were doing their jobs but as we got older it was pretty clear what they were doing. Once I figured out exactly what was going on I found myself less and less interested in going back. I even walked around many sections of the store to make sure I wasn’t being dramatic. I walked in, walked straight to the candy section and I saw eyes at the end of the aisle looking at me. Walked to a section of the store where I’ve gotten replacement bicycle inner tubes for when I had been too rough on my bike and I needed a new one. This time they were a little bit closer to me. Trying to play it off by straightening up a section of bicycle horns that ever kid eventually begged for to add to the noise pollution of your day to day bike rides. I walked quickly to the section that they sold shoes at to see if they would trip over themselves to get to that section too. I wasn’t there for more than a minute when I see the same sales associate tying laces of the shoes that were on display. That was my last day for that store. Never went back in there. As a matter of fact I don’t even know if the store is still standing and could care less if it’s not. \nThat’s just a fraction of things that go through my mind navigating the world while being black. I wake up on a daily basis trying to figure out how to make it as easy as possible to get to another day. That’s half the battle, right? Survival! I wonder how many of my friends go through the same exact senecios. I try to remain positive because these stories can go really dark really fast. There’s only so much someone can take to stay out of the darkness of what if. My what is can be very frightening at times so there is no need for me to go too deep. As I fall asleep trying not to think about all the hoops that I will have to jump through the next day I force myself to push my thoughts aside to get a good nights sleep. Thanks a lot, America." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Package Delivered\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 1639\n\nPrompt:\n\nA package arrives at your character’s house, but they didn’t order anything. Write about what happens next." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Fifteen years of marriage proved to be tepid rather than loving as the Wrights drifted further apart. The unvarying abuse, the myriad affairs, the wavering health conditions, and let’s not forget, all the children brought situations to a halt upon Alyse’s hospital release. While attempting this chance at restoration and renewal, Alyse finally recognized her breaking point. She was no longer walking around the great state of Mississippi as the abused wife, nor Matthew’s fool. Mind you, Alyse was no one’s fool. She knew of his infidelities, as he was horrible at hiding them. Alyse once said, “I’ve invested too much in this marriage to let him out of it, but then, he’s already left it; just not officially.” Nevertheless, Alyse took a long-awaited approach to her husband and her marriage.\nAmid Alyse’s nervous breakdown, she placed a bruise on Matthew that would never heal. She didn’t punch him in his chest as she once threatened, although that might’ve changed their outcome. Slowly recovering from a triple bypass, Matthew was likely one more heart attack away from the grave. Alyse left what would later become a permanent scar upon Matthew’s face. Had she been two steps closer to the left, his right eye might’ve been no more. A crimson pool gathered beneath his nose onto his shirt. Her words continued to ring in his mind as he packed his last suitcase: “I AM DONE! This time, I’m not leaving; YOU ARE! I don’t care where you go. I don’t care what you do. But you will leave my house! I AM DONE keeping up appearances for and with you. I don’t care what you tell the church. I don’t care what you tell the children. Call a lawyer, any lawyer, and divorce me. Please DIVORCE ME!” The last time she was DONE, Matthew thought she was gone forever. He’d groveled enough and convinced her otherwise, and she came back. All of this happened before they wed. I’m certain if Alyse knew back then what she knows now, she might’ve taken her chances with anybody else or remained single for the rest of her life.\nOw! Clink, clink, clink. Matthew replied, “Your aim is still impeccable, but you promised to never remove these again. I love you Lyse, and that won’t ever change. You promised me: for better or worse; in sickness and in health; until death do us part. Remember our vows. Please keep the necklace and earrings and put your rings back on.” Clink, clink, clink, clink, clink. “Why should I give a damn about our vows; you didn’t! I’m done with empty promises and upholding the family name. For what?! Another bruise? Another welt? Another whore? Or another child outside of this home? Stay away from me! I want nothing from you. Take these rings, these earrings, and this necklace, and LEAVE!\nThe saddest thing Matthew could do after his eviction from his home was move in proximity. With all the rental properties they had, Matthew could have gone anywhere he wanted. He went across the street. In his mind, if he were close enough to maintain visual contact, then maybe they’d come back together. For the first time since they’d separated before she married him, Matthew was completely alone manifesting puddles upon puddles to ease his broken heart. Alyse’s tears had long since vanished over Matthew; too much damage as her love for him was waning. Although all these times of separation were of his own making, Alyse took more from Matthew than she ever bargained for.\nNowhere will you find another woman like Alyse who came into a marriage and willingly reared the outside children alongside the inside children. Nowhere will you find another woman like Alyse who befriended all her husband’s whores and/or mothers of his children; especially that last one who not only left Alyse for dead after attacking her in her pregnant state, but the same person who kidnapped her newborn twins in the early months after their birth, and some of the younger children. You’d have to ask Alyse about the nature of her motives.\nQuite naturally, Matthew’s first set of children were from his first wife, and Alyse loved them as if they were her natural children. Matthew’s second set of children came from a relationship he thought he’d severed by way of payment only to have them appear on his doorstep years later. But Alyse loved them like the two before them. Later came some other children along the way; two children with the same father, in the same month, but different mothers. And then newborn twins and another surprise to appear on the doorstep. And let’s not forget the three bonus children, who, by the grace of God, were not of Matthew’s loins. Here, we have less than a man who once terminated so many pregnancies, and abused so many women, and that he could not account for them all. Stuck in his dead father’s shadow. Stuck with the stenches of his past. Stuck with a deteriorating heart, but maybe this was his destiny for all the lives he destroyed.\nMonths passed and the Wrights remained separate. Matthew only saw Alyse and the children through the windows of their home, or at church on Sundays, until she stopped attending. Although Matthew was a good preacher and teacher, and now, a better pastor than he had been before, Alyse no longer desired his messages. Alyse would only attend Hope Street when Matthew wasn’t preaching or on special occasions. Her visits became far, few, and in between.\nEven though there were months of separation between them, Matthew thought it best to maintain the space Alyse requested; at least until the holidays neared. In fifteen years, they’d never spent a thanksgiving apart from each other. No matter the circumstances, these two being separated just didn’t happen like that. He’d begged her to join him, and even begged her to allow him to join her. Nothing, except a monotonous Happy Thanksgiving the day before. The children refused to cross the street, as did the rest of the family. The most Matthew received were some calls from his mother and some church members.\nMatthew was long overdue in his attempts to get his wife back. Her taciturnity at thanksgiving was debilitating and he could no longer take these pains from Alyse. After thanksgiving, Matthew reverted to his former ways of gaining Alyse’s attention, all except for the stalking. He’d let that thought subside. Brown packages appeared one by one and then two by two every day. Sixteen and a half years of life with Alyse, Matthew actually got smarter this time around. The boxes accumulated on the porch and remained unscathed until that tropical storm came through the week before Christmas. One of the children addressed Alyse about the boxes and she replied, “I didn't order any packages. File 13, my love. Do not bring them in the house.”\nAs Christmas was a few days away, he knew how Alyse loved Christmas. Seeing happy children and happy families tugged at her heartstrings. This Christmas would be the first one in a long time that they’d ever been separate. Christmas Day was here, and the family opened presents. There were presents under the tree for Alyse and she couldn’t bring herself to open them. Something brought her to silent tears, and she didn’t quite understand this feeling. She couldn’t explain this feeling. The smallest Wright child, twin number two, Ella, found three mysterious brown gifts under the tree and brought them to Alyse. “Mommy, I found these in the back under the tree. Two of these have no name, and the other one is for daddy.” She walked closer and raised her arms. “Mommy, can I see daddy, please?!” The elder children approached, all trying to prevent Ella’s talks of their dad. The children even wondered about their origins, as they knew none of them placed any brown gifts under the tree. Alyse hugged Ella, kissed her cheek, and whispered in her ear. Sweet girl, take these two to mommy’s bedroom and put them on the desk, please. And then lock mommy’s door behind you. Ask Madison and Mason to take you across the street. If you have any problems, ask Auntie Maureen. Put daddy’s gift on the table by the front door. Mommy loves you, always.\nThe Wrights fellowshipped without Alyse. For, she’d isolated herself in her bedroom away from all the camaraderie. She couldn’t bring herself to feast with them and begged them to enjoy without her. As Christmas night was near its end and children and adults were nodding, Alyse slipped out into the cold.\nRing-dong-ding-dong. He came to the door and couldn’t believe his eyes. “Alyse, what are you doing here? If you’ve come bearing coldness, you can keep it! I want to enjoy what’s left of this day.” “Matthew, I didn’t come bearing coldness, but if you want me to leave, I will.” Following weeks and weeks of unnatural silence, he didn’t know what to expect. “Matt?” His guard was now melting like fire to snow. Alyse always had a way with words. The gentleness of her tone appeased him, as always. “Matt, even at Christmas, my heart won’t allow me to stay away. I’ve come to thank you for your kind words. Only you would sneak in the house and hide these gifts where only a small child would find them. My heart wouldn’t even allow me to not get you a gift. This visit is not me coming to ask you home, but it is to invite you to dinner, and to give you this gift.” She handed him the gift and ask one question, “How much do I owe you for those ruined packages?” He smirked and then chuckled. “Nothing my dear, because they were empty.”" } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on 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 in the Day\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 2567\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart your story with the line ‘Back in my day…’" }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "People avoided Charles Pickens whenever they could. While he was a charming elderly fellow, his major flaw was starting every conversation he ever had with a friend or stranger “Back in the day…” Didn’t matter none who it was, but Charles, who worked for over thirty years at Catco Farm Supply, would put his thumbs at the corners of his overall straps, rock on his heels and spin a yarn or two depending on the amount of time he had.\nWhile most of his tales seemed taller than the corn in the first weeks of autumn, Charles was always ready to tell a story or two of what things were like back in the day. Some of the customers thought he was charming, but most of the townies were annoyed to no end once he started one of his stories. \nBert Cummings, owner of Catco, always thought about putting his storytelling to use, but it just never seemed like anything would ever come of it. As soon as people heard his old catch phrase, back in the day, Charles had already begun to spin the tale and there was no escape. \nCharles was only about sixty years old, but if you listened to his tales, you’d swear he was born and raised in a long bygone era. What made him a tragic figure around the feed store was the fact he was a diabetic and he had some delusions and he would wave his hands all around his head when he told one of his stories. \nHe also had a long history of mental illness according to his past records, but he was not violent nor did he have a history of violence with the exception of a hold up where he shot back at law enforcement in order to make a get away. He was not successful in his attempt, but his lawyer was able to get him into a psychiatric hospital and not a federal lock up. \nWas he lucky on that accord? It seemed like it on the surface, but when the final tally came in, the scale did not tip in Charles’ favor. \nHis family history was just as tragic since his father and Taylor, his only brother had died a violent death, both having been murdered. \n \"Back in the day, we did things differently.\" He would start speaking as he began sweeping the floors. Nobody paid him any mind, because it was common knowledge that he was crazy. \n \"Charles!\" Bert would call from the register. Owner and overseer, Bert Babcock had employed Charles since he left the looney bin six years ago, but that did not mean he wanted Charles to spin one of his tales while there were customers in the store.\n \"Whatcha want, boss?\" He was already rocking on his heels.\n \"I need you in the back.\" Bert yanked his thumb toward the door of the loading dock. Dutifully Charles wandered to where he was told without further question.\n \"Back in the day When my wife was still alive...\" He began once he had a pallet jack in his hands. Jake Winston, the unofficial boss of the Receiving Section, rolled his eyes. His grandfather was always telling Jake how much better things were back in the day. It was also a known fact that Charles had never been married. There was a rumor that when he was seen with a blonde woman just before the armed robbery and that she was the main reason he did it in the first place, but back in the day it wasn’t a good idea for a colored man to be seen with a white woman. That much Jake Winston knew. \n \"Charles, keep those pallets moving.\" Jake ordered as Charles continued telling his story.\n \"I hate Bert for sending him back here.\" Wayne complained.\n \"I feel sorry for him.\" Jake stroked his shaggy beard, \"He ain't got nobody.\"\n Wayne shook his head as he grabbed a stack of invoices. Charles was telling them how he almost got passage on the Titanic even though it happened four decades before he was even born.\n“I just get tired of his stories.” Wayne shook his head.\n“It’s harmless.” Jake chuckled, “You want him to be an ax wielding maniac?”\n“Guess not.” Wayne snarled.\n The Moore and Shipman Show came to town that summer. While it was just a rundown second-hand carnival, it was about the only excitement the town had in the hot humid summer.\nCharles was as excited as he could be as he never stopped telling stories about how he and his brother Taylor would go since the show was all there was for entertainment back in the day. He would go into great detail about the freak show where he had seen his first naked woman, granted she was covered with a thick layer of fur. \n \"If he says back in the day one more time, I'm gonna lose it.\" Wayne groused.\n \"Relax kid, he will go to that poor excuse for a show and remember how back in the day, things weren't always so great.\" Jake nodded. Wayne just snorted. Jake chuckled, “Five minutes till quitting time. Let’s say we clock out early.”\n“Suits me just fine.” Wayne followed his boss out the door leaving Charles there to finish his story to an empty loading dock. \n As it turned out, Raymond Moore, one of the co-owners of the carnival, was a lazy slug most of the time who wore a filthy white t-shirt and suspenders to hold his pants in place. He had a cheap plaid jacket he had ordered from Montgomery Wards along with a straw hat when he became the barker for the show.\n Charles Pickens acted like a child like he was back in the day, his brown face had a special luster of a child who could not wait to see what was coming next. Wayne and Jake, who happened to be there with their kids and wives, watched from afar, both amused more with Charles' reaction that they were with anything the two-bit show had to offer. \nThere was a pronounced musty, stale odor from the canvas and the sawdust, mixed with the smell of the sweat of the crowd of folks on the very humid day created an odor that seemed to linger and hang on everything within the parameter of the carnival grounds. Using their printed programs to fan themselves, Jake and Wayne also had a hip flask, but the moonshine did very little to keep them cool, in fact it seemed to make things even more unbearable with each hit they took off the flask.\n Meanwhile Charles tottered to the midway where Bankers vied for the attention of the passerby to put down some money for a chance to win a prize. Many of them wore turbans to add to the mysterious atmosphere Of their schtick. Like a kid in a Candy store, Charles Boldly put his money down in hopes he would be the next big winner, but he never was. It didn't take long before he had just a single dollar left in his pocket. Fortune was not on his side like it had been back in the day.\n His father Big Richard took him and Taylor his brother when Charles was ten years old. It was a hot summer day like this one and Charles and his brother couldn't lose. They walked out with a treasure chest of treasures like a couple of Buccaneers and their dad telling them over and over about how proud he was of them. That's how it was back in the day. Now both Big Richard and his brother were gone. All the people that mattered to him were laid to rest years ago, it seemed.\n He had to go to the hospital where he’d get a “tune up” as Dr. Blanchard called it. He had to go visit with Dr. Blanchard, a tall, lanky man with glasses that did not seem to fit his face at the hospital where he got his pills. Dr. Blanchard kept asking Charles if he saw his father or Taylor when he was walking the street or at work at Catco. If he said yes, Dr. Blanchard would make him stay at the hospital and if he said no, he'd be fibbing. His mama told him lying was a sin and God didn't take no sinners in Heaven.\n Still the hospital was a horrible place to be. All those patients would scream such awful things so that the staff would have to restrain them to their beds with leather straps. In the morning they would bring in fire hoses to wash out the rooms. Charles could still remember how cold and hard that water felt when they turned it on. \n“C’mon this way.” A cane reached out and hooked Charles’ arm.\n“What be that way?” He pulled his arm away in self defense.\n“Fun. House.” He winked.\n“What be in there?” Charles asked.\n“Things beyond your wildest imagination.” The skinny man in the red and white striped shirt answered. \n“You know back in the day…” He began, but the man spoke over him.\n“Back in the day things were good weren’t they?” He laughed.\n“Shure ‘nuff.” Charles pointed his finger at the man.\n“Yeah...tell me about it.” He nodded.\n“In there?” He pointed to the entry door. \n“Right in there.” He nodded again as he pointed one finger for emphasis.\n“I got me a dollar.” Charles pulled it out.\n“Getcha a ride.” He snatched the dollar from Charles’ hand and led him to a gondola that was used to transport a customer through the Funhouse.\n“Is it dark in there?” Charles asked as he sat inside the craft.\n“As dark as you can imagine.” Whispered the man in his ear as the gondola began to move in the water.\nDark. Every night the staff would shut off the lights so that all the demons in the heads of the patients would be free to run about jabbing them with pitchforks. You could hear some of them groan in pain.\nThe doors opened and shut immediately behind Charles.\nThe skin on the forehead of a man suddenly split open revealing a white skull beneath the flayed skin.\nThere was a Negro hanging from an elm tree in his front yard as his house was a blaze and men dressed in white sheets laughed in the final moments of the man’s life slowly drained from him. There were the hoofbeats of two dozen horses exiting with their riders. He saw it all. He saw them set fire to the house. He heard the woman scream as they put the rope around her neck before they put one around her husband’s neck.\n“Get away from that window, son!” He heard his father yell, but it was too late, the deed was done. What they had done to those folks was meant to be a warning for the rest.\nA nurse put a syringe in his arm. He could feel himself floating above the clouds.\n“You won’t feel a thing.” Her voice sounded so distant.\nFrontal lobotomy. He still had the scars.\nThings were good back in the day.\nThere was no pain. There was no sadness.\nOnward as the gondola was pulled through the darkness by the chain. \nA skeleton jumped out of the darkness and screamed.\nMr. Lloyd stopped breathing in the bed next to him, his leather straps still attached. He called out that he could not breathe, but nobody came. No one. \nDaddy went to St. Louis for the death of one of his kin, but then he got into a steamboat gambling card game where one of the players said he was dealing off the bottom of the deck. The player had a gun and shot his father before he could deal another card. He got a couple of his friends to dump his father’s body over the side into the Old Man River where he would float like a log until someone would report it to the sheriff. \nHe remembered when one of the staff came to tell him about it. There was a pat on the back, but that was all.\nBy the time they brought his father’s remains home, there wasn’t much left, but bones after the fish had feasted on what was left.\nThere was no arrest or even so much as an investigation. On the certificate it read, “Death by drowning.” \nNobody would question it.\nBack in the day that’s the way it was.\nEverybody got along, you know.\nEverybody.\nSt. Lucy’s was a psychiatric hospital on the banks of the Mississippi River a few miles north of Memphis, Tennessee. For the incurably insane, the common practice was electroshock all the way to a frontal lobotomy. Once the frontal cortex was removed, the patient would no longer be able to resist and they would become as gentle as a lamb, but there were often mistakes made in this procedure. In Charles’ case the removal of extra tissue had left him with the inability to distinguish between what was real and what was imagined. Indeed his defiant behavior no longer surfaced, but the essence of who he was had been subverted. \nNobody cared, only the results mattered. His sexual identity had also been abated, but that was considered a bonus as he was now considered harmless by the staff. He would not be reaching out for the private places on the nurses. \nThere was a display of a man dressed in scrubs armed with a hacksaw and covered in fake blood…\nDr. Blanchard sat on Charles’ bed after the operation. He put his hand on Charles’ arm, “You will be released soon...to a home where they will take care of you and you will be able to have a job.”\n“Oh doc, that is good, right?” Charles smiled.\n“It is a better prognosis than I was hoping for.” He patted him again before exiting the room to talk to other patients.\nBack in the day…\nThe door opened and Charles sat in the gondola as the skinny man in the red and white striped shirt helped him out. As he helped Charles, he asked, “So whadda think?”\n“It was good...jus’ like back in the day.” Charles adjusted himself once he was on his feet.\n“You tell your friends about this funhouse, eh?” He winked.\n“I be sure to.” Charles nodded emphatically. \nRobbery had gotten him in trouble, but when he tried to shoot back at the police, there was little option for Charles Pickins. His lawyer convinced a jury that Charles suffered from mental illness bad enough to get him sent to St. Lucy’s where he would spend the majority of his adult life. \nBefore the operation, Charles was an angry man, but through treatment. They were able to cure him. That’s what they said. That’s what Dr. Blanchard told him before they discharged him from St. Lucy’s. Using the special treatment, they were able to turn him into the man they wanted him to be. Back in the day was just a memory with no real substance anymore. Back in the day there was just an idle hope that his life would be filled with promise and hope, but as he walked away from the funhouse, he knew it was all just a misplaced delusion." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on 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: african-american\n\nWord Count: 2328\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart your story with the line ‘Back in my day…’" }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "This is a story of fiction, though it has racial undertones. As such, it may prove sensitive to some people. Meant to teach a lesson rather than spread racism, please excuse any portions that may cause varied emotions among readers.\nFreedom?\n“Back in my day, people had different colored skin which caused them no end of trouble.” My sister and I had settled into our pods in the common area of our dwelling. We were excited as our father had finally agreed to read to us from our Great Great Grandpa’s diary which had always held its designated spot under the glass table in our region’s library. It was one of the few items that had survived so many years so our father lent it to our library, where someone would, with white gloves on, flip a page every day.\nSome people made the trek to the library especially to read one of those pages. Though the photos had been taken of the entire manuscript, some got a bit of a thrill reading the words of Mr. John Williams, written in his hand and on the very paper that he wrote them. For most of them, it was the only paper they had ever seen, for it had been phased out soon after the death of my great great grandpa.\nOf course, though it was frail, my Dad was not refused when he wanted to borrow the book itself, as it belonged to our family. He thought reading from the original journal would do more to pique our interest and he was right.\nHe continued, “I grew up on Claredon Street, which was just north of Central Street. My small town was sandwiched between two larger towns, though I am not sure how that came to be. I was around about 10 or 11 years old when I noticed, or actually was informed, by both my father and mother that I was not to go beyond the end of our block in either direction. They said it was for my own safety, but I was not sure what could be unsafe about scouting out the other streets with the intention of making new friends. From that day forward, looking for answers, I listened to every conversation my parents had, even if there was eavesdropping involved.”\nFather paused and looking down at us said, “I have read this whole diary and know what it says, but I do not want you two to be getting any ideas about taking a ride in your FX2’s without permission. Great Great Grandpa did his own exploring and without the permission of his parents. That got him into some trouble and I do not want you to put yourselves in the same situation. It is a big metropolis out there and I don’t want you getting into an area you don’t know or having a breakdown on the Spaceway.”\nWe used our FX2’s to go to school or to visit friend’s houses. Everyone got them when they turned 14, which meant I had just gotten mine, but had little chance to try it out yet. I have to admit, I am intimidated by the Spaceway, an interconnected series of marked areas where you could travel almost anywhere you wanted.\nFather looked back down at the diary and continued, “My parents were speaking often about protests and which ones they were going to attend. My father refused to be treated unequally just because of the color of his skin and intended to make the lawmakers put that in writing. However, my dad also knew that things had been that way for as long as he could remember and was not optimistic about them changing any time soon. He loved to denounce the Jim Crow laws which meant he had to use public facilities separate from the whites, live in different towns, have his kids go to different schools and, even though voting was now legal for coloreds, most couldn’t vote because they couldn’t pass the literacy tests.”\nAgain wanting to make a point to my sister and I, Father paused his reading and said, “Now, when Great Great Grandpa is talking about coloreds, it must be confusing for you, as you have always lived in this era where everyone has the same color of skin. However, it took generations to get here and a lot of trials and tribulations along the way. You see, the colors finally could take no more and the World Government had no choice but to intervene. That is why today, we have no color status. We are all the same, but we no longer use the term white to describe ourselves. Through the wonders of genetics, we are all equal though some might question that claim.”\nI had a bit of a hard time understanding what Father had said. If we are all the same color now, where did the coloreds go? Perhaps it will be in the journal, at least I hoped so.\nFather read on, “In the small town where we lived, we very seldom saw white people except on television and when they ventured south of Central Street to pick-up a good feed of ribs at The Rib Shack, though they never stayed and ate in the restaurant. One day, my dad was at work and my mom was busy with her social friends so, not thinking or really knowing what the big deal was, I set out to look for some friends in one of the towns that bordered ours. As I turned the corner of Claredon Street and walked to the next block, I sure could see a difference. In addition to a car in almost every driveway, there were nicer houses, neater yards. Walking further along, I saw some kids playing road hockey up a cul-de-sac and decided this would be a perfect opportunity to make some new friends.”\nAgain, Father stopped in spite of my large groan as I wanted him to go on. He said, “Like I said before, I do not want either of you to just take off in your FX2’s. I know there is a whole universe, it seems, of kids out there who you could get to know, but you have your friends right here in our region. You also have more friends at school that you can spend your time with. You do not need to go looking for more. I know you might think differently, but there is no need to go beyond our boundaries. You have all you need without venturing out alone.”\nLike my great great grandfather, I could not see what the big deal was. Sure, I could get lost or need vehicular assistance, but surely those were the only dangers that should keep me from going and looking for those new friends that my great great grandfather set out to find so long ago.\nAfter taking a drink of water, Father continued, “As I approached the lively game of road hockey, every one of those kids stopped playing where they stood and stared at me. When I reached the net that was closest to me, I asked simply if I could join in the game. My request was met with blank stares so I asked again if I could join in. I told them I didn’t have a hockey stick, but I would be careful if I borrowed one of theirs. Apparently, that question woke up the biggest of the boys. He said, ‘What the hell are you talking about? No, you can’t play or borrow a stick. You’d just steal it. Now, go back to your own town nigger before I punch you in the head.’ I was shocked by his response. I just wanted to play and I had no intention of stealing a stick. To accuse me of that was mean and unwarranted. Especially troublesome was when he used the word nigger. In my town, the only person who could call someone a nigger was another nigger.”\nFather paused to take another drink of water then said to us, “You are probably wanting a little more explanation about this business. Well, since I didn’t live during that time, I can only go on what I have read, which sadly, is not much. After the Great War, not a lot remained of the earth’s populations and their possessions save for the stuff that survived the fighting and bombs. I do know, however, that name calling was one way to get another person angry. Though it was despicable, it went on for hundreds of years. Now, as the World Government has stated in their laws, you may only address someone by their name or title. I know you both have been taught about the discipline you would receive if you used an old slang term or invented a new one and I don’t want to have to go with either one of you to report to the Regional Council. I just want you to understand how different it was when your great great grandpa lived.”\nMy sister and I both assured our dad that we would never think of calling someone by something other than their name or title, as we were anxious for him to get back to the diary. After clearing his throat, father kept reading, “Not wanting to be on the receiving end of a punch to the head, I turned away to walk back home. When they guffawed and directed more mean language toward me, my pace quickened for I did not want them to see the tears that were stinging my eyes. When I got back home, I plunked myself down behind the shed in our backyard. Though I did not actually cry, I felt miserable because my excursion to make new friends had gone so badly and mostly because of that awful word. I had heard my dad say that if anyone other than a colored ever called him a nigger, they better be ready to run because he would lay a beating on them if he could catch them. It wasn’t until a few days later that I got up the nerve to tell my parents what had happened. I knew I may be setting myself up to get in more trouble, but I wanted to know why things had gone so badly with those boys. Surprisingly, my parents were very understanding and I got some learning done that day. Dad did the talking while mom fiddled with the lace on her dress. Unfortunately, Dad did not provide what I thought to be a satisfying answer. He told me how it was best to stick with my own kind as trying to get involved with the whites would only get me into more trouble than I had already encountered. Other than that, he didn’t have much more to say. Sure, he had told me the way it was but he said he really couldn’t answer my main question which was ‘why’? To that, my dad just said that is the way it was.”\nThis time, it was me who interrupted my father. I said, “Father, why were those other kids so hostile? It seems the only difference is that great great grandpa had dark skin and the kids had white skin. I can’t imagine what that looks like, but I can’t see why there would be a fight over it.”\nFather answered, “That is why we have preserved as much history as possible. So that never happens again. Even though the World Government says we are all equal, I have heard ramblings that in different parts of the earth, people continue to be divided by their race and nasty fights break out with major groups of people battling other groups of people, some of them with both skin color the same, which is why we do not go there. We are much safer here with our own kind, where skin color does not matter because it isn’t an issue.”\nI was a bit confused and alarmed that Father was confirming that there was this type of goings-on far below us on earth. We had not been taught this at school, but some of my classmates had heard their parents talking about it and now with my dad saying it, I knew it must be true. I wondered why they chose to stay on an earth ravaged by disasters instead of taking to the safety of the sky.\nUnfortunately, Father told us that he was not going to read anymore that night. It was getting late and he had an early morning start. He worked at an office where the time that you had to be at work was in constant rotation. As with all work places, it was evened out so employees did not have the same schedule for more than a month. This, the World Government said, was the kind of law that kept everyone happy with their jobs. Also, until you had proven yourself to a company, which meant working there for many years, you had to do the menial jobs, such as waste management, that most people did not like but which had to be done. Thankfully, those abject professions were mostly automated.\nI did not really know what to do with the information I had gotten that evening, both from the journal and my father. Yet, I decided right there curled up in my pod that I was going to look further into the World Government laws when I got older. I surmised that a lot of my investigating would have to be done with as much secrecy as possible, lest I rattle the Regional Council where I end up appointed to where I would live once I became an adult.\nEven if there was nothing there, nothing unusual about the World Government’s way of running things, I could not help thinking there was something that was not right." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Trivia\n\nGenre: american\n\nWord Count: 2560\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart your story with a description of the cold, using lots of sensory detail." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Winter separates the real addicts from the social smokers, Annabelle thought to herself bitterly as she attempted to flick the biting metal switch of the cheap Bic lighter in her hand. Her hot breath curled in winding, smoking waves in front of her face, mocking the activity she desired to perform that was so close yet so far away at the same time. She could see the icy crystals on the railing in front of her, but beyond that, nothing. The only streetlight for miles had gone out, leaving the block cloaked in the dangerous darkness of a winter new moon.\nHer nose twitched with the sharp intake of cold air that pierced her sinuses. She hadn’t been able to stop the steady drip since she’d first landed in Michigan three days ago. Annabelle sniffed, but that just caused her nose to choke and her throat to clog with backed up phlegm. Mucous dropped onto her upper lip and since sniffling was proving futile, Annabelle—in her distracted concentration—settled for licking her lips instead. The sweet, tangy taste was disgusting in theory, but we’re never as grossed out by our own bodily fluids as we are of those of others. Annabelle swallowed and clicked the lighter one more time, hunched desperately over the spark, her hand cupped around it like it was a baby monarch butterfly she was trying to shield from a winter storm. But it was no use. It flickered and diet out, leaving her cigarette aggravatingly unlit.\nThe soft, steady snowfall was eerily silent. There wasn’t an animal for miles if you didn’t count the humans behind her tucked cozily into the noisy bar. If the door opened, a swell of raucous music and pleasant chatter spilled out into the night, but apparently Annabelle was the only person in this town with this particular vice, so the door stayed tightly shut, insulating the building’s occupants from the cold outside. No windows provided any access to the interior either, making Annabelle feel truly isolated. A scientist spending the winter in an arctic lab, laboring over an impossible experiment.\nShe was just about to give up and head back inside when the door swung open behind her.\nSound briefly poured out of the bar before it slammed shut again, silencing the crowd as if they belonged to another dimension.\nStanding on the porch in front of her was a man that Annabelle did not know. Tall, pale, and freckled. His shaggy red hair hung around his face, and his raggedy coat seemed inadequate against the cold. A local.\nHe tilted his head as if giving her a curious look, then he pulled a pack of Marlboro reds out of his pocket, tapped one into his hand, stick it in his mouth, and with practiced familiarity removed a matchbook from his other pocket, flipped it open, tore a match out, lit his cigarette, and tossed the lit match into the snow, where it instantly fizzled.\n“Can I have one of those?” Annabelle heard herself asking.\nThe man took a long drag. The end of his cigarette burnt cherry red in the darkness, and Annabelle inhaled the intoxicating scent like it was the smell of a lover. He kept the cigarette held up to his lips and leaned in towards her.\nShe mirror him, and they brought their tips together. They touched.\nAnnabelle inhaled deeply until hers glowed red, finally lit. She pulled back and released the smoke from her breath. It billowed up in front of her, dissipating into the night air.\n“Thank you,” she told him. “It’s freezing out here. I could barely feel my fingers. I think I’m getting frostbite.”\nBut she only put one hand back into its mitten. The other held the cigarette between two fingers.\nThe man looked at her, taking in the coat, the hat, the scarf, the mitten. He laughed.\n“It’s like 40 degrees out.”\n“That is freezing.”\n“It’s literally not.” He took another drag, amused. “You’re not going to get frostbite. I promise.”\n“How do you know?”\n“Because I’ve lived here all my life. I know how things work.”\nAnnabelle folded her arms in front of her chest and said nothing.\n“Where are you from?” He asked her.\n“Los Angeles,” she said.\n“Ah,” he grinned. “Now it makes sense.”\n“Because I’m a baby when it comes to the cold?”\n“Because you’re so hot.”\nHe looked right at her. Annabelle squirmed, uncomfortable. She was attracted to this man and flattered by his words. But she was unaccustomed to direct, unafraid compliments like this.\nIn any other situation, she would have run away, but there was nowhere else to go, and she had spent so long trying to light this smoke that she’d be damned if she put it out before finishing it all the way down to the filter. So instead, she blushed and looked down.\n“Thanks,” she mumbled. “I guess it’s true what they say about leaving the city.”\nHe looked at her questioningly.\n“You go from being an ‘LA six’ to a ‘ten’ everywhere else.” She felt silly explaining this out loud.\n“Is that what you think about yourself?”\nShe was looking at the tree line for a distraction, desperate to change the subject. “What’s that over there?”\n“I don’t see anything,” the man said.\n“Right there,” Annabelle pointed out. There was a small shape in the snow. A little creature. An animal probably.\nThe man took a step back. His energy shifted from confidence to fear.\n“So, what brings you into town?” he asked Annabelle, but his demeanor was different now. It was forced pleasantness. He was trying to distract her.\n“I’m here with my boyfriend for his family reunion,” but Annabelle was no longer interested in the conversation. She was looking closer at the thing by the edge of the trees. “Is that… a dog?”\nBut not just a dog. It was a shivering chihuahua in a delicate Christmas sweater.\n“There’s no way a tiny thing like that can survive the cold.”\nThe chihuahua was bounding playfully in the snow. It didn’t seem to mind the temperature at all. Annabelle took a step down the porch towards it. The chihuahua noticed her movements and stopped its frolicking in the snow. It fixed its eyes on her, waiting.\nThe man grabbed Annabelle’s hand. His skin was cold and clammy on hers.\n“Don’t,” he insisted. His Cool Guy demeanor was now completely gone.\nAnnabelle wrenched her hand away from his grip, pulling it into her body and rubbing it forth warmth.\n“Why not?” she stubbed out her cigarette on the muddy slush of the wooden planks below their feet.\nThe man’s eyes shifted around, and he looked evasive.\n“I can’t tell you,” he said. “You’ll just laugh.”\nAnnabelle raised her eyebrows.\n“And then you’ll call us a bunch of stupid townies.”\nAnnabelle looked taken aback and defensive but also guilty. “I would never—Where did you…?” she sputtered.\nNow it was the man’s turn to raise his eyebrows, vindicated.\n“I know your type,” he said. “Coming here from the big city on the coast, thinking you’re better than us.” He spit on the porch in front of him. Annabelle watched it mix in with the snow and melt the ice.\n“But the poor dog,” she said. “It won’t survive.”\n“See? You think you know better than us,” the man told her.\n“Are you saying that dog isn’t real? That I’m making it up?”\nHe gave her a look of pity. “Lady,” the man said, turning to head back inside the bar. “For your sake, I wish you were.”\nAnnabelle blinked, confused.\n“She just knows how to get you city girls,” he continued. “It’s almost too easy.” The man opened the door to the bar and the warmth spilled out on to the porch again. A pop song started up on the jukebox and the patrons all groaned and complained good naturedly.\nThen just as quickly as it had all came spilling out, the door slammed shut behind the man and sealed up all the warmth in with him.\nAlone in the quiet, cold darkness, Annabelle turned back to look at the edge of the woods. The snow was falling faster and thicker but still silent. The chihuahua posed at the edge of the forest shivering, one paw held up in anticipation as it looked back at Annabelle expectantly, waiting for her to follow.\nNo matter what the man had said, she just couldn’t leave a little baby like that out in the snow by itself, so against her better judgment, Annabelle jumped down off the porch and gently approached the dog at the tree line.\n“Here, sweetie!” she called out to him. “I’m not going to hurt you. Why don’t we go inside where it’s warm?”\nThe dog froze in place, watching her. Its wet little nose twitched.\nShe was feet away. Annabelle stretched out a welcoming hand, palm down so as to not scare him. The dog leaned in towards her. His nose wrinkled in affectionate curiosity. He was inches away.\nThen just as she was about to touch him, he turned and sprinted into the forest.\n“Hey wait! Come back!” Annabelle chased after him. She could barely see in the dark, so she pulled off her mittens and fumbled with her cold fingers, pulling her cell phone out of her pocket. She flashed the light around her, illuminating nothing but trees. The little dog was nowhere to be seen.\nAnnabelle’s heart started pounding in her chest so hard she was worried it would attract predators. Were there wolves in these woods? She hadn’t been listening when her boyfriend Charlie was talking at her about the history of the town earlier that day. She tried not to think about the man’s words echoing in her head.\n“Fine,” she said more to herself than to the dog she had been chasing. “If you want to freeze to death out here, I can’t stop you.”\nAnnabelle turned around and started walking back the direction that she came. At least, she thought that was the direction. Annabelle realized with a sinking feeling that before when she was running, she’d had no idea if she was going in a straight line. And she had no idea where she was going now.\nThere has to be a compass app on her phone or something, she thought to herself. But when she did a search, nothing. A clock on the Map app simply revealed that she was nowhere near an LTE connection. Nothing was loading except the infuriating and obvious green expanse surrounding her, indicating that her blue dot was in a forest but refusing to give her more information.\nAnnabelle started to cry in fear and frustration. She could feel the prickle of her tears as they froze against her face. Was she going to die out here?\nBut then to her shock, she saw in front of her: the chihuahua. Patiently waiting as if confused by her tears.\n“You little shit,” Annabelle sobbed, laughing with relief.\nShe smeared the snot and tears across her face with the back of her hand, ran over, and picked up the little dog. She wrapped it in her arms, more desperate to receive comfort from the creature than to give it, but hoping she could warm the little animal up all the same.\n“What a kind girl,” Annabelle heard a scratchy old woman’s voice from behind her in the darkness. Before she even had a chance to whip around in fear and look at the source of the voice, a papery arm had snaked its way around her shoulders, gripping her in an embrace.\nThe dog squirmed out of Annabelle’s arms and dropped to the ground.\n“It’s always the kind ones that need the most help,” a sultry, confident woman said, threading around the middle of Annabelle’s back and pulling her in tight.\n“I’m so hungry…” a whiney teenage girl’s voice cut through as a third arm wrapped around Annabelle’s waist.\nAnnabelle felt her iPhone being wrenched from her hand. She was plunged into darkness once again.\nOff in the distance, the chihuahua barked uselessly.\n“Good boy,” the young voice said. “You did so good!”\nAnnabelle finally found her own voice. “Who are you?” she asked. “What do you want?”\n“That depends,” the old woman answered. “On what it is that you want.”\n“I don’t want anything,” whimpered Annabelle.\n“That’s not true,” said the young one. “Everyone wants things.”\n“I want to go home,” Annabelle said, pulling away from the arms holding her. “I want to not freeze to death.”\n“We can help with that,” said the sultry voice in a calming tone.\n“Let there be…” someone snapped her fingers and a crackling fire blazed before them.\nThe crone laughed. “They hate when I do that.”\nAnnabelle used the light from the flames to try and make sense of her surroundings. Thugh she had heard three distinct voices and had felt three very different arms on her body, the only person in front of her was an old woman.\nAnnabelle shivered.\nThe old woman gripped Annabelle’s bony hand in hers.\n“Why did you come here?”\n“The man at the bar. He said you were dangerous. Are you going to eat me?”\nThe old woman laughed. The sound echoed like three different women’s laughter mixed together.\n“You’ve read too many fairy tales, girl,” she said. “Next you’ll be asking if I live in a house made of candy.”\nAnnabelle blushed and looked down.\n“You’re here because you want something.” The woman peered into Annabelle’s eyes and suddenly she looked forty years younger.\nAnnabelle yanked back in fright, but the woman did not look away.\n“Clarity,” she said in that sultry voice that Annabelle now recognized from earlier.\n“How…?” she started to ask.\nThe woman studied her like a doctor doing an examination.\n“Charlie,” she said. “Where is he?”\n“We got in a fight,” Annabelle admitted to her in spite of herself. “I—” Her hand went instinctively to her pocket. She felt the ring she had been carrying.\n“You’re not ready,” the woman said. And suddenly she was twenty years younger, a beautiful, haughty teenage girl, barely 16. “You have your whole life ahead of you.”\n“But I love him,” Annabelle whispered.\n“So?” the girl asked.\nThe girl plunged her hand into Annabelle’s pocket and drew out the packet of cigarettes. She took one in her lips and lit it in the flame of the bonfire.\nThe heat scorched the girl’s skin. Her eyebrows singed; her hair curled in the flames. The girl didn’t flinch. Her lips blistered around the tightly rolled paper. Her skin melted until her eye sockets drooped. She never took her gaze away from Annabelle. “You love lots of things.”\nAnnabelle scrambled backwards in a panic. The little chihuahua sitting off to the side of the clearing turned and ran. It swished its big, bushy tail.\nAnnabelle chased it like her life depended on it.\nWhen she finally broke through the outer edge of the woods and saw the porch in the distance, she nearly cried in relief. She was so happy she didn’t even notice the coyote she had been following slip back into the woods.\nHer mind was only on the crowd of warm strangers inside and the safety of the four walls of the bar." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: In the Darkness, the Light of Freedom\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 1062\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart your story with the line ‘Back in my day…’" }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Back in my day, I remember mornings like this one when an early squall threatened the day and my anguished pleading seemed to fall on deaf ears. Frustrated, I'd watch the ever graying sky, praying for a ray of hope to beam through the dark clouds and save me from what surely would be a tortuous summer day at home with mother.\n\nThose mornings though often found hot pancakes dripping with butter and syrup, dotted with the tiniest of flavorful blueberries, picked along the side of the road, or blackberries, culled from under the porch between snakes and black widows (real or imagined) and thorns dripping with my blood. These mornings quieted my sorrows, shared then behind the howling laughter of a rummy hand, or checkers, or the fascination of smooth rocks and clamshells we had painted in minute detail, the ornate cottages of The Tabernacle or the spirited riders at the Flying Horses in Oak Bluffs, Massachusetts. On Martha's Vineyard, on The Cape where we spent our summers.\n\nBeautiful days they were. There I discovered childhood freedom far from the educational and cultural grind of my parents' design. I could not see it then but the endless music lessons, tennis lessons, writing and artistic endeavors of all sorts would later offer freedoms of another kind. But now, in the lull of the early morning marine layer drifting in through older wire screens, a siren's call pulling me from deep slumber. I dressed in my bathing suit, t-shirt and shorts, grabbed my basketball and hurried to my magical steed, the shiny metallic aqua schwinn awaiting my internal guidance system toward whatever fun the island might offer. Unfettered, unsequestered, the only promise I held was to return home for lunch and the dreaded nap.\n\nThis day though, my freedom was stolen by the threat of lightening storms that rocked the granite deep below us. We could feel the rumble shaking our bones. I unleashed the howl of disappointment, released my ball to the floor and stomped mightily begging the rain away to no avail. No magic would separate this thief from its purloined treasures. My treasures - my freedoms! So I'd given in. I'd looked at mother and caught a glimmer of hope in the deck of cards she gingerly offered to me with a knowing grin.\n\nShe dealt the first hand. I made a joke. Mom had a quick wit. We sparred, jabbed and kidded; my 11-year-old self full and happy, enjoying the silly goofy, fun mom who came with summer and left with fall. By midday, we'd been lost in our laughter, giddy on peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and Nestle Quick imbued milk before the knock broke our reverie. I'd hastened to the door and watched as Mom cleared the table knowing the inevitable had come. The parting hand waved me on, \"Go. Be home before dark.\" Her voice trailing the tires of my iridescent aqua Schwinn.\n\nI now know those mornings were sheer joy for Mother. My frowning face a challenge for her to right it into a smile. She delighted in our time together. She always knew where the best blueberries were. And in our rubber raincoats, pails in hand, warm summer rain cascading down bare legs into soggy socks and sneakers, Mom would lead the hunt, she and I scouring the edges of brush for tasty morsel treasures for our pancakes. She had a way of making everything an adventure. So when I returned from my own hunt for blackberries, scarred and scraped having left my DNA on each vine, she called the thorn laden marks my \"battle scars\" and wiped them clean with antiseptic so my war wounds wouldn't become infected.\n\nStill, children will be children and the world beckons them in ways we cannot understand nor halt. So it was with the knock on the door. Our moment together passed. Her mission fulfilled. How I wish though that I had lingered a bit longer for one more game, one more morsel, one more creation and adventure. It feels like there was - is never enough time.\n\nToday in the brisk warm winter wind I watch the rolling clouds and roaring waves. I view the expansive yawning Gulf and remember the kind of Love that brought me to these moments. The Love that stirs in my heart and bones, that fuels memory in my DNA: a father who loved the sky and taught me to read its map, a wanderer; a mother who loved the earth and gathered rich black dirt and fertile seed together, a conjurer. The two walked me to the sea, pulled its laughter into my lungs and taught its dance into my feet, made wings of its buoyancy that I would always know laughter, joy and freedom at its shores. They gifted me with an understanding, there is no place on earth I can't find my freedom.\n\nI cherish this gift. Uniquely aware that I, a speck of a thing in this Universe, a tiny little black girl from Dorchester, Massachusetts can spend her days writing and sipping tea by the ocean. That my parents, all five of them - biological, adopted and step, gifted me with a curiosity that defies logic, informs imagination and calls upon God to co-create the unimaginable for my witness. My life is magic. Every. Blessed. Moment. Leaves me in awe.\n\nIt is spitting now just enough to make it sensible to go home. Of course, I instead will walk the beach and feel the sand between my toes and remember next time to keep my raincoat in the car, but I digress. I am blessed to have this crazy quilt of a life pulled together and to have it all make sense.\nAt the end of the day I am grateful. I am grateful for this life. I am grateful for each step that brought me here. I am grateful for all the people who inhabit this dream and make it that much richer. Most of all I am grateful that I am still here to do this life thing another day and remember in it the sweet moments that brought this one magical moment into being: a stark gray rainy day and a woman with the heart of a child beckoning the sun to bring forth a glimmer of hope, knowing it is already done." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: A Hard Pill to Swallow\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 1213\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite your story from the perspective of an outsider watching something or someone change." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Trigger warning: allusions to sexual assault, kidnapping, mugging\n\nDon’t shoot the messenger, it wasn’t my idea to begin with. I was forced to go along on the ride but I admit it wasn’t our first go-around. We had done this plenty of times before with a lot more unsuspecting people. So in a way, she can’t really blame herself. She was forced into this game just like I was. It didn’t always start out this way. The four us use to be real cool. We would hang out all day and have dreams of the life we wanted, visions of the future. I guess those dreams were too hard to bear and they had to make them a reality, regardless of the cost. We just want the good life. We deserve the good life, and we had to take what was ours. They had their hands around my neck, I couldn’t say no. We had to. So that was that. The four of us walked into the bar. \nThe game plan was simple. What made it even easier was my buddy, Tony, being the bartender. He was the ringleader of it all. It was an easy way for him to scope out the options and decide who was going to be the next victim. You know what they say, a bartender makes a great therapist. He would make the drinks and listen to each person spill their life story. They would get so drunk that he didn’t even have to ask. It was as if they were asking for it, each pawn claiming their own spot on the board —until we found her, the Queen. \nHe had been at her for some months now actually, luring her into the right spot to be captured. Of course, the Queen being as powerful as she was, resisted for a while. She was different than the others, Tony knew that. Not as willing to show her cards, but he was willing to call her bluff. So he called it. And she showed up to the bar that very night. I hoped that maybe this time he wouldn’t go through with it. I was scared, at his side rattling from fear. He patted me, to settle me down. \nShe took her next move sitting at the bar. Cocky, with her guard down. But like I said, we can’t blame her, she was a piece on the board like everyone else. Tony circled around the bar chatting with the guests. He played his part well on account of having so much practice. I felt bad for being the right hand man. Watching at his side how easily he switched characters. Like a kid scrolling through the players on mortal combat, deciding on which one he wanted to don today. He slithered through the crowd, like the snake that he was, then made his way back behind the bar to serve the Queen. \nHe mixed her two drinks, a couple of yellow hammers, ironically. He reached into his right pocket, his hand wrapping tighter around my neck as I tried desperately to get away. This was too much for me, my barrel had nearly run dry and I knew the emptiness that filled me would soon consume her too. He pulled me from his pocket, uncapped my lid, then dropped me into her drinks. It was habitual and easy. I felt myself drowning from guilt as I sunk to the bottom of the cup. She would never see me coming. Tony knowing her every move, and the Queen none the wiser. \nTony made his attack and served the Queen her drinks, sitting in her lonesome throne. A Throne he also picked perfectly for his plan. She drank the first one, like he knew she would. They all do. It helps that you can’t tell that I’m there; I can sneak up from behind and grab you. Knock you out so you don’t remember. No queen stands a chance against me. A part of me was happy that she only drank one. Maybe Tony’s plan would fail, and the walls would come crashing down to Tony’s fake reality. But I guess one of me is enough to do the job well enough for Tony’s other two friends to make their way to the parking lot. \nThey took their places on the board, surrounding the Queen. Tony watched her from afar waiting for the moment her guard finally fell. He swooped in and sat at her side. At this point, he could have been any one of the other strangers that aimlessly sauntered around the bar tonight. He smoothly approached the Queen playing the part of a jester, distracting her with his circus act and magic tricks. The devil in disguise. Her shoulders began to sink and her eyes grew heavy. \nYou might ask what was it about the queen that made her the unsuspecting victim. Well it was simple — because he wanted to and he could. I mean, why else do people play games other than to control the pieces. The Queen had the most to lose, her ego. It makes sense knowing that Tony’s own life was falling apart, anything that had the slightest hint of glitter was gold to him. \nWhat happened between leaving the bar and the gas station was a blur. I made sure of that. Tony’s other two friends, watched from the parking lot as the Queen made her exit. What she thought was a successful night of networking and business planning was really a rouse for exposure. Tony used any reason he could as bait for his victims. All he had to do was sell them the same dream they were trying to sell to him. If a dog wanted a bone, he gave it a bone. The Queen was finally out in the open with her guard down. No pawns around to defend her, no poker face to mask her emotions. \nAs I flowed through her bloodstream, I wondered what was going through her head as Tony’s buddies slapped the cold barrel of the gun across her face. Her stomach must have burned as she laid face down on the ground. Her heart pounding out of her chest wondering if this was going to be her last breath, if the blurry face of Tony, her captor, was going to be the last one she saw. Her lungs nearly collapsed as she let out an exhale of relief when the two thugs finally left. Although, she was a couple hundred dollars and an iphone 8 plus lighter, she still had her life. \nI knew the play from the start. I knew it wouldn’t get too far and maybe that’s why I didn’t try harder to stop it. Sitting in Tony’s living room talking about the good life they wanted, I should have showed them that they already had it. A bartender, some thugs, and an unsuspecting guest. And here I was, the play maker behind the curtains no matter how unwilling. It’s easy to think back on the situation now and wonder about all the things I could have, or should have, done different. What’s hard is accepting the fact that I played the game regardless. Now that’s a hard pill to swallow." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Lucy\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 1003\n\nPrompt:\n\nSet your story during a sudden change of season." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "It was the day after Halloween. All Saint’s day. But as far as Jermaine could see there were no saints to be seen within a very wide radius. The bite in the air had just snapped the coniferous leaves into their colorful reds, yellow and oranges. Change was in the air. \n\nHe was the son of one of Baltimore’s most famous African American Catholicism mavens. As such he had done his stint in the seminary and had almost taken his vows twice. But his love of the opposite sex, made the Chastity one a hard pill to swallow. \n\nHis mother had been the closest thing to a saint he had ever seen, but she was gone now, having recently passed on. She was a mentor to the communities youth and a pillar of all the things one could have hoped a church actually stood for. Since she was gone, things just felt a little different. Trips to the inner harbor and Aquarium were a little less fun. Crab cakes with Old Bay had a little less bite. Even the Ravens, on the top of their division, managed to lose their last game. Something just didn’t feel right in the air.\n\nJermaine had been know as “the piano man” amongst his confreres in the local community, for the skill at which he tickled the ivories, particularly the gargantuan pipe organ down at Saint Wenceslaus. His dexterity and soulful play, even garnered him the attention of many of the lady folk in his parish. Something he appreciated, but ultimately decided to steer clear of. His mother, Lucy, once told him “Don’t crap where you eat!”, which was about as vulgar as she was ever willing to get. But her words of wisdom rang true, and it would be awfully hard having a one night stand with a buxom beauty, only to regret it and see her in church next Sunday, in front of the strictly conservative community. It was best for him to keep his personal life elsewhere. The thing he hated most was how fake people seemed to be.\n\nHe had experienced this everywhere. From priests high up the provincial hierarchy genuflecting and kissing rings of Arch-bishops, only to talk smack about them when out of earshot. To gossiping housewives outing fellow parishioners infidelities, only to indulge in their own behind closed doors. It seemed to be a part of life in his community and the thing he disliked the most about his particular circle of society. He much preferred people to be honest, warts and all, and address their flaws, rather than finger pointing. It reminded him of another one of Lucy’s witty quips, ‘Whenever you point a finger at someone, remember there are four pointing back at you.”\n\nIf Jermaine was being honest with himself, he would have to admit to feeling a bit lost. Now in his early fifties he had experienced not one mid-life crisis but two, and was finally on the road to accepting his mortality. His mother’s death, excuse the pun, had been the final nail in the coffin to having that settle in for good. In fact all his friend’s parents of similar ages were dying. Was this it? Only thirty more years on this mortal coil? He’d tried to ignore his own personal nihilistic views. After all, Christianity had taught him of pearly gates and the reward of meeting old friends and family again. But just 30 more Halloweens, birthdays, Christmases? That’s it? The thought was sobering. \n\nBut just as the leaves on the trees in Patterson Park had once been green and vibrant, with life and chlorophyll teeming and coursing through their verdant veins, so had he. But like them too, it was now time to except change, embrace your true colors, and ultimately release one’s self to the reality of a dry and brittle demise. \n\nIf there was one thing that the music Jermaine was so fond of playing had, it was the spiritual connection. He didn’t know if he believed in angels with billowing feathered white wings floating over streets paved with gold, but he did believe in Spirit. It was something intangible, but definitely existed. He felt it every time the organs bellowed out, or Cissy Houston had came to visit and lead the choir into uplifting harmonies. Whatever that was, was real and far beyond the vessel known as the human body.\n\nSo today, he too, decided to embrace change. Not his lifestyle, or eating habits, and certainly not the manner in which he flirted with long-legged beauties. What he was going to change was his mentality. One of the last things Lucy had told him before she passed on was that, “The only thing constant, is change.” God that woman was painfully wise. He finally knew now what she meant. If one wanted not to be ill-at-ease for the reminder of one’s life, you would have to be willing to accept that nothing was in your control. The good times and the bad, were both passing. All you could do is try to enjoy the ride, and through final acceptance, true suffering would be alleviated. \n\nAnd so, like many of his ancestors before him, Jermaine carried on. Luckily there were countless videos, in this day and age, of his mother Lucy, and he made a point of playing one every morning, so that he would not ever forget her voice, her laugh and her smile.\n\nSure the Orioles would struggle, not like in the Cal Ripken days, and the row houses would be continually gentrified. The inner city parishes would probably soon give way as the Province decided to spend more money on Oceanfront retreats rather than homeless shelters and soup kitchens where it was most needed. Jermaine would continue to get older. Each song was played with a little less vigor than the one before, as his hands slowly lost their battle with arthritis.\n\nBut he accepted it now, with love in his heart, out of respect for Lucy." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: The Last Of Us\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 2062\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart your story with the words “Everything was ready for the ritual.”" }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Everything was ready for the ritual. Elijah had been up all morning checking and double checking the preparations they made for this night. It was just after sundown when he woke her up.\n\" Are you sure about this?”\nElijah asks his wife.\n\" I’m sure”\nMiriam yawns, still waking up. She searches her husband’s face in the failing candlelight. He looks afraid even though he’s trying not to. She reaches a hand up to caress his worried face. He responds by kissing her hand and then her forehead. He pulls her into an embrace and says.\n\" Well I’m not sure. I’m not sure if it’s worth it. ”\nHis eyes glowing white with his confession as his wife pulls back to look at him.\n\" Save it, we’ll need all of our magic tonight,”\nshe says in reference to his glowing eyes. Her expression softens while still looking at him.\n\" I am sure.”\nShe begins, her hands going to her pregnant belly.\n\" We are the last two left Elijah. We have to raise another one before our time is up.”\nHe knows that his wife is right but the risk is too great. The strain it puts not only on Miriam’s body. But on their relationship. He wasn’t sure they could survive another heartbreak.\nElijah helps Miriam to the bath he prepared. Twelve gallons of moon water, boiled on a wood fire stove. The water was full of rose petals, lavender oil, and pink salt. The couple worked in near silence. The only sounds were the light splashing of water as they bathed Miriam’s pregnant body. They finished her bath by scenting her hair with rose flower oil. Elijah dried his wife off as she braided her locs up and off her shoulders. Placing flowers along the braid created a crown. Bracelets made from strips of animal leather and seashells played the tambourine at her wrists and ankles. She wore two diamond shaped veils made from countless rows of beaded sea glass. One that covered her face just below her eyes and another that draped over her shoulders and spilled down her back and over her breasts. Their frostiness matched the overcast night sky. Elijah escorts Miriam to the birthing site they prepared. A six-foot wide path leading to the sacred mirror. The path is marked on either side by twelve large stones spread a foot apart, with a one foot deep trench below it. On the outside of the stones marking the path were two more skinny shallow trenches filled with oil. Elijah leaves Miriam to walk to the end of the path. Using his magic he lights the oil in the smaller trenches. Sending brilliant blue and purple flames racing towards his wife. Once the flames reach the head of the path. Elijah takes his seat at the drum and begins to play. Bum-ba-dum-bum-bum… Bum-ba-dum-bum-bum… With his eyes closed he lends his voice to the night. Miriam locks eyes with her reflection in the mirror in the distance and begins her procession down the dirt path. Each step she takes is music. The beads and seashells clinking together with her movements. Still focused on her reflection, her voice cries out. Joining that of her husband. Helping to set the atmosphere for the ushering in of the last of them.\nMemories flash behind Elijah’s fluttering eyelids. A day ago when he stumbled upon Miriam in the meadow behind their house, picking flowers for her hair. He’d just returned from fishing. She looked so beautiful, like Gaia herself. With the sun at her back and her feet dug into the earth. Carefully selecting flowers while speaking to the baby in her belly. He stooped down behind some tall grass to observe his love from a distance. She was telling the baby about the work she was doing and about what it meant to be one of their kind. Elijah felt so proud watching her. He was falling in love with her all over again. Then she broke his heart by saying.\n“I might not make it out of the delivery. This might be the only way you get to know me. As, the vessel that carried you, nurtured you, and loved you until your arrival. I’m not a young woman anymore. I haven’t been for quite some time. That’s why my pregnancies haven’t… You are different. I know it. You are special. If I don’t make it, it’s alright as long as you do. Your daddy loves you and he’ll take good care of you. He’ll be sad for a long time after I’m gone. Don’t give him too hard a time about it. He’ll do the best he can…”\nElijah couldn’t listen anymore. His chest had seized up as hot tears slipped from his eyes and down his face. How could she say those things? Part of him knew that she could be right. But to hear her say it out loud felt like she was speaking it into existence. He stopped himself from continuing that train of thought. Miriam wasn’t going to die. The baby wasn’t going to die. No matter what happened, everyone was making it out of this birth alive! That memory fueled his drumming and reinforced his intent. By this time Miriam had reached the birthing trench at the end of the path. Elijah stopped his drumming to assist his wife and continue with the ritual. Two tiny coffins carved out of psyche tree wood; held the remains of their two stillborn daughters. They are prepared in such a way; they look as if they are to be taken up from the altar by the ancestors. A lamb and a kid are tied to a tree just a few feet away from the altar. Elijah sacrifices both animals. Spilling their blood into a large wooden bowl. Dipping his fingers in the blood he draws a rune on Miriam’s forehead and then on his own. He then carries the bowl of blood to the mirror. Setting it down before the hunk of polished, flat, obsidian. Elijah returns to Miriam, standing behind her. The two of them face the mirror and Elijah speaks some words over his wife.\n\" La mieto she´ nah reolkajghe- There is no fear within the light”\nAs those words finish on Elijah’s lips Miriam naturally starts going into labor. Her water breaks, spilling into the trench at her feet. Elijah helps his wife get into position. Feet dug into the ground with a firm grip on the oar like appendages sticking up out of the ground on either side of the trench. He moves around in front so that he can deliver the baby when it’s time. The baby hasn’t moved into the correct position. Instead its turned sideways. Elijah tries his best to coax it into the right position but it won’t budge. There so much blood and he keeps having flashbacks of the two previous failed deliveries. They were very similar to this. Everything is going wrong! So much so that he cannot regain his composure. He looks down at himself covered in his wife’s blood. Hysteria begins with a pleading look in his eyes that turns to helplessness when he looks into his wife’s strained face. His movements are frantic and his speech is a jumble of whimpering gibberish. Seeing her husband losing the fight with his sanity; Miriam grabs him by the collar of his shirt. Bringing his face to hers, she kisses him on his third eye. Using her magic to send calm into his mind, which makes him sleep. As his body falls into the trench beside her, she begins her prayer.\n“I call upon the Mirror Keepers of old. Those of heaven, earth, and the places in between. The guardians of sacred spaces and the demigods of secret passages. Deliver your child into this world. The last of our kind. The last keeper of the sacred mirror. The door to all places known and unknown. Usher him, in all of his cosmic glory. He is a child of the heavens. Born out of the place which gave life to life itself. Hear me! Lords of the universe. This is your child! Deliver him into this world! Deliver him!”\nMiriam’s voice rings out with strident desperation. The heavy child, like a warm stone in her womb. She fears that she is once again carrying death inside of her. Refusing to lose another child. Miriam focuses her energy. Calling up all of the magic she can. White light begins to glow from her hands. Placing them on her belly she begins a chant. The same words Elijah spoke before she went into labor.\n“La mieto she´ nah reolkajghe! La mieto she´ nah reolkajghe! There is no fear within the light!”\nHer womb contracts as a spill of crimson splats from between her legs. Her body is weak and she’s lost too much blood. Miriam’s eyes roll to the back of her head. The burning fever, the pain, and sheer exhaustion knock her out. Elijah wakes up right at that moment. Having been released from his wife’s magic.\n\" NO, NO, NO, NO, NO!!”\nSeeing Miriam passed out, he springs into action. Scrambling to pick himself up off the wet and bloodied ground. With a flash of lightening and the sound of thunder, rain begins to pour and the wind starts to pick up. Elijah climbs out of the trench and walks against the wind to the mirror. Eyeing the gruesome looking scene of his wife’s unconscious body, laying in the mud with their unborn child trapped inside of her. He releases a yell to the heavens out of frustration. A primal clarity takes over his mind as Elijah grabs hold to the mirror. Calling up his magic, his entire body begins to glow white. Transforming the mirror into a rippling portal of time and space. A large crack of thunder close by speaks to the urgency of the situation. Over the whipping sound of branches in the wind. Elijah speaks to his unborn child.\n\" Yuriel! The light, the flame of god. That is your name my son. La mieto she´ nah reolkajghe- There is no fear within the light. You do not have to be afraid because you are the light. You are the last of us. The one to bring our kind into this new era. It is time for you to wake up son. Be born of your mother. Live!”\nElijah weeps into the last of his words. His voice breaking hoarse over the sound of the wind and the rain. Thunder cracks again and an arc of lightning surges through Elijah, into the mirror, and into Miriam’s belly. The celestial electricity shocks Miriam back to consciousness. Through half opened lids she can see white light pouring into her from the mirror. Looking down at her belly she can see the baby moving into the proper birthing position. Still trapped in place by the intense arc, Elijah is stuck holding the mirror. Wearily, Miriam grabs hold of the oars on either side of the trench. She takes a couple of deep breaths and then screams at the top of her lungs. Several pushes and she can feel that the child is coming but, she needs help. For the first time since this began, sobs of fear arrest Miriam’s resolve. In an effort to regain her composure. Miriam searches for her reflection in the obsidian disk. Her search is met with a familiar set of eyes. That of her mother. More familiar faces emerge from the mirrors portal. A procession of ancestors come streaming from the other side to aid their daughter. Ancient hands filled with skill and magic lay upon Miriam; helping to guide the baby into this world. Each ancestor that passes through the portal adds weight to the mirror in Elijah’s grasp. The intensity of all the magic being spent combined with the lighting that was drawn to it; causes the mirror to dematerialize, being absorbed by the baby in Miriam’s belly. With the mirror gone. Elijah rushes back to his wife. His magic is still active as he delivers his son. Loud, hiccuping cries replace the sounds of the storm in the nights sky. After three-hundred years. They finally did it! They delivered their baby. The last mirror keeper." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Snowbound For Three Days\n\nGenre: american\n\nWord Count: 2924\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character emerging from hibernation, whether literally or metaphorically." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "When I looked out the window at the cold gun metal skies over Lake Superior, I knew there was some weather blowing in from Canada. Sitting on the couch in my trailer located just a few feet from the barbed wire fence separating my small plot from a nuclear storage area. This is where the Security Police patrol the perimeter and will shoot to kill anyone trying to breach the wire. \nI feel safe here. People not in the military pay good money for this type of security that I get for free.\nStill the wind began to pick up. As if on a timer, the snow began to fall at five in the evening, filling the air with big fluffy flakes. Eating a frozen meal I had cooked in my microwave with the local news on my television screen and my feet propped up on my mushroom shaped footstool, I began to feel relaxed, snug after a long day on duty. Wearing only my boots and fatigue pants with a holey sweatshirt, I was what one might call “at-home-comfortable.” \nSnow came down even heavier as the flakes were being blown sideways. As the sun was squeezed from the dreary sky, I saw the hard spin cycle of the sky take over. Sure glad I was safe and warm at home. \nThe phone rang.\nCarefully putting my dinner on the cluttered table in front of me, I picked up the receiver.\n“Yeah.” I figured it was my roommate letting me know he was stuck somewhere. Tough tea-bags, I wasn’t leaving my cocoon to come get him. He was with his girlfriend and I figured he could ride it out on her couch. \n“Hey sarge, can you do me a favor?” It was my supervisor.\n“What do you need?” I held my breath.\n“Siggy got popped with a DUI and he’s at the Cop-Shop being in-processed for the night.” There was a pause, “Could you cover his shift tonight?”\n“Have you seen the weather?” I whined.\n“Yeah, but you live on base and have a Dodge Ram that can get through this shit.” He said matter-of-factly. \n“Alright, I’m on my way.” I sighed heavily. \nHere’s the deal, I worked in a place called Demand Processing in Base Supply which is open twenty-four-seven. This was the Walmart for maintenance. We were the central call-in place for aircraft parts for the base. Just a few miles from Lake Superior that Gordan Lightfoot had sung about in “The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald” a few years ago. This turned out to be the biggest thing that had ever happened here in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan where KI Sawyer Air Force Base was located.\nIt was March 17, St. Patrick’s Day. It was well known that this saint’s day had a long sad history of having some of the most severe snowstorms occur. Witch of November, my ass, the real witch came in during late March. I went out where the snow was already over a foot deep in the hour since the snow started falling. I started my truck and then brushed the snow off of my windows.\nPutting my truck into gear, I began to drive. I lived in a trailer park on base, but Base Supply was about five miles away. Normally this was not a big deal, but as the streets disappeared under the snow, I had difficulty determining where the streets were. I curse Siggy for getting popped with a DUI. It was all his fault.\nIn what seemed like a difficult journey across the snow swollen landscape, I arrived at my destination twenty minutes later where our commanding officer was waiting for me.\n“Sarge, could you get out the snowblower and help get my car out of the parking lot?” He looked anxious.\n“Yeah, no problem.” I shrugged. I knew the shift ahead would be boring and uneventful, so this would help kill some time. There was now over two feet of fluffy white snow on the ground. It was difficult to locate the parking lot anymore. Still I rolled the snowblower out and began the motor. Snow began to blow from the chute as I rolled it into the parking lot. When I looked behind me, I was quite startled to see that the path I had plowed with the snowblower had already filled in with new snow. After spending nearly an hour of futility, I killed the motor and walked the snowblower back inside where I gave the lieutenant the bad news. Looking at the rising snow, he decided he would make a run for it anyway.\n“Thanks.” He said as he left the building. As it turned out it would be the last I saw of him for the next three days. Driving or swerving as he got out of the parking lot, he made it to the street and then he was gone. \n“He sarge.” Bones sniffed as he shuffled from his hibernation spot in the warehouse, “Things are pretty slow. They aren’t letting any of the planes takeoff.”\n“Great.”\n“Where’s Siggy?” He asked, “Isn’t he supposed to cover this shift?”\n“He’s in jail. DUI.” I informed Bones.\n“Knew he’d get himself in some shit.” Bones began to shuffle back to his place in the warehouse while I trudged into the Demand Processing office. On a counter were four phones and a shortwave radio providing five places for maintenance units to call in for part. During the day, all of them were occupied with callers, but even the radio offered no action at the moment. The office was dark and I had no intention of turning on any of the overhead lights. \nThe base was a major link to the Strategic Air Command (SAC) that flew B-52 bombers and C-140 refuelers. It is a little known fact that these huge bombers can not take off with full fuel tanks. Instead the B-52s take off and are met by the C-140 who refuel the bombers. Each day, the Russians would fly into our air space to be met by our fighters and bombers. Why? Because if the Russian pilots reported that the United States did not meet them, their superiors would give orders to drop their ordinance. Sleep tight, America. \nOn this snowy night, however, neither American or Russians would be flying. \nThe radio crackled to life.\n“Hey we got an aircraft attempting to land!” \nEven Bones wandered in when he heard my radio.\n“Whatsup?” He scratched his chin as he had been woken from a deep sleep. \n“I dunno.” I shrugged.\n“It was a B-52.” Another voice on the radio reported.\n“Holy shit!” The voice on the radio sounded what would be the last time for the next three days.\nThe phone rang two hours later, waking me from a disturbing nap. \n“Sarge.” It was my supervisor again.\n“Yeah.” I wiped the drool from the corner of my mouth.\n“Bad news.” He sniffed, “You are snowbound.”\n“I’m what?” I was now fully awake.\n“We’ve got four feet on the ground.” He reported.\n“What the--” I managed to say.\n“Check the front door.” His voice was dry.\nI put the receiver down and got out of my chair. Like some terrible science fiction movie, I saw snow covering the glass door top to bottom. The door swung out which meant it was now completely unusable. \n“I didn’t bring any food.” I could feel my face draining of blood.\n“Don’t sweat it man.” Bones shook his head, “The dock is just about snow free because of the fierce wind. The Chow Hall is just a block away. They will be serving boxed food.” \n“I’m hungry.” I suddenly felt as if I had been completely emptied of my frozen dinner that I left half-eaten on the table in my trailer. I was pretty sure that Yawper, my roommate's dog would have found it by now. \nBones and I walked to the Flightline Kitchen as it was officially known. Each of us got a box in which was a sandwich and an apple. \n“It’s not the Ritz, but it will fill the hole.” Bones declared as we walked back what would wind up being our home for the next three days.\nMorning came and the snow continued to fall, at times harder than others when it seemed it would clear. Even in the bluest of skies, the flakes continued to fall intermittently. \n“What if we die here?” I asked after getting two more boxes from the Flightline Kitchen.\n“Shit dude, we got box lunches and nobody to tell us what to do.” Bones swallowed, “We’re living like Huck Finn.” \n“But still, I feel like a castaway.” \n“Listen.” Bones held up his finger.\n“What?” \n“Exactly.” He grinned. \n“Are you nuts?” \n“Nope. It’s pure silence.” He shook his head slowly. “Think of how many times you have heard absolutely nothing.” \nHe was right. His off-center brain had put together this concept that we spend our lives in white noise, surrounded by sound we oftentimes don’t even notice.\n“Enjoy it, dude.” He leaned back on the receiving dock where we were eating our lunches in complete silence. The snow was still falling, but it fell in complete silence. “I figure we have four feet of snow.” \n“More is falling.” I pointed to the sky.\n“More time to enjoy the silence.” \n“Aren’t you bored?” I asked, peering over at him.\n“Naw, I just play games in my head.” He chuckled.\n“Who’s winning?” I asked. \n“Does it really matter?” He glanced at me with one eye open. “You know that the natives called this lake Gitche Gumee?”\n“Just like the Lightfoot song?” I chuckled.\n“Yeah, cool tune. The last place that saw the ship before the wreck was Marquette right up the road.” He nodded. “Think about that.” \nBelieve it or not, I did just that.\nFighting boredom was the hardest thing to do. There was no television and after a while the radio played the same AC/DC for the fifth time in an hour. Bones was sacked out in the warehouse. There was a deck of cards with only forty nine cards. \nPlaying the skill game of sticking a sharpened pencil into the styrofoam ceiling was fun for about twenty minutes. The short wave radio was dead.\nThe second day the snow finally stopped falling. There was easily four and a half feet of new snow on the ground. The pine trees that surrounded the flightline were sagging from the heavy snow as the temperature began to slowly rise beyond freezing. The wind also had stopped blowing. The silence once again took over. \nBy the end of the day, I could see a strip of sunlight shining through the front glass door. I figured it would be another week before the snow would melt enough for a rescue of Bones and me. My supervisor called me every three hours or so to check on me, but I could hear his television in the background. \n“So sarge, how is it going?” He would ask as I heard him swallow from the beer he had just opened. \n“Just as good as it was the last time you called.” He could not see me roll my eyes, but I could hear him toss the beer bottle top into the trash can. \n“Hang in there. We’ll get you out of there as soon as possible.” He promised. \n“Looking forward to it.” I said as I hung up the phone. \nThe floor was hard even with the low pile carpet covering it. I could feel the concrete that it was covering. \nStrange dreams filled my head on my second evening of my captivity. I was on the deck of the Edmund Fitzgerald as Gordon Lightfoot sang his epic ballad. \n“Fellas, it’s too rough to feed ya.” The old cook proclaimed. “But I have some beer for ya.” \nHe handed me a bottle of Molsons. We clinked bottles and then I drank it down. \nWaking up, I had to wipe the drool from the corner of my mouth, but there was an ache rising up through every bone in my body. \nBones came walking in, “Dude that floor is hard.” \n“Tell me about it.” I groaned.\n“I got some sleeping bags on the shelf in the back.” He jerked his thumb toward the warehouse. \n“And you are now telling me this on our third day?” I was steamed that he waited to tell me this. \n“Well tonight you will sleep like a king.” Bones smiled.\n“I do not wish to spend another night in this hotel of hell.” I proclaimed. \n“Snow is melting.” He shrugged.\nI walked to the front door where I could see that nearly half of the snowbank left still pressed against the glass. \n“Shit, I’m walking home.” I said as I tugged on the door, but it would not budge a single inch, dashing all my hope for the day. \n“When this is all over, I’ll bet it would make a great book.” Bones squatted next to the immovable door. \n“I can’t take another day here.” I put my head against the wall. \n“Chill sarge.” \n“I can’t. I can’t take anymore of the silence.” I was on the verge of tears. “I’ve counted the number of holes in the ceiling panels. There are over a million.” \nHe just nodded. With a deep sigh, confessed, “I guess I am going a little stir crazy myself.” \nIt was good to hear him confess. I was beginning to think that I was the only one feeling this way and that meant there was something wrong with me. \nPatting me on the back, Bones said, “I’ll get you one of the sleeping bags.” \n“I sure hope we go home soon.” \n“Me too.” He turned back to look at me before continuing to the warehouse. Turning my head to look out the glass, I could see my truck emerge from the snow bubble it had been buried under for the past two days. \nThe sun went down as I got my sleeping bags arranged for another night’s sleep, but as I lay in a more comfortable bed, my eyes remained open. Sleep would not come no matter how hard I tried. This led to an observation I have held to this day, “Sleep will not come if you keep trying. It’s the one thing you do not need to try to do.” And another observation is, “time moves slower when you are trying to get to sleep.” \nMy eyes stared at the dark ceiling knowing I had not done enough to earn a good night’s rest. \nWhen I first heard the clatter of the treads of the vehicle, I was already awake. \n“Sarge, there is someone coming.” Bones yawned. \n“Who?” \n“How the hell should I know?” I sat up pushing the sleeping bag aside at the moment I heard someone knowing on the glass of the front door. \n“Maybe it’s some murderer.” Bones brown eyes went wide. \n“Or someone here to get us the hell out of here.” I moved toward the front door.\n“Be careful in case it is a murderer.” Bones warned me as I saw the shadow of a short person at the door wearing a parka and thick gloves.\n“Anybody in there.” She said.\n“Yeah.” I managed to open the door a few inches.\n“Getcha gear and we’ll get the heck out of here.” She pointed to the threaded vehicle in front of the building. \n“I’m ready.” I squeezed myself through the narrow opening. \n“Me too.” Bones was next out the door.\nI did not waste a moment finding a seat inside the vehicle.\n“We should have ya home in a few minutes.” She sat in the driver’s seat, “My name is Wanda. I am from the Transportation Unit.”\n“So happy to see ya.” I sniffed, “I live in the trailer court.” \n“Yeah, I know where that is.” She nodded as she put the vehicle into gear. \n“I live in the barracks.” Bones nodded.\n“They had to dig the folks out of those buildings yesterday.” She chuckled. \nYesterday. Yesterday was not a concept I could comprehend as we bounced across the ice and snow.\nShe stopped in front of the barracks.\n“Sarge, it’s been real, but it hasn’t been real fun.” Bones jumped out the open back door and managed to walk through the snow to the front door of the barracks. \n“Close that door.” Wanda ordered. I grabbed it just as the vehicle jolted forward. I closed my eyes as Wanda drove me home. She picked up the radio, “This is E-45 on my way to the trailer court before I come back to the garage.” \nThe E-45 pulled into the trailer court and after one arcing loop, I was home, “Here.” \n“Here?” \n“Yes, this is it.” I pointed. \n“Alright. Have a nice day.” She smiled as I exited the open back door.\n“Thank you. Thank you so much.” I waved before closing the door with a thump. I waited until she drove the vehicle out of sight.\nWalking inside, my roommate was putting a can of hash into a dish. He put the dish into the microwave.\n“Hey.” He nodded. “Glad you’re home. It was a rough few days. I got stuck over at Rachel’s place for two days.” \n“Sounds rough.” I sat down on the couch where my empty dish sat on the table where I had put it. \nThe whole three day ordeal no longer seemed real to me as I turned the television 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: Truth In Jokes\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 1334\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart or end your story with a character scrolling (or doomscrolling) through social media." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "After finishing a long day of work and taking a shower, I sat in my bed eating a homemade pita. \nI decided to then get on Instagram and see if anyone posted anything interesting.\n I scrolled past photos of my relatives, friends, and some of my co-workers.\n I liked a few posts and commented on one, but none of them really stood out to me. \nAfter being on Instagram for about 15 minutes, I was about to exit out of the app when I saw a post from someone I was extremely close to at the time...or so I thought. \nMy supposed best friend Zena was pictured all hugged-up with a guy I had been dating on and off for years. \nHer Caption read, “You’re the best thing that’s happened to me this year. Love you, babe.”\nShe then used the yellow heart emoji to close out the caption.\nI was confused, appalled, shocked, and disappointed, but the emotion that was taking center-stage at that moment was betrayal.\nI was thinking, “surely, this can’t mean what I think it means.”\nTrying to hold onto the last bit of denial I could, I was convincing myself it was some kind of cruel prank. \nI mean, we always pulled extreme pranks on each other. It was sort of like our love language, as we both have a very dark sense of humor.\nWith that, I decided to FaceTime both Zena and Amare.\n“I’m sure this is all one big misunderstanding”, I said to myself.\nI opened up FaceTime, and I added both their contacts to the call. \nAfter that, I anxiously waited for them to answer. \nSoon after the first ring, Zena answered the phone with a somber look on her face.\nIt was almost as if she was a five-year-old who just got caught sneaking sweets after bedtime.\n“Hey, Bri”, she said in a monotone voice, avoiding looking at the screen. “What’s up?” she asked.\nI could tell by the way she was acting that she was holding something in.\n“It’s funny you asked me that, because I called to ask the same thing.”\nI responded in my usual upbeat tone, as to not cause any suspicion. \n“I figured it may just be another silly prank,” I started. \n“But, I came across a picture of you and Amare, and It looked like you two were dating.” I continued.\n“Are you two dating?” I asked\nZena just sat there for a moment, twiddling with her fingers and avoiding eye contact.\n“Z,” I said, trying to get her attention. “What’s wrong? Why aren’t you saying anything?”\n I asked, growing more and more anxious for her response.\nBefore she could even get her words out, Amare popped up on the screen.\n“Wassup, Love?” He asked, seemingly in a way better mood than Zena.\n“I’m so glad you were able to finally join us.” I said sarcastically. \n“I’ve already asked Z about this,” I began.\n “But since I can’t get a clear answer from her, I’m asking you.” I continued.\n“What do you wanna know?” Amare asked.\n“Are you and Zena together, like, in a relationship?” I asked bluntly.\nI saw the pic Z posted on IG with you and her all lovey-dovey,” I further explained.\n“But, I didn’t want to make any assumptions.”\nAmare sat in silence for a minute, staring at me. \nHe then put his hand on his forehead, looking down towards the floor.\nI started getting a bit frustrated with the both of them at this point.\n“Why is no one talking?” I asked.\n“You guys are acting like y’all are in an interrogation room, and I’m a damn cop!” I said, raising my voice a bit.\n“I’m sorry, Bri!” Zena blurted out. \n“I didn’t think it would go this far”. She explained\n“Z, what are you talking about?” I asked\n“Don’t do it, Z.” Amare interrupted.\n“Shut the fuck up, ‘Mare!” I snapped. \n“Z, What do you mean you, ‘didn’t think it would go this far’?” I asked.\nZena sighed, then continued explaining.\n“When you and Amare were on a break a few months ago,” she started.\n“He came over to my house for advice on how to fix your situation.” She continued, tears forming in her eyes.\n“After I gave him some advice, we decided to chill and smoke together.”\nZ further explained.\n“One thing led to another, and we hooked up.” she said, fighting her tears.\n“I knew there was a chance you two might get back together, so I tried to leave it alone.” She sobbed.\n“Amare continued to hit me up after that night, and I eventually caved.” She said shamefully.\n“At first, we were just hooking up, but then it turned into more.” She continued.\n“We started going out on dates, out of town, etc,.” \nI shook my head and let out a chuckle.\n“So, that’s what you were doing when you told me you went out of town for ‘business’.” \nI told Amare, realizing that he’d been lying to me this whole time.\n“I’m sorry, boo.” Amare said.\n“I never meant to hurt you.” He continued.\n“Please, don’t say anything else to me after today, just forget my entire existence.” I said.\n“But babe, it wasn’t even like that.” Amare protested. \n“I had all intentions of ending things with Zena.” Amare said, defending himself.\n“In fact, that night we took that picture, I told her I wanted to stop sneaking around and really focus on you.” Amare stressed.\n“Z didn’t seem to feel any kind of way about it, and she asked if we could take that photo to remember our time together.” He went on.\n“As far as her posting it, I had no knowledge that she was going to do that.” He stated.\n“Trust me, if I knew she was going to post that pic on IG, I would’ve never taken it.” He said regretfully.\nI couldn’t help but to laugh. “So, just because you decided to end things, that erases the fact that it still happened?” \nI asked, growing more and more irritated every time he opened his stupid-ass mouth.\n“Nobody said it did, Bri,” Amare responded, smacking his lips.\n“But you know we weren’t seeing eye to eye at the time.” He said.\n“We weren’t on speaking terms, and Z was there for me.” I was livid at this point.\n“Regardless of what you tell me or yourself, it doesn’t excuse what you did!” I yelled out.\n“Yes, we were having issues, but that’s why you TALK TO ME!” I emphasized.\n“You don’t go behind my back and sleep with my best friend!” I cried.\n“And Z,” I said, “I want you to know that you’re not off the hook, either.” I sternly told her.\n“Maybe one day, I'll forgive you and we can move forward.” I said somberly.\n“But until then, you’re dead to me.” I said coldly.\nThey both were silent at this point. Amare was looking down at the floor again, and Z was just staring at me with tears flowing down her face.\n“I hope the both of you have an amazing life.” I said, unable to hold back my tears any longer.\n“Bye.” I said painfully as I exited the call.\nAfter I hung up the phone, I buried my face into my pillow and cried all night.\nThe next few weeks after that were hell for me, but I couldn’t let myself sit around being miserable.\nSo, I went to visit family in Atlanta, and while I was there, I went to the mall, the spa, and spent the day at the beach.\nI basically did anything that made me feel joy for the moment. \nThroughout that time, I was still receiving text messages and calls from both Zena and Amare.\nI declined and ignored every last one of them.\nEven though I have no intentions of speaking to either one of them anytime soon, they both taught me a very important lesson: \nThere’s always truth in jokes." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Clintwood\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 1541\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart your story with the line, “You wanna do something fun?”" }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "\"You wanna do something fun?\" I shook my head and replied with \"Nah, there's never anything fun to do here anyway.\" My best friend, Klara, snatched my phone out of my hands and turned it off. \"Come on! We don't get out anymore, and I read that there was a new amusement park in town.\" I gave her a questionable look. \"What amusement park? In this rural ass town? Is it an amusement park about corn?\" We both burst into laughter as we lay sprawled on my bed. Klara sat up and pulled out her phone to pull out the email that was sent to her. \"It's called Clintwood, and it has a bunch of those old-timey shops and attractions.\" Klara showed me her phone and scrolled through all the pictures.\nI shrugged my shoulders. \"Eh, sure, I guess we can go. It's better than sitting here all day.\" Klara smiled big and called her boyfriend, Sam. Sam and Klara were one of many interracial couples at our high school. They were the cutest thing ever, and they complimented each other well. Whoever said that opposites attract was really on to something. Klara had brown, chocolate skin that would shine in the sunlight, and Sam had this gray sort of Cullen family vibe to him. My boyfriend and I looked almost the same. Some people would mistake us for twins if we didn't tell them that we were a couple. Our peers would call us the \"Carmel Frappe Couple\" because that's what our skin resembled, and both of our hair came down to our hips. James was my boyfriend's name, and my name was Angel. James would wear his hair in a man bun with a fade on the sides of it, but you couldn't tell it was shaven until he put his hair up. My hair was braided and had little butterfly clips in it. Our whole group looked like something out of a My Scene movie.\nWe were fashionable and always having the time of our lives. If we weren't hanging out as a group, we girls would usually be together, and the boys would stay to themselves as well. When we came up with the plan to go to Clintwood, Klara and I had just gotten off school. We finished up our homework and headed over to Sam's house. Both boys were there because we could see their cars parked in the driveway as we pulled up. When we rang the doorbell, James opened it, and his eyes lit up. He grabbed me by my waist. \"You are just so beautiful! I don't know how I got so lucky with you.\" James knew what to say to make me melt in his arms. \"Get a room, you two!\" Klara said as she pushed by us to walk to Sam's room.\" We followed her up the stairs to where Sam was sitting on his bed and playing his PlayStation. \"Are you boys ready to go, or is it gonna be another hour on you on the game?\" Sam waved his hand for Klara to move from in front of the tv. He loved her but interrupting his game was no Bueno. James laughed and sat on his lap with his arms around my stomach. He turned to Klara and asked to see pictures of the new park and where it was located. When we told him that it was in Clintwood, James immediately got up and started shouting. \"Oh no! We are not going there! I heard that was a Sundown Town, and if we get caught there after dark, it's not going to be good for any of us. Not even Sam because he associates with us.\" I grabbed his hand to calm him down and said, \"Don't worry, we're just going to go, have fun, and well be back before the sun sets.\" Klara and I looked at each other and started laughing because we didn't believe a word of it. \"Yall think I'm playing. But I'm not. This is serious!\" Klara got up and pointed at me. I was making my famous puppy dog face. \"Do it for Angel, James. Look, it's going to be fun, and we promise nothing is going to happen.\" James rolled his eyes and sighed. He walked over and snatched the headphones off of Sam's head and said, \"Bro, let's go and get this over with. And don't let my dad find out about this, or he's going to kill me himself.\" We all got into Sam's car and drove for about two hours. When we arrived at Clintwood, it looked like a small town with many businesses and restaurants. There were a few rides here and there but mainly activities for families to get into. There was a booth that had \"Strange Fruit\" written on a banner, and it had a bunch of peaches stacked on top of each other. There was also a rollercoaster called the \"Runaway.\" Some people that passed by said that it wasn't as fast as it looked and no one should waste their time on it. I decided to try the \"Strange Fruit\" booth first because I was interested in what made it strange. A little old white lady was standing behind the fruit and frowned as I walked up. \"How much for a peach?\" I asked as I reached into my purse. \"For you....the peaches are not for sale.\" I was taken back by her response, and out of anger, I took one anyway. I snatched a peach from the top and bit into it hard. When I pulled the fruit from my mouth and saw what was inside, I started to gag. Klara screamed as she watched the peach drop to the ground. There was blood coming from the middle of the peach and blood spilling out of my mouth. \"What kind of sick prank is that?\" James yelled as he helped me back to my feet. The old lady came around the booth and said, \"See, you people never listen!\" Klara walked towards the woman and yelled, \"Now, what's that supposed to mean? You're the one that was being a bitch about not selling the fruit!\" Sam put his arm in front of Klara and made her back up. \"I'm sure this is some misunderstanding...clearly, it's close to Halloween, so this is all just a joke.\" As a group, we all walked over to a bench to catch our breath. \"I told you guys that this wasn't a good idea. We need to go home now!\" At this point, James's face had turned red, and he was ready to get out of dodge. Klara and I were on the same page. Sam, on the other hand, thought that we should stay. He felt like one weird situation shouldn't ruin our day. Klara pulled Sam aside as they argued over leaving or not. I was still in shock over the peach and tried to call my mom, but there wasn't any service. \"Look, I'm about to go find a bathroom, and when I get back, we're leaving!\" James walked off while looking at the signs for the closest outhouse. Klara and Sam must have wandered off somewhere to make up for their argument because I couldn't find them anywhere. I tried looking in the nearest gift shop. Klara loved little trinkets and gifts, so I figured that's where they went to cheer her up. As I walked into the store, my eyes got big. I had never seen stuff like this in all of my 18 years of living. It was a bunch of Jim Crow-type items. Dolls with dark skin and giant red lips. Books and stories that made fun of black people. Everything in the store was racist. and when I say everything, I mean everything. Even the wallpaper had trees with nooses painted on them. Before I could turn around and walk out, a voice said, \"You ain't going nowhere...\" When I turned around, it was Sam. Sam had Klara tied up and held her by her hair. He dragged her as he walked closer to me. \"We came here to have fun....and that's what we're gonna do!\" Sam held up a bottle from behind his back and broke it over my head. \nIt seemed like I had been asleep for days, but when I woke up, it was nighttime. I knew it was the same day because my watch had the same date as before. My hands and feet were tied in front of me, and a loose noose hung around my neck. When I looked over, Klara and James were sitting next to me. They were tied up too but were still unconscious. When I looked up, Sam was standing in front of me with a rope in his hand. The old lady from the booth was standing next to him with a rope connected to Klara's noose. And the young-looking boy stood with a rope tied to James. Before I could ask what was going on, Sam said, \" My parents were right; I need more white friends.\" All three of them tugged on their ropes, and all that was left in the darkness were our screams." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Influence\n\nGenre: american\n\nWord Count: 2893\n\nPrompt:\n\nYour family’s holiday dinners always end with everyone at each other’s throats. This year you’re determined to keep a low profile, but your patience is being put to the test." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Thanksgiving dinner has ended in bloodshed the past two years running, so when my sister Claire requested that we wear red for the big family photo, I applauded her ingenuity. If someone bleeds, it’ll blend in and we can just power through as if nothing happened. How genius! Although her career choice is not one I would choose for myself, I admire her determination. She is not going to let anything derail her holiday content this year, and heaven help anyone who gets in her way. \nI hope that since the last two Thanksgivings have been a disaster, this one will be better. What's that old saying–third time’s a charm? Or is it that bad things come in threes? Whatever it is, I am committed to laying low this year. I am excited to see my dad and my nephew Jaxon. The joy that I feel being with them is always enough to sustain me through whatever foolishness Claire or our mother have planned for the occasion. \nI smile when I see that Dad is sitting on the porch as I pull in the driveway, but my stomach drops when I get a closer look at him. His hair has grown back in, the first time he has had any in years. It is thin and wild in the breeze. Next to him is a shiny silver tank, and I can just make out some plastic looped over his ears. \nI lock the car and walk up the driveway with the green bean casserole in one arm, and a flask of Jack Daniels tucked under the other. He pulls me in tight for a hug. He smells like home. The sweater layered over his dress shirt is not thick enough to conceal his sharp shoulder blades and collarbone, but we won't speak of it. It’s not our way. Instead, he holds me in the embrace a bit longer than usual; an acknowledgement of thoughts we will not speak to life. \n“Hey Charlotte- how are ya?” he says instead, reaching for the flask and lifting it to his lips.\n“Oh you know…” I shrug, glancing at the oxygen tank and the cane leaning against the wall. \nDad swallows with a sigh of appreciation and inclines the flask back towards me. I wave him off but she cocks an eyebrow. “I saw your sister unload a ring light and tripod from the car earlier.” \nHe holds it out again and this time I accept. The burn rises up my neck and face and the front door opens just as I sputter a cough, revealing my mom and Claire behind it. Mom sees my flushed cheeks and frowns, and Claire does a brazen once over of my outfit. She is in stilettos and a fire engine red bodycon dress, so my red sweater, jeans and flats are frumpy in comparison. Judging by the approval I see in her eyes, I know I have hit the mark. I look good enough to be in the family pictures, but not good enough to steal the spotlight. I mentally pat myself on the back for getting it right this year. \n“Cutting it a little close to dinner, huh sis?” Claire says, waving Dad and I inside and patting each of us on the back.\n“Mhmm.” I say, locking my jaw to keep from saying something sarcastic. \n“I’ll take that,” mom says, pulling the casserole dish from my hands. “And Jaxon is in the living room. He’s been waiting for you to watch the parade.”\nThe mention of my nephew gets me back on track, and I stride past them through the long foyer. My brother in law, Nathan, sits next to Jaxon on the dark leather sectional, not looking away from the football game to acknowledge my arrival. Conversely, when Jaxon spots me, he rips off his headphones and tosses his tablet aside before launching himself into my arms. \n“I missed you so much Aunt Charlotte!” He says, squeezing me tightly around the neck with his small arms. When I release him, he laces his fingers with mine and waves towards dad, leading the way down the hall.\nOnce inside the small guest bedroom, Jaxon jumps on the bed and lays down in the middle, and Dad and I take our spots on either side of him. We used to watch the parade all together as a family tradition, but over the years it has dwindled to just us three. We like it better this way. \n“How many big balloons do you think will be in the parade this year, Jax?” I ask, holding out my arm for him to cuddle at my side.\nHe pulls his brows together, and my dad and I exchange a smile at his look of deep concentration. After so many years, the parade is not particularly exciting to watch anymore, but experiencing it through Jaxon’s eyes gives it new life. \n“Last year there were twenty three, so I think twenty four this year.”\n“Good guess, bud.” Dad says, handing him the notebook and pencil to keep tally. \nToo soon the parade is over and dinner is announced, so we trudge back out to the dining room to take our places at the elegantly decorated dining room table. Claire is closest to the camera, with Nathan and mom on either side of her. Dad, Jaxon and I are at the other end of the table, and I have never been so thankful to be considered the least photogenic of our family. \n“Looks like everyone is in frame...” Claire says, fiddling with her phone behind the tripod. I share a look with Dad as Mom uses her phone camera to check her teeth for lipstick. \n“We are just going around and saying what we are thankful for, ok? So stick to the script and this will be quick and painless.” She looks at everyone but me before taking her seat. \n“I’m sorry. Did you say stick to the script?” I ask, confused.\nClaire sighs and briefly closes her eyes. “Yes, Charlotte. I knew you wouldn't take any suggestions, but I made it easy for everyone else and planned some dialogue for the video.” \nMy stomach sours as I imagine what curated sentiments I am about to hear when she hits record. She is right, I would not have taken any of her suggestions, although I doubt that mentioning I am thankful for being Jaxon’s aunt would have been met with much resistance. But with Claire, you never really know. \n“Ready?” She asks, this time only looking in my direction. \nWhen I nod, she pushes a button and runs back to her seat, snapping her fingers to get Nathan’s attention. He pauses the football game playing loudly on his phone and sets the phone in his lap, just out of view of the camera. \n“I am thankful to have a job that allows me to be present with my family.” she says, smiling sweetly around the table. \nI quickly turn my head away from the camera so that the camera does not catch my gigantic eye roll. \n“I am thankful for my smoking hot wife!” Nathan adds. Claire throws her head back and laughs in a girlish way that gives Nathan the space to playfully bite her neck. She smacks him gently and beams for the camera. The move is so smooth that it reeks of a choreographed number. \nJaxon is next. “I am thankful for all of this healthy food I am going to eat!” He waves his little arms over the table and then makes a cheeky grin to the camera. This time I am not successful at hiding my reaction. Even though the lie is harmless, I have to fight to control the anger that is rising in my chest. Sitting on the kitchen counter is a plate of freshly microwaved dino nuggets for Jaxon. He will not have a single bite of the food on the table. \nAll eyes turn to me but I am still stunned. Why would she have him say that? There are so many other things he could have said that were true. Was it some weird flex that I didn’t know about to not let your kids eat dino nuggets on Thanksgiving? Who would even care? \nWhen it is clear that I am not going to speak, Claire’s plastered smile falls. \n“Ok, cut.” she huffs, pushing away from the table to stop the video. \nJaxon turns to me, his face concerned. “Did you need help with what you are going to say, Aunt Charlotte?” \n“No Jax,” I say, smoothing his hair back from his forehead. “I was going to say that I am thankful to be your auntie. I just wasn't ready yet.” I say, sparing him from what I really think about this whole charade. \n“Ok let's try one more time. Ready?”\nI nod, and in a near perfect reenactment, Claire and Nathan restate their lines, the bite, and the playful slap. Jaxon repeats his lie, and the table turns to me again. I open my mouth to speak, then close it. \nJust say it, I think to myself.\nI open my mouth again, but the words are stuck in my throat. I turn my gaze to Jaxon, hoping it will help the words come if I just focus on him. His eyes flash with panic as no sound leaves my mouth. \nClaire slams her fist on the table and everyone jumps. She shoots up, clattering the plates and silverware around her. “What the hell, Charlotte?” \n“I’m sorry…” I start, trying to diffuse the situation for Jaxon’s sake.\n“Why are you so committed to making me miserable?” Claire accuses.\nI scoff at the irony of that statement, and that only intensifies her rage. \n“Let me handle this Claire.” Mom says, her eyes apologetic as she turns her makeup caked face to me. “I know this is hard, sweetie. It's hard for me sometimes, too.”\nI am not sure what I expected her to say, but commiserating was at the bottom of the list of possibilities. My shoulders drop in relief. “Yeah. Thank you mom, it really is…” \n“And it’s only natural to feel jealous of your sister…”\nI recoil as if I have been slapped by the words. “Jealous?” I ask, incredulously. My blood is now boiling as I balk at the insinuation that any part of Claire’s life is something I would want for myself. Every single mean thought I’ve ever had about the two of them rises up, ready to be hurled at them at a seconds notice. I want so badly to put them in their place. I want to grab Jaxon and get far away from this. I want to hurt them the way that they have hurt me.\nDad reaches out and puts his hand on top of mine just as I open my mouth to start launching my insults. I turn to meet his eyes as my shoulders are heaving. I have to press my lips together as hard as I can to keep the vitriol that has built up over the years from spewing out. \nHe shakes his head at me, his eyes saying what I already know. \nIt won't make a difference. \nNothing I say will change them. \nAnd most of all, Jaxon doesn't need to hear just how rotten his parents are when there is nothing I can do to save him from them. \nI let out a dejected sigh through my nose and turn back to Jaxon, giving him a tight kiss on the top of the head as I stand. “I’ll be back in a few minutes, Jax.” \n“Thank God.” I hear Charlotte say as I walk away. \n“Can we just film without her?” My mom suggests, but I am too far away to hear Claire’s response. \nI enter the guest room and close the door behind me, lying down to stare up at the ceiling and attempt to control my breathing. Frustration morphs into hot shame as I think about Jaxon. I should have done my part. If I had, I would be sitting out there with him now, exchanging a dino nugget for a bite of the marshmallow topping of the sweet potatoes. Why couldn’t I just say that I was thankful for being Jaxon’s aunt so that we could move have on with the night? He already has enough to deal with, and I always strived to be his safe place. I let him down. \nI wipe my eyes at the sound of a soft knock at the door, not wanting to let Claire or mom see my tears. Thankfully it is neither, and Dad shuffles in the room to sit down next to me. \n“I’m sorry, Dad. I should have just said that I was thankful for Jaxon and let it go. I didn't mean to ruin the night.” \n“I know,” he says, patting my leg. “But you don't owe me an apology. I came in here to apologize to you, actually.” \n“What?” I ask, my eyebrows pulling together in confusion. “Why would you need to apologize?” \nHe takes a deep breath before speaking. I sit up straighter and turn towards him, wanting to hear everything he is about to say. I can tell by his expression that I will want to take in every word.\n“As cliche as it sounds, one really does start to put things into perspective when they are at the end of their life.” he starts. I nod, knowing where this is going. “We put up with a lot for those that we love. And we find joy in the little moments amongst the more tedious ones.” \nHe’s right, as usual. But it is a bitter pill to swallow. “So we just let them be awful all the time? I hate that they make Jaxon be part of the facade.”\n“Well, I can promise you that nothing you do will ever change them, and that there's a good chance Jaxon will turn out just fine anyways.” \n“How do you know?” I say, wishing that I believed he was right. \nHe puts his hand on my shoulder and squeezes it. “Because look at how great you turned out.” \nI blink, taking in his words. Was my upbringing really that similar to Jaxon’s? \nThe picture perfect holidays of my childhood flash behind my eyes, not unlike the one happening back in the dining room. Images of mom putting so much energy into the way the house looked and planning the perfect meal, but never slowing down to just be with us. The eventual division of mom and Claire versus dad and me, and finding the joy in the little moments, just like he said. All of my best memories as a child are with my dad, and I am a reflection of him just how Claire is a reflection of her. \n“We finished the silly video, so come back and eat with us. Let’s turn this around for Jaxon’s sake. The kid is like them, but he is also a lot like us, too.” \nI nod and follow him back to the dining room, unable to deny the ways that Jaxon takes after us, feeling renewed in the task of being a positive influence in his life. Jaxon beams as I take my seat next to him, and I reach over to steal a dino nugget when I see that all of the marshmallow topping is scraped off of my sweet potato serving. The table is silent for just a moment, but when Jaxon starts to giggle the group takes a collective sigh. Even if we have different approaches, each of us want what is best for Jaxon. He deserves to have a holiday with his family, and if we can't agree on anything else, we can at least agree on that. \n1 year later \nPulling up to my parents house just is the same as last year, with green bean casserole in one hand and a flask in the other. At the table, we say how thankful we are for the camera, we take the family photo, and Jaxon counts twenty six balloons in the parade rerun. Before my mom cuts the pie for dessert, I sneak out back with the flask and let a few tears fall, ones I have been holding back all night. \nLifting the flask skyward, I make a quiet toast to my dad, wondering how I will be a light in Jaxon’s life when I have lost the light of my own. \n“Who are you talking to, aunt Charlotte?” I wipe the tears and tuck the flask into my back pocket as Jaxon approaches and laces his hand in mine. \n“I was talking to grandpa.” \nHe frowns. “I miss him.”\nI swallow. “Me too.”\n“Is he listening?” he asks, looking up at the sky. \n“Of course,” I nod. “Do you want to say something to him?”\nHe thinks hard, pulling his brows together in contemplation. After a moment, he steps forward and says, “Grandpa, there were twenty six balloons this year. And don't worry, Auntie Charlotte and I are continuing all of our traditions forever and ever.” \nI nod, his statement perfectly complete without needing to add any more words of my own. I squeeze his hand and leads me back inside." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Gray Matters\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 1283\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about someone grappling with an insecurity." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Darkness.\nThe light had never comforted Carson.\nHe knew that blasted Sun was trying to blind him. It should have died out like all of the other planets. Even though that was scientifically impossible to do on many levels, he wouldn’t be able to stop the Sun from rising and leaving no more that he could stop the press from harassing him.\nIt made him really pissed off. Carson was more than pissed off. He was seeing red.\nThat fateful day when his world changed forever. The news outlets wouldn’t let him get off easily, either. They had become so entrenched inside of his brain that it didn’t matter to him that he was a villain now.\nHe didn’t care about not being that “Golden Child of Kingsley, California” anymore.\nAfter all, the mighty always fall.\nCarson Trent is now under 20 lawsuits.\nThat was the beginning of a sentence that ended up being more cringey than original.\nTrent Can’t Pay the Rent; He’s So Bent.\nThat last line was from that crappy British newspaper called The Sun. Were they all that mentally deformed to the point where they couldn’t be able to create original headlines?\nFame.\nThis is what Carson always wanted. The word filled him up with more bile to spew than a 10 year old bourbon drink he had with Hank back in Hawaii. Those were the good old days, he thought to himself.\nHe thought being born in California would give him that luxury of knowing that his name would never be forgotten.\nBut obscurity was a drug he craved like an addictive whiskey on a scorching day in Miami Beach.\nMiami Beach. Who would have thought all of this would come from a place that disguised itself as an empty paradise?\nThat had been the last time he had been truly happy. Not just happy for the cameras. Happy for himself and no one else to contradict him otherwise. Away from the artificial, superficial nature of the blind zealots who got aroused from posting generic photos of their shallow thighs on the beach on an app that would die out in fifteen years from now.\nHank knocked on his motel room door.\nCarson stopped lying down on the bland hotel bed. He wasn’t expecting anyone to arrive.\nCan’t be room service. I asked them to come up discreetly 3 hours ago.\n“These Honey Walnut cookies won’t eat their selves up, you know.”\nHank immediately locked through the door peephole for onlookers. The paparazzi could go fuck their selves. He felt proud for flipping them the middle finger whenever they tried to take pictures of him. They were always vultures and were always going to be that way.\nHe was leaning against a door, making sure that the only thing that Carson saw was a swinging of his favorite comfort meal in the world.\n“These Honey Walnut cookies won’t eat their selves up, you know.”\nHe felt so loved. Carson couldn’t even say a word at all. Maybe this nightmare wasn’t a tragedy as he thought. If anything, Reina had been more of a blessing than a curse. If it hadn’t been for her, Hank and Carson would have never been able to finally fall in love in their forties. Carson never wanted to cry in front of people. It wasn’t really his style, but he didn’t give a crap.\nCrying openly in front of his husband, he fell down to his knees, waiting for Hank to hug him and kiss him with nonjudgmental love. \nWho would have thought that being accused of something Carson never did would make him open his eyes to the reality of his life? He never wanted fame; he just wanted happiness.\nAnd Hank was the man that gave him that. From the moment they first saw each other across the Miami bar, “Ursula’s Urchins,” he never had let Hank out of his sight.\nHank, with his blond beach hair and cerulean eyes that would make him the perfect surfer for other sensitive men come forth. Hank, the hands that held Carson’s the moment headlines had made sure that Carson’s career would be obliterated before it even reached the fringes of the deceptive public eye.\n“You always know how to cheer me up.”\nHis fiancé’s heart almost burst out of his chest.\nCarson, baby, don’t crumble under this one.\nBeing a famous person’s partner, whether you were married for 20 years, or even dating for 5 months, was no joke at all. Both of the men had heard about what had happened to that other couple. It was so sad. The relationship had died on the vine before they had even come out to the public.\nGwen and Ivy Hanson.\n“Hank, I know what clichéd speech you’re thinking in your head right now to cheer me up, but I promise you, if you knew me by now, it’s that I never fall for bullshit like that.”\nIn spite of the hellish month of February that they had been through, Hank couldn’t help but softly chuckle to himself. Hollywood loved the idea of making your life a living hell from your utopian heaven in a dash. If you couldn’t beat them, join them.\n“There’s no clichéd speech, honey. But that doesn’t mean that I won’t stop myself from cheering you up. Remember what Mallory did to you. That malicious bitch deserves to die.”\nMallory was gone.\nNot literally gone, but gone enough in Carson’s turbulent thoughts, for dreams were the only way to escape life. The dreams that Lana, her grandmother, told her about were only for the wise ones who could handle life’s rough edges.\nThe edges had hardened against her skin. But she was still able to live with the belief every day that life could get better. Cynicism made her want to barf. Who wants to make anything more miserable than it already is?\nBut a connection to another dream was all that it took to make the indestructible Mallory not fall apart under the seams of her depressing ocean. Validation was never something she craved for herself. Out of all of the people in the world, Carson had been the only person he had trusted in the world besides Hank, and that was saying a lot since Carson had trouble trusting anybody.\nDreams were the entire reason Carson was inside of this mess and no one could tell him otherwise (except maybe for Hank Harrison.)\nCarson and Mallory had never even interacted with each other in real life. And yet, he knew that she knew his weakness, his insecurity, his one Achilles’s Heel that could lead the whole chess board to crumple into pieces: the fear of being mocked by the entire world.\nMallory lied to Carson. She was just as cynical as everyone else. She only used optimism as a positive cover up to hide the webs of her lily pad world of haziness. That wasn’t a dream by any means, it was a torture chamber.\n“She deceived me. What else is there to say?” Carson’s tears threatened to leave his eyes again.\n“No, stop it!” Hank slammed on the mahogany dresser. Carson was shocked. He never saw this side to his husband before.\nThen he walked over, grabbed Carson’s shoulders, and looked him straight in the eye.\n“You’re still the Golden Child from Kingston, California. You can never forget that.”\nGolden child…Carson’s eyes carried nothing but the emptiness of a once great man destined to see the stars, Moon, and the Sun combined into one. In his last sentence for this dark night, he whispered four words that were too painful to repeat out loud.\n“The gold is gone.”" } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: A Spring Culling\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 2705\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story where it’s raining men, literally or metaphorically." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "TW: violence\nGbemi \n“That’ll be fifty nine dollars.” \n\nThe male cashier, a handsome muscular man whose name tag read Kemar said as he bagged the items Gbemi put on the counter at Forever 21. It had been the perfect day, in every way and she wanted to end it by treating herself to some new outfits. She found a blouse that took her breath away, calling her best friend Abike to brag about how the store must have known she was coming and put their best stuff out. She spent some time flirting with Kemar, paying little mind to the long line behind her. After writing her number on his hand with a sharpie she kept in her purse she left, ignoring the scowl from the older wrinkled woman behind her. \n\nGbemi stopped at the food court, buying a veggie wrap from Subway, careful to count every calorie to keep her slim figure. She felt something strange in the pit of her stomach that caused her to feel queasy but ignored it, figuring the food just wasn’t settling well with her. \n\nThat’s what I get for eating Galleria food. She thought to herself making her way to the make-up store to buy a new foundation, eyeliner and highlighter. Taking the elevator back down to the first level she commended herself for not buying any more jewelry at the kiosk and exited with her purchases. She walked a few feet from the exit when something heavy dropped right in front of her, splattering something warm on her face. \n\nIt took a few moments for her to fully process what had just happened, rubbing her finger across her face to see the blood. When she looked at the body and it dawned on her that it was a dead body and that body was none other than Kemar - her cashier, she screamed. Gbemi’s scream was quickly punctuated by another thud, followed by several more as men’s bodies rained down one after another onto the pavement in front of her from the roof. \n\nTola \nTola had been home for 10 days, she prepared her basement for the ritual she was about to perform which would be the riskiest spell she had ever cast and it could cost her everything to do so. She looked disheveled, muttering to herself and repeating the steps of the ritual over and over. She went to her backyard and fed the chickens before making her way to the kitchen where she carefully made a turkey sandwich taking great care to select the very best ingredients, fresh lettuce, tomatoes, premium turkey slices, cheddar cheese, spicy mayo and whole grain bread. She crushed up one more ingredient, adding it to the mustard and taking the sandwich down to the basement. She slid it under the cage to the man in the corner but when he slid it back out of skepticism she took a bite, chewed and swallowed and slid it once again. \n\nThe starving man could not help himself from devouring it after Tola took the first bite. It did not take long for the benzodiazepines to kick in, causing him to fall drowsy and eventually a deep sleep. \n\nWhat an idiot.\n\nTola thought to herself as she dragged his body to the middle of the circle she drew earlier with her blood where she bound his hands and feet. Once she made the final preparations she took a seat cross legged just outside the circle and began the Yoruba chant that would change the rest of the world, forever. \n\nGbemi \nGbemi drove straight home not waiting to see what became of the mall, weaving in and out of accidents as cars crashed into each other and plumes of fire could be seen all around the city. People ran in disarray as gunshots and explosions could be heard coming from every conceivable direction, and she wasn’t entirely sure but she could have sworn she saw a plane plummeting downwards far off in the distance. By the time Gbemi made it home one of her neighbors' homes had caught on fire but there were no fire trucks in sight. She drove onto her grass, exiting her car quickly and running inside her home to deadbolt her door shut. She ran to the living room, flinging her shopping bags over the couch and turning on the tv. \n\n“What the fuck is going on?” she said, turning the volume up. \n\nWe don’t understand what has caused this nationwide phenomenon, the female News Anchor continued, but as of two o’clock this afternoon men around the United States have been observed committing some kind of mass suicide...\n\nGbemi could barely focus on the words as the news showed graphic images and videos of bodies lining the streets, car accidents, men jumping off of buildings and male police officers shooting themselves with their own guns. Some videos even had male family members bound as they writhed for freedom to murder themselves with their respective female members crying and pleading for them to stop. They thrashed about like senseless animals, unable to respond to any kind of communication. \n\nGbemi was shocked, trying to comprehend how any of this could be real. She dialed her father, worried about what she had just heard but the phone went to voicemail and so she called her mother instead. \n\n“Mom...are you there?” Gbemi blurted into the phone, the concern palpable in her voice as her mother responded crying uncontrollably, struggling to get the words out. \n\n“Your father is…”, she broke down again crying but Gbemi didn’t need to hear the rest of it, she already knew. She dropped her hand, letting the phone fall to the ground as the tears rolled down her face. \n\nTola \nThis spell would change everything and Tola knew she was messing with very powerful and very dark powers but she had spent the last two years researching and gathering all the materials she needed for the spell. She even made it to Cotonou, West Africa where she got the final piece - a feather pulled from a black cock indigenous to the region. \n\nAs she chanted, calling on forces she never had before and pulling on the nether she felt the pushback as they refused her call nearly knocking her on her back as she struggled to catch her breath. Luckily, she was prepared for this scenario. She picked up the black feather, wrapped it around a tiny heart and ate it whole. She felt a surge and crouched at the lightning rod of pain that surged through her body, closing her eyes. When she opened them again they turned a dark void of black as the temporary surge of power vibrated through her entire body. \n\nShe took a seat outside the circle once more, hoping to commence the ritual before the drugs wore off and the man awoke again. Not that he was any kind of threat but she didn’t want to waste her magic on him, she needed every once of it to do what she was about to do. Tola chanted and this time she forcefully grabbed the forces tightly and pulled it towards her and into her. When she was confident she had enough to summon the Orisa Egungun she began phase two of the ritual, calling upon the divine mother. \n\n“What do you want?” Orisa Egungun said standing over Tola. A sight to behold she wore a long flowing red dress with blue markings all over her body, her black hair tight and curly touching the floor behind her. \n\n“Death.” Tola responded. \n\nGbemi \nThere was a tangible blanket of sadness and dread that loomed over the city and Gbemi was sure that other cities were experiencing something similar. \n\nNews stations - all now exclusively women, reported on the state of events which was even more grim than previously thought. The sudden absence of men around the United States had caused a cascade of catastrophic scenarios all across the globe. Gbemi wanted to travel to Virginia to see her mother but the state of things had become so precarious, highways and roads were unsafe and flights were understandably all grounded for the time being as the Federal Aviation Administration dealt with their own share of issues. Many stores and businesses had been raided by factions of young girls and women taking advantage of the chaos and so for the time being Gbemi decided to shelter in place. \n\nShe called her mom daily, who grieved inconsolably. Sometimes they cried together and other times they talked about innocuous things like films or food to avoid the elephant in the room. Today they talked about Gbemi’s work as a lucrative Youtube influencer and beauty blogger but when they began to speak about colleagues Gbemi couldn’t help but think of all the gay male influencers she followed that died during what the media was now referring to as ‘The Culling’. When they hung up, Gbemi made herself something to eat before falling asleep. \n\n\"How did you find everything?\" Kemar asked as Gbemi plopped her items on the counter. \n“Even better now that I’m here, handsome.” she chipperly responded, batting her eyes flirtatiously at him. \n“I’m glad to hear that.” Kemar said with a smile that nearly made her wet. \n“I bet you are. I know you’re at work but here’s my number if you’re not doing anything later, I live alone.” \nAs Gbemi wrote her name on his wrist something felt wrong, when she looked up again she was met with his mangled and bloody face. \n“Is everything okay?” Kemar’s bashed in head said. \n\nGbemi woke up screaming, then sobbed quietly in her bed as a distant scream could be heard far off in the distance. \n\nTola \n“Death?” Orisa Egungun questioned, raising an eyebrow. \n“Correct, I want death and the souls of every male born in the United States. A small feat I’m sure for such a powerful being like you.” Tola said bowing. \n“Powerful as I may be, placations are insufficient. Such a request would require a blood and soul sacrifice. I hope you are aware of this.” \n“Of course, I did my homework.” Tola affirmed to the powerful spirit. “I brought a soul sacrifice and he’s lying there behind you.” \n\nOrisa Egungun turned around, giving the man a once over, looking unimpressed. “I’m afraid his soul will not suffice. The sacrifice I seek is your own, child.” \n“What?” Tola responded, sounding startled at this. “Nowhere in the books did it say I had to sacrifice my own.” \n“Is it so unsurprising that books written by man would have...errors? The truth is this spell will cause an imbalance in both this world and the nether. Such a shift would require commensurate payment, the soul of the witch powerful enough to summon me to cast it.” \n\nTola seemed to ponder at this for a moment before closing her eyes and steeling herself for what was to come. \n“Fine. You can have my soul but on one condition.” \n“Anything child.” Orisa Egungun who was excited at the prospects of devouring a strong soul responded back. \n“Can you answer this question? If you are in fact the mother of spirits, then who is your mother?” \n\nOrisa Egungun was taken aback by such a ridiculous question. “Of course I have a mother, it’s...it’s…” the great spirit’s face creased, unable to understand why she could not think of her own mother. Tola saw her moment to strike, taking advantage of the great spirit’s brief moment of confusion and tugging on the forces of the nether once more. \n\nFor months Tola had consulted with many spirits and discovered something fascinating, there was only one way to overwhelm a spirit that was undoubtedly stronger than you. Once it was in your spirit circle if you could manage to cause it to be confused there was a brief window in which you could overwhelm it if you knew what you were doing, and Tola knew what she was doing. \n\nShe pulled on the forces, enveloping and pulling on Orisa Egungun within the circle. The great spirit tried resisting the overwhelming force of Tola’s will but it was already too late and in a flash she was pulled into Tola’s body. Tola’s eyes turned from black to a luminous blood red and with the second phase completed she now had all the power she needed to cast the spell herself. It was time. \n\nShe began to chant again in Yoruba, floating off the ground as a swirling wind blew around her and the basement. First she used the man in the circle as a conduit to connect to every male born, from baby to old man across the country. Then she pulled out his soul, a difficult task but once it was done as if by command the souls of everyone she connected to were instantly ripped out of their bodies.\n Once a soul left the body the pain of existing was too much to bear and it would simply find a way to perish. Tola knew this but continued to focus on the spell and soon every soul flowed into the sky in one singular direction, towards its caster. Tola began to absorb every single soul, a feat that put great strain on her body and took three days to complete. This process would undoubtedly make her the strongest witch in the western hemisphere, if absorbing Orisa Egungun made her power equivalent to the Tsar bomba - the most powerful nuclear bomb ever built then absorbing this many souls would be like becoming the sun itself. No one would be able to stop her now, but as she chanted she jerked her head towards the north, feeling the emergence of another powerful presence, one with power that rivaled even the sun. \n\nGbemi \nGbemi spent much of the day thinking of her father, moments when he would sing to her as a young child and tuck her in. She thought of how proud he was when she told him she wanted to go to beauty school instead of joining the family business. \n“I want for you whatever you want for yourself.” he had said back then, even helping her to seal her own innate abilities so she could live a relatively normal life and teaching her how to unlock them again should she ever need. She could not believe that he was gone and found herself angry that he was taken away from her so brutally and carelessly. Gbemi did something she told herself she would never do, climbing into her attic and lighting the single black candle that had collected years of dust in the middle of the room. \n\nShe never liked to channel the forces because of the way she watched them slowly turn her own grandmother into something she could not recognize, obsessed with power. Gbemi focused on her internal being, gently opening up the doors that she had taken great care to keep locked. She didn’t have to do much as each obeyed her call, filling her with the raw power she was born with. Gbemi felt a shift even before opening the last door, a wide spanning absence in the fabric of the nether and everything felt so wrong. Someone or something would have to be incredibly powerful to impose their will over the forces of nature in such a profound way and she would find out who or what it was. \n\nBy the time she opened the last door she glowed brightly, covered in a purple and blue cloak as she floated a few feet off the ground. An eye emerged in the middle of her forehead and once it opened her consciousness was spread far and wide across the entire earth. It took some work but she focused her consciousness to just the western hemisphere and then even further to envelop just the United States and some of Canada. Bewildered to see a great flowing stream of souls high in the sky headed east and Gbemi followed them with her consciousness to their destination, gasping when she caught sight of the caster. \n“Grandmother?” Gbemi said.\n“Gbemisola, well I wasn’t expecting to see you.” Tola responded back, absorbing the last soul." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: See You Next Year\n\nGenre: american\n\nWord Count: 1868\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character emerging from hibernation, whether literally or metaphorically." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Anne had requested a room on a lower floor. When she entered her suite to find a floor-to-ceiling window confronting her with a view of lower Manhattan, she nearly fainted on the spot. Her acrophobia had begun later in life, somewhere in her 40’s, and thirty years later she still couldn’t shake it. Carefully--and with half-closed eyes--she found the switch for the automated curtains and watched as the city disappeared behind a wall of beige.\nHer trips to New York were something of a reverse exit from hibernation. Whereas her friends on the Cape only ever saw her in the summer, she wouldn’t step foot in Midtown or anywhere else in its vicinity until after the temperature had dipped down into the low 70’s. Lately, that was taking longer and longer. When she first began her pilgrimage to her favorite hotel on 38th Street, she could visit as early as the first week of September. Then, September had become an extension of summer. Anne had to wait until Mid-October before she could return, and even then, one of the days on her trip would feature a high of 82. She was thankful that she was in the later years of her life. Heat was second behind heights on her list of displeasures, and she had no desire to watch the planet turn into a convection oven.\nOnce she had steadied herself from the shock of the vista, she set about unpacking her bag. Anne traveled light these days, and what used to be a two-week trip had shriveled into a five-day affair. While the cold was welcome after Florida’s sopping heat, Anne could only bear it for shorter periods now that she’d lost so much weight. The doctors were concerned, but she assured them her diet hadn’t changed at all, and that she could still inhale an entire pot of spaghetti in one night without thinking twice about it. Her body had simply decided that it should take up less space, and Anne couldn’t argue with that. These days, so much room was taken up by the loud and loathsome, she could hardly believe there was even a small corner left for someone like her. Downstairs in the lobby, as she was checking in, a woman was yelling at the young man working at the front desk, because she had requested a room with a tub and there was only a shower. Imagine yelling about something like that. Anne would never. Even being placed in a room twenty-eight floors up when she had asked for something lower to the ground wouldn’t cause her to file a complaint. Not even an anonymous one online. Being inconvenienced was an opportunity to sturdy yourself. The pioneers had dealt with frostbite and dysentery. That awful woman downstairs wouldn’t die from having to take a shower instead of a bath.\nNow, Mom, she heard her daughter Vicky’s voice in her head, For all you know, that woman has to take a bath. Maybe she has some kind of disability. You should show her the same compassion you’re showing the man she’s yelling at.\nAnne couldn’t argue with that. Luckily, she didn’t need to. Vicky wasn’t there, and there was no time for an internal conflict. She had to steam her blue dress and wedge her feet into a pair of high heels her doctor would kill her for putting on. All of this fell under the heading of “special occasion,” which meant all would be forgiven by parties unaware that forgiveness was needed. When the dress was steamed and draped onto her ever-shrinking body, and her feet were stuffed into the heels, Anne took a look at herself in the bathroom mirror. Hotel lighting had a way of being both flattering and brutal all at the same time. It lit up every inch of you, and as long as every inch was on point, that was a dream come true. Lately, however, Anne found that certain inches gave away the damage done by isolation. Her mother used to say that being alone showed up most clearly around the corners of the mouth, the bridge of the nose, and the middle of the neck. There was no science to that. It was all based on her mother’s opinion of her aunt, who had lost a husband at twenty and never remarried. She rarely left the house, and whenever they would visit, she always looked as though she couldn’t possibly be more tired despite having only a part-time job and living off the insurance money.\nHow had her uncle died again? Oh yes, a car accident.\nJust like the one--\nKnock, knock.\nAnne went to the door and opened it. It must be somebody from the hotel coming to apologize for placing her in the wrong room. She would be gracious, and even leave a nice comment about the experience online.\nWhen she opened the door, however, there was nobody there. She looked up and down the hallway, but didn’t see any children running away after having played a prank, or some gentleman trying another door after realizing he’d had the wrong one. She went back into her room, and sat on the edge of the bed. She didn’t want to wrinkle her dress, but it was still too early to head to the club.\nShe’d wait a minute.\nThen perhaps another minute.\nThen, perhaps, another.\nA few hours later, she was still sitting on the edge of the bed, when she looked over at the clock and saw that it was past nine. Relieved that it was time to go, but unnerved that so much time had passed without her noticing, she stumbled a bit standing up and nearly twisted her ankle.\nCareful, Vicky’s voice rang out around her left ear, careful.\nIt was only five blocks to the club. When she approached, the man taking names at the door squinted at her as though she were a mirage in the desert. Bouncers used to hang around for years back when Anne first started coming here. Now, every visit there was a new one. She smiled at the man, but it did no good. He was still halfway through turning her away before she was even in earshot.\n“Sorry, ma’am,” he said, “The club’s at capacity for--”\n“For the performance,” Anne replied, “Yes, I know. I’m the performer.”\n The bouncer looked at her as though she had just declared herself to be Eleanor Roosevelt. She searched for a poster somewhere, and sure enough, there it was by the door. She motioned with her chin to the advertisement, and when the bouncer turned around and saw it, he quickly glanced back at her, and his demeanor softened.\n“I’m so sorry, Mrs, uh--”\n“Miss.”\n“Miss Graham,” he said, “For some reason I thought you’d already be inside. You--You look so different with--”\n“I know,” she said, “Put on a big winter coat, a scarf, and a hat, and you could probably disguise just about anybody, couldn’t you?”\nShe was trying to calm him down, and it seemed to work. He laughed to himself, and then stepped aside so she could enter. As she passed by him, she started to hear him say something about how sorry he was for her loss. At least, that’s what she thought she heard. She might have been making that up, or it might have been the wind. It whipped through the tall buildings so quickly. It could sound like just about anything.\nThe performance that night went off without a hitch. She sang most of her hits along with some covers. The place was sold out, but it was a small venue. Back when she was in her prime, she used to sell out arenas. She once sold out the Garden, although that was a double tour with another singer who she subsequently married for about ten months. Now, she was selling out jazz clubs within spitting distance of Times Square. It was better than assisted living, but from the looks of the crowd, you’d think she was headlining Bingo night at the church hall.\nA few shows like this a year allowed her to stay out of sight for the remainder of her time. She knew how to stretch a dollar, and Vicky had become her manager after he last one passed away at the age of eighty-three.\nYou should have fired him long before that, Vicky said as Anne took her final bow after a second encore, Nobody’s agent should be in their eighties.\nThis was ageist, but Vicky wasn’t wrong. Anne could have potentially had a bigger career for longer had she switched up representation and record companies more often, but that just wasn’t her style. She was happy with the life she had. A house on the Cape. Another place just outside of Boston. A few trips to New York where she stayed in a nice hotel and never complained about anything. It was a perfectly good life.\nIn fact, it was downright perfect until--\n“That was something else,” the bouncer said as Anne made her way out the door. She no longer had to worry about fans swarming her as she made her exit after the show. They were as eager to get to bed as she was.\n“Thank you,” she said, still trying to arrange her scarf in a way that didn’t asphyxiate her right there on forty-fifth street, “I’ll see you next year.”\nBack at the hotel, Anne shed her dress by the door and didn’t even bother to hang it up. No matter how demure her shows were these days, they still exhausted her. It wasn’t just the singing or the banter between songs between her and the piano player. It was all those eyes on her. Moving their lips along with her. Summoning memories right in front of her. Happy memories. Ones they weighed down in their own private oceans only to see them float up again at the sound of Anne’s voice. She felt sorry for them, in a way. She knew she was meant to mean something, and it never felt as though she measured up.\nNot lately, anyway.\nCan I have a quick look, Vicky whispered, I know you’re scared, but it’s not as bad at night, is it? One little look won’t hurt.\nShe could never say “No” to her daughter.\nThe curtains made a soft whirring noise as they parted. Vicky was right. The distance down didn’t seem as daunting in the dark. The buildings were all welcoming her vision with their resplendent lights. From below, she could hear car horns and the infrequent shouting. Amazing to her that people could make their voices be heard even with so much there to cushion the sound. Of course, it might also have been the gusts of cold air finding their way from one window to another. From a neon sign to the top of a taxi and all the way up to the twenty-eighth floor where Anne found herself humming a song she’d been singing earlier.\nNow the words seemed lost, but she knew they’d come back to her someday.\nThey almost always found their way back." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Improving Our World\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 1010\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a group of friends who hope to use their combined skills to better the world." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Improving Our World\n“Hi, Lucy, have you ever thought about how we could better the world?”\n“I think about it once in a while, but I can’t do it alone,” said Portia. “But what do you think we could do?”\n“One of the things I thought of was planting a tree,” Portia told her.\n“That can be done. It’s easy and I love trees. We should get all our neighbour friends together and talk about the things we can do to better our community.”\n“That’s a good idea, because I know there has to be many ways we can make our world better.” Lucy added.\n“Come over tomorrow morning and help me make some unbaked cookies, sandwiches and drinks. Tonight we should call around and see who would like to help us,” Portia suggested.\n“Okay, I ‘ll call my friends and you call yours.”\n“Tell them we are having snacks and the reason we want them to come is to help us to understand how we can better our world.”\nThe neighbors were more than excited and thought that was a great Idea. So when the next day came round Portia’s and Lucy’s friend walked into Portia’s house.\n“Well, hello, come right in.” Portia told them. “Take a seat. We have plenty to talk about.”\n“Yes, I can’t wait,” said Joyce. “I know what can be done to help improve our community.”\n“Keep it to yourself for now. What would you all like to drink?” Portia asked changing the subject.\nThere were about 10 people there and Portia could hardly wait to find out what they all thought on how to make our world better.\nAfter Portia served everyone a drink she sat down. “Who wants to be first?”\n“I will,” said Joyce, then added, “I think we should all volunteer to clean up in our community.”\n“Yes,” I agree, Lucy remarked. \n“I know something else we could do,” said Emma. “Use long-lasting light bulbs.”\n“That’s a good one. I guess I have a few bulbs to change here.” They all laughed.\n“Using less water is also another way to improve our world.” Mindy told them.\n“Yes,” they all agreed. “But I think when you further your own education, you can help others understand the importance and value of our natural resources.”\n“That’s true Mary. You have a point.”\n“We can also learn how to make smart seafood choices at www.fishwatch.gov.” Kerry stated.\n“That’s true and you cook that kind of food a lot.” Lucy told her.\n“I have one,” shouted Linda. “Buy less plastic and bring a reusable shopping bag.”\nThey all shook their heads, yes.\n“I have a better one yet,” said Rose. “Choose non-toxic chemicals in the home and office. I used to use all that stuff and now I don’t.”\n“We have to live and learn, don’t we Rose?” said Portia.\n“That’s for sure,” answered Rose,” 'cause look what it did to my hands.”\n“Oh dear, What did you use anyway?” asked Lucy.\n“Oh, chemicals that I liked the smell of. I paid for it.”\n“Too bad,” they all said.\nThere's one we should all do,” Lindsey mentioned, “Try not to drive your car so much, either ride a bick, or walk.”\n“Keep the beaches clean, so it will be a safe place to swim,” Lucy replied.\n“I think if you see someone dirtying the shorelines it should be reported.” Portia demanded.\nThey all agreed. \nThen Portia added, “I think one day we will be running our cars on something other than gas.”\n“I do too,” said Lucy. “It’s coming to that. Well, folks, we have done a good job by naming what we can do to improve our community. Let’s have lunch and try to think of more.” \nAfter lunch they begin again.\n“Okay,” said Rose, “I think we should donate to clean water charities.”\n“Yes, I donated to it last week,” said Portia.\n“I think there is too much paper being used,” Linda addressed.\n“Yes, and we should reduce, reuse, and recycle. Cut down on what you throw away,” said Mindy.\n“I think whether you have kids in school or not we should volunteer when we can in local schools,” Lucy remarked, as she sipped on another cup of coffee.\n“When we see some homeless man on the street we should realize they are human too. That’s when we are recognizing the humanity of other people, and respect their dignity. Your greeting could bring healing to his heart, and help heal the world one person at a time. Treat people as equals no matter how you feel. Maybe buy them a coffee.”\n“We should try to encourage others to help join in and it sure would improve where we live. Then you will see your friends supporting and leaning on each other, and this is how bonds get formed between members. Your mission is a short, to-the-point statement that defines your purpose, values and shared goals.”\n“That’s right Portia. I agree 100%.” said Lucy and the rest. Then she added, “It's easy to be selfish with your time, money, and resources by getting caught up in our material-driven societal expectations. Try being generous and see how your life changes.” Lucy encouraged them. “Then ask yourself what all can I do, not just you alone, but the rest ask yourself what all can you do? Is there something you are leaving out? Then find out what your niche is and work on it. See who is more involved in their work of keeping our community the way it should be.”\n“I also make up a group for each of you and once these groups understand how their community will change they will start to care and work to improve it,” Portia told them as they all looked on. “Any question? Okay, so support anything that will help make our community a better place to live in, and don’t forget to also teach your kids at home because this is where it starts and we will have a better world as well as a better community." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Kerfuffle in Yazoo County\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 1140\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a couple who fall out on the road." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "The white boy falls out of the Ford F-150 pickup truck first, hitting the road with a sickening thud. His left eye is already turning purplish-red, eyelid swelling to a most startling size. Moments later, a pretty dark skinned girl is launched from the Ford’s passenger side as well, but she elegantly falls, executing a dive, tuck and roll, ending up on her feet as if she’d been preparing for that particular move her whole life—all while keeping ahold of her purse.\nIt is impressive. \nWe almost applaud, taking the cigarettes from our mouths, quietly enjoying our break in front of the Yazoo County Circuit Courthouse before the tumult starts. \nWhere are the police when you need them? \nThe sheriff’s office is only a half mile away—certainly one of those doughnut-eaters heard the F-150’s turbocharged engine growl its hearty disapproval of the teenagers, the truck screeching its fat tires as it loudly sped off. Whoever drove that vehicle no doubt spent quite a bit of his paycheck on aftermarket mid-pipes, proudly displaying an oversized Confederate flag in the rear window. \n“Heritage, not hate—” We whisper, rolling our eyes. \nWe slowly stand up, stub out our cigarettes, make our way to the sidewalk. The young girl tends to the boy, now cradling his head in her lap. Seeing us come up on them, she helps him stand up. Though half his size, she has all but dragged him out of the middle of the street and onto the sidewalk. \n“How you doing, son?” we ask. \nThe boy just nods.\n“He got hit. Hard. In the eye,” the girl explains. She looks younger close up. Maybe seventeen. Maybe younger. \n“Son, you seein’ double? You seein’ everything just so?”\n“I’m good,” the boy replies, steadying himself on his feet. The girl hovers nearby, fretting over him like a favorite aunt. \n“We can take you to Fast Pace Urgent Care around the corner. They’ll fix you right up,” we suggest. “You got health insurance?”\n“No, but thank you though,” the boy says. “I’ll be alright.”\n“We have business with the Circuit Court,” the girl states, holding her purse more tightly. \nWe look at each other. What kind of business do these children have with the government?\n“Okay, just so you know—we work here,” we inform them, pleased to be of some service to the young pair. “How about we walk you inside and see what you need?”\n“Thank you,” the girl politely replies, her brow unfurrowing, a smile showing profound relief that lights up her entire face. It even makes her eyes sparkle. \n“Do we need to worry about—” We point vaguely in the direction where the pickup truck has sped off.\n“We don’t need to worry about that truck or that man ever again,” the young boy states firmly. \n“Well, then,” we say. “Come on this way. Let’s see how we can fix you two up.”\n🜋 🜋 🜋\n“Here are our blood tests,” the girl explains, opening her purse, eagerly handing us the folded up papers. She has a yellow Post-it Note on the top that reads: “Blood Test within 30 days” in her careful handwriting.\n“Well, we no longer require blood tests in the state of Mississippi for marriage certificates.” We hand her some standard forms to fill out. “But we will first need to ask you an important question.”\nThe boy and girl look at each other, her eyes water, his hand covers hers.\n“Are you older than 21?”\n“We are not,” he admits. “I’m 18 and she just turned 17 last weekend.”\n“But we have our ‘Out of Office Parental Consent Forms’—right here. Notarized. I went down to the bank—where they have a notary. These are notarized,” she repeats emphatically, handing over two documents, a coffee cup stain on one of them. “And here are copies of our parents’ drivers licenses.” Again, she has carefully affixed colorful Post-it Notes to organize their documentation.\n“Do you have your $21.00 application fee?” We ask, but if they don’t—we’ve already decided we’d pay for it ourselves.\n“Yes!” The boy quickly stands up. He unspools a number of one and five dollar bills from a wad in his pocket. He counts out twelve quarters to complete the financial transaction.\n“We’ll also need to see two forms of identification,” we continue, good bureaucratic clerks that we are. \n“I have my driver’s license and my baptismal certificate,” he says, motioning to his fiancée to pull them out of her purse. “. . . and—and she has her birth certificate and high school transcript.”\nWe look over the documents, noting her exemplary school grades. Smart girl.\n“We have to ask a few more questions,” we say apologetically.\n“Okay,” he replies. “Anything.” His face is utterly without guile, his battered eye now more purplish. \n“Has either party been divorced within the last six months? If so, we need a copy of the divorce decree.”\n“Uh, no?” she says. “This is our first marriage.”\n“This is our only marriage.” He takes her hand and looks at her intently. \nWe feel like we’re intruding on their private reverie, but there are more forms to fill out and boxes to tick.\n“Are either of you drunk or mentally incapacitated to the extent that you do not understand the nature and consequences of your actions?”\n“I guess I am crazy,” the boy laughs. The girl pulls back, giving him an incredulous look. “I’m crazy about her.” He leans over and kisses her on the cheek.\nWe secretly grin as we photocopy their documentation, printing out forms, signing and dating and stamping all the necessary paperwork to make the great state of Mississippi happy. \nWe also make a few phone calls.\nPaperwork ready, we call their names.\n“And here is your marriage license. It is effective immediately upon issuance.”\n“Can you marry us?” the girl asks.\n“I think we can do better than that.” We turn to each other, smiling as broadly as she is. “Pastor Greene at the Southside Baptist Church on Monroe Street is available at this moment.”\nThe young couple holds each other, then she jumps up and down. \n“Tom’s Restaurant on Main wants you to come over right afterwards for a wedding lunch. On the house. The special is baked catfish today—but the meatloaf is always good. Knowing Tom—that soft touch—he’ll probably throw in some of his bread pudding. Best in Yazoo.”\n“Thank you so much.” The young girl’s eyes tear up again. \n“I’m not sure how to repay you all,” the boy mumbles, overcome with gratitude and embarrassment. \n“Stay as happy with each other as you are right now—and consider your bill paid in full. Now run along now. Pastor Greene is waiting on you.”\nWe watch them fall into each other’s arms, a sight better than watching them fall out of a Ford F-150 pickup truck." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Divine Bloodline Chapter 2\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 1093\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story where a character finds out the truth about something they thought they’d known their whole life." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Chapter 2\nAntonia woke up feeling like a new woman. The absence of physical or emotional pain combined with the realization of her own sobriety meant only one thing: Mama was right. She sank into the soft ground with her eyes closed and took a deep breath. This wasn’t where she fell asleep, and that was fine. Perfect, even. If she could wake anywhere, Home is the obvious choice.\nShe looked around, delighted to find herself beneath the giant tree on her family’s land. Balmy wind gently coaxed the dying leaves from branches while the three-storied palace with the observatory built just for her one of her aunts beckoned to her. She was home. She told herself again, shaking her head; Mama was right. \nShe stood, savoring the stability of the ground beneath her bare feet. The roots diving up and back into the earth bore a well-worn path home, taken by the many residents of Foret Manor for several generations.\nThe orchard to the left dripped heavy with the fruit she harvested as a child. Women holding baskets worked side by side on beneath the trees, voices weaving together in a silken harmony that floated in the wind like the butterflies around them. Antonia fcaught herself humming the familiar melody as she continued the path towards home. Home. Mama said she’d always find her way back, whether she wanted to come home or not. She was right. She didn’t remember wanting to return before passing out the night before.\nShe recalled the day she left Foret Manor, pregnant, angry, and righteous. She didn’t want her daughter to live the lonely world she’d grown up in. The desperation to be liked and accepted, only to be passed over as the product of a line of unmarried witches.\nMama said that men rarely stuck around for women like them and was openly unimpressed with every male Toni expressed interest in dating. They were never enough, but would anyone ever be enough, a defiant teenaged Toni lashed back. She was determined to keep a man unlike every woman she’d been related to; she was different. Antonia Mae Foret wanted romance, a family off of the palace that felt more like prison.\nWhen Theodora’s father left Antonia, the shame of returning after Mama’s prediction kept her and her daughter in a tiny house across town. Together, Toni and ‘Rora’ erected a botanical fortress around their home, and everything was hard, but happy. When the distance didn’t lessen her shame, she turned drinking and men. When the combination of the two deepened her humiliation, cocaine went from her nose to her left arm in a matter of months. She looked at her arms and found them the color of cinnamon and free of any scars, even the burn she’d gotten at twelve from accidentally scraping against the oven was gone from its usual space above her wrist. She no longer felt the shame from ignoring Mama’s prophecies; she understood them.\nAntonia wondered why it took so long for her to see as she climbed the steps to the wraparound porch. The black and white house loomed above her, almost visibly pulsing with life. I’m home, she thought to herself.\nThen the realization although tragic, eased itself inside her like a warm bath: I’m dead. I’ve come Home.\nA memory of the night before, a spoon, a rig; a trailer with a tattered rebel flag being used as a curtain. She was dead somewhere, and she left Theodora alone.\n“Oh, now you worried about ya girl, huh?” A righteously familiar voice startled her, she turned to see her grandmother, Allie Mae sitting on the porch with a fresh cigarette dangling from her lips.\n“While you was laid up in them trailers, with that street trash, WE got it taken care of. She comin’ HOME, whether you like it or not.” She packed the Virginia Slims in her long slender hands, worn from work but still too elegant to cover with gloves.\n“Grandmaw, am I in Heaven?”\n“Heaven?” Allie Mae balked and exhaled a puff of smoke. “Girl, you Home. You an Ancestor now.” She gestured her arm around her and for the first time Toni noticed the clothing of the singing women, clean and crisp, clearly from another time. Allie Mae wore a colorful floral gown with platform heels, she remembered seeing it growing up. Her afro shone in the sunlight, a reddish-brown halo around high cheekbones and hazel eyes. She, like the other women who appeared from dragon’s dust along the property lived, died, and returned to their kingdom. No, this wasn’t Heaven. It wasn’t some idea based on folklore with clouds and robes. For this family of deep roots, their souls returned Home to contribute to the heartbeat of Foret Manor.\nThese women singing in the orchard, baskets in their arms were goddesses.\nMama had been right the entire time, and it took Antonia sneaking out across town to a trailer with a rebel flag for a curtain to finally understand. Had she been alive, she might have been angry. Now, she felt only peace.\n“I’m glad you made it Home, baby.” Allie Mae gestured for her, and Toni approached with the same obedience as the girl in Saddle Shoes and pigtails, leaning in to kiss her cheeks and hug the woman who held court wherever she pleased. “You been out there fuckin’ up long enough, not letting us come see you. You should be ‘shamed of yourself.”\nToni hung her head, recalling her attempts to block her family, her Ancestors’ intervention during her feud with her mother. Their constant reaching out nearly drove her mad and drinking herself into oblivion or tooting enough blow to stay awake for days awarded her dreamless sleep when she finally closed her eyes. \n“Antonia, the only way we can help you is when you let yourself dream. Does Theodora know this? Does she know that we protect you at your most vulnerable hours?”\nHead still hung; she shook her head ‘no.’\n“Girl, the fuck is wrong with you? Don’t go nowhere,” Allie Mae stood and the ash from her cigarette finally blew away as she stood. “You oughtta be ‘shamed, girl. Your Mama was right about you.” She shook her head before leaving the porch to go inside, Virginia Slim and Chanel perfume lingering behind her.\n“This shole ain’t Heaven,” Antonia muttered to herself as she cradled her head in her hands, savoring the sweet smell of her Grandmaw. Mama was right, there isn’t any place better than 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: Paradise on Earth\n\nGenre: african-american\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: The Issue with the Humans\n\nGenre: american\n\nWord Count: 2034\n\nPrompt:\n\nAt some point in your story, a character says “You’re better than this…”." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "The Director sat behind the snow white table with the manila folder on it. It was opened to the first page with a single title, “CASE 2137,” in all red font with caps lock on. The next few pages documented the issues and incidents with dated charts from several Keepers who had been kind enough to initial each note. This meant they had all received the call and were sitting studiously in chairs outside of the meeting room. All of them watched as a group of stern council members passed them-all of them refused to make eye contact.\n\nThe Keepers sat with bated breath.\n\nAfter a few moments, the Director called the First Keeper who shuffled softly with each step. Eyes darted around the room-at the Director and the other members of the review board-before settling on the chair in front of The Committee.\n\n“Case 2137-The Issue with The Humans,” sighed the Director. “We have heard the case presented from the Finance Council. We will now hear the defense. Tell us, Keeper, how did we manage to get here?”\n\n“It’s a long story,” replied the First Keeper, their voice trembling. “I…I, um, I…was born into this program, Director. My parents were Keepers, their parents were Keepers, I hope my children will be Keepers. We believe in this program, we always have. You can not take it away. You can not give up on The Humans.”\n\nSlowly, the First Keeper sat once more, waiting to triumphantly continue their rehearsed argument.\n\n“Shall we start with…Day…” as the words poured out, the Director began thumbing through the notes to the back of the folder, “About Day 18 in the calendar year of 2023.” One finger jammed down at the notes in the folder; a sinister smile threatened to be revealed behind the mask of an impartial demeanor. \n\n“Uh…yes…” said the First Keeper, looking to the white ceiling hoping to jog a memory loose, “Yes! Day 18. It began like any other. I offered up a feast of traditional food to begin the humans’ day-eggs, toast, fruit, coffee, biscuits-all prepared according to the recipes stored in The Database. Then, I prepared some activities…”\n\nThe Director raised a question, interrupting the First Keeper, “It says here the food was left untouched, that it…molded?” A soft groan was heard from the remaining members of The Committee. A few heads shook.\n\n“I…uh…yes..I…” stuttered the First Keeper. The First Keeper swallowed hard. This incident was bound to be brought to light.\n\n“Surely you must know how wasteful that is. Surely, you understand how limited the resources are on this planet. Wheat no longer grows from the ground, Keeper. We must grow it for the Humans. They no longer have the animals who make the eggs you so haphazardly prepared for them. It is our scientists who have found an acceptable substitute. And the fruit! Why, it’s like a drug to them, but simply a cost to the program you claim to love,” the Director’s words garnered soft applause and murmuring from the room. \n\n“We have seen the numbers from the Finance Council; it is time to end this program,” stated the Director.\n\nThe First Keeper remembered the budget meetings, the long sessions of scolding, the desperation that the program makes it through just one more season felt by all of the staff. There were sleepless nights, long discussions, and countless tears shed. Sweaty palms gripped the chair as the First Keeper whispered, “I trusted you to hear my argument before making a decision. Have you forgotten your pledge?”\n\nA hush fell over the room. \n\nThe Director nodded.\n\nThe First Keeper took a deep breath saying, “The food was left to waste, but I have-” the Keeper thought back to the endless nights spent in the lab pouring over footage of human behavior. The hope was to find proof that the program was working. But how do we define proof?\n\n“Please, we have learned that The Humans will turn down nourishment if they lack the ideal environment through hours and hours spent studying these creatures. The bottom line is, our Humans…are lonely,” said the First Keeper.\n\nThe Committee members all gasped, waiting for the Director’s response. Callous eyes glanced down at The Keeper who continued, seizing the silence, “You’ll see from our notes that we have been attempting The Breeding Program for several lifetimes…”\n\n“Lifetimes wasted,” interrupted the Director.\n\n“Only wasted if you walk away,” counted the First Keeper.\n\n“You will not speak out of turn!” chastised the Director. A hush fell over the room as the First Keeper took their seat. Some more soft words were exchanged by the other Judges.\n\nThe First Keeper saw the softened faces of the members of The Committee. It gave them the strength to keep on, but this time, they remained seated as they said, “Please, Director. Please, you’re better than this. You’ll waste lifetimes of work in just one day. I have barely gotten to see the children my grandparents birthed turn into adults. They are just now ready for the prospect of rearing children of their own. Please, please, turn to day 300 in your notes. You’ll see that the cold climate has just set in. You’ll notice The Humans have begun returning to their rituals! Look under the tab labeled, ‘Holidays.’ Please, please, Director. These Humans have a vast culture we can not abandon now!”\n\nA screen began lowering into the room and all eyes turned to observe the footage documented. Goose flesh appeared on the First Keeper as the image of carved jack o’ lanterns appeared. Then, they watched as The Humans made “costumes” from various types of fabric the Keepers had collected for them. The Humans seemed to put on a show. Their eyes glowed with joy in the candlelight as artificial snow filled their environment. The First Keeper shed a tear at The Humans enjoying their large bird based feast, roughly 30 days later. It was truly beautiful. \n\n“See?” implored the First Keeper, “See how much we robbed them of?”\n\n“That is enough!” the Director’s voice filled the room, “We do not speak of the Great Extinction.”\n\n“Why not?” demanded the First Keeper. With trembling legs, the First Keeper stood, gazing at The Committee as it towered above. The movie continued to play in the background-the Humans toasted to, “A New Year.”\n\n“How dare you disrespect this space!” the Director’s face had turned an unholy shade of red.\n\nThe First Keeper swallowed hard, attempted to breathe deep to slow their pounding heart. “What? Are we just going to pretend we didn’t wipe them out? Are we just going to pretend their world wasn’t destroyed by our careless need to find a new home because we destroyed our own? Are we just going to act like the invention of The Breeding Program isn’t because we caused their downfall?” The First Keeper grew louder with each word.\n\nThe film continued on the background, displaying red hearts being cut out of paper as The Humans kissed. It was as if the First Keeper knew to turn around at that exact moment. The film paused.\n\n“See? Don’t you see? They have found each other. They might be Generation Three. But not if you shut down this program. Not if you don’t give them a chance!” concluded the First Keeper.\n\nThe Director sat down, as did the First Keeper. All eyes were on the screen, not noticing the very human-like tears pouring from The First Keeper. “Please,” whispered the First Keeper. “Please, I beg of you. They. Trust. Us.”\n\nAnother gasp was heard at these words. “We do not throw around that word. That is the second time you have misused it,” said The Director\n\n“But it’s true!” protested the First Keeper. At those words, the screen showed a new scene labeled DAY 181. The Humans crowded around a Keeper as a frozen treat was offered to them. Their pink tongues poked out, cautiously at first, but then with full bravado. Their mouths stretched into smiles and some of their leaders called over other members of their group, encouraging them to take the gift from the Keeper who was furiously taking notes.\n\n“I do not believe the First Keeper has misused the term, Director,” said a voice from the end of the table. All of the Judges and the Director turned to look as the youngest member of the Panel stood confidently. “Director, we must allow the defense to speak their full case. They trust us to honor their time as we have honored the Finance Council’s.” The words echoed off the walls of the chamber. Slowly, the Judge sat, the Director turned, and waved to the First Keeper, paralyzed below.\n\n“They’ve…they’ve never done that before,” said the First Keeper, their voice softening. The impulse to thank the kind Judge was squashed by the knowledge that doing so would be a guarantee kill of the program.\n\nThe First Keeper wiped tears from their face and swallowed the pain one last time, in the hopes of finishing their argument. “Not…not in all of the years that The Breeding Program has been active. Sure, as infants, they need The Nurses. But upon hitting adolescence, they fight back and long for their own kind. They are the natural order of things on this planet. Give them a chance. We did this to them. We must atone.” The First Keeper stood and the screen faded to black, “It was our disease that killed their plants, their animals, them.” \n\nFor a moment, every being in that room was reminded of the days they refused to speak of—the days when Earth’s sky seemed red with the blood of The Humans. There were, of course, photos in The Database, countless books in libraries, and video footage of The Humans’ doctors desperately sharing ideas to help find a cure. A cure that would never come.\n\n“Do you remember Generation One?” asked the First Keeper. Their voice was soft, but hopeful. An image of a room of 200 Human infants filled the screen. “Remember how we found The Eggs in the clinics they labeled, ‘Fertility’? Remember how lucky we were? Remember how so many of our Nurses cared for the Humans, how our Historians learned their stories? Remember how much time and effort was placed into creating the Culture Centers? And now, now…we’re on The Third Generation!”\n\n“We are not,” replied The Director coldly. “The second has barely coupled up! This is one out of nearly 500 who have found each other. We have searched the other Culture Centers, Keeper. We have spent countless hours on this pipe dream. Without us, the Humans would simply cease to exist. Perhaps, that is the way this story is meant to end. There are fewer and fewer guests who come to visit the centers each passing lunar cycle.” The Director looked to the other Committee members before choosing the next words, “The reality is...we have seen the numbers and this program has been dying just like the Humans. It’s time to end this experiment.”\n\nThe First Keeper looked to the screen one last time, “Please, can we see footage from today? Before I go?” A simple nod triggered the screen. Before them sat two Humans. In front of them was a cut of meat and two fancy glasses filled with red liquid. The Humans sipped it slowly as it has been known to cause The Humans to change. But it was also a key ingredient in the future of The Breeding program. \n\nEvery being in the room held their breath as the Humans seemed to play together. One of them even cozied up to the other on one side of the table, choosing to share a seat, rather than be more than three feet from one another. With bursts of laughter and playful touching, they finished their meal and retired to a separate room of their enclosure. This space was to not have any cameras as the Historians called it the Sacred Space. It allowed the Humans privacy. The screen faded to black. \n\n“We will vote in the morning,” the Director said.\n\nThe First Keeper left the room, holding the image of the Humans in their eye." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Divine Bloodline Chapter 1\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 1329\n\nPrompt:\n\nA mundane ability suddenly becomes a superpower. Write about someone or something affected by this." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Chapter 1\nAn imaginary spring with accompanied animal chirps and the occasional ribbits played in Theadora’s worn Beats headphones as she lay on her back facing the ceiling, wishing she could control her anxiety so she could get some sleep. The blunt she rolled and planned to smoke in its entirety did little to ease her troubled heart, but she found amusement in the smoke rings she sent into the air. Her mother Antonia told her that she’d been listening to what she called ‘Nature Noises’ at bedtime since she was born, even before, as these were the outdoor lullabies she enjoyed herself. The only difference was that while Thea’s sounds generated from a playlist, Antonia grew up sleeping with her windows open at her family home, nature’s noises playing an infinite melody that never sounded the same.\nIn her sixteen years Thea never visited what Antonia called home, but her mother spoke of it like a mystical palace that needed escaping. Antonia left six months before having Theadora Shea Foret and never looked back, refusing even to explain to her only daughter why she didn’t want her to meet her grandmother or anyone else in the family. Instead, over bottles of cheap wine, Antonia Mae Foret described acres of land populated with trees and a home with a conservatory. She romanticized the fruitful gardens that she resented tending to and spoke darkly of the grounds being secluded by a large body of water and a haunted forest. The home even had a name, Foret Manor.\n“‘Foret’ means ‘forest’ in French,” Antonia recited, as it was once recited to her. Foret Manor was built by a wealthy French merchant named Gabriel Toussaint towards the end of slavery. The home was made to accommodate the man and a host of slaves who were purchased in New Orleans, one of whom he kept as his wife, Aba Toussaint. Upon abolition, Aba and the beautiful girls sired in their forced union took ownership of the home after his death. In fact, they also adopted a new surname to commemorate their freedom as women of color, Foret.\nThea’s smoke rings took her gaze to her ceiling, where Antonia spent hours alongside her years ago, placing glow-in-the-dark constellations as accurately as possible so that when the lights went out, Thea had her own night sky above her bed, just as Antonia enjoyed from her own conservatory. She tried to imagine herself at Foret Manor, in that same space. She’d never been there in real life, but once she fell asleep, she’d wake up beside a vast river with trees all around. Like a Disney Princess, everything living in the forest sang to and for her as she wandered barefoot, marveling at Mother Earth’s beauty. At times, she’d become aware that she was dreaming and climbed trees without fear of falling. She’d jump from the tallest branch and glide to her next destination without wings; only the knowledge that she could do whatever she wanted in this fantastical dream.\nShe’d wake up in her bed, not in Foret Manor but that feeling of freedom and power remained inside her through the day. She grew to love those dreams; she craved them when she realized that she could consciously roam the grounds and experience her mother’s home for herself.\nTheadora saw her ability to live through her dreams as being gifted two worlds to reside, one she fell asleep to escape, while the other she could force herself awake when she felt necessary. She’d never shared this with anyone, as most people confessed to forgetting their dreams. She personally felt significance in both worlds and found herself trying to understand if one complemented the other, or if each world operated independently.\nAntonia usually came back after two days and her absence neared a week. Thea was unsure of what to do or who to call, as they’d never prepared for a situation where Antonia wouldn’t make it home from her disappearances. She decided that night after sliding the Beats over her ears that Antonia wasn’t home the next morning, she’d have to tell an adult at school. It had to be Ms. Davis, Thea’s art teacher. She couldn’t imagine trusting anyone else.\nShe traced the glowing shape of Capricorn, her favorite constellation. She’d listened to podcasts and read articles of the myth behind its origin, finding it much more interesting than anything she’d heard her friends describe in the Bible. By the time she turned ten she made the decision that maybe she was more of a star and moon follower than a cross wearing person.\nNone of that stuff could be seen in the sky anyways, she reasoned with herself. Unless Heaven was the sky with constellations, maybe that would make sense. Her classmate Karynne told her that when you die, you go to Heaven with all your favorite people and things.\n“But you had to be a good Christian too,” she said. Antonia and Theadora weren’t Christians, and if Antonia was dead somewhere, how would she find her in Heaven? Did that mean she may never know what happened to her mother if she was dead, until she dies? She thought about borrowing a Bible to see if there was anything about finding missing mothers and family members, but the thought made her heart race. She realized at that moment she was terrified for her mother, and she was completely alone.\nShe forced herself to study the ceiling constellations and listen to her nature noises with no more thought of death and Heaven. She hoped to hear Antonia shuffling around with a hangover the next morning, apologetic and cooking her favorite breakfast. More than anything as she drifted off, she hoped that if she came back this time, she wouldn’t leave again.\nIt never rained on Foret Manor in her dreams, but this time the sky darkened while Theadora’s skin felt the soft pats of giant raindrops on her scalp. She brought her hands to her hair, finding it tangled and matted. Her only thought was the urge to fix it before school. She took a well-worn path towards the house, barely realizing that she was seeing it for the first time in her dreams, as she was only able to focus on her hair. She sped up to get out of the rain and saw her mother sitting on the porch with a comb, brush, and hair products beside her. Antonia smiled, and gestured for her to have a seat.\nShe sat between her knees as she always had growing up and Antonia began parting her hair. Neither of them spoke for a while; Theadora just felt grateful to see her. The feeling of her fingers applying grease to her freshly parted hair soothed her, and any feelings of anger at her departure and disappearance melted away. Finally, Antonia spoke.\n“Thea, I’m so sorry, my love. I’ve gone home.” Theadora opened her mouth to speak, but her voice refused to cooperate. She tried to turn to look at her mother, but her body stiffened. She knew she was dreaming, but this time she had no control. Antonia continued to work on her braids, appearing to be gentler than Theodora remembered.\nFor the remainder of the dream, Theodora fought to speak or at least look at her mother, but she appeared to be frozen there on the porch, between her mother’s knees while she braided. She suddenly felt anxious at her lack of control and decided to try and wake herself. Theodora squeezed her eyes shut and took a deep breath, readying to jolt her body awake as she’d done on a few occasions when she found the dream overwhelming.\nShe counted to herself, one, two, three. She forced an internal scream that sent her back to her house, her bed, alone.\nShe brought her hand to her head, tracing the scalp of her freshly braided hair and collapsed to the ground, crying uncontrollably." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on 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 HAVE A VISION\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 2042\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a person trying to see something from another’s point of view." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "“Five years ago, a great American, in whose symbolic shadow we stand today, signed the emancipation proclamation. This momentous decree came as a great beacon of light of hope to millions of negro slaves...” My mother said, lowering her voice, and finally stopping. She looked away from the notepad that read-- Martin Luther King Jr’s “I have a dream” speech. I was fast asleep. My mother kissed my forehead and got up from her chair. She looked back at me and shook her head. Then she frowned. She opened the door, and closed it, quietly, in an attempt to not wake me up. \n“The bills. Have you paid them?” My mother said faintly. I mumbled. \n“Mom?” I said quietly, mumbling. I wasn’t aware she left. I didn’t want her to know I woke up. I quietly tip-toed over to the door, and pressed my ear against the hardwood. \n“We can’t. We’re in debt. My job, they’re treating me like a peasant. And the worst thing, they barely pay me. We’re not going to make it!” My dad said, sighing a whole bunch. \n“How much are they paying?” My mother said, “I’m sure we can work SOMETHING out!” \n“1,000. A year. We are 20,000 dollars in debt. Isabella’s school money is hard to pay, and the fee is coming soon. We’re going to have to sell our house” My dad said, with a huge sigh at the end. \n“No, no! There has to be something else. Where are we going to live??” My mom said, crying. \nI rushed down the stairs. The wood planks made long creaks. I put my hands on my face and walked towards them.\n“Oh honey, you woke up?” My mom said, wiping her tears away with the back of her hand. She got up and walked over to me. I frowned. \n“We have to sell our house?” I asked, whimpering. Everything was silent for a second. \n“Um. We don’t… we don’t know. Honey, please just go to sleep” My mom said, almost shoving me up the stairs. \n“MOM!!! How can I sleep knowing that we might be homeless soon?! The kids at school already make fun of me enough” I said, stopping her from moving me. \n“Nia, you didn’t tell us about kids at school making fun of you! What happened, why?” My dad said, putting stacks of paper next to himself. \n“They make fun of me because I have darker skin. What’s wrong with it anyways??” I told my parents, covering my eyes. \n“Don’t- don’t mind them” My mom said, taking my hand off my eye, and holding it. \n“Why did you put me in a school full of white kids! Even the teachers are mean to me!!!! I HATE SCHOOL!!!” I shouted, bursting. \n“There are no schools for black kids, Nia” My dad said, getting up.\n“I know! Why do I have black skin anyways??” \n“It's just that our melanin and carotene levels are different from the others” My dad said, coming closer to me. \n“But then why is everyone there mean to me???” I asked, shaking my mom’s hand off. \n“They’re just not used to us. Go to sleep, Nia” my dad said, walking back to his chair. He sat down, as the wood planks creaked again. He grabbed the stacks of paper. I angrily stomped upstairs. I didn’t like that people were mean to me and nice to the other kids. I’m not that different. Its just that my skin is darker. Why do people hate me so much because of it? I fell asleep in my cozy bed wondering about it. Wondering if my house is going to be gone soon. I hope not. \n⌚\nI woke up for school, knowing today was another day for bullying. The kids at school are so mean. I wish I was homeschooled. It would be so much better. I skipped around my house happily, knowing I wouldn’t be happy at the end of the day. My parents fell asleep on the couch, I guess they were working all night. I jogged over to all the papers. They were writing letters. I picked one up. \n“Dear Janice, \nI know that you are my sister, and that you shouldn’t have to help me pay off debt, but I am your brother and I need it. Isabella’s school fees are as much as my whole house is, which I find very expensive. Please mail 20,000 to me as soon as possible, I am in desperate need of it. \nThank you, \nYour brother, Andrew” \nWow. The thing was, my father never contacted his sister. It was mostly because they got into an enormous fight, and now they don’t talk. I pushed my hood up, because I knew people were going to gawk at me the moment I walked outside. What was it they didn’t like about me? \nWas it my braids? \nWas it my clothes? \nWas it my plastic bracelet? \nI think I know. It was my skin. My dark skin. It was almost black, but it had shine. It was pretty. At least in my eyes. I continued to walk to school. I kept my hood pulled up, because if it fell down, there would be swarms of people crowding me acting like I’m an alien. I stared at the sign of my school, getting closer and closer. Cold shivers went down my back as I walked around the bushes and down the sidewalk. My feet started getting cold, and felt like spaghetti. I closed my eyes for a moment and opened them again. I continued walking. I opened the door, and walked in. \n“Hoods down in the school!” The janitor shouted behind me, after I walked in for a few moments. \n“Take your hood down please!” The janitor shouted again. They couldn’t see that I was black! If they knew I would be treated unfairly, even if they’re the janitor! I started walking faster. \n“TAKE YOUR HOOD DOWN!” The janitor said, starting to rush over to me. I quickly walked down the hall. I submerged through the crowd. I saw many black people like me, getting bullied in the middle of the crowds. People were watching helplessly, they didn’t know what to do. They couldn’t do anything. \nI continued to rush down the hall, but it might’ve been too late. The janitor broke through the crowd and snatched my hand tightly. \n“Oh you trouble maker! I could tell it was you from the back! You’re not attending class, go to the principal's office, now!” The janitor said. That’s when I noticed my hood fell off while I was rushing around the long halls. I nodded my head, looking down. He dragged me through the crowd and pulled me to the principal's office. \n“Oh you’re in big trouble” he said, tossing the door open. \n“I found this rat running around in the halls with her hood on!” The janitor said, walking closer to the desk. \n“Is that so?” The principal said, putting down stacks of his paper. He put his hand on his chin, and looked at me. \n“Yeah, we should punish her!” The janitor said, pushing me forward. \n“What did we say about giving second chances to everyone here, Alejandro?” The principal said, looking down at a piece of paper. He jotted something down. \n“But sir, she’s black. She doesn’t deserve a second chance” The janitor said, looking confused.\nDid he really think that? What did my skin have to do with anything? That hit me hard. I wanted to break down on the floor and cry. I’ve been treated so unfairly my whole life. My father is a coward, he doesn’t stand up for me at all. My mother just wished me well. But she’s just like my father, again. She doesn’t stand up for me either. I don’t even know who I’m supposed to look up to. \n“Alejandro, I don’t know what you’re doing. It seems like you’re bringing me more children than cleaning. She deserves a second chance. Go” The principal said, motioning his hand for me and the janitor to leave. The janitor, Alejandro sighed. He looked at me, and we both left the room. \n“I’m going to watch you. You won’t get away with anything” He said, leaving through the crowd. I shivered. \nI didn’t understand anyone like him, didn’t I deserve a second chance? Whats the difference from me and all the other kids? I’m no different. I just can’t understand why he sees me as such a low rank from the other kids. \n⌚\nI was finally at my class, escaping bullies as fast as I could. It was hard, because most of the time they would start chasing me. But after a while they ended up losing me in the slowly growing crowd of students. I swung the door open and walked. I knew I was late, I knew she was going to be mad, but this was my favorite class, nothing was going to ruin this!! \n“Nia, come and sit at a desk. At the front. I know you darker skins always make trouble” My english teacher, Mrs. Kyra said. She pointed to the seat right in front of her. Way to get me more embarrassed. \n“Now class, what would you like to be when you grow up??” Mrs.Kyra said. I raised my hand immediately. She shot an annoyed look at me, and then she looked away. \n“Anyone?” She asked the class. No one raised their hand. \n“Nia” She said, annoyed.\n“I want to be a motivational speaker when I grow up!” I said, with a big smile. \n“Hmph, like you’re actually going to talk about anything important” Mrs.Kyra said under her breath. \nThe rest of class I refrained from raising my hand, because I didn’t want more second hand embarrassment. I sat through the whole school day quietly, crying to myself. Asking the same two questions. \n“Why am I like this? Why does it have to be me?” \nOver and over again. \nWhy do I not deserve the same as the white people? \nMy whole life, do I have to act like I mean nothing? This wasn’t fair! It was finally the end of class though, all of my classes, so I could finally get out. \nI speed-walked down the long halls in an attempt to look normal. I couldn’t cover myself with my hood, because if the janitor saw me again it would be over. I walked home as fast as I could, barely being able to sustain my tears inside myself. My life has been like this, unfair, for so many years. Everywhere I go, there seems to be a dark cloud above me because of my skin. I just wanted to be normal. \nI walked home, all alone. No friends, no support, nothing. But an about-to-be-sold house. \n“Honey” my dad said, looking up at me as I walked through the creaking door. Who was even going to buy our house, at the condition it was at? \nI walked over to them.\n“How was school” My mother asked, still writing letters. \n“What did aunt Janice say?” I asked, not responding. I sat down at a wobbly and old-wooden chair.\n“She… she said no. But don’t worry Nia, we still have some other people we can reach out to” My dad said, sighing. \n“But honey, that doesn’t matter right now. How was your school today?” \n“Fine” \n“Well today was a good day for us” my mom said, smiling. \n“We got our rights today, my boss finally came around and is giving us 70,000 a year. We’ll be able to fix our house and pay off our debt! Our life is going uphill Nia. Racism is going to stop soon! Never loose hope Nia!!” my dad said, happily. I smiled, knowing that everything was going to be okay. \n⌚\n“I have a vision that all the little white girls and boys will be able to play with all the little black boys and girls. \nI have a vision that whatever race we all are, whatever religion we all are, we are united through everything. \nI have a vision that we all get up and try again, because after all, we are united. We are together. We are human”" } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on 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 Party\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 1778\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story from the point of view of three different characters." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "I get showing up fashionably late, but this is almost ridiculous. Work was crazy, out of control. I'm lucky to be getting out of there alive. Shayla's gonna be so pissed. Deep sigh. Oh well, at least I'm here now; I think as I walk into the main ballroom of the Marriott Hotel, or whatever they call that room. Shayla is celebrating that the cancer is in remission. And she's doing it big.\nThe first thing I do is go to the bar. Maybe a drink will help calm my nerves. Don't know why I'm so anxious. Except that Shayla text me earlier that she wanted me to meet some guy. She really thought we would hit it off. She told me to be sure I look cute for her party. Pressure. Blind dates, really aren't my thing. I love my friends, but they don't know who or what I'm looking for in a romantic relationship. Honestly, I don't even know half the time. I thank the bartender for my drink. I take one or two sips of my Cosmo, and turn around. I can't believe my eyes. I don't know what he is doing here, but suddenly I am ready to go.\nStanding off in the corner is Owen Barnett. He appears to be talking to someone, so I hope he doesn't see me. I dance my way to the other side of room. I don't want to be too obvious. The truth is I hate that man. Now, I don't usually use that word. But in this case I mean it. I really hate him. I start thinking of clever reasons why I have to leave so soon.\nA hand taps my shoulder. Shayla looks at me brightly, and gives me a big hug. She looks great. Her weight is coming back. Her cocoa brown skin is smooth and bright. \"I'm so glad you made it, finally.\"\n\"I know, I know. I kept trying to leave early, but it was one thing after another. It couldn't be helped. But I wouldn't miss this for the world.\"\n\"I want you to meet someone. Melody Thornton meet--\nMy smile suddenly turns into a frown, \"Owen Barnett. This is who you thought I should meet.\"\n\"Yeah. What? You two know each other.\"\n\"Oh yeah.\" He smirks. \n\"We go way back. How's the wife?\"\n\"Angry and bitter, but thanks for asking. We just filed for divorce.\"\n\"Lucky woman. I hope she gets half of everything you got.\"\nShayla shakes her head, \"I'm so confused.\"\nOwen hugs Shayla, \"Great party. And congratulations yet again. But if this is the woman you were thinking of, I'll pass. I been there . . . done that. 'Sides I gotta get to back to my son. G'night.\" He walks away. \nShayla throws up her hands, \"Okay explain.\"\n\"We dated last year. Everything was great until his wife calls me, and accuses me of breaking up her home. I didn't even know he was married. And here I was contemplating a future with this man.\" I take a deep breath. \"Look, do me a favor, let's act like this never happened and have some fun tonight?\"\nShe nods. \"I can do that. Come on, let's dance.\"\n*****\nTo be honest, I feel out of place here. I'm only here because it seems like the right thing to do. I can make a showing. Although me and Shayla don't know each other that well, we been cool for awhile. I know her people.Her auntie and my mama was friends. And I know it hit 'em hard when she started battling cancer. It's a big deal that she beat that shit. \nSo, here I am. I have a couple drinks. I seize a moment when Shayla is alone to congratulate her. As I walk over to her, I see Melody walk into the room. We casually dated last year for about 6 months or so. I really enjoyed the time I spent with her. Maybe if I had been straight with her we could have continued. She was a little naive, and didn't ask the necessary questions. My soon to be ex-wife and then wife called Melody one day after going through my phone. \nI know Melody saw me. For moment, I'm frozen in place. I feel good, and am determined to stay drama free. That's why I am getting a divorce. So, I figure the best thing to do is make fast and smooth departure. I can't go without saying goodbye to the guest of honor, and I'm on my way over to her anyway. \nI touch Shayla's arm. She gives me a bright smile. \"I have to call it night. But congratulations once again.\"\n\"Oh no, you can't go yet. There's someone you have to meet. And I won't take no for an answer.\"\nBefore I can say anything, she takes me by the hand and leads across the room. She taps Melody on the shoulder of all people. I step back to allow the women to have a moment. I also want to quickly figure out how to do this. Much too soon Shayla reaches back for my hand and says, Melody Thornton meet--\nMelody looks at me, \"Owen Barnett.\" If looks could kill, I'd be dead on the spot. She says something else but all I hear is, \"How's the wife?\"\nThere are several ways I can handle the situation. And in all honesty, I don't pick the best one. In my defense, I don't slap her or shake although I want to do both. Instead I say, \"Angry and bitter, but thanks for asking. We just filed for divorce.\" \nWe exchange a few more words. I quickly turn to Shayla who looks baffled and confused. I hug her \"Great party. And congratulations yet again. But if this is the woman you were thinking of, I'll pass. I been there . . . done that. 'Sides I gotta get back to my son. G'night.\"\nWithout another word or second glance I walk out. As I step into the night air, I feel like I just dodged a bullet. I hope me and Shayla are still cool after Melody gets done running me through the dirt. You know how women be. \n*****\nI can't believe Melody isn't here yet. She the main one helped me plan this event. She knows how important this is to me. All I know is that she better not blow me off. She said she was coming. Besides, I really want her to meet Owen. Right now, I can't be bothered with that. I have a party to host. I float around giving smiles, hugs, sharing a dance, and of course taking thousands of selfies. I love that everyone present is really enjoying themselves. It's a night to celebrate life. And not just for me, but all of us. Life is such a precious gift.\nThat's why I'm so glad that Owen is here. He and I knew each other as kids. I wouldn't say that were cool, but my favorite Auntie is friends with his mother. We reconnected while I was going through my journey with cancer. He was just a great friend at a time when I could use one. I know that my girl Melody is a great friend, and that she is in a rocky place. She of course won't say that, but she could use a friend. I want them to meet. Besides, they have a lot in common. I already told both of them that I have someone for them to meet. Now if she would just get here already. \nI catch Owen's eye, and he starts walking towards me. But I'm pulled into yet another round of selfies. I turn around and see Melody standing at the bar. Now she would try to blend in, and act like she been here hella long knowing full well that she just walked through that door less than five minutes ago. She should know I've been scanning the room looking for her. I should go off on her, but it's all about positive vibes. At least she made it, and she better have a damn good reason why she kept me waiting.\nI feel someone touch my forearm. I turn and smile at Owen. We exchange a quick hug. He gives me some line about him having to go. My head is screaming. I tell myself to chill. Positive vibes, remember. \n“Oh no, you can't go yet. There's someone you have to meet. And I won't take no for an answer.\" I take him by the hand, and quickly lead him to the bar. Melody's back is to us. I tap her on the shoulder. I hug her as she turns around. \"I'm so glad you made it, finally.\" I can't help myself. We don't have the place all night. \n\"I know, I know. I kept trying to leave early, but it was one thing after another. It couldn't be helped. But I wouldn't miss this for the world.\"\nI wave that off. I have no time for excuses. \"I want you to meet someone. Melody Thornton meet--\n\"Owen Barnett.\" She completes my sentence. \"This is who you thought I should meet?”\n\"Yeah. What? You two know each other.\" I say trying to get caught up.\n\"Oh yeah.\" Owen confirms that he knows her, and it's not just a coincidence that she knows his name.\n\"We go way back. How's the wife?\"\n\"Angry and bitter, but thanks for asking. We just filed for divorce.\"\n\"Lucky woman. I hope she gets half of everything you got.\"\nI watch them banter back and forth until. I can't take it. I shake my head. \"I'm so confused.\"\nInstead of either of these fools explaining themselves, Owen gives me a hug. He says some shit that I can't even hear, but I can tell that his making a quick getaway. I hope I at least smile at him before he walks away. \nI throw up my hands, and give Melody all my attention. \"\"Okay explain.\" I take a deep breath, and prepare myself for the worst. Although, I have no clue what that is.\nShe begins slowly. \"We dated last year. Everything was great until his wife calls me, and accuses me of breaking up her home. I didn't even know the piece of shit was married. And here I was contemplating a future with this man. Look, do me a favor, let's act like this never happened and have some fun tonight?\"\nI nod. \"I can do that.\" I take her by the hand, \"Come on, let's dance.\"" } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Better late than never\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 2571\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story from the point of view of three different characters." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "It was morning. Mom could only provide porridge from her old guinea corn flour— flour, which even a hungry goat would not eat.\nHolding his little cup, Saafaayir incessantly threw peeps into the other cups. 'I have been cheated,' he thought. Each person had only something little to keep going. It was as if they were prisoners who ate their daily ration. \nDikpa was the father of Saafaayir, Dabajuun and Solomon. Kaarmah, the mother of the three boys, was his wife. They were from Dabuoyir. Dabajuun was the eldest and Solomon the youngest. Dikpa was struck dead by thunder for fighting the chief. The tradition of the town was that any one who fought the chief should be sent to the grave by thunder.\nThe three brothers had four friends. They were Mathew, Musa, Bon-ara and Tula. The dream of the group was for each of them to become very successful in life. Meanwhile, Mathew in particular thought success was about dependence.\nMathew and Musa appeared while the three brothers were still eating their porridge. The two were already set for their usual Parliament and passed to see if the others were also ready. The three brothers joined the others later. \nThere was a put up where the group used to sit. This grass tent was what they referred to as Parliament. The members were called Generals. It was Parliament because every issue was raised and discussed there.\nIn their conversation at Parliament, Musa listed all the whites he had met who did not satisfy his ambitions. 'The skin of the leopard is beauteous, but not his heart,' he said. \nA beautiful Toyota SUV passed and Mathew's ambition was ignited once again. 'Waat, what a car!' He hoped one of the politicians they followed and supported would provide one of such vehicles for him as a reward. \"You want money, wife, car and everything. Nothing good comes easy, so please be careful of wishing everything for yourself', Dabajuun cautioned. The others also yelled at Mathew. But they were only pretending not to be like their colleague in his desires. 'H-e-y! Ghana is not America or Canada oo…, so tune in,' they said. Then they diverged to their various roofs to wait for the morning.\nDabajuun had plans for work the next day. But the morning seemed very long in coming as he turned over and over again on his raffia mat. Finally, the sun's rays began to penetrate the atmosphere as usual. 'Thank God,' he said in his mind. \nThe first friend to see Dabajuun was Tula. Dabajuun was coming from behind the mud-house they lived in. He had splitted firewood to set fire while his mother was away to get water for the day. Saafaayir and Solomon were still in bed.\n'It is another day, Mr. Dabajuun,' said Tula. \n‘And so what?' He interrupted rudely because the two were really not the best of friends in the group. Reason? Tula often teased Dabajuun, a practice the latter hated very much. \n'How is family? And why are you sweating profusely this early morning?,' Tula continued. \n'Are you here to insult me today too? Better go away and leave me alone,' Dabajuun demanded. By that time Solomon was out of bed and joined Tula to cachinate his elder brother. 'He behaves hypocritically good and pius in the family,' said Solomon. Dabajuun left them without a word.\nIn their nightmares of poverty, the Generals dream of the birth of a messiah to whom when power is given will provide pillows for every work-shy and indolent person. He would even supply what Bill Gates controls.\nIt was Wednesday 5:00 am. Dabajuun had resurrected from his quietus and armed for his by-day living for which the Generals of the Parliament mocked him.\nNuofaabar, a beautiful damsel of the town, was the vendor of the kiosk where an announcement was made for a celebration. This party was to take place the following week, in the open and at the same place of the announcement. It would be an eventful night show. \nOn the days before the party, obedient children who had portions of demarcated farmlands to weed for their parents were busy. They wanted to please their mothers and fathers so they could be spared the day for the party without confrontation for any failure to work.\nMemories await the night. \nWith the Sun going on coma, \nThe moon is borne. \nThe stars are foretelling the joy of the night.\nThen came the long-awaited night. Everybody was highly expectant as teenage girls in particular were serious to finish cooking early for their parents, so they could permit them to be at the occasion. The brightly lit moon and stars provided enough light for these youths who wanted to demonstrate their newly learned dancing skills of modernity. It was 'azonto' time. \nAt the party grounds were seats arranged squarely. The arrangement presumed that the earth was a square. One of the tables at the event was a four-leg antiquated wood inherited from an expatriate American artist who once lived in Dabuoyir. It was positioned with every kind of drink and each person sipped his choice. One hour was gone, two more to come. \nAll the members of Parliament had now gathered, but Mr. Dabajuun was missing. No budget for pleasure. \nHe, a form two student of St. Peters Senior High School was preparing seriously towards going back to school.\nAmidst excitement, there was an interruption at the party. There was unanimous anger. Tula had suddenly arrived with a strange noise. ‘Boom! Boom!,' he shouted to frighten the others without reason. His behaviour brought questioning as they shouted at him.\n' Nonsense!', one said.\n By that time, Saafaayir was telling a story of how he stole Baba's goat. The pensioner was rearing the goat for kids to pacify his god who never accepted fowls.\nThe anger stirred up by Tula made Bon-ara who was already tipsy attempt to kick him in the stomach but landed on the ground. Rising with shame, he resumed his seat and continued to listen to Saafaayir's sermon. ‘Stealing goats? Bro..., waat! What do u tink u were ap tu?' He asked. As if he wanted to dish out a blow, Saafaayir stood up, but dangled with his index finger pointing…'Y-o-u i-diot. You call me teef?' A swing of the storyteller's left arm to hit Bon-ara in anger saw Saafaayir also on the ground. Because he was also intoxicated, he had no option than to lie there with fumes of alcohol while foaming. 'Y-o-u...', Bon-ara also pointed out his finger with his face to the ground. The two passed the night there on the ground. \nThe following day, Bon-ara joined the rest at their usual meetings. He wanted to see them before Saafaayir adjourned. Musa blamed Bon-ara and Saafaayir for being so drunk at the party. Saafaayir became angry so Musa immediately dropped what he wanted to say besides blaming the two. \n‘Do you know that the president of this country is sleeping? How can he be so reluctant to feel the agony of the citizens and how we labour?', Mathew asked. 'Must we always hang here worrying about those who disappoint us? People are in the sun trying to get bread home.' Dabajuun advised them to go search for pasture for their three-month-old seven goats— the only reward they each received from the president for whom they campaigned. 'It is better to do something for yourself rather than having unattainable wishlists and building castles in the air.' \n'Dabajuun, is this what you say? Doom you! When one is brainwashed, he sees nothing wrong with wrongs in society.' Dabajuun believes that a wicked tyrant will expect no servants to have farms after turning them into ladder for his higher glories, hence there was no need complaining. He had one more lesson for them —'Patience and endurance is the key to success. Go out there and do something for yourself, period.' 'Any other thing?' But at that moment none of them said a word. ‘Am gone!' Mathew left throwing his hands in the air like a mad man.\nTwo weeks later, Mathew and Saafaayir were at a friend's burial. Matthew tried bringing up their previous conversation on how they had been neglected by the president of the country. Sanfaayir on the other hand was not interested. He had found a new catch. To him, being without a girl was another form of poverty he would not entertain. 'Nice girls like this one take away poverty', he thought. He was seventeen years then. Schooling, farming and staying home were the last things he would do or like to hear. \nBeing with girls at that moment infuriated Matthew who heaped insults on Saafaayir for being selfish. He left him at the burial site with his new catch.\nThe next morning, Mathew went to tell Kaarmah about what Saafaayir did the previous day. To his surprise, he saw Dabajuun munching gari like a hungry bull on the field. 'Gari this early morning? What are you eating?,' he asked. Dabajuun was taken aback; he did not understand why Mathew should ask since he knew he was eating gari. \n‘You see this is gari. What else do you want to know? What do you want me to tell you? It is better you were blind! Then your question would be relevant. If I should even eat sand and go to school, I should be ok'. Mathew asked because Dabajuun received some money for working on Mathew's father's farm. Dabajuun told Mathew that the money was inadequate for him to go to school. Dabajuun was serious about education so he never joked when it was about money.\n'No more jabs', Matthew pleaded and apologised. He then proceeded to announce his mission for that morning. In brief, he reported that Saafaayir disappointed and embarrassed him before Sandra.\nIt was Friday evening when wood was shortening womens' necks. Mens' hands were swinging left-right left-right as they followed their wives home. \nThe town was back again. \nCooking pots were set for the fire in other homes. Sitting beside Kaarmah was Dabajuun. Mom looked very dejected with her hand supporting the left lower jaw. She wished her husband was alive, so she could tell him there was nothing for the kids. Meanwhile, Dikpa when he was alive, often quarreled with his wife. Kaarmah never had peace in their marriage. She however tolerated her husband who was very responsible for his family. His role as husband and head of the family was very crucial to them. But now he was no more. All that while, Saafaayir and Solomon were still absent from home.\nKaarmah and Dabajuun had an important conversation. They wondered why they were suffering. She sorrowed for her husband's death. Dabajuun was going to school the next day. \nNo sooner did they enter their cracked building with hunger to sleep than Solomon knocked. 'Mom! open the door,' he commanded. Saafaayir was still behind. He was secretly seeing Sandra. \nSaafaayir who thought women would help him get rid of poverty went to his uncle to tell him he was ready to marry Sandra. He did not tell his mother who regarded him too young to marry. He sold his goat to Tula and the money he earned was all that he had for the marriage. Little did he know that his uncle too would disagree with his intention. \nDabajuun left for school at dawn after his mother had prayed and blessed him. None of the two boys cared about Kaarmah when Dabajuun left for school. \nTula, their friend, told his father he would no longer go to school. He said this because he was not academically sound. \nExcept Tula's goat and the one he bought from Saafaayir, the rest died. Besides, Dabajuun's was stolen. Tula took care of the two goats which increased to 350 in number. He had enough money to marry without any objection from his parents. \nSaaafaayir, who would not accept advice from anybody, impregnated Sandra. When Sandra's father, an ex-serviceman, heard that Saafaayir was responsible for the pregnancy, he was mad and wanted to behead Saafaayir. Sandra's father only rescinded his decision after the chief of the town intervened. Sandra became Saafaayir's wife to the displeasure of his parents. But Saafaayir was temporarily happy, for he had his desire. \nSandra, Saafaayir and his brothers all lived in the same mud room. Sandra made hard demands everyday. One such demands was that she wanted better accommodation for herself and her premature husband. She also always wanted new clothes which her husband could not afford. With poverty biting the two, Saafaayir was as lean as broom stick. He regretted bitterly for disregarding the advice of his parents.\nSaafaayir's wife neither cooked nor fetched water. Prior to their marriage, Sandra always ran from home when it was time to cook. Therefore she never learned to cook. Solomon seemed to be unconcerned with that. He saw something wrong with the belief that the workplace of girls is the kitchen. \nSolomon was academically intelligent. He liked singing and dancing. He was however very lazy at work. Due to the poverty at home and the death of their father, he dropped out of school since Kaarmah could not easily cater for the family as a single parent. Dabajuun continued with his education because he did every kind of menial job that earned him money. \nTen years later, Dabajuun had a scholarship to study abroad. He was also given a house for winning an international Mathematics and Science competition. ‘Mother, I want you to live here.' He moved Kaarmah into his new house. She was very happy. Dabajuun encouraged his mother to continue praying for him. \nSolomon, who was dexterous but never liked school was very skilled at using the internet. With his skill, he connived with a banker to steal from the bank. He was arrested and imprisoned for two years while his accomplice escaped for good. He was released the same year Dabajuun returned from abroad, having completed his studies as an architect.\nDabajuun was gainfully employed. After Solomon was released from prison, Dabajuun saw the need to engage him. He established an ICT centre for him where he profitably employed his skill in legitimate business.\nMathew, Saafaayir's best friend, continued to follow the politicians with the hope that he would be recruited into the army. \nAfter Saafaayir's marriage, there was no more galavanting. His movement was curtailed by his wife Sandra. He became a drunkard to forget his daily problems.\nWhen Sandra was seven months pregnant, Saafaayir's uncle advised him to get a job, a source of income to support his wife. He now listened. By the ninth month he had enough money to cater for the baby and the whole family. Saafaayir named his son Maatabon, meaning 'Had l known'.\nSaafaayir mused over his past mistakes. He started a small farm, taking advantage of the government's Planting for Foods and Jobs programme. He worked very hard to become one of the best farmers in Dabuoyir. He even won the district best farmers award.\nMatthew continued to follow the politicians till his thirty's. He became disappointed after realising that those he was running after only took advantage of him to achieve their goals. In the end, he joined himself to a carpenter as an apprentice in his forties. His reason was, 'better late than never.'" } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Of All the Places\n\nGenre: american\n\nWord Count: 1009\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about someone coming across their doppelganger." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Of All the Places\nI have been very aware that I was adopted since I was ten. The meanest boy on the school bus loved to torture me just because I was the bus driver's daughter. The following day, after being assigned to the front seat across from mine, Andrew boarded with a huge grudge and the boasting of his nastier mother. As the door closed, his mother screamed, \"You know what you must do.\" When the bus pulled from the stop, he shouted, \"She's not your mother. You're adopted. Your real mother didn't want you.\" My mother tried to defuse the laughter by saying, \"Don't pay attention to them; you're so special and loved that you have two sets of parents.\" The laughter may have died down, but the words still rattled around in my head and heart for years because children don't forget the things that will cut you the deepest.\nI didn't let my mother know that I wanted to find out about my birth family until I was a teenager. I always wanted another sister; after Gloria died, Mom wouldn't take the chance of losing me, or maybe she thought there would be too many questions. One year, she asked what I wanted for my birthday, and I requested my birth certificate, file, and adoption folder. When I said that, the look on her face was hurt. Slowly, a tear dripped from one eye and rolled down her cheek, and she turned to go into the house. Later that night, after I was in bed, I heard my father telling Mom, \"We knew the day would come when she would want to know why and if she could meet her. That doesn't mean she is unhappy; she is just curious. We must be ready for whatever questions she has for both sides.\" Mom stated she didn't want to see me hurt.\nI was the one who had not thought about it until I was smacked in the face with the idea of having more parents out there somewhere. Years passed, and then I was alone after she put me out for getting pregnant. It was when I wished for either mom to be there, but it wasn't until my second pregnancy that I was challenged with the questions.\nMy big sister from the program surprised me for my birthday. I thought we were going out to lunch until we hit the highway; I just sat back and enjoyed the ride and the conversation. Tilly B. was the only person in my immediate circle who didn't scold, judge, or offer her opinion about what I should do about my situation. She only said that she thought I could use a day to escape; she was right.\nWe ended up in Doswell, Virginia, at Kings Dominion for the day. Knowing how expensive food was inside the park, we first went to the McDonald's across the street. We arrived just as the change from breakfast to lunch happened around 10:45. We were the only customers in the store trying to decide what to order when the cashier said, \"I'll be with you in a minute.\" We responded without looking at her, saying, \"Take your time; we don't even know what we want yet.\"\nWhen she turned around, everyone's mouths dropped open; it was as if I was looking at my twin, doppelganger, or in a mirror. To be face-to-face with someone who looked like me was eerie but exciting. Was she my long-lost sister? Was she adopted also? Did mom keep her? I didn't ask any of those questions. Her name was Pam, according to her name tag. My sister found out that she was sixteen and moved to Richmond with her family a year earlier when the military transferred their father.\nThat encounter left me wondering for the first time if I had sisters or brothers somewhere. Did they know about me? Did they want to meet me? I called my mom the next day and told her about Pam, and that allowed us to talk about the conversation we should have had eight years back. She admitted that she feared I would want to meet my birth parents and want to go back to them. Again, afraid of the answers, I dismissed the thoughts.\nMy mother passed away in 1995, and at the funeral home, some distant cousin reminded me that I wasn't family, that I was adopted. Before my accident in 1998, I had just heard about DNA testing, but I didn't want anyone to think I looked them up because I needed their help. So, again, I dismissed any notion of searching for family.\n2016, my caregiver and my family members got tired of repeating this phrase: \"We don't know, she was adopted.\" When I finally woke up from a month-long coma, they gave me the Ancestry DNA test kit for Christmas. Fifty-something and still afraid of the answers, the kit sat on my dresser until the end of January. On her way home one Friday evening, Miss Peaches handed the test to my oldest son and said, \"Make sure you two get this done today.\"\nA month later, the results were available, and thirty-four days later, I received a message and the gift I had wanted all my life. I think you're my sister because of the number of matching alleles. We met within two weeks, and I found out that I have a little sister, eight years younger. She answered every question that I had wondered about over the years.\nI learned that I had so many things in common with our mother. I was also told that she wanted to keep me, but we had no help from the sperm donor, and my great-grandmother wasn't going to have another mouth to feed. I met our mother's best friend and my sister's godmother, who told me that my mother regretted having to put me up for adoption. Unfortunately, our mother passed away in 1982, the same year my first son was born." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Dear Future Me...\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 1026\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character who can suddenly see through another person's eyes — literally." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "I have pigtails. It's seven o'clock in the morning, and I have pigtails. Currently, I'm gaping at my reflection through the foggy mirror, wondering what sort of fever dream this is.\nBecause I am one hundred and seventy-two per cent sure I was not seven years old when I went to bed last night. I know they say a lot about weird things happening to you when you're in your late teens, but I didn't think reverse puberty was one of them.\nI have to stand on my tiptoes to see my whole face. I eventually give up and sink back down to the tiled apartment bathroom floor.\n\"Koffi!\" cries a familiar voice from downstairs. One I haven't heard for almost ten years. Dad?\nI sprint down the hallway as fast as my small legs will carry me.\nAnd there he was, wearing the same amused expression and as he did only moments before his flight took off. And didn't return.\nBut he was here. And I was here.\nForgetting the weirdness for a moment, I squeeze my dad into a big bear hug.\n\"Wow, baby. You really missed me.\" he laughs into my shoulder. \"It was only a one-day trip.\"\nI did miss you, dad.\nI breathe in the warming smell of fresh lemoncake. He laughs at my awe of the smell. \"I made lemon cakes for lunch.\"\nBefore I can work out what was happening, I'm at school with a tiny belly full of a lemon cake my dad let me eat to \"taste-test.\"\nI haven't taken in everything yet. I think that's a side effect of seeing your missing father in the flesh.\nBut I'm at school. The old hunting ground full of relentless playground bullies and hawk-nosed teachers sniffing out prey. Sure, as my regular eighteen-year-old self would have scared the average elementary schooler away, but I was here. Back as the loner who lost her dad, the only caramel student in the class, the favourite recess target victim that was...is? worth the most points.\nBut I hadn't lost my dad.\nAnd I grip his hand staring at the sliding doors of Indianapolis Elementry. He looks down at me with compassionate eyes. Dad used to have a gift for talking to people with mere facial expressions.\n\"Bye, Koffi.\" He squeezed my hand.\n\"The kids are mean,\" I sigh without thinking. I don't want to be away from my dad.\n\"I know, baby. But it's strong women like you that will-\"\n\"-fix the world. I know.\"\n\"Good,\" he speaks softly. \"Bye, Koffi.\"\n\"Bye, daddy.\" It's really hard not to cry, and my dad doesn't know half the real reason.\nNow I'm in math class, examining the rest of the classmates while the teacher teaches us nine times tables. I remember some of them- the ones I really liked and really didn't. Zahra- the only other person from Kenya in my grade. She is really pretty, I note. But this is all before she dropped out of school to move to England with her boyfriend eight years later.\nI spot Qi Sheng- sitting in front of me. He was the only other one from Indianapolis Elementary that moved to my high school. I ended up dating him for a while, God knows why, he was an absolute jerk. Not to mention he raped a different girl a year later and served two years in prison.\nAnd Brody- No, Brandon, behind me. He's already whispered various sexist and racist comments behind me twice, the jarhead he is. He actually didn't turn out to be such a bad person, on the flipside. I lost contact with him after seventh grade, but he started going to church in fifth grade and decided to give his life up for Jesus. Not saying what he did was okay. I hated him for it, but everyone's redemption arcs have equal sides. He did more good than bad in the long run. So I ignored the attention-seeking younger version of him behind me.\nThe teacher clears her throat. I quickly scibble down some notes in my workbook. All the timetables I'd memorised in grades one and two. 9x4=36, 9x5= 45.\nIf the universe was going teleport me through time and make me stuck in my first-grade body, I might as well go along with it.\nAt recess, I go and talk to Zahra. It's honestly kind of weird to talk to the younger versions of your friends. I tell her that my dad made lemon cakes for me to take to lunch. I don't know what else we can have conversations about. This isn't the same Zahra that left her whole life for a boy she met a month ago.\nI hear the boys chanting playground songs from the top of the climbing frame. Songs about wives in kitchens while men fight. Chants about kings versus the weaker queen.\nI frown. I don't remember these chants being so awful. So sexist.\nOkay. That's it.\nI feel my face and hands heating up as I screech in return. I run over to the climbing frame, Zahra a few feet away, confused at my outrage.\nI'm too busy screaming to remember that seven-year-old Koffi shouldn't know that many curse words.\nThe boys start laughing at me. I clench my teeth. Maybe I should go for a calmer approach. I took another deep breath.\n\"Don't say things about us just because you're threatened.\" I advise, climbing up the cold metal bars to join the \"kings of the castle\".\n\"You're one to talk, coffee.\" snorts one of them.\nSuch uncreative word play and insults, I note as I ignore them.\n\"Maybe it's just because you can't imagine equality. Maybe your little male minds are so underdeveloped that you can't imagine racial justice and feminism without thinking of a woman/people of colour supremacy. Isn't equality all we ask for?\"\nThey look offended, despite the fact they barely understood half of my speech. Zahra looks impressed.\nI hate school. I hate it. These invisible social ladders tattooed into young kid's brains, this common unfairness to everyone who wasn't a white male?\nI want to go home. 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: That Last Little Piece of Straw\n\nGenre: american\n\nWord Count: 2684\n\nPrompt:\n\nSet your story before dawn. Your character has woken up early for a particular reason." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "I open my eyes to sunlight trickling through the curtains and my little sisters standing in my bedroom doorway. “Mama says you got to wake up. The fire’s going out.”\nI groan and stumble into a pair of long johns, then head into the living room. Ma is crouched by the woodstove, poking at the dying fire and muttering something under her breath about me getting enough beauty sleep. Both girls are running in circles chanting a nursery rhyme until Kate stops and presses her doll’s face to Ma’s ear, making it pretend to talk in a singsong voice. “Mama, we want pancakes!”\nMa closes her eyes and lets out a whoosh of air. “Here, Peter.” She hands me the poker and stands up. “See if you can get it going again. I need to start breakfast.”\nSomething in her tone says I’d best not argue, so I feed the stove a new log and some crumpled sheets of newspaper—it’s all bad news anyway—and then I just sit there a minute, waiting for the fire to take. A flame catches the edge of a grainy photo of soldiers gathered beneath a giant swastika, and I stare until the whole page melts and turns to ash.\nThen Ma screams.\n“What is it? What’s wrong?” I slam the stove door and rush into the kitchen just as Ma hurls something into the sink. Her face is twisted and red and coated in a layer of white powder.\n“Ruined!” She yells.\n“What? What’s ruined?”\nShe reaches back in the sink and lifts a bag of flour in the air, and now I can see a hole in the corner where the flour is slowly sifting out and falling onto the floor.\n“A whole bag wasted!” She ducks her head in the pantry and starts rifling through the shelves, pulling out boxes and bags of food and piling them on the countertops. “It’s everywhere! The mouse has been everywhere.”\nThe girls look at me wide-eyed, like they're afraid to move. Then Kate lifts her doll in front of her face and says in a quiet voice, “Pancakes.”\nMa freezes and runs a hand through her frizzy hair, and for a moment, none of us talk. “I’m trying, Kate. Just give me a minute.” Then, without another word, Ma turns and walks out the front door. From the window, we watch her grab the milk pails and storm off into the barn.\n“I don’t think we’re having pancakes today,” I say.\n\n***\n\nI was ten years old when the twins were born. Shortly after that, Pa started waking me at the crack of dawn and making me follow him to the barn for morning feeding and milking—said it was time for me to get used to hard work. I hated it—the cold, the wet grass on my boots, the smell of animal dung and moldy hay. And I hated that Pa was always so cheery, just working effortlessly from one stall to the other, greeting the animals like old friends while I stood there shivering, swearing that when I was grown, I’d move to the city and never touch a pitchfork again.\nBut then the war that we thought was staying on the other side of the world made its way to us, and Pa got on that train and told me to keep the place up as best I could, that he’d be back once things were put to right again. That was about a year ago now, so I guess that means the world’s still broken, and most of his chores still fall to me. I still hate them, but I guess I wouldn’t mind them so much now if Pa was here, making his silly conversation with the dairy cows and making us all laugh with his stories—making Ma laugh again.\nBecause I’m getting a little worried about Ma.\nLately, she just seems so fragile, and I have never thought of my mother as a fragile woman. Sometimes, she kind of terrifies me. I’ve seen her kill a snake with her bare hands, put out a barn fire in her nightgown, and fend off a rabid dog in between Sunday services—knocking him straight in the head with a hymnal. But something about the war has worn her down, as it has most everyone. All the talk of fighting and killing, the shortages, and especially all the not-knowing—about when it’s going to end, when Pa’s coming home, or even if Pa’s coming home. I know it’s all she thinks about—when she’s standing there at the sink beating the same egg for nearly five minutes. I just know she’s looking at the road imagining Pa walking down it.\nI know it cause I do it too.\nWhenever we get a letter from him, Ma gathers us all together and reads them out loud, over and over. He tells us to stay strong, that he believes the war is going to end soon and then we’ll all be together again. That always makes Ma cry. I know she tries to keep it all inside and put on a smile for me and the girls, but it's like she’s been shrinking down a little bit each day under the weight of it all, and I think I understand now what folks mean when they talk about the little bit of straw breaking a camel’s back. That maybe, under that last little piece of straw was a whole farm and three kids and a house full of mice.\n\n***\n\nIn all my thirteen years, I have never heard my sweet, proper, church-going mother utter a dirty word. But one day while mucking stalls out in the barn, I hear her in the house spewing such foul curses that I think for sure she must be facing off with the devil himself. So, dragging a dung-covered pitchfork behind me, I race across the yard and past the girls playing in the sandbox. I burst into the house, ready to spear whatever demon or robber or unsavory wanderer is here tormenting my mother, but she’s alone, perched on the kitchen table with a hammer in her hand.\n“Ma! Ma! What is it?”\nShe shakes the hammer at the floor, where the metal lard can lies on its side. None of it makes any sense to me, but I rush over, pick up the can, and see a mouse half drowning in 16 pounds of slick, white pork fat. He’s just a little guy, not much bigger than my thumb, but Ma won’t get down from the table. Her face is all pale and blotchy, her fist tight over the hammer, and for a second, I worry that she might still try and crack a swing at the mouse whether I am in the way or not.\n“It’s okay, Ma. I’ll take care of it.”\nShe shoves the hammer in my hand and covers her mouth, gagging as I walk past. Once outside, she watches me at the kitchen window, her eyes wide and her hair poking out every which way. I wave the hammer at her and then turn behind the barn where can’t see me anymore.\nI fish the mouse out by his grease-slicked tail and let him hang upside down, wiggling and squirming. Then he twists around and looks at me, and his eyes are like tiny drops of molasses, dark and shiny, pleading for me to let him go. Suddenly the mouse in my right hand feels as heavy as the hammer in my left.\nSo, I drop both.\nBy the time I get back to the house, Ma’s shut herself up in her room and won’t come out. When night falls, I make the girls and I toast for dinner and tell them a story about a goat who finds a tuxedo and goes to the opera. It’s not as good as Pa’s stories, but they listen quietly, for the most part.\n“Peter, why was Mama so mad at the lard?” Sarah asks once I’ve finished the story.\n“Because there was a mouse in it.”\n“But I like mouses,” Kate says. “Can we keep one for a pet?”\n“No. These mice don’t make good pets. They like to eat all our food and don’t wash their hands first.”\nThe girls are quiet for a moment, then Sarah says, “Well, sometimes I don’t wash my hands neither.”\n\n***\n\nWhen I wake up the next morning, there’s a miniature bed, dresser, and table and chairs from the girls’ dollhouse arranged on the pantry shelf next to a jar of pickles. The bed’s even been made up with an old rag and a wad of cotton for the pillow. I start to clear it all away, and then Ma steps through the front door and drops a stack of mail on the table.\n“I already saw it,” she says.\nI finish cleaning up the toys anyway and shut the pantry door.\n“Anything from Pa?” I ask, pointing to the mail. From the look on her face, I already know the answer.\n“Nope. Nothing.”\nMa moves to the stove and grabs the pitcher of coffee—at least that’s what we still call it, even though the real stuff ran out months ago. She pours two steaming mugs and sets them on the table next to a pitcher of cream, or “Dorothy’s war contribution” as I like to call it. Milk can be hard to come by, and we’re lucky to have plenty. And a little cream sure goes a long way in a hot cup of mystery root-vegetable coffee.\nShe squeezes my shoulder and smiles, but her mouth is pinched, and her eyes already seem focused on something within her, some dark place I can’t see.\n“Thanks for the coffee.” I take a sip and gulp it down, trying not to think too much about the flavor. I can’t stand the stuff—think it tastes like burned potato skins—but when Pa first left, Ma kept making two cups out of habit and it didn’t feel right to let her sit there alone. I didn’t mind the real coffee too much, but this stuff upsets my stomach. And now, well, now I’m in too deep.\n“If you’ll stay with the girls for a bit, I’m going into town to see what I can get. Before everything runs out.” She scowls at the stack of ration coupons on the table like it’s a bad hand of playing cards.\n“Why don’t you let me go? I don’t mind the lines.”\n“No, Peter, you have school.”\n“It’s one day. I won’t miss much.”\nShe’s staring at me, mouth open as if she’s ready to say it again, when we hear a scratching sound coming from behind the stove, like something scraping against wood. The sound grows louder and seems to fill the whole kitchen, and we both know exactly what’s making it. Ma’s jaw tightens and she lets her head fall into her hands. Her voice is muffled behind her fingers, but I hear her words clearly, “I can’t do this anymore.”\nI swipe the rations from the table, grab Pa’s coat off the hook, and I walk to town.\n\n***\n\nMy eyes open to a room as dark as the back of my eyelids. The house is cold and silent, but even under the layers of quilts, I can feel the edge of morning tugging at me. I pull on trousers and a flannel shirt just as the grandfather clock down the hall chimes four times. I tip-toe past Ma and the girls’ rooms, trying to step where the floors don’t whine and creak so much. Ma needs her sleep.\nThe fire in the woodstove is dying, so I feed it a new log and get it blazing again. I sit there for a minute, soaking up the warmth and watching the fire grow.\nAnd then I shut the door and get to work.\nFirst, I check the traps in the pantry, as that’s where the mice most like to come in and set up camp it seems. I’ve tucked two up on the top shelf where Ma’s too short to see them, and two more behind the canning supplies, since she won’t use those much until summer. But they’re all empty today, still set and baited with raisins and cornbread and a bit of peach jam.\nThen I check the traps I’ve hidden behind the stove and in the cupboards, and then the ones down in the cellar. I can feel the rush of cold air from the top of the stairs and smell the musty, hardpacked dirt floor as I take the steps down deeper into the dank space. There’s a shrill squealing sound echoing up the stairwell, followed the sound of wood and metal scraping against ground. The single dim bulb reveals one my traps being dragged across the floor, a mouse half caught in it by one foot.\nI carry the trap outside and cross the well-worn path from the house to the barn, where Pa’s tools hang neatly from nails along the wall, the hammer stored between the saw and the shearers. I remove it quickly and walk to the edge of the field. The world is dark and quiet but for the mouse’s piercing shrills. Then, with the drop of the hammer, all is silent. \nI reset the trap down in the cellar and return to the barn. Dorothy lifts her head and moos gently, greeting me as I fetch the milk stool and pail. Her musky warmth fills the small space, and soon streams of milk ping against the bottom of the bucket. By the time I finish with the other animals, the black and blue sky looks like it’s melting above an orange flame. Scraggly trees take shape on the horizon, mist hovers between the ground and sky, and the barren fields look dressed for a Christmas party, all covered in a sparkling, white frost.\nI’m tired, I’m always just a little bit hungry, and my feet are stiff and cold in my too-small boots, but on mornings like these, standing at the edge of night and day, I feel like I’m being let in on a secret, something just between me and the dawn—another side of the ordinary that fades with the daylight. And it makes me believe that things are going to get better. \nI make it back inside and start the coffee just as Ma comes down the hall.\n“Morning, Peter.” She yawns and points to the pail of milk on the counter. “You should have woken me up. I could have helped you with that.”\n“It’s alright. Dorothy and I are good friends now, and she’d be pretty disappointed if I didn’t show up.”\n“Is that so?” Ma raises an eyebrow.\n“That’s right. We have the best conversations together.” I pull two mugs off the shelf and set them next to the pot.\n“And what do you and Dorothy talk about?” Ma asks.\n“Oh, she just likes to gossip, you know. Just goes on and on about how the rooster is a real meathead and how the goats have no manners.”\n“Oh yeah? And what does she say about us?”\n“She says my hands are always too cold.” Ma laughs at this. I fill both mugs and set them on the table. “And she also says she’s happy to see you smiling more.”\nMa wraps her hands around the hot mug and tilts her head. “I don’t know what it is. Guess I’m happy we’ve finally heard some news from Pa, and that he’s doing okay. And maybe it’s the weather, but I haven’t seen a mouse around here in a good while.” She takes a sip of her coffee and gasps, eyes wide as quarters. “Peter, is this real coffee? Where’d you get this?”\n“Traded it for a mean rooster.”\nSunlight trickles through the window, pink and gold like a ripe peach. It rests on Ma’s hair, making her whole face glow. She takes another sip. “I think it’s the best cup I’ve ever had.”" } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on 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 Sentencing Of W. J. Whetstone\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 2086\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story that switches between first person and third person point of view." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "W. J. Whetstone, a retired navy admiral stood up for sentencing. A tall lean gray-haired man of weather-worn countenance who seldom smiled. He grunted as he shifted his weight off his left knee onto the African Blackwood walking cane with a golden lion’s head for a handle.\n\nA dislike of snobbish folks permeated his entire being. Their arrogant know-it-all attitude got on his last darn nerve. Judge Kathlyn Driscoll sitting up high on her bench in the florescent-lit, cold, disinfected smelling courtroom was no exception.\n\nHe rubbed the back of his left hand across his parched lips. His mouth tasted as dry as desert dirt. A gulp of his home-brewed liquor with a dash of lemon juice was needed to quench his thirst. He smacked his frowning lips together and shook his head from left to right.\n\nWhat a boot-pissing waste of my time, I thought.\n\nThe concocted proceeding led by smirk-faced jilted judge Kathlyn in her long black robe made his blood boil. He had a mind to throw a fiery dart down the fake platinum blonde’s throat the next time she opened her sassy mouth. And then pitch a firestorm of darts across the room into the bulging Adam's apple of boyish-looking Deputy Duke. That dimwit of a deputy was the reason behind this farce.\n\nBut, then again, maybe he should not do such a thing. He promised his son that he would not do magic around Zuri when she was born. A promise that he never expected to keep. A promise that his son’s mere mortal wife saw him break. And in a fit of anger, she forced his son to choose between his father and his wife. \n\nWhat a time of chaos?\n\nHe begged his son not to denounce his magical powers. His birthright. But the love struct idealist refused to heed his father’s words. He wanted to live as a human with his human wife and daughter. His naïve son wanted the impossible. \n\n“Admiral Whetstone, I asked you a question. Need I repeat myself… again?” \n\n“Judge Driscoll, that’s up to you.” \n\n“Answer the question.”\n\n“What question?”\n\n“Are you hard of hearing! A lawyer—do you have a lawyer?”\n\n“Why do I need a lawyer?”\n\nJudge Driscoll rolled her eyes. Her thin strawberry lips pressed together so tight that they disappeared. She looked as if she was trying to keep her patience from exploding into a string of curse words that would make a drunken sailor blush.\n\nI glanced down at the Apple watch that Zuri gave him for his birthday. A yellow smiley face popped up on the screen.\n\nAdmiral Whetstone’s selfish actions haunted his memories. He desperately wanted to atone for letting his only child leave on a stormy night without saying goodbye. He knew that he was to blame.\n\nMaybe calling his son’s wife a bag of useless flesh that could never produce an heir to carry on the family’s legacy was a bit much. But he refused to apologize for telling the truth. His foolish pride caused him not to care. He had failed miserably as a father—maybe—just maybe, he could be a better grandfather.\n\n“What’s done is done when it can’t be undone,” I whispered, thinking of past regrets.\n\n“Did you say something, Admiral Whetstone?”\n\n“What’s done is done when it can’t be undone. I’m representing myself, judge.”\n\nThe admiral’s pain from ten years ago still haunted him. He knew that the car crash which killed his son and daughter-in-law was no accident. The Drakaknites were behind their deaths. Someday, he would prove it. And the son-of-a-drakak that did it would pay with his life. \n\nOvercome with guilt and grief, he felt ashamed and shocked to learn that his son’s will, made him the sole guardian of Zuri. The day that he met Zuri at the airport, the seven-year-old little girl reminded him of his son at that age. She had his son’s thick curly auburn hair and kind brown eyes. Her shoulders were drooped as she peered from behind the flight attendant like a withered sunflower in desperate need of watering and sunshine.\n\nA tear rolled down Admiral Whetstone’s cheek. It was the only time in his life, he cried.\n\nWhat in the world were you thinking, leaving something so precious and delicate as this beautiful child to me? I contemplated, as I took my granddaughter’s tiny hands in mine and said, “Hello”.\n\nAdmiral Whetstone’s cell phone beeped jolting him back to the present moment. He read the text message from the screen on his watch. Zuri was on her way to pick him up. \n\nZuri’s teenage years were difficult without her parents. He often sensed her sadness. It felt heart-wrenching at times. He did not want to do anything to add to her distress. Besides, he had made a promise to his son. He planned to keep it this time. Even if it meant tolerating this indignant travesty without the use of his supernatural powers. So be it.\n\n“I know you can afford a lawyer, Admiral Whetstone.” \n\n“Judge Driscoll, I’ve already answered your question.” \n\n“Admiral in the absence of an attorney, do you have anything to say before I sentence you?”\n\n“I was on my way to Palmetto Herb’s Shop to get a few ingredients for my medicinal brew. Just ten miles down the road. When that brainless senseless nincompoop of a deputy—That pestering kiddy cop over there…”\n\nThe admiral pointed at Deputy Duke across the room, “keeps sitting at the bottom of Oceancrest lane. He stops me before I can drive across the darn–”\n\n“Stop, right there. That’s Officer Duke. You’ll address him as such or not at all. Do you have anything to add that might help your case? Your notorious brew is another matter.”\n\n“Well, recuse yourself.”\n\n“I’m not recusing myself. I stated that for the record when you asked the last two times.”\n\n“For goodness sake, you played at my house as a child with my son!”\n\n“Sir, that was years ago. My ability to render a fair and impartial judgment, in this case, is in no way impaired by the fact that I was friends with your son in high school.”\n\n“Well… and college. He jilted you! I know you two were engaged for—”\n\n“Enough! William Jonas Whetstone. In this state, licenses are renewed every four years, with no special provisions for older drivers. Your driver's license has been expired for more than 3 years. You’ve been driving without a valid license for years! That’s why you’re required to pass the vision, road, and written tests again. I could have you locked up! Do you understand?”\n\n“Why? I drive… as good as I did before the dang thang expired.”\n\n“You pled not guilty to being caught driving without a license for the fifth time. You pled not guilty to causing $25,792 in damages to a sheriff’s deputy vehicle. I have carefully, considered the evidence presented to me by both you and the State.”\n\n“You’re accusing me of banging up Deputy Duke’s cruiser. Can you prove it?” You got-darn right I did it. Me and Mighty Cane Blackwood meant every smash blazing lick.\n\n“Whatever! Damage was done. And you will pay for it.”\n\nKathlyn’s voice grew more portentous with each word that slid past her lips. “Admiral Whetstone, for being ticketed for driving with an expired license five times, you will pay a fine of $5,000 in addition to the cost of each traffic ticket violation. You will pay $25,792 in damages for repairs to the sheriff’s deputy vehicle. You will serve 25 hours of community services at Vision Academy After Schoo—” \n\n“Wait just a g-dam minute, Kathlyn. You’ve lost your G-D mind!”\n\nJudge Driscoll tapped her gavel on the bench with the speed of a mad robot.\nShe waved her gavel. “You address me with proper respect, or I’ll have the bailiff drag you out of my courtroom on your behind. Toss you in jail like trash and keep you there. Is that clear?”\n\nShould I kill her right now? I know this skank is a Drakaknite—that’s why I made my son break off the engagement. I could never let him wed the enemy. Though he did just as bad. He married a mere mortal who can only give birth to mere mortals.\n\nInstead of murder, I’ll settle for mischief. \n\nAdmiral Whetstone telepathically snatched the gavel out of Judge Driscoll’s hand and threw it to the hardwood floor. It landed with a dull clacking sound.\n\nThe bailiff rushed over and picked it up, placing it back on the bench. \n\nIt was little satisfaction to Admiral Whetstone. Yet, it was better than nothing.\n\n“Thank you, Jackson. I’m getting clumsy. Now as I was saying. Admiral Whetstone, you will serve 25 hours of community service at Vision Academy afterschool enrichment program, for struggling students starting Monday for next five weeks without interruption.” \n\n“How am I supposed to do that without a driver’s license?”\n\n“Let your granddaughter drive you. At seventeen, she has a valid driver’s license. Your son figured it out. You’ll figure it out, too.”\n\n“Leave my granddaughter out of this. She had nothing to do with my son dumping you. You mean spirited—”\n\n“Enough,” screamed Judge Driscoll tapping her gavel.\n\n“Like cat poop, I’ll serve 25 days—”\n\n“Then you’ll serve 25 days in jail. Starting now! Bailiff!”\n\nJudge Driscoll tapped her gavel once again. She stood up. \n\nA faint musical sound like a wind chime resonating on a soft spring breeze floated from the back of the courtroom. Judge Driscoll snuggled back down into her big comfy leather chair. \n\n“Court clerk, rescind my last judgment. Strike it from the records. Replacement sentencing…,” she stuttered, “All—All—I mean all charges and subsequent fines against Admiral Whetstone are dismissed. He’s to be reissued his driver’s license without delay. Without any further testing. He’s free to go.” She looked over at Deputy Duke, then the court clerk and bailiff who all nodded agreement as in a trance.\n\nAdmiral Whetstone turned around to see Zuri with her right hand lifted in the air as if shaking an imaginary bell. He rushed over to his granddaughter. Grabbed her by the hand pulling her along with the speed of a man who did not need the use of a walking cane.\n\n“Stop!” Judge Driscoll waved her hand, as time stood still for everyone in the courtroom except Zuri and Admiral Whetstone.\n\nJudge Driscoll floated down from the bench growling like a rabid monster. Her long blonde hair floated around her as if she was swimming through time. She raced towards Zuri. With the speed of lightning, Admiral Whetstone stepped in front of his granddaughter. \n\n“So, you’re a little spell caster. How dare you—”\n\n“LEAVE HER BE KATHLYN!”\n\n“Admiral, this is clearly a violation of our sect's treaty. This town, Augustine Harbor is neutral grounds.”\n\n“Then let’s keep it that way,” I said, raising my walking cane. “Don’t make me destroy you, Kathlyn.”\n\nJudge Driscoll trembled and slinked back a few feet. “She broke the truce. I’ll report her to the—”\n\n“If you want to live, you’ll do no such thing. Last warning.” \n\nAn eerie luminous glow sprang forth from Admiral Whetstone’s walking cane. The lion’s head handle became animated. Its eyes opened to reveal shimmering black pearls for pupils. Ferocious dagger-like ivory teeth sparkled. A loud beastly roar shook the entire courtroom.\n\nJudge Driscoll dashed to her bench without another word. Time resumed its normal flow.\n\nWith a calmness I had not felt in years, I gently tugged on my granddaughter’s thick curly auburn ponytail as we walked out of the courtroom.\n\nOutside, cool damp air from the Atlantic Ocean engulfed us. The morning sun glistened against the crystal blue sky as wispy clouds leisurely scrolled in a northwestern direction leaving tiny trails of threadlike fluff.\n\nThe palm trees, dogwoods, and crepe myrtles aligning the winding cobblestone path swooshed and swayed with sweet-smelling fragrances as they danced in the breeze.\n\nZuri and I walked to the parking lot in silence. \n\n“I’m sorry, Grandy,” Zuri said, as she pulled the luxury land rover’s seatbelt across her shoulder and clicked it in place. “I did it without thinking.”\n\n“You’re a Maguskanite. How’s that so?” I stared in disbelief at my granddaughter. “Never mind. Ridiculous question. Why didn’t you tell me?” \n\n“Dad told me never to tell anyone. Not even mom. He said it would break her heart. I...\" Zuri looked over at me. She paused in mid-sentence. \"I promised him,\" she finally said.\n\nI smiled and pressed the ignition button." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Shy Temptress\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 2141\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart your story with a character saying, “Are you coming tonight?”" }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "“Are you coming tonight?” While the answer to that should’ve been obvious to Marie since she had just asked Ella that same question before they left work, Ella simply replied again, “No.”\n “And why not? I mean seriously Ella; you’ve only ever been out with me once or twice since moving back home last year.”\n Ella sat on her bed removing her shower cap and grabbed her lotion and started moisturizing. It was a rough day at the office with all the lines in their recent app’s code being messed up and jumbled by one of the new rookies. The last thing Ella wanted to do was go out for drinks in the same dark, musty bar they snuck into when they were teenagers. The other only bar in town was so stuffy with businessman and the local celebrities, so they weren’t going there.\n “Marie, I’ve told you this a thousand times before, I don’t want to be in that bar. And that is literally the only fun thing in this town without having to drive 30 minutes into Dallas.”\n Texas was always gone be home for Ella, but a brief stint in Atlanta and a terrible left at the alter situation had Ella running home faster than she wanted to. When she left for college ten years ago, she swore up and down that she wouldn’t be back because she wanted to learn how to deal with being uncomfortable. \n Every break she got at University of Tennessee she was running back to her parents’ house just so she can be up under them. Their house, her town and her comic books were all safe havens for her. Since she was twenty-eight, about to turn twenty-nine in twelve days, and still a virgin she had wanted to break free from her havens and try to be extrovert Ella. She had succeeded, which is how she managed to get engaged but she knew that waiting for marriage wasn’t the real reason why she wouldn’t give herself to her ex-fiancé.\n Ella didn’t like who she was, she loved her comic books, she loved her anime and she loved all things sci-fi. When she was out of her comfort zone she was skydiving, rock climbing, going to clubs and doing everything her fiancé wanted.\n She thought she could learn to love that life and for two years she thought that she would be able to stay in love with it. She realized that she didn’t like who she was as she sat in the dressing room staring at her wedding dress. Once that thought clicked into her head, she ran. \n “Look Ella, just please come with me,” Marie pleaded through the speaker, dragging Ella back from her thoughts. Marie had been pleading with her this entire week and Ella just kept saying no. Maybe a few drinks wouldn’t hurt, but Ella knew she wasn’t going to like it, maybe. \n “Fine Marie, I’ll meet you there at 8.” Ella looked at the clock and saw it was a quarter after 7, which was enough time for Ella to at least pull a decent outfit from the closet and slap on some lip gloss. \n “Yassssssss. I love you so much Ella.” Ella could imagine Marie as she danced and jumped for joy.\n “Love you too Ri. See you in a little bit.”\n Reluctantly, but slightly excited, Ella pulled out a pair of light wash skinny jeans and her favorite black Star Wars shirt. She finished her outfit with a swipe of red gloss that she felt made her full lips look very kissable and her favorite red platform sandals. That took all of thirty minutes and before she knew it, she was in her car and on her way to Lucky’s.\n\n\nLucky’s used to be Mr. Porter’s bar back when Lucas was in high school and he always let Lucas come in the back to wash dishes to earn a little money. Lucas still couldn’t believe that he came home from leaving the Army to purchase Lucky’s from him. He had originally been saving every thing he could from his salary to buy his mom a house when he got home. She had been staying in the same apartment she and his father had lived in and he was hoping that a change of scenery would help her get over the loss of his father.\n It had been a couple of years since he passed away from cancer and Lucas thought she wasn’t living her life like his father told her to. So, when she told him that she was moving to Florida to live in a senior condo community, he made sure to pay her condo in full. Thankful that he still had money left over from his savings he decided to buy Lucky’s and renovate it because that always felt like home for him.\n Mr. Porter was more than happy to have Lucas take over. Tonight was the soft opening of the new Lucky’s and he was more than excited to see what his hometown would think of it. What he didn’t expect was it to be so packed that he had to call in an extra bartender.\n So far everyone loved that he kept all the old furniture, even if it was refurbished a little here and there. They loved the new lighting and the stage that boasted new speakers and a karaoke machine.\n “Wow, Lucas, man. This place looks great. Still has that old Lucky’s feel with a touch of modern.”\n “Lucas, love what you’ve done with the place.”\n “Lucky’s is definitely lucky to have you as its owner.”\n These comments all came from his high school buddies, Thad, Mark and Scott. They were the only one’s who knew that he had purchased Lucky’s. Thankful that they and Mr. Porter were able to keep it a secret. Not that he cared if anyone knew, he just wanted his town to give their honest opinions about the changes.\n It was already 8 and Lucky’s had officially been open for three hours and it didn’t seem like it would be slowing down anytime soon with the sound of the bells above the door going off once again.\n “Hey, welcome to Lucky’s,” he called out as he wiped down the bar. It was customary to welcome everyone who walked into Lucky’s. Even if people were leaving when he said it, he knew there was people sliding in past the ones leaving which is why he didn’t bother looking up.\n He would’ve kept wiping the bar down if he hadn’t heard the guy’s hiss “Damn” under their breath. His muscles tensed under the Lucky’s crew neck he was wearing, goosebumps raised on his neck and his arms, and he froze. Slowly, he lifted his head and looked towards the door and that’s when he saw her. Ella.\n Damn if Lucas didn’t feel like his eighteen-year-old self again. He was always in love with Ella Wiggins, but she always had her head in a book, and she would never hold a conversation with him when it wasn’t. That didn’t stop him from falling in love with the way she animatedly spoke to the librarian about the newest sci-fi book the high school library had just gotten in. Or the way she would style her hair and Princess Leia buns every other day. Or the way she would be tucked into the corner of the lunchroom eating as quiet as a mouse and never looking up until he entered. He swore up and down that she could feel him in the room just as he could her.\n He never took his chance and he never thought he would get another one to be honest.\n\nOkay, Toto we are not in Kansas anymore. That was the first thought that popped into Ella’s head when she stepped into Lucky’s. She had been avoiding Lucky’s since she moved back, never even coming to this side of town because of this place. And she can honestly say that was her own fault for missing out on this.\n “Crap, Ella. Do you see this place?” Marie gushed out in a surprised breath. Leaving Ella to conclude that she hadn’t come to this side of town either because they would’ve been in here sooner if they had known.\n “Yeah, it looks amazing Ri. It’s crazy, I didn’t even hear anything about Lucky’s being renovated. I wonder why.”\n “Yeah, I was just about to say the same thing. I wonder how long it’s been like this. I swear I’ll be here every week now. Proudly.”\n They both let out a small chuckle when Ella nodded in agreement. Ella saw a lot of familiar faces, mostly old high school classmates and a few of the older gentlemen that hung out at the barbershop. As Ella scanned the room quickly, she had a shot of awareness zip through her body. Slowly turning her head back towards the bar, that’s when she saw him. Lucas. Her one. The guy she’d always wanted but never had the nerve to speak to.\n Darn, he looks good. Too good. His fresh fade cut, his plump lips, wide nose and almond-shaped hazel-green eyes. Gosh his honey toned skin seemed to be glistening under the bar lights and that only added to the haze that was floating through Ella’s mind. It almost seemed like he was staring at her as well, which made her core throb and pulse in her jeans. He couldn’t be looking at me, right? She thought to herself.\n That man was the only one who filled her mind the past twelve years when she first noticed him sophomore year. Ever since her missed opportunity, she had tried to put herself out there, date, but she could never get pass the talking stage. Long story short, they weren’t him. That included her ex-fiancé, and that was the true reason she couldn’t give herself to him. She had already given her heart to that man and was only waiting until she could give herself fully to him too. Lame, right.\n Lucas was always a sweetheart; Ella knew this because she was always watching him. He never bullied anyone even though he was the top jock in high school. There were never rumors around the school about his sexual exploits even though she overheard Misty, his high school girlfriend, telling her friends how they took each other’s virginity the night of Senior Prom.\n Ella could only imagine the lucky ladies he had under his belt. She wasn’t irrational to think that he would wait for her when she never even hinted at liking him or tried to make a move on him. His past was his past. All Ella knew now was that she was going to try to make a move tonight. She didn’t even know he had moved back here, she really needed to get out the house more, maybe.\n Ella and Marie made their way to the bar, Ella still in a staring war with Lucas because she could now see he was definitely checking for her just like she was him. That only made her light almond tone blush a rosy pink. Marie lightly slapping her enthusiastically repeatedly on the arm, let Ella know that she could tell there was a sexual tension in the air between them.\n\n\n“Ella Wiggins.”\n“L-lucas G-gramble.”\nAll Lucas could do was smile once she reached the bar. He could see that she was still shy and even more beautiful than before. Lucas needed to turn his eyes towards Marie to say hey to her too, but it was getting harder and harder as he continued to stare into Ella’s light brown eyes. \n“Hey Lucas, I’m here too you know,” Marie said with a light chuckle, tearing his eyes from her to smile at her bashfully.\n“Hey Marie, how are you?”\n“Good. Better now that we’re here at Lucky’s. How come we didn’t know Mr. Porter renovated?”\nLucas smiled at Marie once again, his chest puffing up slightly as he said, “I actually renovated; I own Lucky’s now. Tonight is our soft opening.”\nElla snapped her eyes towards him and all he could do was smile when she said, “you o-own Lucky’s now? Wowww. It looks amazing Lucas, really.”\n“Thank you, Ella. Can I get you ladies something to drink?”\nIf this was any other girl Lucas wouldn’t have been paying close enough attention. But since this was Ella, his Ella, he heard Ella when she whispered, yeah, you. When he looked up, he saw her head snap down, but he could see the light pink tinting her cheeks.\nLucas was going to back down but being that he’s wanted her for the past ten years he leaned across the bar and whispered in her ear, “Don’t tempt me with a good 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: Old Man Buckhart\n\nGenre: american\n\nWord Count: 2891\n\nPrompt:\n\nSet your story before dawn. Your character has woken up early for a particular reason." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "The mugginess of night receded. A thin veil of blushing daylight clung to dark ridge tops under weakening clouds. A swift storm had moved through a few hours before. In its wake, soft gray shrouds rose among the hollows to greet the gathering dawn like resurrected spirits from some ancient sepulcher, accentuated by the ghostly refrains of an L&N steam engine pulling through nearby London, Kentucky.\nLefty lay awake most of the night, mesmerized by the lightning but also lulled to drowsiness from time to time by the rain on the tin roof of the porch. During times of wakefulness he strained for any sign of The Old Man's return. \nHe had taken an automatic liking to his grandfather, Jerry Buckhart. Although he had never met him until two months ago, they had whipped up a quick bond. The Old Man bragged about Lefty's hard work, something he never heard from Poppy. Also, the man's jovial attitude and dapper ways appealed to the twelve-year-old. The Old Man was somewhat rotund and clean-shaven with the exception of a gray walrus mustache stained yellow under his nostrils from many years of pipe smoke. He sipped, occasionally and privately, from a silver flask with his initials 'JB' finely etched on one side. Lefty, who caught him a few times taking sips from it, was somehow drawn most to the mystery of the flask out of all of his other finery. He knew the flask contained alcohol. He wanted to try it, but his Mam discouraged alcohol in their home, knowing Poppy had a fondness for \"the drink\" as well. Despite his age and nips from his flask, The Old Man's blue eyes remained clear and sharp. He kept his fading red hair, which had once been light and wispy, covered with a black bowler hat. His starched shirts were crisp, white, and buttoned all the way to the top. The white shirts cut a stark contrast to the rest of his ensemble: a black woolen frock coat with silk lapels, pin-striped pants, a black cane with a silver cap, and black wing-tipped shoes that he liked to keep shined with a high gloss.\nIn fact, The Old Man made sure Lefty kept the shoes shiny. He bought Lefty a shoe shine box and talked Mr. Delph into letting him shine shoes this summer at the barber shop down the street from Weaver's Pool Hall. The Old Man could be quite persuasive. Another business venture, an idea put forth by The Old Man, also helped Lefty make a little extra dough. Lefty provided water to the industrial league baseball teams that played in town on Sundays. He sold cold water that he got from the spring house at the quarry. And, because these were such great ideas, Lefty sometimes loaned The Old Man a dollar or two here and there.\nWith a couple of extra bucks in his pocket, Old Man Buckhart had strolled off toward town in the shimmering heat yesterday morning. His awkward whistling, made so by the gap between his front teeth, lilted among the dawn chorus of birds along the dirt road leading away from the quarry. No one had heard nor seen from the old, strange bird of a man since. \nLefty and two of his brothers slept on the porch that night because it had been too hot to sleep in the house. They had closed the windows because of fierce winds and rain. He had marveled at the lightning as it played in the darkness, briefly turning midnight to midday and exposing trees in the flickering light as they swayed crazily, bending like dancers to the beat of rain on the leaves. If a little rain blew in on them on the porch, so be it, the natural fireworks display was worth it, and at least they would be cooler than in the house. \nLefty also wanted to be aware if The Old Man returned in the middle of the night. His stomach soured at the thought that his grandfather could be dead. His imagination ran wild with thoughts of The Old Man falling into a deep ditch and hitting his head on a rock or getting struck by lightning. He just hoped The Old Man survived. Somewhere. \nWith dawn glimmering on the horizon, anxiety drove Lefty to get to work milking the cows and bringing in wood for the cook stove. Another reason he needed to finish his chores early was to be able to make it to the railyard baseball games early this afternoon. An L&N team would be playing a team from a Clay County Coal Camp today. He took in a deep breath of the heavy humid air, which carried loamy scents of damp earth and the musky aromas of farm animals.\nAs Lefty went about his chores, the world awoke and began to unfold. Frogs sang in the waning darkness, enlivened by the storm, which had been a rare occurrence of late because of the intense heat. By noon, summer would regain its composure and assume dominance, wiping away any remnant of cloud or rain from the night before. A shadowy owl flew over on silent wings, seeking rest from its nightly foray. He was unsure about the portent of that omen, but he would ask The Old Man about it; then it hit him: if he saw him again. His heart sank.\nInside the house a different kind of tempest continued to brew from the night before. Carrying an armload of wood inside to set by the cast iron cook stove, he braced himself for the oncoming torrent. He knew Mam and Poppy had been into it; he had heard the arguing last night despite the storm. Lefty shuddered as he entered the house. Poppy's gaze. His father rarely spoke, but the hard, brown eyes expressed volumes.\nThe Old Man had not arrived for breakfast. In fact, he hadn't made it home at all last night. The room, dimly lit by two coal oil lamps, made his parents' moods seem even more severe. Poppy sat at the head of the kitchen table glaring through the screen, his eyes watching the road, waiting for The Old Man to darken the door. Palpable tension settled in Mam's shoulders and around her eyes as she made the kids file by the stove one at a time. They offered up their plates to receive a cat-head biscuit and a ladle of gravy. Lefty took his place at the end of the line along with his siblings, a total of five boys and four girls. One by one they sat at the table and began to eat. No prayers, even though this was Sunday. Not that they were that religious anyway. No one dared to utter a word. They silently passed a jar of molasses around the table. The scraping of forks, an occasional cough, the popping and crackling of the wood in the cook stove were, at various times, the loudest sounds in the room. Minutes, like the molasses, poured out slowly.\nMam remained at the stove scowling at her husband who had yet to touch his food. She waited like a coiled copperhead ready to strike if he uttered one word about her father. Lefty pondered his Mam as he slowly ate his breakfast. The Old Man once told him that she had been his favorite. He said Lizzie would not shirk her duties like her brothers and sisters. The others had turned their backs on him. Almost a year had passed since the death of Mam's mother; Lefty never knew her. He had surmised that The Old Man's ways had taken its toll on her. His Mam had remarked once that The Old Man stuffed his sins and shortcomings in a poke wherever he went, but even Lefty noticed that Mam's hard heart softened when he arrived two months ago from Harlan County, hat in hand with nowhere else to go.\nA peculiar jaunty sound, distant and haunting, emanated from the semi-darkness; the odd tune crescendoed as it approached the house from the woods along the rock quarry's boundary. Whistling mingled with off-key vocals and drunken humming the closer The Old Man came to the porch. It reminded Lefty of an old, broken pump organ that had been thrown out and abandoned in the yard too long: broken, forced, and wheezy. He vaguely recognized the ditty. \"Hard-Hearted Barbry Allen.\" The Old Man loved that old folk melody, although he butchered it every time. Lefty exchanged furtive glances back and forth with his siblings. None wanted to draw ire from either parent, who remained locked in their stances: Poppy's steely eyes toward the door, and Mam's glower affixed on Poppy.\nFinishing on a high note, the Old Man slung the door open and stumbled across the threshold wearing not a stitch of clothes. Every face in the room expressed differing degrees of shock, surprise, or revulsion, except for The Old Man and Lefty. Poppy's scowl deepened. Mam looked as if she would be sick. His sisters, Janie, Viney, and Sybil, hid their eyes; the youngest girl, Norma, slid under the table. Lefty's brothers, Junior, Willie and Arvil, stifled giggles and began elbowing each other; his other brother Ross held his breath, his reddened face looking as if it were about to burst. Lefty felt a sudden pang of sadness, but could not pinpoint the exact source. \nOld Man Buckhart had made an abrupt arrival, like some strange creature emerging from the gloaming. He seemed perplexed that anyone would even be awake much less having breakfast at this very moment. His expression was made more comical by the twitching of his gray, walrus mustache and the puzzled widening of his now dulled, blue eyes. He tried to maintain some bearing and composure, finally realizing that he stood completely naked in front of the entire family and now swayed slightly before them: a cock robin with his broad, hairy, red chest and fat paunch perched atop bird-like legs, which seemed to wear boots made of mud. His thin hair was plastered flat atop his head. Dark circles sagged under both eyes. He made no sudden moves to cover himself, but seemed to search the air in front of him for some type of answer.\n\"Whelp, The Old Man's back!\" Ross's words exploded like a gunshot through the room, which seemed to shrink by the second. He was the only kid smart-ass enough to remark on the situation. Lefty nudged him sharply with an elbow. Ross kicked back under the table. \n\"Charlie, Lizzie, I—\" The Old Man stammered to find the right words.\nLike a spring, Mam uncoiled and closed the space between her and her father, brandishing the ladle like a mace on her approach. Gravy flew in all directions, most of it splattering The Old Man as she jabbed the utensil at him. Drops of gravy ran down his chest, which heaved from the sudden onslaught; he staggered back a couple steps. She advanced.\n\"You ain't ever goin' to be satisfied. You'll never be content!\" She hissed, their faces now so close that their noses almost touched. \"Do you know what you've—\"\nRoss sniggered. She reeled around to face everyone at the table.\n\"Eat your shittin' breakfast!\" Mam's voice filled the room.\nThe children immediately returned to their food, even Ross, who still wore a devilish grin. Poppy's face, by contrast, seemed set in stone. The visage never changed.\nThe Old Man, seeing an opportunity for escape, began tottering to the room where the boys slept. \"I suppose I'll just go ahead and retire to bed.\" \nSilence.\nSeemingly disgusted with the whole situation, Poppy stood, grabbed his ladder back chair, and carried it out the front door without a word. He sat under the old poplar tree at the furthest corner of the yard with his back to the house. His lanky form silhouetted in the growing morning light, he pulled a hawk-bill knife from a pocket in his overalls and began whittling on a branch he picked up at his feet. Lefty wondered if Poppy's thoughts shifted to knife trades and political gossip he would swap at the courthouse this week. After all, he had been on the receiving-end of Mam's wrath more than he had ever wanted. And because of that, maybe Poppy resolved that it was wiser that he had not been the first to cast a stone at Old Man Buckhart. Maybe he was glad that her anger was directed at someone else for a change.\nMam moved back to the kitchen, grabbing a large, black pot from the side table. It contained the day's soup beans which soaked in the cast iron dutch oven overnight. She slammed it on the remaining open burner, water and beans spilling onto the surface. She grabbed two pieces of wood and shoved them into the stove, then began preparations for cornbread.\nThe room emptied. The boys filtered outside in directions away from the chaos of the homeplace. Willie and Arvil scattered to the woods to find a good fishing hole, while Junior and Ross headed toward town looking for mischief. Lefty lingered, following his sisters. They would most likely find solace in God. The girls gathered in their room where Janie had ushered them.\n\"Yuns get ready for mornin’ service. I'll walk us.\" Janie asserted. She busied around the room getting church clothes ready.\nShe received lackluster response. Viney, shaken by the adults’ behaviors, lay on the bed they all shared, her face to the wall. Sybil sat on one corner of the bed, a scowl on her face as she tugged a brush through Norma's tangled hair. Norma sat on the floor in front of her. \"Ow, Sybil! That hurts!\"\nDenvil lingered at the door, hoping to find some comfort from the girls.\n\"Get out, Denvil! We don't want you in here.” Norma exclaimed as Sybil kept fighting with her hair.\nSybil’s voice carried venom. “Go on, Devil!\"\nLefty drifted away from the girl's room. He hated the way his sisters and brothers twisted his name. The baseball players and The Old Man called him Lefty, along with a few kids at school. He couldn’t wait to get to the baseball fields today. The team needed its water boy. He stopped to listen to the hard snoring of The Old Man coming from the boys' bedroom. He felt sorry for him; after all, the odd fellow had nowhere else to go.\nLefty sneaked through the kitchen to the door and slipped outside. He paused behind a tree before making his way to the spring house. Through the window he watched his Mam work in the kitchen. She opened the window. No breeze entered. Sweat mingled with her tears. She didn’t hear Lefty nor see him, at least he thought so; she never acknowledged him. He noticed that she allowed a few tears to make their way along the creases in her face. She peered at the sun crowning the ridge of the quarry, her face bathed in a deep, remarkable golden light. She spoke to herself. Maybe it was a prayer or a confession. He felt it deep.\n“Good Lord, what have I done? Is this a mistake? I will not let this happen again. Not the cards, not those old, dirty dice, not the billiards, and certainly not the bootleggin. That’s the last thing I need in this house.”\nIn a soft, slow voice, she sang to herself: “I shall not be, I shall not be moved. I shall not be, I shall not be moved. Like a tree planted by the waters, I shall not be moved.”\nShe released a long sigh.\n“Lord, you know I worked on Charlie. You know I kept him from drinking and womanizing since he got back, at least for now. And for Charlie Jackson to come back here and beg for forgiveness is as close to a miracle as I’m liable to see. Lord, I swear to you, I will bring that old man to heel too, if it’s the last thing I do.”\nSome cogs clicked into place for Lefty. Five years ago Mam said Poppy hopped a train for Idaho, remarking that he was just some old hobo out west. Poppy maintained that he worked on a sheep ranch for two years. Now that Lefty thought about it, Poppy seemed a changed man after coming back home, at least changed enough for Poppy. He tried to avoid his father as often as possible.\nWhen Mam moved away from the window, Lefty went to the spring house hoping she had not noticed him. He started thinking about today’s baseball games and changed focus. He prepared two buckets of cold, clear water from the spring to take to the railyard baseball players. This mid-June day was going to be a scorcher. Struggling with the buckets along the road from the quarry, Lefty tried his hardest not to spill any of the precious water. He would probably make good money. Making his way along the railroad tracks toward the ball fields near the tobacco warehouses and stockyards, he could almost hear that change jingle in his pockets. In the trees, jarflies chanted in the morning sun, continuing their daily summer ritual on this longest of summer 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: A Day In The Life of Ace\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 2937\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart your story with a character saying, “Are you coming tonight?”" }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "“Are you coming tonight?”\nThe feminine voice crackles through the receiver. There is silence, as though the caller is waiting for my reply with bated breath. Perhaps because she is.\nMy gaze falls on an old image on my desk, buried beneath the mess of papers, files and markers. It’s easy not to notice it, yet I find myself staring at it every time, willing myself to pick it up. To look at it.\nNo. Those memories are gone now.\nMemories which still flash through my mind on a daily basis, filling my dreams and bouncing around in my head while I try to concentrate. Perhaps the reason why I haven’t published another book, despite the stacks of manuscripts beside the wastepaper basket.\nMemories of her.\nI met her at the yearly NaNoWriMo convention for romance writers, a gathering crawling with haggard, lonely writers looking to revamp their careers derailed by procrastinations and chronic writer’s block.\n In other words, writers such as myself.\nSo you could forgive my initial behavior when I bumped into not only a successful romance writer (who coincidentally happened to be hosting the event), but perhaps the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen, dressed in a pair of faded denim jeans, grey shirt and a coat I didn’t have time to wash. Ifeoma Parker was the author of bestselling romance novels Her Possession and Green, stories highlighting strong heroines in twisted worlds. She had been all over the world really, and adding to the fact that her parents were rich, she was probably already a multi-millionaire.\nNaturally, my words failed me. “Uh… oops.”\n“Hi there!” She waved, slightly embarrassed.\nOkay, she isn’t a snob at least. Still doesn’t hide the Prada bag though.\nI silenced my thoughts as I bent to pick up my files on the ground. “Hey… Excuse me… Sorry about the mess.”\nThe old file pick-up. Saved me from engaging in discourse many a-time.\nI hurried away quickly, trying to ignore the beads of sweat on my forehead.\nPhew. Barely made it past that one.\nFate wanted to put me through the wringer again however, and a week later I bumped into her again, right outside the Starbucks I regularly went to clear my head after a failed day at the office.\n“Hey!” She smiled. Her eyebrows furrowed. “Have we met before?”\n“Sort of.” I smiled, hoping it made me look mature. It didn’t.\nHer eyes widened. “Oh! You bumped into me at the Writers’ Month Convention.”\nShe remembers. Crap.\n“Yeah, sorry about that.” I could feel the perspiration building up in all the hairs on my face. My choice of a black Nike hoodie suddenly didn’t seem as comfortable as it had that morning. I wiped the sweat off my brow and my hand brushed past the forest around my jaw.\nDammit. I picked the wrong day to not shave.\n“Anyways, we didn’t get to meet each other formally.” She extended a hand. “Ifeoma. Ifeoma Parker.”\nOf course I already knew her name, but it was better to just let her keep the conversation going. I didn’t have much to say, anyways.\n“I’m Ace.” I said.\nShe said her last name, man. Don’t kill the vibe.\n“Ace Chidubem.”\nShe was wearing a nude colored kimono over a black shirt and some baggy trousers. I couldn’t see her shoes but I was sure they were a lot more expensive than the slacks I had on. It didn’t help that I noticed the designer tags on her clothes and handbag either.\nWhat have I gotten into?\nAlready I could see the people around sneaking glances at the both of us. Stamford wasn’t very busy, but for whatever reason almost everyone had the same idea as I did that morning to get coffee specifically at West Avenue. It was almost like they’d been informed I’d be here right now making a fool of-\n“-here often?”\nI looked up, suddenly aware she was speaking to me. “Hm?”\nSay something else, stupid!\n“Do you come here often?” She asked, eyebrows raised. She had brown eyes, which complimented her hazelnut skin. Her lips were glossy, and I could only imagine kissing-\nGet a hold of yourself, you perv!\n“Uh… y-yeah.” I stuttered, tugging at the neck of my hood. It felt like an oven inside it but I couldn’t take it off for fear of uncomfortable questions.\n“I come by often too,” she said. “Whenever I need to get new ideas. A cup of coffee in a small town is a really nice getaway, isn’t it?”\n“It sure is.” Unless you live in that small town and buy a cup of coffee cos it’s $2.45.\nShe smiled. “Anyways, this was fun. See you around!”\nHuh, well that went well, I thought.\nI probably looked like an idiot watching her drive away in her signature pink Benz, but it didn’t matter at that point.\nI was in love.\nWe would meet more often as the days passed, and soon we started having regular ‘coffee dates’ (I was the only one who called them that) where we would talk about our careers and any she’d tell me stories of the stuff that went on at her meetings with high-profile writers in New York. The fact that she made the drive to Stamford every week probably should’ve convinced me that she was a bit interested, but I sat on the fence for a while, unsure of whether to make a move.\nTwo years passed.\nIt was New Year’s Day. I was at her home (and no, I hadn’t made any moves yet, I was strictly in the friend zone) and we were going over the manuscript of her latest book, Lost in His Eyes. The protagonist was Percival, a black guy with golden eyes, and the story basically revolved around him hiding his true colors (literally) from everyone he met till he met this girl Anissa and all that bullshit.\nI didn’t enjoy romance, although I was a romance writer.\nProbably why you’re a failed one, my subconscious chided.\nI ignored the jibe. Ifeoma was at a standstill in her work, so she made the both of us act out the scenes in the book.\n“That’s not how it’s meant to go!” she sighed, exasperated. “You’re meant to say it like this.”\nI burst into laughter at her failed attempt. “You sound like you have a pipe stuck in your throat.”\nShe scowled, tossing her manuscript at me. “Like you could do better.”\n“I actually can.” I smirked, lowering my tone.\nShe rolled her eyes, but I could see her blush slightly. “Okay, showoff, let’s continue.”\nMade her blush. That’s attempt #241. About time, stupid.\nI silenced my subconscious as she rifled through the pages. Her eyes fell on a page and she stood still, deep in thought.\n“Turn to page 109.” She said. “The 2nd paragraph.”\n“Okay.” I replied, unaware of what would happen next. “What’s the scene?”\n“It’s the scene where Percival has just shown Anissa his true colors.” I chuckled, which earned me a glare. She seemed suddenly on edge, a feeling I knew all too well myself.\n“It doesn’t matter how you look, Percival.” She said. Her voice sounded softer than usual, but I assumed she was being in character.\n“It does when you don’t want to get noticed,” I replied. “I don’t want attraction for my physical appearance.”\n“But you’re more than what you appear to be.” She drew closer, perhaps thinking I wouldn’t notice, but I did. My nerves shot into overdrive and my skin felt like I was running a marathon. Suddenly opting to wear a grey shirt seemed like a terrible idea.\n“Doesn’t matter. It’s best I keep it hidden. I shouldn’t have shown you anyways.”\nI’d read the next few lines, and I knew what was about to happen next. She knew it too, and it dawned on me why she’d been acting weird.\nShit.\n“Percival, you’re beautiful to me.”\nShe looked me right in the eyes as she said it, and I didn’t know if it was the character or her that was staring at me so intensely. But it didn’t matter.\nThe kiss was brief, but it felt like a lot more could’ve happened. A whole lot more.\nA moment of silence passed. Ifeoma was mindlessly looking through her manuscript, trying to pretend like it didn’t happen.\nDo something, Ace! You’ve got to have an ace up your sleeve!\nMy subconscious mind was quite creative.\n“Sure wish I was Percival right now.” I quipped.\nShe stared at me for a second, puzzled.\nThen she started to laugh. She laughed so hard she fell over on the couch and tears welled up in her eyes. I laughed as well, happy to let go of the tension in the air. And so began the story of a romance that would span half a decade.\nShe would tell me later that she’d seen my blond hair when I was sleeping on her couch one time, and she’d felt moved to write the scene. I wanted to ask what moved her to add the kiss but I decided not to push it.\nWe spent more time at her apartment in New York (and a few unfortunate nights at my home in Stamford), writing and meeting other writers in the day and engaging in erotic paraphernalia at night, our bodies dancing languorously as we reached peak excitement. From the onset it was obvious I would never fit into her social circle; although I’d moved to New York I still had to settle for a rundown apartment in the Bronx.\nBecause living with her would just be weird. Right?\nMeanwhile, all the people we met lived in duplexes and drove fancy cars, and the only ones who didn’t were the Bohemian minimalists I befriended, Jeffery Elvick and the eccentric Salome, who lived on the road with her boyfriend Mason. The five of us spent time together in the evenings in an informal critique circle where we’d discuss each other’s works, and times like those were times I felt like I could be myself with Ifeoma without worrying about the high standards of her other upper-class friends.\nThree more years passed.\n“I’m gonna propose to her.” I said to Jeffery one morning. We were at a Starbucks, because I always needed coffee for my dead creative brain.\nHe grunted. He was poring over a manuscript, the same one for the past month. “Sure that’s gonna work? She’s worth twice as much as you are.”\nThanks for the reminder, Jeff.\n“Well it’s worth taking a chance.” I said, ignoring the negative thoughts welling up in my head. “You only find the right one once when you’re a guy like me, so it’s best to never let go, isn’t it?”\n“Well, good luck getting past her family,” Jeffery laughed. His face went serious. “You’re going to need it.”\nHer family weren’t as bad as Jeff said.\nOr so, I thought.\nLike every good romance story, however, things went sour when I met Mr. Parker, Ifeoma’s multimillionaire business tycoon father who had extremely high standards and an ego as huge as his belly. I knew he didn’t approve of my relationship with his daughter, but when she wasn’t in the room he always found ways to kill my spirits and remind me just how inferior I was to them.\nIt all reached a climax one Sunday morning.\nWe were having breakfast at the family’s ranch in the countryside, a property so large it made my home in Maine seem like a room.\nPerhaps because it was.\nMr. Parker started the discussion as usual, highlighting successful rich writers who were friends of Ifoema’s and inquiring about their whereabouts. Mrs. Parker chipped in a tired comment in an attempt to stop his mockery before turning to her Spanish dish, what appeared to be rice mashed up with a whole lot of spices.\n“-you, Ace? How’s your latest endeavor coming along?”\nI turned to stare into his smiling face, like that of a predator taunting its prey before killing it. “It’s down well, I’ve got my manuscript with the editor and hopefully I’ll get something out of it.”\n“Do you really want to stake my daughter’s life on hope, Ace?”\nShit. I walked right into that one.\n“N-no, sir.” I replied, suddenly feeling the temperature of the room rise. I turned my attention to the number of animals I could see on the embroidered tablecloth.\n“Is that the future you want her to walk to into?”\nSilence. One, two, three…\n“Do you even have enough for yourself?”\nTen, eleven, twelve…\n“Dad, stop.” Ifeoma’s voice cracked.\n“I have a right to ensure my daughter’s security.” Mr. Parker replied. “I can’t just give you to any tramp on the street now, can I?”\n“That’s not very nice, Thomas.” His wife sighed, lazily picking at her food.\n“Ace isn’t a homeless man, dad! You know that!” Ifeoma yelled. “And so what if he is anyways? Why does that matter to you?”\nTwenty-nine, thirty, thirty-one…\nI could feel the anger rising in my chest. I tried to focus, but my vision blurred.\n“Well I can’t have the men at the Polo Club-”\n“It’s always about your stupid friends, isn’t it?! Do you even care what I want?”\nLeave this place, Ace. You don’t belong here.\nLeave.\nNow.\n“-care about what you want!” Mr. Parker was yelling. “I’m your father, goddamit!”\n“Ace is a writer just like me! Isn’t that what you always wanted?!” Ifeoma’s voice croaked; she was crying.\n“Ace isn’t a successful writer! He’s got three books flopped! He’s a damn failure, Ifeoma!”\nI had done a good job keeping all the negative thoughts about myself at bay. Most of my entire life I’d been forced to come to terms with the fact that perhaps I wasn’t good enough.\nBut sitting at that table, I realized Mr. Parker was right.\nI was a failure.\n“Very well, then.” I said, getting up from the chair. It was imported wood, carved like the mouth of a dragon. Mr. Parker had weird tastes.\n“Thanks for the meal.”\nI turned my back on them in an attempt to hide my shame and headed for the door.\n“Ace, wait…” I heard Ifeoma’s seat scrape across the tiles.\n“You’ve scared the poor boy away, Thomas.” Mrs. Parker sighed.\n“Dammit he didn’t belong here anyways.” I could imagine the look of disgust on his face, although I couldn’t see it.\nShe caught up with me as I was about to enter my car. “I’m so sorry…”\n“It’s fine.” I replied curtly.\n“I know you’re upset.” She sniffled. “I know my father’s a dickhead and I’m sorry. Can we just go?”\n“It’s alright, I’m leaving now.” I made to enter my car but she held my hand.\n“Please, Ace.” She said, her puffy eyes pleading. “Please.”\nI probably should’ve stayed. Probably should’ve fought for her. But you know, sometimes it’s better to let nature run its course.\n“Your father’s right, I am a failure.” I said matter-of-factly. “You deserve better, and I know you’ll find someone better.”\n“I don’t want anyone better.” She said. “I only want you.”\nDammit.\nI wrenched free from her grip, sighing. “You’ll find someone better, okay? I know you will.”\nI didn’t look back, but I could hear the sobs as I turned the key the ignition and drove out of her life.\n\nI stare at the phone in my hand, sighing. She is still at the other end, waiting for my reply. I know I don’t have any good suits, and I can’t turn up at the wedding wearing a hoodie.\nScrew that, man. You’ve have nothing to lose anyways.\nYeah, that’s right. I’ve already lost it all.\nI’d gone back to Stamford soon after that, and spent the next few months in a masochist life of work, booze, and more work. Somewhere along the lines I’d actually come up with a bestseller, a story loosely based on my life. I was at my wits’ end by the time the editor called me up for a title, so I uncreatively named it ‘A Day in The Life of Ace.’ It gave me enough money and recognition to be a part of the upper-class writers I’d once tried to join, but I gave most of it away to charity, hoping it'll make me a better person, and stuck with my one-bedroom apartment in Maine (save for the embroidered curtains with animals etched on them).\nIt didn't make me a better person. Still same old Ace.\nA man named Bill Argyros had been at one of my conventions. He had lived in Athens, and played basketball for the New York Knicks. Somewhere along the line I’d offered him some random relationship advice.\nIt ended up coming back to bite me in the ass. You can already guess what the outcome was, but if you can’t then assume the story ended happily for me.\nI pick up the photo buried beneath the files on my desk. It’s a photo of she and I, as well as Jeffery and Salome, the time we’d gone camping in the woods while trying to rejuvenate our creative spirits. I stare at her face, smiling sadly.\nBeen a while, ain’t it?\nI have to show up, anyways. Although my body still goes into oven mode at the thought of such a crowd, it’s only fitting at least one protagonist has a happy ending, isn’t it?\nIf not, it won’t be a classic Ace Chidubem story.\nI picked up the receiver. “Yes, I am.”" } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Right place wrong time\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 2323\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart your story with a character saying, “Are you coming tonight?”" }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "\"Are you coming tonight?\" Kiesha finished applying her red sex me lipstick before turning in my direction. This was the twentieth time she asked was I coming with her tonight. \"I wasn't planning on it.\" I responded as I scooted back on my bed until my back and headboard met. \"Oh come on!\" she begged, it'll be fun, when have I dragged you along anywhere and you didn't have fun?\" She flopped down beside me and formed her mouth into a pout. \"Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaassssseeeeee\" don't make me beg she laughed. Instead of answering I asked, \"what would I wear?\" Kiesha shreiked and gave me a squeeze, she hopped up and ran to my closet pulling out dresses and different tops for me to try on. After trying on nearly everything in my wardrobe, I decided on a black sequin dress that I've only worn once to an office dinner party, it shimmered with silver glitter, sleeveless and it fell to my ankles, there was a long side split that rose up to my thighs. I matched it with black heels and silver accessories. Kiesha's eyes sparkled when she complimented me. \"Girl! You look goodt! You're definately going to have all eyes on you.\" We were going to a poetry slam night in downtown Richmond at a local night club called 'Jazy's Spot', It might not sound like much but that's the hotspot and on Tuesday night's, they open the mic's for creators to share their talent. Songs, poems, or art.\n\"Oh I forgot to tell you,\" Keisha began, Marco and his cousin Jante probably meet us there.\" She took quick glimpses of me as she continued to drive off. I rolled my eyes, \"I knew you was over selling that compliment, why you ain't just tell me?\" \"Look Candy I would have told you, but you know how you get, I know I didn't tell you but I wanted it to be a surprise too because Jante's ya type.\" She raised her eyebrows repeating \"ah... ah\" more than a few times to get me on board. \"Plus you really do look the bomb.com girl, I wasn't over selling.\" Kiesha was my girl and I know she means well but from time to time, the girl can get impulsivein the love department.\nWhen we arrive, there's not much of a line at the door. The bouncer's a tall darkskin guy who looks like he body builds on his day off, he's checking I.D's and reminding people that guns, drugs, and disrespect is not tolerated inside or on the premises. Inside there was already a poet performing. Kiesha and I grabbed a table a few seats away from the stage. The sound of jazz softly played as the poet spoke her heart. The waitress walked by carrying a tray filled with wine glasses, I grabbed two, one for me the other for Kiesha.\n\"Girl this spot is dope!\" I told Kiesha as sipped some of my drink. \"I told you, you was gonna like it.\" She nudged me and smiled. Two men approached our table, they smiled as they walked up to the two empty chairs. \"Hey Kiesh.\" He reached out for the hand she outstretched to greet them and kissed it gently. I could see her cheeks flush with red, the giggle was a bit over the top, but she pulled it off. They both sat down, Kiesha introduced me to both Marco and Jante. Marco was the color of dark chocolate, his teeth were polished white his eyes were hazel, muscles pushed through his shirt. He eased into his seat and scooted closer to Kiesha. Jante on the otherhand was the color of hazelnut coffee, heavy on the cream. He had gold fronts on the bottom row of his teeth, his lips were lucious and dangerous. His hair looked freshly bushed and oiled, waves crisp. Freckles lay under his eyes. He smiled at me as he sat down, head cocked in admiration. He licked his lips before speaking, using his eyes to scan me from head to toe, \"nice to meet you, I'm Jante and you look fine as hell, damn!\" He giggled and held himslef back from dapping up his cousin.\nThe announcer comes on stage and introduces the performer:\n\"Alright coming to you now, give it up for my main man, my ace, give it up for my soulful brotha, Jaaaaannnteeeee!!\" The spotlight hovers over our table and the room cheers in different ways, some with snaps, others with claps, from the back you could hear verbal encouragment. \"alright now, what he gone hit us wit tanight\" an older lady spoke loudly to her crowd of peers. Jante placed his fist in his right hand and smiled back at me. His walk was sly, full of swag and confidence. He hopped onto the stage, acknowledged the announcer and crowd. Once he grabbed the mic it was like the night club transitioned into the space of his mind where his words were formulating. His eyes were closed as he gently spoke his words. \"I'm cruisin all around the world, searching places for a special girl the half of me disappointments left me in agony, its strange I know but I feel things deep, like me and you in the night deep into the depths of your sea, I swim and penetrate your walls deep into the waves of the tides, don't elude me with your eyes, locked. legs locked, body rocked intimately running my finger up your body, elxploring places forbidden to others but not foreign to me.\" He opened his eyes and shyly looked up with a grin. \"Gaaaaddammn, I think you got every woman in this joint hot! give it up for my brotha my main man Jante!\" The crowd cheered louder than they did when he first got on stage. He smiled and hopped off the stage and headed for our table. I could feel my lady in panties pulse with excitement. I gently crossed my legs and let out an unexpected exhale that Kiesha gave a side eye too.\n\"So what'd you think?\" Jante looked me directly in my eyes and I could feel the magnetic pull of his body pulling mine closer. I smiled, raised an eyebrow and said, \"you definately surprised me.\" For the first time tonight he laughed, his teeth were magnificent, dimples deep in design and the sound of his laugh was very sexy and contagious, I found myself laughing with him before knowing exactly what was funny. \"What's funny?\" I giggled. He looked as though he was lost in my eyes, then asked, \"would you say you're open minded?\" He ate a few fries from his plate but eyes never left mine. I shrugged, I hadn't been asked a question like that before, so I wasn't sure how to answer. \"I guess I am, maybe depends on the topic.\" I answered as honest as I could, then looked for his reaction or response. He sat back in his seat, ate more of his fries then said, \"that's alright.\"\nThe night ended with Kiesha and Marco riding home together and Jante and me riding together. Me and Kiesha were roommates, but Jante invited me to his place and I agreed. We talked and laughed, turns out we have alot in common, his mind may be more open than mines, but we hit it off brilliantly. In the middle of laughing at his Rambo voice impressionation, he kissed me. His lips soft, he kissed me passionately and I joined in slipping my tongue into his mouth dancing it in his mouth his tongue rolled over mine as his mouth covered my lips. He pulled away and moved down to my neck and chest, I could feel the intense heat exchange between us then his phone rang and so did mine. Kiesha... \"Girl a car hit us!\" I could feel my heart squish and drop into the pit of my stomach. Kiesha is much more like a sister to me than a friend or roommate. We've known each other since we were kids and have been inseperable since middle school. \"Are you ok?! Where are you?\" She gave me the address, and Jante and I left immediately.\nThankfully Kiesha and Marco weren't hurt, the car's bumper was damaged. I hugged Kiesha, \"thank goodness the car took all the damage.\" I spoke in her ear. \"Yo! what happened? Jante asked walking up to his cousin. \"Bro, I don't even know it happened so fast.\" Marco rubbed the back of his neck and recalled what happened. \"Long story short, Kiesha yelled, some asshole ran a red light and slammed right into us! Look at my damn bumper! She stompped. \"Then they didn't have the decency to slow down or stop!\" We all got in the car, Jante dropped me and Kiesha off. Marco walked Kiesha inside, giving me time to talk with Jante a little more.\nThe sight of him was comforting and from the smile that drew across his face, he was thinking the same about mine.\n\"To be continued then.\" He smiled and stared me up and down. \"Unfortunately.\" I leaned in for a kiss that he did not refuse. I pulled back and we stared intently in each other eyes. Marco walked out the house and toward the car, \"so can I get your number or what, he giggled at his own thought before saying it out loud. \"I maybe wanted to ask that before knowing where you live, but all the same, can I get your number?\" I planted a kiss on his lips again then dialed my number in his phone. \"Goodnight sweet Candy.\" He kissed my hand, and I bid him goodnight.\nThe sun blinded my vision momentarily, at the foot of the bed was Kiesha curled in the fetus position. I eased off the bed and into the bathroom. \"Candy?\" Kiesha called out sounding groggy. I finished up using the bathroom, Kiesha took zombified steps toward the bathroom. \"ugh! I feel like sheit.\" \"Smell like it too!\" I called out jokingly. \"Witch! Shut up! she laughed. So how did your date go last night?\" I undressed into my bra and underwear, \"a lady never kisses and tells.\" I said placing my finger to my lips. \"Ah! I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours.\" Kiesha came out of the bathroom after first washing her hands. I took her place and started the shower. \"Soooo?\" Don't be stingy feed me the deets.\" I stepped in the shower and told her all that went down, \"but we didn't do anything besides kiss.\" I couldn't see her reaction but I heard it. \"oooo, that's sexy! I told you, you wouldn't regret going and accidentally thanks to that asshole who hit my car, you got to be a hell of a hot tease. AHA!\" She laughed with a loud clap, \"ok ok let me tell you bout me and Marco, first of all he is smooth, can hold a conversation and he's interesting too. We talked alot before it got steamy, I had to feel him out you know. We was smokin and shit and started getting the munchies, so I gets up and he gets up and hold my hands, he told me how I make him nervous and girl him venting to me made my kitty purr hahahha, whoo! Which led to a kiss and foreplay, and giiiirrrrl! He had my legs shaking, my bed sheets soaked from squirting, I mean the brotha's mouth was on another level.\" I step out the bathroom in my towel mouth open with a smile, \"did ya'll...\" I began, she raised her eyebrows and made a face that gave it all away. \"unapologetically, yes.\" \"AAAAHHHHH hahahhaah\" we both scream and laugh like we're middle school girls again. \"So, are you going to see him again or..?\" I questioned. \"He texted me this morning actually, wanting to get breakfast.\" She shimmied her shoulders. \"What about you and Jante? You two seemed to hit it off.\" \"I gave him my number, so we'll see\" I shrugged. \"He'll be stupid not to call,\" she smiled entering the bathroom and shutting the door.\nAfter a couple weeks and no contact, I felt obligated to drop the idea, he'd call or text. Kiesha and Marco were still going steady, it was good to see her happy. At first seeing him over the house was awkward because his cousin was my date who forgot to text me. I could have asked for his number, or interrogated him to find out what Jante's deal was but instead I pretended it was mutual and I was ok with him not calling. Kiesha pressed me when it was just us, but I put on a brave face, she's used to these things, I'm not. I assumed we had a moment and now it has consumed all of my focus and attention. \"It was only a kiss, let it go.\" I whispered to myself in the bathroom mirror.\nAlmost a month later, I've fixated on painting, as a way of making money and keeping my mind from wondering about Jante. Tonight I'll be attending an art show with my ex co-worker Taylor. She knew the host and convinced him to let me show off my latest painting 'left unsaid' you can guess who inspired this. Kiesha said her and Marco would meet me here, with that in mind I'm not so uncomfortable with only knowing Taylor. \"Okay girl, you're all set. Benny said he's gonna leave it to the audience to decide, but if you wanted to sell it they could have an open bid!\" I hugged her tightly, \"holy shit I think I love you.\" We laughed and sat at a booth close to the stage. There were men and women in creme colored and black suits walking around with drinks, I recognized one as; \"Jante?\"" } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: If you come you’ll have to decide if your Introvert or Extrovert\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 1150\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart your story with a character saying, “Are you coming tonight?”" }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "The phone rings. It sounded really loud because I had been on the computer and no one was home so the ringing jarred me out of the quiet. Caller Id showed a friend so I answered. “Are you coming tonight?” “Am I coming were?” I replied. “To the town meeting at the community center.” Oh, is that tonight? I forgot” Well you should come it’s kind of expected of you.” “Well, if you see me there then you’ll have your answer.” We chatted a little more and then I hung up and turned the phone off.\n Merriam Webster Dictionary defines the verb introvert as,” to concentrate or direct upon oneself.” Whereas the word extrovert is defined as, “an outgoing, overtly expressive person.” Since the town meeting was about the death of my daughter’s fiancée and would include representatives from the city police, the mayor office, member of the community, as well as friends and family, I had been putting of making a decision about attending. My mood and temperament had become very directed upon myself since the young man’s death.\n I had known Shawn since he was two years old. Like my daughter he was biracial and we had lived in the same neighborhood as his family for about 3 years. His family life was challenging to say the least. His relationship with my daughter had been on again off again for years and he had beat her up a couple of times. He had been in and out of jail and even though my daughter was pregnant with his child, he and I had just begun speaking shortly prior to his death. For all intents and purposes, he appeared to be trying to turn his life around. It’s just hard to forget what he had put my child through. She still has faded scars on her wrists from when it got so bad between them that she tried to kill herself. She had left my oldest grandchild when he was an infant because he was very sickly and Shawn didn’t want her to spend more time with him then her. He convinced her to leave the state when my grandson was in the hospital for a very bad infection.\n She and I had worked through a lot of this because she was only 18 when she got pregnant. She had gotten out from under his control and started piecing her life back together. She completed college bought a house but them Shawn had been back in jail that whole time. Now he was dead and I was supposed to go discuss it at the town meeting. Introverted as a verb was and understatement. I didn’t want to face these people. I didn’t want to see his mother as she faced these people. I wanted to pick the phone back up and say, “No I don’t want to come! “However, this was my daughter and she needed support. Since I know that women sometimes make unwise choices, I couldn’t blame her or fault her because fate had intervened.\n I put on my long black winter coat and my noir headscarf and begin to walk to the Southside community center. In all of that time walking I would have to state that I was being completely introverted. I finally arrived at the southside. Stood out side and waited to see a familiar face to walk in with. Le Mort’s cold hand passed by with a brush and I got the shakes. Standing outside of the community center looking like Shiite Muslim I saw a few well know faces. So, moving in harmony with them I walked into the center. The gym had been transformed with any area for the city representatives a podium for speaking and rows of chairs. I sat down next to someone’s grandpa and then heard me daughter’s friends calling. So now everyone is seated, there’s a sound check and introductions begin. First there was the mayor then the distract attorney. There was a panel of college student activists and then the general public. I was reflecting inwardly on what I was seeing and who I was hearing. I started thinking about Karma.\n A young man from a dysfunctional family had been killed when it could have gone another way. His unborn child would grow up fatherless. He mother would have to face everyday that she had out lived her child. These were facts that could not be changed, I was listening to people who were not personally involved. I was looking at people that had various agenda’s politically and in other ways. My mind started to hear my extrovert self. The self that grew up in Europe, went to school and worked in NYC. The me that use to lead fellowship groups, bible study and ran a woman Christian home.\n Suddenly I heard someone say, “Are then any people in the audience that would like to speak? If so please line up and you will be allowed 5 minutes at the podium.” I found myself getting up. It surprised me but as I looked at my daughter face and the other grieving family members that extrovert began rehearsing what I wanted the people to know. There were three people in front of me and I listen to what they had to say and watched the crowd. Then there was no one in front of me and I walked up to the podium. Looking at everyone in the room, I took a deep breath and began.\n “My understanding is that the police officer that fired the lethal kill shot had a personal relationship with the deceased going back to their years in high school together. This relationship was not a good one and they had what is commonly referred to as bad blood between them. So, my first question is how is it that this officer was hand picked to be involved in issuing the arrest of the deceased? My second question is that is has been brought to light that a confidential informant set up the deceased by calling him and asking him to get them some drug. This set up was done at a time when the deceased was actually trying to turn his life around. He had a full-time job, had just been accepted into a technical school and was an active union member at his place of employment. So why, with all of these signs of him wanting to turn his life around was he made the target of a sting operation?” I walked away a sat down. I had asked those questions for my daughter and my unborn grandchild. I also wanted everyone in that room to understand that what had occurred had been a deliberate setup. My introvert came right back into play and after the next speaker I left and went home. So yes, I did come but then I left." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Open Doors\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 2073\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character looking for a sign." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Long before the hinges had fallen off of the door of our 2 story colonial, our marriage had loosened and showed signs of strain, needing both new paint and repair. Perhaps a trip to Home Depot would do the trick, and we could begin to mend not only the door, whose threshold I had been carried through 16 years earlier, but our hearts and ultimately our home. While I was willing, the back and forth of his infidelity forced me to turn its knob forcefully, and scrape its bottom unwillingly onto a foundation that was already in deep disrepair. Before I knew it, I was slamming the door and vowing the reverse of what I had promised in the faithful years earlier, “I don’t.” Reaching for the red can of paint from the car, I would approach him in the corridor of the musty hallway of worn carpet and make my declaration, “I can’t do this anymore. “Can’t do what?,” he asked. “Open the door? “I’ll fix it in the morning when we paint the door. Isn’t that what you wanted?” “No,” I said, “It’s not the door. What I want is a divorce.”\n\nWas that why my marriage didn’t work? I reasoned, sitting in the dark cold empty courtroom with my best friend, Felicia at my side. Because the door was purple. While purple had long been a color for prosperity, this door hadn’t brought me luck or prosperity. Its ghastly eggplant color made me hate the vegetable even more. Maybe I should have just painted the door, I reasoned as the judge reviewed the terms of our agreement. He had given me everything I had asked for, but I still wasn’t sure how I was going to make it. \n\n“Lisa, don't worry, everything is going to be alright,” Felicia said, interrupting my thoughts. “When one door closes, another one opens. Girl, you know that,” she added. True to fashion, Felicia was always quoting somebody. \n“What? door? I was just thinking about a door,” shifting my focus to her.\n“It’s the law of attraction.” she said. It’s for….\n\nThe judges jab onto the sound block awakened both of us to the present, for us to be silent, and to rise. “In the matter of Freeman vs. Freeman the absolute divorce has been granted,” the judge announced. I took a deep breath and glanced at my ex-husband who was already walking out the door, but managed to turn himself around for a second and say goodbye. “Good luck.” That’s it, I thought. It’s really final. A half smile managed to squeeze from my face, knowing that the divorce’s finality left him the house with the purple door, and me in search of a red one. \n\nFelicia reached over to give me a hug. “Girl, you got this. You have your whole life ahead of you and not to mention one-hundred and TEN THOUSAND dollars! Oh my God girl, now what?” Felicia asked. “Where are you going? What are you going to do?” she ranted.\n“Well first I have to get the check. You know how long these things can take. It could take months. And after taxes. Oh my God. What else can I do, but wait,” I replied. “For sure I’m going to get out of that apartment and start looking for my dream home.”\n\n“With a red door, right?”\n“Yes. The infamous red door,” I replied.\n“What’s that all about anyway?,” Felicia asked.\n“Well, if you must know. It’s Good feng Shui,” I replied. “It means strength and life. The two things I really need right now.” I explained. “That’s what I was thinking about when you were quoting Alexander Graham Bell.”\n\n“Well, no time like the present. Lisa, go for it. The check isn’t here yet, so you have plenty of time to look.\n\n“If truth be told, I’m scared. I don’t know where I’m going, but I do know that I'm going wherever the money will take me. If I can just find a duplex and get some rental income, I’ll be ok.” I said.\n“Like I said girl, your door is about to open,” she said, reaching into her purse. \n“But wait, you mentioned something else about the law. “What were you talking about?”, I asked inquisitively.\n“It’s the law of attraction. “Listen, Lisa, I gotta run. But here's a little something for you. It’s all in here. Just promise me you’ll read it,” she said, handing me the careful but obvious gift-wrapped book. “I’ll call you later.” Felicia knew I wasn’t big on reading. “I promise,” I yelled as she dashed out of the courtroom.\n\nRiding home, I glanced at houses leading up to my street admiring the perfect set of picture perfect windows from which to look out and sip coffee in the morning, the perfect porch to write and greet guests and the perfect bright door facing South. My eyes drew to homes with bright red doors, sturdy columns, and a wide country porch to complete its charm. \n\nOnce inside my apartment, I carefully unwrapped the book and revealed its title, The Secret. I plopped on my bed and began searching google. “(The Secret” is simply the “law of attraction.” Essentially, the law of attraction states that whatever consumes your thoughts is what you will eventually get in life.) Hmmm. Sounds interesting, I thought. Aha, a video. I could get into that. Clicking on the YouTube video, the narrator began, “If you can imagine it will happen.” For the next hour I listened to testimony after testimony of people who had believed in the impossible and whatever they were believing for they said, came to them.\n\nThe telephone rang and it was Felicia. “No, I haven’t read the book yet, Felicia,” I answered. But I am watching the video. It’s interesting, but a little spooky if you ask me,” I confessed. \n“Well I’m telling you girl, it is for real. True to form, she backed it up with a famous nod. “And, it was on Oprah.” With that said, we both shouted out in tandem our anthem followed by laughter. “And you know if it’s on Oprah, it must be true.” \n“Read the book girl. You promised me, bye.” Busted. Well I had promised. So I shut the video off and began reading, turning each page and chapter as if I was eating each word as if I was eating a good bag of chips with dip. I couldn’t believe the number of famous people who had admitted to using it and I was just learning about it. Imagine it and see it coming to you, the book admonished. Be specific, said another. Put it on a vision board and look at it each day until it happens, another chapter suggested. Halfway through the book I put the book down and pulled out a sheet of paper and drew and listed the details of the home I imagined. Lots of windows, hardwood floors, white cabinets, granite countertops, duplex and a red door were on the top of my list. \nClosing the book briefly, I began googling, duplexes 50,000. A few trailer homes popped up. There was no way I was going to find it in this city. Too expensive. Besides, I didn’t want to live in the same town with my ex anyway. Well, everyone says it’s cheaper in the South, I reasoned. A long time fan of Maya Angelou, I googled where she lived. Search results revealed Winston-Salem as one of her longtime homes. That’s where I’m going then, I said. That night I called a real estate agent in the area and told him I was looking in the area for a new home.\n\n“So tell me, what exactly are you looking for?” Asked the real estate agent.\n“Well,” I said, a duplex. I want to live on one side and rent out the other. Hardwood floors would be nice. White cabinets. Oh, and a country porch. \nOkay. That’s very specific. Winston-Salem has a lot of older homes. And your price point?\n$50,000. I said with confidence.\n“Well, that might be hard to find. But, I’ll send you some listings.” \n\nThe next morning I began checking the computer, nothing. Not it. Nope. Just as I was about to give up I saw a home he had sent me as one of his listings. Flipping through the photos I saw hardwood floors and white cabinets. Promising. Looks interesting. Oh my god and a country porch. \nI immediately picked up the phone and called the agent. “That’s it.!” I said The one for $52,000. Please make the offer.”\n\n“Give me a moment. Do you have the MLS? he asked. After a brief pause, he said, “this doesn’t seem right. It’s a single family home. There are million dollar homes in this area. Sometimes the pictures don’t match the property. Why don’t I go and check it out for you tomorrow afternoon?” \n\n“Okay,” I said and immediately dialed Felicia. “I made an offer on a house,” I said.\n“Really, you did? Where? When?” she said. “How do you know it’s the right one?” she continued.\n“The book you gave me. The Secret.” \n“What, oh my God, are you serious?”\n“Yes I’m serious. I did exactly what it said and it came to me. It actually came to me.\"\n“Is it a duplex?” she asked.\n“No, but it’s exactly in the price range I can afford. It has a porch and the white cabinets and hardwood floors.”\n“Slow down. Well, what about the door? The red door.\n“Well, the door wasn’t red, but it’s the one. I just know it. What the hell, I’ll paint it red. Now hang up and look at the pictures and just one more thing. Can you drive me to Winston Salem this weekend. Please, please, please. If they accept my offer, we’ve just got to go see it.” \n\nThe next day, the agent called. \n“Hello,” this is Lisa,\" I answered. \n“Hi Lisa, this is David from Southern Realty. We spoke yesterday. So, I did have a chance to go to the house. Well, there’s just one thing, it’s actually listed as a single family home, but it looks like somebody put up a wall and turned it into a duplex. So instead of a two bedroom, 2 bath as listed its one bed and bath on one side and one on the other. And it’s already tenant occupied.\n“Make the offer,” I said. “Full ask.”\n“But you haven’t seen it,” he replied.\n“Yes, I have.” I answered. \"Just please get the offer in. I will see you this Saturday for a walk-thru. This was too good to be true. I had to see it for myself. But, I was terrified that it actually might be happening. \n\nFelicia and I began the 4 hour drive to Winston that Friday night. By the time we checked into our hotel it was dark outside. “What do you say we go by the neighborhood and check it out? You know what they say, go by there at night.” Felicia said. “Yes, let’s,” I said eagerly, but cautiously.\n\nThe craftsman house stood prominently on the corner with every light out on the porch and no signs of life on the inside. “Let’s go peek in the window.” I said. “It’s pitch dark. Girl, you tryna get us arrested? Felicia said. “Besides, we don’t even have a flashlight.” “Common' I have to see it,” I reasoned. Let’s use the flashlight on our phone.” Walking up the stairwell onto the wide country porch Felicia and I quietly bunched together heading for the door, noticing then that there were two doors. One apparently must be the tenant unit who we didn’t want to disturb. “Which door?” I asked. \"What if it’s the wrong one and we wake up the tenant? \"Lisa said. I took a deep breath and said, “let’s go to the one on the right, that’s good feng shui. Turn the flashlight on your phone.” The moment Lisa opened the screendoor and turned the flashlight onto the door, I immediately fell to my knees as the light flashed on the door. “Oh my God. Lisa, Oh my God. Do you see what I see? I asked. “Yes, I see it. Your…” But the pictures didn’t show it, with the screendoor”, I interrupted and cried. “Aren’t you glad we don’t have to paint,” she said. \"I hate painting.\"" } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Strange Hobby, Strange Happenings\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 1152\n\nPrompt:\n\nAn apparent coincidence occurs. Write a story about a character who suspects paranormal, spiritual, or criminal causes." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Stella listens to the faint sound of her mother's aerobics tape playing through the crack of the door. The voice of the teacher is overly enthusiastic, almost tinny, she could hear the consistent creaking of her mothers' feet pounding the old wood of their house. It is a familiar almost comforting sound now, it means she has time uninterrupted. \nShe moves from her desk to a stretch of wall in between the door and the closet where a small table sits. On top of the table is a glass enclosure, where beetles crawl around on twigs. A light warmed the space she searched for her newest; it was a rhino beetle. But its black iridescence and knack for escaping made it special.\n“Just making sure everyone’s here,” she said to no one in particular. There were four others, two red ones, a blue one and an iridescent green one. She counted them and who was missing but the rhino. She double-checked the hiding spaces, some foliage, and a pile of leaves. He wasn’t there, she paused to think where he’d gone and once she did she saw movement on the wall. It was the Rhino, out again. She moved to the insect and grabbed it, careful not to crush it. \n“I don’t know how you keep doin this?” she said putting him back into the enclosure. She checked for breaks in the mesh on top. None. \n\"Stell,\" her mother's voice rips through her train of thought. \n\"Uh, yes ma'am,\" she says automatically. \n\"Go get my exercise bands,\" her mother says in between pants \"They're under the bed.\" \nShe quickly moves from the terrarium and heads down the hallway to her mom's room. The navy blue room is decorated to fit her mom's personality: neat, orderly, and afro-centric. She gets on the floor and begins thrusting into the darkness under the bed. Partly feeling for the different objects under the bed; a box, shoes, another box probably a puzzle, and some clothes. She feels something solid but it isn't the band's, it's hard and small. She quickly pulls her hand back and looks under the bed. \nNothing, but she finds the exercise bands. As she reaches for them something quickly passes in the corner of her eye. She sits up looking in the direction of the door. It scurries into the hallway, Stella scrabbles to her feet. It couldn't be...it was...the beetle, the rhino beetle. She groaned inwardly and runs into the hallway, trying to figure out how it got out. And bumps into her mother. \n\"What are you doing?\" her mom holds her hands out to catch Stella. \n\"Mom! Mom, did you see it?\" Stella continued, looking up and down the hallway. \n\"See what?\" She looks around quickly. \n\"The beetle,\" Stella moves her hands in the direction the creature went. \n\"Stella, I told you to keep those bugs out of my room,” she groans. “Letting you collect bugs is a privilege, not a right,”\n“Mom, I didn’t bring him to your room,” Stella said earnestly. \n“Either way don’t do it again,” She gave Stella a look and headed to her room.\nAfter looking around the house she retreats to her room, lightly closing the door. She goes back to her desk. Her heel taps the floor. How did it get out? She asks herself.\nHer mom is right partly, collecting beetles might be an odd hobby but it was one of the few things she enjoyed. She should take better care of her bugs maybe they won't want to run away. She sighed and looked at the aquarium they had turned into the beetle habitat. She was just going to bite the bullet on her newest beetle. She hadn't even picked a name for it yet but for some reason thinking of letting it go hurt. So instead she hopes she finds it again.\nShe takes a breath and looks at the pile of homework she has on her desk, most of it's done. She grabs a book she needs to read for English and flips to where her bookmark sits. She puts a hand on her neck and begins reading. \n***\nShe hears the voice of the tv end and her mom getting ready to go upstairs. She checks her watch, it's around 10, she involuntarily yawns. She moves her homework back to her backpack and begins getting ready for bed; putting her tightly coiled hair into braids, putting on her pj’s, and washing her face. \nShe goes to check the enclosure as a part of her routine, to count the insects and make sure they have everything. \nShe peers into the enclosure, her heart skips a beat, and her eyebrows furrow.\n“What?” she whispers, the rhino beetle has found its way back into the enclosure. It’s as if the little bug has a mind of its own. She picks it up by the shell, moves it to see every side. It looked like a perfectly normal bug. \nAs she went to put it back something happened, the bug seemed to flicker appearing in and out of her hand, its little legs moved more wildly and it created a flash that blinded her. Out of fear she drops it. It didn't like that, it moved more erratically and started to glow, the glow built until she couldn’t see anymore. She put out her hand involuntarily, she felt something slick and hard connect with her palm.\nAs quickly as the glow built it faded, she blinked the spots away the beetle was still in her hand but she was in the backyard. \nShe looked at the Rhino beetle now sitting patiently in her hand, her hand was shaking whether from the cold or being transported she didn’t know.\n“You can do that?” It didn’t answer but it seemed to look at her, a wave of guilt suddenly fell over her, as realized maybe there was a reason it kept escaping. \n“I’m sorry,” she said slowly kneeling down and placing the insect on the grass. She watched it walk across the ground and it flashed and was gone. \n“Goodbye,” she shivered, the wind was picking up, she stood hoping it took care of itself and headed back inside. She quietly made her way to her room. She finished her routine and decided to check the enclosure one last time. She counted the two reds, the green, and...wait.\nIt was the Rhino, for some reason as she watched it munch on leaves she wasn't afraid. \n“So you decided to stay,” she felt the corners of her mouth lift up\n“I won’t tell anyone,” she felt she needed to say, after all, she had found a teleporting beetle, there was no telling if it was sentient or not.\n“Alright guys goodnight,” she finished her count and put the mesh back on.\nShe laid in bed watching the terrarium, her eyelids felt heavy. Sleep wasn’t far." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Next\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 2457\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart your story with someone discovering a photograph that has something written on the back." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "I looked at the dashboard clock. It read 7 P.M. and I felt the tiredness of a long day. Stiff and painful when I moved my body, I was seriously considering quitting my job as a taxi driver. I was tired not only physically, but mentally as well. No excitement. Just demanding, dull rides. Except for the nice lady I pick up every Wednesday evening. Loves to talk. Talks about many things. A nice woman. If I could only remember what is her name?\nAs I was cleaning out the back of the car, I found a black and white photograph of five men. They were smiling at the camera. One man was circled in red. On the back was written ‘Next’ and an address. A chill ran down his back.\n “I’m paranoid. That doesn’t mean what I’m thinking.”\n But I couldn’t shake the thought that had wrapped around my mind like a bandage.\n I looked at the photo again and then the address. Time to put on my private investigator cap and do some research.\n Though I was in my own car, a KIA Forte, the feeling of tiredness didn’t fully disappear. I couldn’t shake the feeling I was getting every time I looked at the photograph. I had to make sure everything was all right. I decided to visit the address on the back of the photograph.\n After getting off the freeway, I made a left onto Sunset Blvd. I drove for a few miles and made a right onto Corinth Street. The house I was looking for was on the left. It was big, yet unassuming. I decided to leave the area before someone calls the police on me.\n Once I got home, though all I wanted was to take a shower and go to bed, my mind knew better. I had to find out who lived at that address. Possibly warn them of danger.\n I made a mental note to purchase a new computer and phone. My current ones were just a little too slow. Finally, when the computer booted up, I went onto the internet to the Nexis site to find what I needed. I loved being a part-time private detective. What a big fish I found. Mr. and Mrs. Cornell Anderson. The same Cornell Anderson who owns a significant part of Los Angeles. I definitely needed to speak with him tomorrow.\n But how? I knew I couldn’t just walk up to him and say ‘hi, Cornell. My name is Robert Jackson. Someone wants to murder you and I know who.’ Of course, that last part was a lie. I had no idea who wanted the man dead or if that was what the cryptic message meant. For all, I knew it pertained to payback at a game of golf or tennis. But that gnawing at the back of my neck told me otherwise. Two ideas came to mind. One, go to the police about this or two, contact Mr. Anderson’s security detail about the matter. I decided to contact the security detail first. Their actions would determine whether I go to the police about this. I can’t go to them with just a hunch and no hard evidence.\n I did some more research to find out who was in charge of the Andersons having a peaceful day on a daily basis. The firm, The Connors Agency, came up. I would give them a call in the morning.\n After my morning ritual of a hot shower and coffee, I called the Connors Agency.\n “Good morning. The Connors Agency,” the woman said.\n “Good morning. May I speak with Adam Connors?” I asked.\n “May I tell him who's calling?”\n “My name is Robert Jackson. I have some information about your client, Cornell Anderson. I’m a private investigator.” I lied. I wouldn’t have my license until I finished the P.I. course which won’t be for another year.\n “One moment, please.”\n I didn’t have to wait long.\n “He has an opening at 1:30 pm? Can you make it?” she asked.\n “Let me check my schedule. Yes, 1:30 is ok. I’ll see him then.” I said.\n After I hung up and did a little happy dance, I thought about the whole situation. I wondered if I was wrong? Maybe someone is playing a bad joke on me? I picked up the photograph and looked at it. The gnawing on my neck came back. I put the photograph in a small zip lock bag to protect it as much as possible. As I kept looking at the image of the five men, different possibilities came to mind as to why the picture was in my taxi and what all of this means? The gnawing didn’t stop. When I thought about the word murder, it stopped.\n Why would anyone want to murder Cornell Anderson? From what I’ve read he’s a good family man and generous with his money. Yet, strange things occur behind closed doors. Maybe he’s not what he appears to be? And who are these other men in the photograph? Is it possible one of them wants him dead? Adam Connors might know who they are. I really need to talk to Cornell Anderson. Getting second-hand information is not right.\n I looked at the time on my phone. 10:30. I wanted to take a nap, but I knew better. I would oversleep and miss my appointment. I went for a run instead. I would stay awake, and it would clear my head so I could think. Plus, I needed the exercise. \n When I finished my run and went home, I answered my messages on my phone. It amazes me that when I’m at home no one calls me. As soon as I step out the door, everyone calls me.\n I had ten messages to answer. Half were telemarketers and were deleted. Three were friends and the last two were from my mother. Today was Monday. She wanted to hear how my weekend was and did I meet any pretty young ladies. Mother is a bit nosey when it comes to my love life, but I figure all mothers are like this. I wonder. Especially since she is not my birth mother. She left me with her sister when I was six months old. She couldn’t handle being a single parent, so I ended up with her sister and my uncle. I turned out all right. Yet I would like to know where my mother is? I have asked mom and uncle, but they don’t know either.\n I took a shower, got dressed for my appointment, and called mom.\n “I can’t talk long, mom. I have to be somewhere by 1:30,” I said.\n “Too busy to talk to your mother. What a sad day this is,” she said.\n “What is it, mom?”\n “Did you meet any nice ladies this weekend?”\n “No, only Ms. Katherine Brown.” I was glad I remembered her name.\n “That old woman! Why does she need so many taxi services? You be careful around her. She’s not right.”\n “I have to go, mom. I’ll talk to you later.”\n I hung up the phone.\n I should have never told mom about Ms. Brown. She doesn’t believe anyone is that nice. She never has anything nice to say about her. She thinks the woman is up to something. I can’t think of what that could be. She is just a nice old woman. Grandmother type.\n I hurried to my appointment at The Connors Agency. I was a bit nervous, but I made it.\n “May I help you?” The woman asked. She was in her early thirties, with brown eyes, and hair. Athletic build. Appears to be a nice woman that mom would approve of.\n “I have an appointment with Adam Connors. I’m Robert Jackson.” I wanted to give her my phone number, but I need to have patience.\n “Yes, he’s expecting you. I’ll let him know you are here.”\n “Thank you.”\n It seemed as soon as she hung up the phone, he came out to greet me. Adam was about six feet tall, with black hair, hazel eyes. Muscular build. Forty years old, give or take.\n “Mr. Jackson. I’m Adam Connors. Nice to meet you. Let’s go to my office.”\n I followed him down a hall to his office on the right. It was a brightly lit office. Various African American artworks decorated the walls. A large L-shape cherry wood desk sat in the middle of the room. The kitchenette was to the left. There was a large oval table near the kitchenette. We sat there.\n “I hope you don’t mind us sitting here while we talk. I want to finish my lunch,” he said.\n “No problem. I’m a guest,” I said.\n “Let’s get to the reason you’re here.”\n “Mr. Connors—”\n “Adam, please.”\n “Adam, I want to be honest with you. I’m not a private investigator, yet. I drive a taxi for a living. I’ll have my license in about a year.”\n “I see.”\n “I do think your client is in danger.”\n “Why is that?”\n I took out my ‘evidence’ and showed it to him. He looked at it and gave it back to me. He gave me a strange look.\n “I’m listening,” he said.\n “I think your client, Cornell Anderson, is on someone’s hit list,” I said.\n “And you determined this by a photograph?”\n “Yes. It’s just a hunch.”\n “Why didn’t you go to the police about this?”\n “They would have given me the same look you’re giving me right now.”\n “Mr. Jackson, I don’t believe you. The reason why I don’t is you know how many strange individuals I meet weekly who want to ‘talk to’ my client? All of them want something from him? I’m asking you what do you want from my client?”\n “I don’t want anything from your client! I just want to make sure he doesn’t end up dead,” I said.\n “I see,” he said.\n At that moment there was a knock at his door. He went to open it and two men entered the room. They identified themselves as police detectives. I felt sick in my gut.\n “Mr. Jackson, these two detectives would like to talk to you at the police station. My client doesn’t like to be conned. Don’t forget your ‘evidence,’ he said.\n I picked up the photograph and went with the detectives.\n The station was overflowing with the usual people. Criminals, suspected criminals, and innocent victims. I was afraid that I was going to be thrown into a holding cell with the hardened of society, but I was put in an interrogation room. I looked at the mirrored window and wondered if I was being watched. The two detectives who brought me in entered the room. They introduced themselves as Walker and Johnson. By the looks on their faces, I knew this was not going to be fun.\n “Robert Jackson. Or should I call you Robert Jackson, Private Investigator?” Detective Walker said. The other detective laughed out loud.\n “Just Robert Jackson,” I said.\n “So, you lied about being a P.I.?”\n “I exaggerated. I’ll have my license in a year.”\n “We don’t like liars, Robert. What else have you lied about?”\n “I don’t understand what you’re asking me?”\n “Where did you get this photograph?”\n “It was in the back of my taxi that I drive.”\n “Do you know who all these men are in the photograph?”\n “No.”\n “They were entrepreneurs.”\n “Were?” I asked.\n “They’re all deceased. Actually murdered,” Detective Walker said.\n “How did they die?”\n “They were poisoned.”\n I felt sick in my gut, again.\n “Did you kill them?” Detective Walker asked.\n “No, I did not,” I said.\n “We don’t like liars,” Detective Johnson said.\n “I’m not lying!”\n “All right, Robert. Did you pick up anyone near these addresses in the last month?” Detective Walker asked.\n He handed me a sheet of paper with the five-address listed. All upscale neighborhoods. Only one of my passengers stood out. I just couldn’t believe it was—\n “Robert?”\n “I don’t remember being in these areas. I would have to check my logs for the month.”\n “You’re still lying to us, Robert,” Detective Johnson said.\n “I’m not lying, you jackass!”\n “You can go, Robert,” Detective Walker said.\n I didn’t hesitate on getting out of there. Another minute and I would have lost my senses. Besides, I had a job to go to and a special person to pick up.\n Like the chimes of a clock, Katherine was waiting for me to pick her up. She was grinning like a Cheshire cat. She was eager to talk and so was I.\n “How was your day, Robert?” She asked.\n “It was interesting. I was at the police station. They think I killed five men.” I said.\n “Oh, my.” The grin didn’t fade.\n “All because of a photograph I found in my car.”\n “Did you tell them the truth? Always tell the truth.”\n “I’m not sure what the truth is.”\n “Yes, you do. Did you tell them I killed those men?”\n “No. Did you kill them?”\n “Yes, I did. They swindled money from me when I was younger. A great deal of money. That money was for my son. They were an evil group. Not all rich people are like that, but they were.”\n “Why are you confessing this to me?” Robert asked.\n“You’re better than a priest. Besides if you try to turn me in, no one is going to believe you. How could a 77-years old woman commit such crimes? The police think you’re crazy. This would confirm it. “\nI drove while contemplating my next move. I knew she was right. The detectives on the case would throw a straight jacket on me and put me in a cell. I just couldn’t believe that she is getting away with murder.\n“You can stop here please,” Katherine said.\nAbsentmindedly I did as she requested. She gathered her belongings, got out, and turned to face me. She had a slight smirk on her face.\n“Robert, it’s all right. Justice has been served. I can now die quietly and in peace.”\n“Katherine, what are you trying to say?”\n“I’m not killing myself. I don’t know when I’ll go. I do know I’m okay with my life.”\n“Katherine—”\n“Robert, I won’t be riding with you anymore and you know why. I’ve enjoyed our time together. Now for a little life advice. Go and enjoy your life. Stop the negativity and live in the positive. You’ll be all right.”\nShe walked up the street and disappeared into the darkness.\nAbout a year later I saw her obituary in the paper. I made a mental note to go to her service and to tell her she was right about me, and my life has been good.\n“Thank you, mama.”" } ]