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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: How love found them\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 1421\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a romance where the characters pretend to be dating each other in order to win a reality show." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Chris Benjamin, Ben for short as close friends and family members call him came into the Big Brother Nigeria reality TV show popularly known as Big Brother Naija as one of the favourites. The tall, well built, light skin middle-aged man showed himself quite the brilliant man who always had a smile to accompany his good taste and look of a man, with mostly native attires on formal occasions to show the quality of the man he is. He knew he needed more than just originality to win the contest. Competitions of this magnitude demanded more than just being cute. Beyond appearance and even competence, the potency of an enchantment only love can provide has proven in the past to give an edge over other competitors. And this is his intentions: to have in his Arsenal all the advantages his person and personality could afford him. \nAll through the screening and interview stages his eyes where set on the most beautiful and easygoing of women. He'd flirt a little and attempted to be friends with most of the women he thought would be liked by the viewers. He flirted with them just enough to get their attention and those of the viewers but somewhat short from being too obvious as it may expose his intents. It seemed prefect a plan. And yes, it was. He played smart or at least so he taught.\nThe earliest three weeks of the show saw no eliminations. All house mates totalling 30 would try to gain grounds and enchant viewers with the idea of their person and everyday life, make friends with fellow housemates and showcase themselves to their viewers enough to be with the majority when voting for and against evictions started.\nNengi sat on the cushion, alone, quiet and calm as she'd always done. Excluded from the noise she took solace in quietude. The reality TV show has been ongoing for weeks now yet very little of her person was known to the viewers and even housemates. She'd politely return all greetings, smile back at those who did so while trying to engage her into conversations. It was hard to fully understand her person; she was somewhat a mystery no one thought of deep enough nor showed so much concern as to try to understand or solve it. She was greatly loved by the the viewers and admired by most of her housemates. Ben had observed this carefully. Maybe because unlike most people he had interest in attaching himself with the type of woman the majority of the people would approve of. It could not be argued on the contrary that he loved most of the qualities she possessed. The quiet, calm, gentle, organised attitude she portrayed were qualities he never could've ignored even every other days. That is his idea of an ideal woman he'd be more than pleased to have for a wife. If there was a perfect moment for trying to win her over, it was now. For she herself was showing a liking for the most admired man in the house. \n\"Hey babe.\" \n\"Hi.\" She replied smiling. \n\"Surely I've seen many beautiful women in my life but I doubt if any has been this beautiful.\" He said as both laughed about it.\n \"Well, I don't know about that.\" She replied trying to not make a big deal out of it. \nBen moved closer to her. \"I mean every word, and this should not be mistaken for mere compliments nor understood as kind words alone.\" \n\"Very well then, the words are appreciated. Thanks.\" She said smiling.\n\"This is Big brother, Hetty go to the Diary room.\" Said Big brother as he interrupted their conversation. \n\"Yes Big brother.\" Replied Hetty as she got up from the sofa not too far from where Nengi and Ben were seated.\n\"I can't believe it took him this long to finally declare his feelings to me\". She thought as she smiled back at him as they resumed their conversation.\n\"He's quite a man and would definitely add up to my chances. Though he's cool even outside this competition.\" As she once more thought to herself.\n\"So...\" Ben said smiling. \"So....\" Nengi mimicked him as they both had their full of the laughter.\n\"I can't believe you're this friendly and easy going.\" Says Ben. \n\"I mean look how happy you are.\"\n \"What makes you think that I am friendly and easy going?\"\n \"I mean....it suits you. God you're so beautiful, especially when you smile!\"\n\"Well thanks\". Nengi said smiling. \"But don't you think I've heard those kind of compliments so many times before now?\" She said smiling.\n\"I'm just saying it for the first time.\" Ben says as he laughs.\n\"Most people often don't see beyond my beauty. I get to hear that often and frankly I'm bored with it.\" \n\"I'm sorry to announce to you that if that's all that bores you then you'll be bored for life, cos I'll keep telling you how beautiful you're everyday: even at 70.\" Both laughed heartily.\nThis is Big brother, Prince go to the Diary room.\" Said Big brother as he once again interrupted their conversation. \n\"Yes Big brother.\" Replied Prince as he got up from the sofa not too far from where Nengi and Ben were seated were he was reading.\n\"You have so many admirers.\" \n\"What makes you think so.\" \n\"You said so yourself not quite long ago that you're bored with people's compliments regarding your beauty.\" \n\"Was that how I said it?\" She said smiling.\n\"Well, not exactly but you sure sounded that way.\" \n\"Not often people gets to admit this but, we all want people to simply love us because we're human beings and not because we look a certain way. What happens when we no longer look that way?\" \n\"Well it's true. But...\"\n\"No but. C'mon to love unconditionally is that too hard to do?\"\n\"Not everyone can be that lucky though. The hard truth.\" \nShe burried her head between her legs. \n\"Hey. I love you. I'm sure you may well have noticed already I do.\"\n She lifted her head from where she'd burried it. \"That's a serious assertion.\"\n\"No it's the confessions of my heart!\" \n\"Let's say you love me today because I'm beautiful. Yeah, you said I am. What happens tomorrow when I no longer look beautiful to you?\" \n\"I love now. I'll love later and always. You're beautiful to me now at 70 you'll still be the only beauty I love and that'll be truly mine.\" \nDays turned to weeks and weeks into months. The two became very close. Nengi still somehow wouldn't give in to his advances completely even though she seemed to pretty much enjoyed his company. She'd play it between dating him and wanting him to prove himself worthy of her love. The more she proved hard to get the more the viewers would want her to stay in the show. The majority of viewers took liking for the both. Highlights of the show were events between Ben and Nengi. \nThe strategy seemed to have a worked a great deal as both were now in the final rounds. More and more the old strategy was in need of innovation lest it stood at the break of collapse. The truth now is, Ben really was in love with Nengi who seemed in love too but was still too reserved to show she really was. Most viewers now were fed up. Most now supported Ben outrightly given his show of love to Nengi. \nThe last elimination at it's final stage took viewers by surprise as Ben was evicted from the house. His game came this far only to betray him to his feelings for Nengi. Without her greatest support she lost the contest by a wild margin. For the part of her that remained in the game wasn't strong enough to cover up for the part of her that left when Ben was evicted. And what beagn as a dating game to aid both the chance of winning a contest ended up in the most unexpected ways. With neither of them winning the contest their strategy at best was a plan gone bad. Though both lost the contest, they won each other's heart and have found love in each other. \nWait a minute, did I mention the part where Nengi said she'll accept to date Ben just for the contest? My bad! She say so in clear terms. Now look at how fulfilled she is sleeping in his arms!" } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Mama's Lesson\n\nGenre: asian-american\n\nWord Count: 1037\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart your story with someone finding an object labeled with their name." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "I uncovered the box, and the drive to declutter my parent’s basement evaporated. Tucked under the stairs of my parent’s home, the box’s white surface bore my name in English.\nHANAE\nMama’s beautiful handwriting had changed very little since she had made this mark. Pulling it open, I was transported to another place and time, when my hands had lifted this lid and beheld the same treasures they did now. I marveled at the faded green sweater sitting at the top of the clothes inside, the first that Mama had ever made for me.\nWe lived tucked away in the attic of Papa’s two-bedroom childhood home. After Papa brought us across the ocean to live in America, Mama stopped using as much English with me. All of our things sat in boxes that were never completely unpacked into the living space of the house. We’re just staying with Grandma for a little while. In the quiet hours of the day, with nothing else to do and no one to do it with, I journeyed into that labyrinth of my parent’s memories, dust well-settled on their lids. Inside I found Mama’s things from home; trinkets, pens, plastic folders full of papers, and clothes. These things would come out to be used from time to time, but always went back to their box. Year after year, they looked the same. Sometimes, there would be a new box, and our room grew a little smaller.\nI went to bed beside Mama each night, on a floral pink pillowcase she sewed for me. I liked to press my back against it, and walk my little feet up the slanted attic ceiling as far as I could. From beside me, Mama would look up from a novel and scold me not to, because the oil on my feet would make the ancient white paint dirty.\n“Nobody comes in this room anyway, so it doesn’t matter!”\n“We have to take great care of all things. Even if no one sees.”\nIn the morning, she would make toast for me, never with as much butter as I wanted. She stood with me and held the honey jar, so I could stir the wooden wand around in the little amber pool. We both would watch as the bulb of golden sweetness stretched down and mixed with butter on my waiting toast. If I asked for more butter, Mama said if I ever wanted to cook well, I needed to learn what tasted ‘just right.’ One day a black carpenter ant crawled across the white kitchen floor. I gave this ant a drop of honey from the jar, so she would stay a while and eat. Her legs got stuck in the droplet for a while, and she moved the way I did when I trudged in the mud of a low tide. Alarmed, I scooped her out and wiped the drop from the floor. Ants won’t invade a kitchen that’s clean.\nSome afternoons, Mama would buckle me in my car seat, and drive us into town to do the shopping. I was to be a quiet helper while she picked groceries, home goods, or clothes for us. I liked when mom shopped at the store in the mall that had a T.V. I wasn’t allowed to watch any screens except for weekends, so it always felt like a special treat. It made me grateful we always took a little longer at the registers. Mama would count and calculate and sometimes prioritize. Every trip was a lesson in arithmetic, but I never mastered her art of head-math. Calculations simply seemed to make room to suit her, while I had to fight every number and decimal. Never was she more focused than at the grocery store. Not just for price, but for the dates on each package. The weight of each apple and cabbage. Length of every sausage and zucchini. In our cart went organic produce, meat, and bread. Rarely did she buy colorful treats like juice, cookies, or candy. If I asked for them, Mama said sugar helps colds get stronger. Isn’t it nice not getting sick? Remember how it hurts when your stomach doesn’t want to keep food? Candy was for the Saturdays Papa took me to the Marina. Where Mama said no, I could often get Papa’s yes. I felt so clever.\nEvery evening at five o’clock, Mama and I had dinner ready on the table. Papa woke up before the birds each day to go to work, so by the time he came home he was already fighting sleep. Papa came home as fast as he could to taste whatever magic Mama conjured up in the kitchen. There are few in the world with her sense of taste and resourcefulness. At her table I learned the taste of food prepared well. Papa needed plenty of rest, but he never shied away from fixing the things she couldn’t. The things she could fix, though, she fixed. Worn clothes were carefully patched and mended by her dexterous fingers. When we couldn’t buy something new, she learned to make it. She drove into town to the yarn shop to learn from the employees, and then came home to knit and knit. She carried her work everywhere, and in the Fall of my second year of school, she pulled a green sweater over my head; her first creation. She warned me not to get it dirty or tear it, and I didn’t. One day it was gone from my dresser, and eventually my memory. Until today.\nI never felt much want in the dawn of my life. I wanted for things, but never that which made my stomach growl, my fever break, or my shoulders dry and warm. I felt aware of the strength in my body from the food she chose, and the power of my mind from the math we did. The kindness of heart I curated in the shadow of her care. I knew how to care for things, and make them last. I tucked the sweater back into the box bearing my name. It was my responsibility to make sure that the next child who wore it would learn to do the same." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Never betraying Sly\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 1017\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story where one character needs to betray the other, but isn’t sure if they can." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "My parents hated the idea that I was white and my husband to be was black. They hated the idea of us kissing , or one day having childten. In fact they hated us both. They were against interracial marriage and wasn't afraid to let it be known. It didn't matter to Sly or I we were in love from the first time we ever seen each other. Love at first sight. I use to tease him that we were like the ying yang twins. What I lacked he had and what he lacked I had. We were so much I love , there was absolutely no way I could ever betray him.. He was the love of my life, my best friend, my twin flame. No one could ever be compared to him, no one. We had arrived at my father's farm two days earlier for a family meeting, and now we were all being summoned into to the dining room. I new it was bad news from the second we arrived. My mom.had been crying and she had a black eye. As I looked around the room and and noticed all the faces staring back at mine, my mouth watered and my hands shook, I knew I was going to have todefend my husband til the end. My dad was ranting and raving, someone was stealing money from his business, and we were going to find out today who it was I heard the thump, thump of his hands snaking together, I smelled the sweet smell of sweat , and the him that he had been drinking all day. As he was circling the table he kept getting closer to me He grabbed me by my shirt and screamed in my face it was your black husband. I started screaming \"It wasn't him\". \"Daddy, let me go, please I swear it wasn't him\". \"It wasn't him. It was Bryan\" I screamed, and the the whole room gasped with horror and disgust. \" \"Shut up\", My daddy screamed in my face. Then he once again, began to circle the table with his gun in his hand. He was smacking the table every few feet with the palm of his hand ,a loud thump, thump, Before he made it a complete circle around the table I fainted. I couldn't take it anymore the yelling and fighting and fussing all over someone who stole from my fathers business. He was adamant it was the only black person in the house, I didn't care if it was Sly, I would never betray him never. As I came to, a few minutes later, I heard Sly whisper in my ear \"Just tell him I did it please, if not he is going to hurt us all.\" i looked deep into his brown eyes and put my hand in his and I whispered, \" I told you I would never betray you\". My father continued cursing, screaming knocking things over, slapping my mom in the face, s As his face was turning more and more red, his veins in his forehead and neck kept getting bigger and bigger. I thought he was going to explode. Finally, I got to my feet and I looked, my father in the eyes and I said \" I stole your money, it was me\". He made a horrible screaming sound \" you, filthy bitch how dare you still from me. I am your father\". I looked him in the eyes and I said \" You may be my father but you are not my husband\" . He grew angrier and screamed \"get out of my house you two, Now leave. Take nothing with u but the clothes on your back. \" We looked at each other grabbed each other's hands and walked out the front door, our heads held high. We walked down the steps and kept on walking until we came to a clearing in the woods. I looked at the man I chose to marry, the father of my future babies and I told him \" I said I would never betray you.\" Wrong or right, bad or good, left or right, up or down I'm here for you\". You are the most loving person I ever met.\" And I would die for you. As w continued walking into the trees if got darker and darker until we couldn't see out hands in front of our faces. By this time we were both tired, dirty, hungry and thirsty. So we stopped by a riverbank and took a break. Falling alsleep in each other's arms, my head on his cheast. Neither of us knew it would be our last night together. The next morning we started walking west. Around noon I got the feeling we were being watched. Then we started hearing twigs breaking and dogs howling, and men hootin . We were in trouble I knew my father had called his family in us and we were being hunted. Sly looked at me and pushed me away from him. \"He screamed I'm here come get me\". My dad answered \"it's not you it's my thieving daughter I want\", I started to shake all over my daddy said \" let her go and you may live to see another day\". I never saw this coming, Sly pushed me into a open clearing and screamed\" here she is and he ran away\". I screamed Sly please don't leave me and he said \"I'm sorry but I don't want to die\". He took off running never looking back to see if I was ok. The last thing I saw before my dad shit me was a look of disgust on his face. The last words I heard was \" I told you bloodnis thicker than water. I does that day betrayed by a man I would of died for, a man I lived more than anything. I died alone. Betrayed by the one person I loved. I vowed revenge as I lay there dying on both him and my father. I vowed they would both pay." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Marked for Failure\n\nGenre: asian-american\n\nWord Count: 1016\n\nPrompt:\n\nCreate a title with our Title Generator, then write a story inspired by it." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Twenty years earlier, Chaoxiang’s mother had held her newborn son, weeping with joy. Of all the auspicious names to choose from, his mother picked the Chinese name for “expecting fortune.” As an undocumented kitchen worker at AmeriCasino’s Shanghai Buffet in Reno, Chaoxiang had learned to temper his expectations. \nIn the midst of chopping endless mounds of broccoli, mushrooms, onions, and peppers for a pittance, Chaoxiang paused mid-slice, knee-deep in parings, to watch the cheery twinkle lights blink. Outside, they clicked wildly against the grubby kitchen windows’ panes as the howling, icy winds of Nevada threatened to shatter the lights, kitchen window, and all. \nHe shivered as he walked by the exit doors. It had never been this cold in Yunnan. For a moment, he was grateful for the kitchen’s oppressive heat, though he had grown to hate both the AmeriCasino and the Shanghai Buffet. Still, the lights outside were beautiful, almost as much as the Sierra Nevada mountains that enveloped Reno, the only American city he knew. \nChaoxiang wondered if all of America was just as cold.\n“Chow!” the bloated red-faced man called to him. “Dish room. Now.”\nChaoxiang nodded, the only acceptable response. He wordlessly cleaned up his station, carefully washed the sharp knives, and meticulously put everything back in its place. \nYou are a good student, his senior middle school teacher had said. At university, you will do very well. But there was no money for college. His father’s gambling debts had seen to that. His father was notable in Yunnan as biāojì wèi shībài—a man marked for failure. Even in this new place, his father’s failures clung to his only son.\nThe amount of money that Chaoxiang earned by working seven days a week, keeping the buffet’s steaming trays cleaned and filled, was merely a drop in the bucket. As his father owed over a million yuan to the Chinese triads and they owned AmeriCasino, Chaoxiang’s indentured servitude had been arranged without his consent, even after both of his parents were murdered. The triads would have their money, even if seven generations of his family toiled in the backs of kitchens around the world to pay it off.\nFrankly, Chaoxiang’s plight was more of a message than anything else: those who couldn’t pay their debts would lose their eldest sons. It was quite a deterrent for recalcitrant stiffs back in Mainland China.\nChaoxiang entered the dish room, taking up alongside Ping, another Chinese national. He soon felt like a garbage man in a sauna. Rivulets of sweat streamed down Chaoxiang’s face while his hands reddened under the caustic soap and blistering hot water. \n“Chow, there will be a raid soon,” Ping said.\n“Triads?”\n“No triads. ICE.”\n“How do you know,” Chaoxiang whispered, as his co-worker looked sick and untrustworthy. So many of the kitchen workers used cheap drugs to get them through the long days of grueling work. Why Chaoxiang held out hope that his fortunes would change often vexed him. How much easier would it be to believe in nothing?\n“I know, Chow. The delivery men have said as much.”\n“Delivery men and who else?” Chaoxiang asked.\n“Look out on the casino floor for yourself. There are too many strange men near the exits. The pit bosses and cashiers have cashed out early. And see that pretty lady having coffee in the manager’s office?” His peer pointed through the partition where the red-faced man kept his disheveled desk. “She just arrived. She asked to see our papers.”\n“Where are the managers?”\n“They are meeting together with the cashiers.”\nOdd, Chaoxiang thought. The red-faced man had never left the kitchen before. \nHe noted the pretty lady appeared to be Chinese. She pulled off her heavy fur-lined jacket, far too warm for inside, revealing her shoulder holster. Her badge was affixed to her belt, previously hidden beneath her coat. As she held her second steaming cup of coffee, her short, blunt fingernails tapped it repeatedly. Her other hand felt for her gun, as if to reassure herself it was still there.\nShe acted far too nervous to be the police. \nFive years earlier, Chaoxiang’s father had held his teenage son, weeping with remorse, giving him the names of the Chinese gangs who expected a fortune from him but were taking his son instead. \nHis father also gave Chaoxiang some very old advice: one arrow, two eagles. Or as Westerners would say, kill two birds with one stone.\nThere wasn’t much time. \nChaoxiang walked into the manager’s office and bowed low to the pretty lady. She was taken off guard, seeing a kitchen worker approach her so directly. In one fluid movement, Chaoxiang extracted her pistol from her shoulder holster, neatly jamming the muzzle into her ribs. \n“Answer me quietly or die,” he muttered in Mandarin.\nShe nodded. \n“Who is coming tonight? ICE? Feds? Local cops? Chuen? Shing? Sun Yee On?”\n“14K.”\nOf course. The worst of them all. Sun Yee On was the largest of the Chinese gangs, but 14K was expanding globally. What better place to launder human trafficking proceeds than a casino in the middle of nowhere?\n“Where and when is the drop?”\n“In a half hour. A car is coming around the back. The driver will come in through the kitchen.”\n“Then we’ll wait for him together. Sit on the floor.”\nHe held the gun on her, tucked under his apron. They sat in silence for several minutes, her neck getting sore from looking up at him.\n“What is your name?” she asked, eyes soft, head tilted, mouth slightly open.\n“Expecting fortune,” he replied curtly, understanding that she had to use all the weapons she had at her disposal. \nPing suddenly appeared, carrying what would have been the pretty lady’s third cup of coffee. \n“Would you—” Ping asked, stopping short as he saw Chaoxiang holding a gun on her. \n“Ping, we are leaving this place with a lot of money.”\nHe looked at both Chaoxiang and the pretty lady, determining how to respond. “Yes, Chow. We are,” Ping decided.\nThe bell on the kitchen's backdoor chimed.\nThe expected fortune had arrived." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: The Best Is Yet To Come!\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 1991\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character who’s finally on the verge of achieving their lifelong dream." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Prologue\n1990\nI peeked out my public housing window looking for the Head Start bus. It would be pulling up soon with Crystal, my youngest child. It was her first day of school, and I was excited to hear about her day. I thought of my mother, a former school teacher, who always asked, “What did you learn in school today?” She’d get right down on her knees and speak to me at eye level.\n “Toni, what do you know now that you didn’t know this morning?”\nShe’d lean in and really listen to what I had to say. I wished she were here now to hear my troubled thoughts and advise me on a decision I had to make. Sighing deeply, I left the window and plopped on the couch. I’d promised myself that as soon as my last child was off to school, I’d go back myself. But I didn’t have a clue how to start the process! The first person I asked was my Department of Social Services caseworker. Her sharp reply still stung.\n “Look, my job is to make sure you get your check, food stamps, and Medicaid card each month. Beyond that, there’s simply no time to do anything else.”\nI was startled by her answer. I thought for sure she, of all people, would be glad to help get a person off the welfare rolls, but she didn’t seem to see it that way. Well, there was a community college downtown; perhaps I could speak to someone there. Wait, would I need my high school transcripts or something? I didn’t know where to begin trying to get those! I closed my eyes and breathed a prayer.\n“Lord, I don’t know what to do. If this is ever going to happen, you’re gonna have to help me.” \nI said, “Amen,” and headed to the kitchen to fix the afterschool snacks. A soft “clink ka clink” sound at the door made me stop. A piece of paper had just been pushed through the mail slot and was slowly wafting, face down, to the floor. I arched my brows. In the seven years we’d lived in this apartment, nothing had ever come through that slot. I bent down and flipped the paper over. Before I could rise, my eyes were watering, and I covered my mouth in awe.\nThe paper was a flyer with a bold question printed at the top.\nDo you want to go back to school?\nMy answer to my briefly muttered prayer was staring me in the face. A fresh hope ousted all the excuses I could have given myself to wait until my baby was a little older to go to school.\n I might get to do this thing!\nNoisy honking alerted me that the bus was outside. I reverently placed the flyer on the kitchen table before going to get Crystal. She was just getting off the bus, still looking cute, with pink ribbons trailing from her ponytail. She flew down the walkway into my arms. I hugged her with tears still in my eyes. Pulling back, she looked up with four-year-old concern.\n “Whatsa matter Mama? Are you sad to be home by yourself ?”\n“I won’t be by myself for long baby,” I said with a grin. I took her hand to walk back to the apartment. “Mama’s going to school!”\nThree months later …\nI fidgeted in line, waiting for my turn in the University library to pick up a class schedule. The study rooms were temporarily converted to registration cubicles to service the large influx of new students. I peered over the shoulder of the long-haired student in front of me. He was slowly leafing through a magazine and didn’t seem perturbed by the line, the wait, or the fact that he was about to embark upon an academic experience that already had me shaking and feeling like I wanted to puke.\nFor the thousandth time, I wondered if I was doing the right thing. How many years had gone by since I’d last stepped foot in a classroom? I did a slow pan of the room. Most of the people I saw were at least ten years younger. \nStop it! I cautioned myself. Comparing yourself to others is not what you need right now.\n I sighed. It wasn’t like I had just decided to do this. Getting a degree was part of a plan that had started five years ago after my husband decided he no longer wanted to be married. I knew I stood a much better chance of getting work that would pay enough to support the kids, along with medical benefits if I had a degree. I just hadn’t counted on all these mixed emotions showing up!\nAfter a frantic morning of getting the kids up, fed, dressed, and off to school before hopping on a city bus to the college campus, I was anxious to get to class to sit and let my thoughts settle. The reality of actually getting this far in my goal to go back to school still hadn’t sunk in. I was a thirty-year-old divorced woman with six children. I’d dropped out of school when I was sixteen and managed to get my GED by the time I was eighteen, but other than a few continuing education classes, I didn’t have the academic credentials or employment history that would land a decent job. It seemed going back to school was the best option I had.\nThe day I decided to move forward with my plan, I knew I’d have to wait until my youngest was old enough to go to school because money for daycare was out of the question. My baby was only fourteen months old then, so I had plenty of time to think about what I was going to do and get good and scared about doing it!\nI manage to push the fear aside and dry my tears of disappointment over my failed marriage long enough to get the ball rolling.\nThe day finally arrived when all six kids were getting on a school bus and waving goodbye. It was my turn to go to school.\nNext!\nA man with large black-framed glasses, nodded for me to step forward. He begin giving a spiel I'm sure he could have said in sleep. His voice droned on while I craned my neck to find the schedule with my name on it. The voice finally stopped and he shuffled through the collage of papers and pulled one out to offer me. I nearly snatched it out of his hands. He looked at me with a tired smile. “Here’s a map of the campus.\" I looked at the postage-stamp-sized piece of paper and squinted. This was a map? I looked back at him with raised brows. He gave me a lopsided grin. “Good luck with finding your classes.” He gestured to the next person in line.\nI guess I was on my own.\nHow hard could it be? I took a deep breath and started down a path I prayed would get me to my first class.\nTwenty frustrating minutes later of twists and turns, I wound up right back where I started. I felt the familiar chill of fear sneaking up. I glanced at my watch. Was I going to be late for class on my first day? On the heels of that thought came another one, I can’t be late if I don’t show up! I miserably turned in the direction of the bus stop. I knew where that was! My eyes begin to mist as I hurried, with blurred vision, to catch the next bus home.\nI was so intent on running away from what felt like a shameful defeat; I didn't see the guy until I collided with his broad chest. My purse slipped to the ground, and I quickly bent to pick it up to hide my tears and my embarrassment. This poor dude, I just about ran over, probably knew where he was going. What was my problem?!\n“Toni?” A familiar voice was saying my name.\nI lifted my head and stared. What were the odds that the one person I’d bump into on that large campus would be someone I knew? \n“Darwin!” I nearly squeezed the breath out of him.\n“Cousin! I didn’t know you went to this school!” He exclaimed.\n“Well, today is my first day, but how do they expect you to find anything on this crazy thing?!” I flung the map at him.\nHe grinned, “No worries Cuz! I’ll show you where it is. My class is in the next building.” He sobered a bit. “Cuz, are you alright? Have you been crying?”\nI swiped at my eyes and self-consciously smoothed my hair. “I’m fine.” I laughed. Relieved and amazed that the heavens saw fit to send my cousin down that path, on that day, at that time.\nCoincidence? I don't think so!\nDarwin draped a friendly arm around my shoulders. “Let’s get you to class girl. This your first day of school, and we can’t have you being late!”\nThe next four years…\nI wish I could say that was my first and last challenge, but in the next four years, there were many more! Some of them made me square my shoulders with determination to press on despite the difficulties. But others made me want to quit, like the day Crystal broke her leg at the afterschool program, or when a professor called me a name, I never even thought about calling a female dog.\n On the days that stress seemed to be winning the battle, I’d slip off to a secluded little area on campus and talk to a lone azalea bush. That azalea bush and I had numerous encounters during those\nyears of matriculation!\nMost of the time, I reminded myself why I was doing what I was doing.\nI wanted a new life for my kids and me. I wanted a car; I wanted to move into a nice neighborhood. I wanted better opportunities for us. The breeze stirring through the leaves of that bush seemed to spur me on. “You can do it. Don’t give up!”\nA month away from graduation, I discovered that each graduate would only get two tickets for family or friends to come to the ceremony. That wasn’t going to work!\nOn my roughest days, the one thing that fueled my mojo was the visual of seeing all my kids on the front row, cheering and wildly clapping for their Mama as I marched across that stage to get my diploma. Two tickets?! Something had to give.\nI shared my story with a few folks, and within days I had people offering their tickets. They were content to get their diploma in the mail. As a result of this generosity, I not only had enough tickets for my kids, but my sister, her three kids, my sister in law and my soon-to-be fiancé would all be able to celebrate this milestone victory with me.\nA week before graduation, I had two appointments I needed to keep. The first was an interview with the board of education for a job as an Employability Skills and Learning Development Counselor at a high school. \nThe second was with that azalea bush!\nMaybe it was silly, but I had to let it know that all those whispered monologues had not been in vain. I stood beside it in a silent camaraderie we’d forged through months of meeting. Especially during times when I was literally a thought away from calling it quits.\nI looked at that bush and smiled.\nIt was late spring, and the azalea blooms had long withered and dropped off, but just as the roots of that bush remained solidly planted, I too, stood flat-footed and sure of my next season as well.\nI knew the best was yet to come!" } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Heat in the Snow\n\nGenre: asian-american\n\nWord Count: 1760\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": "“Checking out of room 302 under the name Ferhat Jafar” a tall man said with full snow gear on. “Sure, you’re all set, have a nice day, sir.” I said, looking to see if the lady behind him would follow him up. Yup, that’s my life. I people-watch, check families in, and basically have lived in the snow my whole life. Well, since the age of twelve.\n My parents own an Inn for incoming skiers in Southern Colorado. Now our inn isn’t in the middle of the resort area, it’s actually on the edge of a highway in the middle of nowhere. But, just 30 miles up the highway is one of Colorado’s finest ski resorts ‘The Golden Yvenne’. So, a vast amount of families that can’t afford to stay there, or just need somewhere to use for a resting point for the night, come to our inn. I like to think of it as my very own castle. I have chosen to look on the positive side of working this job,, otherwise I would never hear the end of it from my strict Afghan father if I ever were to show disinterest. So, the month of January means so much to me. Not only do we make the most money around this time of year, but this year is another chance for the boy of my dreams to walk through that sliding door. \nBoys that ski have had a place in my heart for the longest time. The thing is, I usually don’t even get to see their faces due to the vast amount of headgear they put on for the snow. There have been the occasional times where I thought I saw a tall teenage boy, but it was just Benny, the old guy who loves the coffee from our Espresso machine. Being homeschooled I don’t meet a lot of boys outside of the Inn. But this year, now that I’m 15, I think it’s time I start using my job here as an advantage. \nThe only thing getting in my way, as it has been the last three years, is my mother, whom I call Amma. She is embarrassed of our family working at this small hotel, and doesn’t like getting close with the customers because she feels threatened by them being wealthier than us, because my mom herself used to come from a rich family.. I’ve never even been up the mountain, even though the mountain is the reason we have this job. I guess I’m destined to be here forever, but I was fine with that. No boy that is able to afford to stay at Yvenne's would want my company anyways, oh well. \n“Hi Marigold, I love your name, it's so beautiful. Are you from Afghanistan? My aunt is from there! I would love to know more about y-”. “Excuse me, maam?” a lady with dark hair hollered. I awoke from my dream, drooling on my laptop. “Hi, my boys and I are staying for the next 2 nights. There are 4 of us.” No way, could it be? Gear off and they looked like high schoolers? I avoid mixing with hoi polloi, but they were staying at our Inn? This must mean they couldn’t afford Yven- “Golden Yvenne was so packed this weekend! Did you know they are making people book time slots for the ski lifts now?” I felt like my heart was crushed. Like someone’s hand, physically got shoved into my chest and just squeezed my heart until it bursted into a million pieces. So they are upper class. Here I am, shattered over a family that I met roughly 10.8 seconds ago.\n“Oh, uh wow.” I said, acting like I’ve been to the top of the mountain before, “Here is your room key, maam. Oh and breakfast closes tomorrow at 10 am.” The mother grabbed her keys from my hand without saying anything before I heard her say to one of her sons, “I have reservations at the Palace on Main tomorrow morning at 8:30 please be ready.” As they walked away, one of her sons who looked to be the oldest stared intently at me. I awkwardly pretended like I had random things to input on my computer as I typed “kbfs hdbfs”. His stare was so intense I didn’t know if I should ask him if he needed assistance. “Mrs.Telley, let’s just have breakfast at the hotel tomorrow,” he said while still staring at me. “Calliope, you only have two weeks left here in America. Let’s not waste it!” the lady he was with responded. The boy sighed and followed the rest of whom I assumed was his family, but I was now confused. \nAn acrid smell rose through my nostrils as I heard Amma’s voice even in my deranged state yelling “how is this happening!”. My first thought after I became fully conscious was that maybe there weren’t as many customers at our inn as we presumed. But my ears started to shrivel as I heard our old, staticky fire alarm go off, and a stampede of feet stomping outside my window. “Mari, get out! Break the window!” I looked out the window and saw the boy. The boy from yesterday, the one who wanted breakfast here. \nI didn’t move for 5 seconds. My vision got worse, all I could see was him, and he was looking at me from the outside. I heard Amma’s voice but I ignored her even though she was speaking in the most harsh tone I’ve ever heard. I couldn’t think but to throw my phone out of the window, breaking the glass.\nThe only fire I’ve ever experienced was when I was three in Afghanistan, though I don’t even know if that really happened because I don’t remember it clearly. I climbed out of the window, forgetting to place a towel on the windowsill, but wishing I had as I felt the glass pierce through my thigh. I’d like to not remember the next 20 minutes of my life that followed.\nTears were forming in his eyes, as his lips quivered, “it was an accident.” I didn’t respond because I liked the thought of this boy but my parents lost all their money and it was because of him. And that was more important to me. I got up because I didn’t know what would happen now, but he grabbed my arms with his ashy hands. “Your parents aren’t suing Mrs.Telley, so thank you.” I was bewildered and skimmed over to my mom, avoiding any ashy pieces on the ground that the snow didn’t already burn out. \n“Marigold, we are moving back to Afghanistan because my mother has jobs for us there. The Inn wasn’t doing well anyways and maybe this was a sign,” my mom said in a stern tone as if it was already decided. My voice got nasally as I started visibly crying, “Why don’t you just sue th-that family. They’re rich and we n-n-need money to get back up on our feet, right?” My voice trembled. “Mari, our building is burnt to the ground. There is a cleanup crew coming up north that Ms.Telley is already funding. We will stay with them for a night and use all of our money from the Inn for living in Afghanistan,” my dad stepped in. \nI had no words. None at all. The roads closed because of the fire right off of the highway. So our only route was to drive the car up to the top of the mountain, and take a ski lift down to the next town in sight. A fireman took the Telley family’s car. It was a beautiful sight. The top of the mountain, approaching a ski lift, next to a boy. But I was not feeling very beautiful inside. I only felt pain. Pain, pain, and only pain. I didn’t have the slightest love for the boy anymore, who’s name I found out was Calliope. “Ride with me?” He said as we approached the ski lift. I had no other clothes besides what I was wearing, not even a purse, or a cell phone, because he couldn’t wait 6 years until he was legal to smoke. Calliope took my hand and pulled me onto the ski lift. “The smoking age is only 18 in Greece, where I’m from,” he said.\n “You’re from Greece?” I asked. \n“Yeah, staying with the Telley’s for two more weeks as an exchange student.” \n“Oh.”\nHis stare grew intense, just like the first day I met him. \n“So, tell me about you. I may never see you again, but I’d like to at least know the name of the girl whose life I unfortunately ruined.”\n“Marigold.”\n“First time at the mountain? How long have you lived here?”\nI hated that he could tell, it made me angry for some reason. I didn’t respond. The awkward silence filled the air, but I let it. \nWe came off the ski lift together and headed to their minivan. I didn’t really talk to the other two boys, didn’t even catch their names. Mrs.Telley put on a CD and the acoustic version of ‘Island in the Sun’ by Weezer was brought to all of our ears. Maybe I would wake up and it would all have been a dream. A traumatizing one but still a dream. \nA male voice could be heard from the inside of the Telley’s house. “I need a new franchise to open up, Terrance. After visiting Calliope, seeing his country, and the new opportunity Paul gave me, I can open up a franchise somewhere in Greece,” the man said. It was Mr. Telley. \nAs Mrs.Telley unlocked the door, his words processed some more in my head. Calliope heard it too because he was staring directly at me as if a light bulb had popped into his head. “Your business.” he said, “The-the Inn”. I ignored him because I was puzzled, confused, and just needed to lay down. After a nice shower and a night of worrying, I could overhear Mr. and Mrs.Telley’s conversation and I heard my name come up. \n3 years later \nIt was our sixth ski ride together, and our 4th in Greece. It was almost time for me to head back to the inn but he insisted on following me. I took out my camera and snapped another photo for my photography class assignment. It was my senior year. In another country. With the person who once ruined my life. Who knew what fate could bring 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: MY GALLERY\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 1664\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character who’s finally on the verge of achieving their lifelong dream." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Walking down to the quiet scene of the ocean.\nWashing down the heavy weight of burden on me.\nGuess life is how you live it, Imma live my life and a happy one as well.\nAfter school, I got engaged in photography work with my girlfriend unfortunately she needs to further her education elsewhere, I loved this part of her, that never cease to get my back.\nI love nature and creative images.so I visit places and ceremonies where I'm not even invited just to take some few shots. I always keep that on my beautiful gallery.\nI got recommendations from pals and unknown people and I must say, work was boosting to its peak. I delivered perfectly since my whole life depends on it.\nMy girlfriend became very happy about the future, she tried to project my work anywhere she finds herself.\nShe's decent, caring, loving and hardworking. She promised to returned after her education to get my job branded.\n I made myself available and sneak to big events to get myself a gig. In a ceremony where guests were pretty sited , I mean it was an official event organization where dignitaries where presents and I found myself in there, I felt butterfly in my stomach and felt a cold chills passing through my veins. I was scared I'm gonna ask for my invitee card. I kept my cool, fortunately the good sun shines on my fortunes.\nThe programme got started and could hear some murmuring, could it be that they have suspected an uninvited entrant in the center? Could it be me? I better not freak out.\nThe program was on going and I eavesdrops a convo about a booked photographer for the ceremony who didn't show up. They couldn't get a back up so I sincerely opted for the gap to fix it. I stood bravely from my sit and started taking shots right away. The MC was smart to introduce me to avoid embarrassment.\nI took beautiful shots of the scenes, got paid, recommendation was a silver lining in the cloud. I got home happily and blew the news to my girlfriend, you couldn't imagine her happiness and joy. So we planned our life ahead, hoping to get married soon. \nI felt reluctant to sneak to uninvited events because I thought I had lot of money. So I became less occupied and venturing into video editing. I loved my gallery, well my girlfriend wasn't so please with my whole idea but maybe money deceptively got me.\nMy girlfriend got certified in Communication field, I held a party for her comeback and success in her education. So what's next in life? Well I want my boyfriend to skillfully lecture me on photography because I think I'm developing a keen interest in that. So how about communication? Well tryna adopt the footsteps of my boyfriend she laughed.\nI wanna make my gallery a dream for us. Let's make it happen she said. \nAs a good boyfriend and hoping for the best for our future, I thought her skillfully as she expressed. and hey she got all better than me, she just hit that spot perfectly and that raised an eye brown. \nSome months later I had a good contract on a short show, I'm been hired as their videographer. I went for the gigs and oops I needed to lodge at the hotel with the crews for about two months. Shortly after, we had couples of shot and they loved my work. Few weeks to the end of the show. Criminals broke into the hotel to rob us. That was my saddest moment, I felt my life had come to an end. I felt all what have worked for have been drained away for a second. I wished the earth will open up and swallow me. My journey home was like a walk of a snail.\nI finally got home, met my girlfriend and narrated the story to her, she grapped me and gave me light, she gave me hope, I felt like a being again. Surprisely she showed up with a new Elements and items. Items that are needed for photography,\nAnd where the hell did you get all these?\nI worked and had all these while you were away, don't you think we can do this together again? For a second I felt loved.\nTime spent with her was amazing, wasn't lacking because she kept the money I left behind for our upkeep but man got to do further and work harder. I needed money in a swifter way which couldn't give a space for patience.\n Fortunately I met an old friend way back in school who works in the office of the president. we exchanged pleasantries and had a good convo. I felt this could be a big win for me. I held her right my way and forgot about my pregnant girlfriend who was begging for my presence.\nYES I know but babe I need this money, this could be a turn around for us. Truthfully I channelled my energy to my old friend Crystal.\nCrystal loved my company, shes just a duplicate of my girlfriend, I move on with her for some years and lost the connection of my girlfriend gradually, I felt this but I thought I could catch up anytime because I was working things for us and it's gonna turn up to be a surprise when I win. I mean returning to her with all wealth and joy, yes thats gonna be mind blowing but unfortunately I lost her engagement. \nCrystal ever asked whether I'm dating, that was the most difficult moment for me. I pretended I never heard her, she asked for the second time and I couldn't spit the truth than to deny it. Our friendship elevated to another zone. I felt the aura of love and I clicked on it. \nShe finally got me a job and recommendation, soon we became lovers, we had a good living and engagements. Work was selling as much but something happened. \nA meeting was held for all photographers. It was announced that a deputy in the office of the president will be celebrating his 40th anniversary in the office.\nThey needed a deserving and eligible photographer to take this gig but it comes with traveling packages and officially working with him, so we need you all to forward your portfolios. The derserved one will be contacted soon. Wish you the best of luck. \nThe program was over and guess who I bumped to? It was her with my son. I couldn't hug her because I felt I betrayed us but I'm happy to see us, hope she understands my reasons, what I did wasnt a bad plan for us. As I got closer to her, she pushed me away. crystal saw as afar and came closer, she asked what's happening but my ex girlfriend left. Crystal ordered his guys to check up on her, I told her it's not necessary. \nI got home so confused and bitter, crystal came home asking about her, I plainly told her it's an old friend. And who was the little child? Crystal! that I may not know, can we discuss something better and hey hope I'm winning this deal undoubtedly? \nDefinitely my man Crystal said. \nI think i couldn't have enough thought of my ex girlfriend at that program, what could she be doing there? Is she really in for this deal too, no I doubt, maybe she's an excort. What if she's in for it, appprently I'm the winner I really dont have to bother my head over it aside that I'm not competing with anyone. It's solely mine. \nFew weeks later, Crystal has been behaving strangely. Anytime I cared she either snub me or give me another reason for her moody attitude. I allowed her to flow because you never understand women when they're in their elements but was hoping for the best. \nI finally asked her about the deal, how she's working things out, she promised me a good one but asked me to prepare ahead. \nThe programme came of again but this time, they were announcing the best three photographers who suits and are eligible for the job. Unexpectedly my ex name was mentioned, myself and other who happens to be the best trio. \nI wasn't comfy so I left the place earlier to have my mind at rest. \nCrystal returned home happily. \nDennis:What was the meaning of that, \nCrystal :Meaning of what? \nDennis: I told you about a friend and all you could do is to include her to the top three? what the hell has come over you? I'm really not down with this, kindly exempt her. \nCrystal: If you think you will comfortably win, why tensed over it? \nDennis:I'm not, it's alright maybe I'm been paranoid. \nCrystal :paranoid you mean, Dennis you lied to me, that lady is your ex not only your ex but a lover you had a son with, you neglected her to fight alone and make it through to this peck, you're heartless Dennis, she had a good plan for you but you followed me because of riches, job or what. I still can't figure it out.\nDennis I got to tell you, you've lost it all, the final day is slated tomorrow night, trust me I'm gonna make her win this gig, she deserves it better than a coward and heartless man. I'm gonna make her dream come true, get ready to know the brand \"HER GALLERY\" She wept and left to her room. \nDennis:I'm sorry, you will never understand. \nDennis wept and reminisce about their past life. \nCrystal it's not what you think, I didn't mean to take an advantage over you, I was fighting for a successful future for us (ex girlfriend) but she gave up.\nDennis: She's gonna make her dream come true finally, The gallery, I lost this battle. He bitterly wept." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Sunkaraku\n\nGenre: asian-american\n\nWord Count: 1167\n\nPrompt:\n\nSet your story in a tea house." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "The low-level gnawing guilt Diana felt about taking a few hours off from document review for the Steinberg case had not ruined her enjoyment of the Philadelphia Museum of Art yet; in fact it had the opposite effect of reminding her of who she was before law school and before her current 90 hour work weeks in corporate law. What she remembered most from her undergraduate art history degree related to the classical European artists showcased in other wings of the museum, but she had made a point to wander through the Asian art section before leaving. She admired a series of timeless ink paintings that reminded her of her trip to visit her cousin in Japan in April of her last year of law school – a trip that fortuitously coincided with the peak of cherry blossom season. \n Turning a corner past the silk screens, she was astonished to find herself in a space that felt like the outdoors despite being in the middle of the museum, containing a Japanese tea house. As she started to explore the unexpected space, she saw a tall man of indeterminate age and race who looked oddly familiar ahead of her on the stone path. Realizing it was a little creepy and deciding she didn’t care, she sped up her pace to catch up to him, trying to figure out if she knew him from high school, although she didn’t remember going to high school with anyone this attractive, or maybe had a large lecture class with him in college. \n One benefit of law school and her current job was that Diana was used to thinking quickly but speaking carefully. “Incredible how it can be so rustic, but also so elegant,” she commented as soon as she reached his side. \n Caleb was jolted out of the mental notes he had been taking. His mother, the Japanese half of his gene pool, had been harassing him to come to the museum and see the tea house ever since he started his electrical engineering PhD at Penn. He didn’t have the heart to tell her he thought art for the purpose of beauty was a waste of human energy, and had finally needed a break from staring at a computer. He certainly hadn’t been expecting to talk to any women at the museum, but because of his mother he did know quite a lot about the tea house.\nPivoting towards Diana, he replied, “It was based on the simple style of Oguri Sotan, but built in the early 1900s by Ögi Rodö. It’s his only work outside of Japan.” As he spoke, the familiarity of Diana’s face crept up on him, making him self-conscious. Did he sound like a know-it-all, or like he was regurgitating information that was surely on a plaque somewhere at the entrance to the space?\n Diana looked taken aback, as if she was not used to men speaking intelligently. “Damn ok, are you a teahouse expert?” she asked, hoping she sounded flirtatious. It was driving her crazy that she couldn’t place his face in her memory.\n Caleb angled his body back towards the simple structure, embarrassed. “Nope, but my mom is, I guess it rubbed off.”\n Diana gave him a friendly giggle. “Well, do you know if the plants are real? Because I can’t decide.”\n He smiled. “I don’t know that, but do you want to hear about the garden designer?”\n Maybe it was the calm orderliness of the setting, which felt like a dream space separate from real life, but Diana said boldly, “What I want to know is where I recognize you from. Did you grow up here? Go to Tulane? Are you a lawyer?”\n “Grew up in San Francisco, no, and no,” Caleb replied, softening his answer with a “I really try to avoid hurricanes and typhoons.”\n The word “typhoon” from his mouth triggered Diana’s memory and she exclaimed, “Oh! Wait this is going to sound crazy,” before continuing, “but were you in Tokyo in April of 2012? Narita Airport the night of a typhoon that shut down the whole city?”\n Diana had just landed to visit her cousin, who had been transferred from the Sony office in New York to Tokyo. Because her cousin was there temporarily, she only had a shared company car, but had assured Diana it would be easy to take the train into the city from the airport. Except the night Diana arrived, she was held up deplaning by an elderly woman who needed a wheelchair, and by the time she cleared customs and collected her suitcase the airport was empty. She figured out the train wasn’t running but had no idea how to get into the city until she happened to run into a tall handsome man around her age who spoke English, who was traveling with an elderly Japanese woman. He had helped her get a taxi, and communicated her destination to the taxi driver. She had been so exhausted and flustered she didn’t ever ask for his name, just thanked him repeatedly as he brushed it off. And here he was, spewing Japanese architecture facts for her at a museum across the world.\n Caleb could not believe it was really the same woman. He had felt guilty for not being able to offer her a ride themselves, but the aunt he and his mother were visiting lived in the country side in the opposite direction from Tokyo. He wasn’t worried about her safety – any American woman his age could more than handle herself in a huge but incredibly safe city like Tokyo – but he had always regretted not asking for her name or phone number, and held out a silly hope that they would cross paths again. And here she was, right in front of him. \n He had been so dumbstruck by her presence he realized he hadn’t replied, leaving her awkwardly standing next to the bamboo fence, looking at him expectantly. “Yes! I was there with my mother, visiting her family! I think I helped you get a cab.”\n Diana’s green eyes brightened, “Yes! You did! I would probably still be in the airport if it wasn’t for you, I always felt so bad I didn’t really thank you.” She looked around at the teahouse, weighing the pile of documents she had with the delight at this random encounter and opportunity for a second chance, before continuing, “Can I, um, buy you a cup of tea? As a thank you?”\n Caleb flushed, making Diana think he was about to decline. Her eyes darted down to his left ring finger, finding it bare. He answered “I actually don’t drink tea, but do you have time to grab a beer?”\n As they walked out of the museum together, comparing notes on their Japan visits a few years before, Diana set a mental reminder to go back and see the rest of the Asian art section the next time she had a few hours off from work." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Dreaming in Blueberries\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 2619\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character who’s finally on the verge of achieving their lifelong dream." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Dreaming in Blueberries\nWhat is a dream? Maybe it is something wrapped up and tied around something you can recite like a piece of poetry or a song. Maybe it is writing a book that changes the world. Or maybe it is becoming a famous movie star and seeing your name at the top of the opening credits. Maybe it is having your pretty face shining with a smile and gazing down on everyone from a billboard. Maybe it is finally holding a soft baby in your arms. Maybe it walking across the stage to claim a degree. Maybe it doesn’t sound all that important to some people, but maybe to you it means everything.\nWhat’s the biggest dream I can think of? Well, I guess becoming a Queen. The Queen gets to rule the nation with power and dignity. She can better the lives of others. She lives with grace and teaches others to do the same. Though, I wouldn’t want to be Queen of the nation. There’s too much responsibility in all that. Too much stress that leads to health issues, wrinkles and criticism. No Ma’am. No Sir. That isn’t the life I want. It would be nice to have the respect though. Well, any respect. It would be nice to be known as the Queen instead of being called the “n” word all the time.\nI don’t think a week has gone by where I haven’t heard that awful word. Whether it is straight to my face or under someone’s breath. It doesn’t make a difference. It means the same thing. People don’t like me or think less of me because of my skin color. Sometimes I long just to be known as Queen. Instead, I am known as Maudie. I think today people might start thinking of me as something other than the “n” word. I surely hope so. Partly, I’m now beginning to think of myself differently too.\nWhat propelled me to achieving my dream? You could say it started off badly. My comfort zone no longer became a place of comfort. Sit back with your favorite cup of coffee or steaming cup of tea and I’ll share my story with you.\nI grew up in a tiny town about half an hour’s drive from the big city of Dallas. Of course, driving 30 minutes outside of downtown really changed everything. Instead of the skyscrapers and all the cars we had lots of grass, hay, and lots of cows. Well, the cows weren’t ours. My Mama and Papa worked on a farm. My Papa helped with the livestock and land. My Mama was a cook and housekeeper. That is when I got the first flicker of my dream. \nOne hot June day, Mama told me to help her pick some blueberries. She was very careful to tell me these weren’t my blueberries to eat. The berries belonged to the Walker family and I couldn’t eat what didn’t belong to me. I sighed and helped Mama fill the pail. She said,\n “Now Maudie, don’t pick the green ones. Don’t pick the pink ones. Those aren’t ready yet. When they are a deep blue that’s when they are sweet and ready for picking.”\nI listened and began picking the berries. Suddenly, I felt a smack on my shoulder. I thought I could sneak in just a bite without Mama noticing. She notices everything. Everything. Always.\nAfter we finished, Mama and I walked to the kitchen to wash and dry the berries. Then she began mixing some butter, flour and salt. I watched her completely fascinated. It was amazing how powder could turn into delicious crust. In that moment when they were baking in the oven, there was nothing I wanted more than a slice of that blueberry pie. The smell wafted through the entire kitchen and it made me long for those blueberries.\nSometimes, I help Mama around the Walker’s big house. Mama doesn’t mind if I help her when she is in the kitchen, but she doesn’t like me getting under foot when she is cleaning. She says,\n“Take your blanket and go sit out in the sunshine. Go play! Do something, Honey, for just a while so I can finish the chores.”\nI take my tattered blanket outside. Sometimes I pretend the blanket is butterfly wings and I soar through the fields running and running until I can’t run anymore.\nI found myself out of breath and tuckered out so I plopped down in the shade and looked up at the sky. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the ripe, delicious blueberries. Mama won’t know. She is inside cleaning. The Walkers are off working so they won’t find out. I couldn’t resist the urge. Those berries called to me. They were ready to eat. I plucked one off and quickly ate it. No, I needed to savor one. I quickly picked another. And then another. Pretty soon I felt like I had my share of blueberries. I felt a little guilty, but kind of excited that I didn’t get caught eating the delicious treat. I spread my worn blanket on the ground and took a deep breath of fresh air. Then I curled up, took a nap and dreamed.\nThere were tables filled with buckets of blueberries and all kinds of blueberry pies, cakes, cookies, muffins, jams, jellies. It was all so real I could smell it. I sliced into the desserts and served them up at the garden tea party. Everything was beautiful and delicious.\nNext thing I know, I hear Mama saying,\n“Girl! What are you doing? Get up! Come on! We are finished for today. Let’s go home.” As I woke up, I smiled at her happily. Waking up from good dreams is a wonderful feeling.\n“I started dreaming in blueberries,” I replied.\nMama looked horrified.\n“Child, you have berries all in your teeth! You didn’t just ‘dream in blueberries’. You ate them after I said not to! Lord have mercy! Have you been eating those blueberries all afternoon? Didn’t I tell you not to do that! They don’t belong to us. You can’t take what doesn’t belong to you, understand?” \n“Sorry Mama. I got so hungry and they looked delicious. Are you going to spank me?” Mama sighed with exhaustion.\n“No, Honey child. Don’t do it again though,” she said shaking her head. \nWe started walking home with my hand in Mama’s. \nThat night, we had beans and ham for dinner. Then Mama took the towel off her basket and said, “Mrs. Walker told me I could take home some of the hand pies I made because she thinks they are delicious, but she doesn’t want to get fat by eating them all. Mama reached into the basket and brought out the most beautiful little hand pies. \nMy eyes gleamed and I said, “Mama, are there blueberries in here?”\n“Yes, aren’t you tired of that?” she asked with a solemn face, but I could tell she was trying to hold back a grin.\n“No Ma’am!” I quickly answered.\nI was transported to a heavenly realm as I indulged. Mama made the best pies and biscuits. You know when something is so good you wake up thinking about it? You want it so bad you just can’t think of anything else? Later, I hear her telling my Papa she doesn’t know what she’s going to do with me. I guess they thought I was asleep, but she tells Papa about me “dreaming in blueberries”. They laugh and laugh and I don’t really understand why it is so funny.\nMama passed down her baking and cooking skills to me. I wasn’t a great housekeeper because I got bored. I did the work because you do what you have to do to get a job, but I didn’t love it like I loved cooking. I got lost in the kitchen with my hands creating something delicious while my mind dreams. \nI’m preoccupied with my thoughts when I hear the four girls coming through the door.\n“Good afternoon, young ladies. How was school today?” I asked, excited to see them all looking so lively.\n“It was boring!” retorted Jo.\n“It was great! I learned how to add!” replied Elaine.\n“Sandy took my pencil so I took her eraser!” exclaimed Lynn indignantly.\n“Blue and red make purple!” responded Myrna. \n“Well, that sounds like quite a day! Are you girls hungry?” I asked as I uncovered a freshly baked batch of hand pies. The girls yelled yes, and I said,\n“Now, don’t you go telling your mama and daddy on me about giving you pies for snacks. Here’s some milk with them.”\nThe girls were ecstatic and said,\n“Thank you, Maudie. You make the best pies EVER!” exclaimed Jo.\n “You should sell your pies!” suggested Elaine.\n“When I get older and have money, I will buy pies from you all the time!” insisted Lynn.\n“This is soooo good! I was starving!” said Myrna as she took another from the table.\nThe girls quickly scampered off to play and finish their homework. I love these girls. Their parents aren’t around much and sometimes when they are together in the same room the tension is so thick you can taste it. I’m not sure what started it between the girl’s parents, but things can’t keep on this way. I know what it is like to have fights with my husband, but we make up and things get better. Right now, things don’t look great. The parents are distracted and barely talk to the girls. I try every day to make sure the girls know they are loved.\nOne afternoon, Jo returned home in a mood. She was angry and I said,\n“Baby, what is wrong?”\nShe looked at me and said,\n“What? You can’t help me. Your nothing but a -” and then she uttered the word that hurts.\nShe immediately knew she’d said something hurtful. She looked at me with wide, terrified eyes.\n“Are you going to spank me?”\n“No, my Girl. Come sit with me on my lap in the rocking chair. Let me tell you a story.”\nShe was seven years old, but still small. I scooped her up and said,\n“Now, where did you hear an ugly word like that?”\n“From people at school. And sometimes Mama and Daddy say it.”\nHearing the latter part of the statement shocked my bones. I felt my veins run icy cold. When I get angry, my face gets hot and my blood pressure goes up. When I get scared, my veins run cold. I concentrated on breathing for a minute. I thought I was loved and respected by the family, but if Jo’s parents still used that language then they didn’t think differently of me. I took a few more deep breaths as I rocked Jo.\n“Sweetheart, listen to Maudie. You are a kind girl, but you need to learn something. Words have the power to make someone feel good or bad. Words can heal or destroy. Words take on meaning, but it isn’t always just the word. It is the intention behind the word. Now you could have called me a potato but if you did it with anger then it wouldn’t be right. Words are meant to work through things, help others, build people up…ugly words have no place in that. Is this making sense?”\n“Yes,” whispered Jo as tears filled her eyes.\n“Now, I know you were just repeating language you heard, but please remember that when we say things, we communicate what’s in our hearts. I know your heart is kind, so please don’t ever use that word again. Okay, Baby?”\n“Yes, Ma’am. I’m sorry.”\n“I forgive you. I love you. You girls are going through a lot. Remember, no matter what happens, I love you. Now do you want to tell me what made you so upset?”\nWe talked for a while. Jo apologized again and I told her it was okay and to go run and play. I can forgive and forget a little girl making a mistake. I can forgive her parents, but I can’t continue to work for people who believe these things. All my life I’ve dealt with feelings of hatred. I hoped it was getting better. Yet, here we are.\nThat night, I talked with my husband James about the incident. He said, “Maudie, that’s going to happen everywhere. People aren’t going to really change. We just have to work through stuff and move on.”\n“James, I cannot continue working in a place where I am not respected. When Jo called me that word, it made me realize that her Daddy and Mama aren’t different than others. They might be nice to my face, but their hearts are still not in the right place when it comes to me having a different color of skin. I know we need the money, but I just can’t live life being defined that way. I want to do something. I want to break out of the mold. I want to work towards my dream. Maybe this was the change I needed to follow my real dream.”\n“What is that? What is your real dream, Maudie?” James asked expectantly.\n“I’m going to find a way to get a loan at the bank and open a café. I don’t want to keep house anymore. I don’t want to cook for people who think of me that way. I want to be a business owner. I want to bake. I want people to enjoy my cooking because it is good cooking. I want to be respected in the community. That’s what I want to do.”\nJames sighed and said, “Alright. You know I’ll support you if you can find a way to make it happen. Don’t you think you should think about it for a while?”\n“James, I’ve been dreaming about blueberry pies my whole life. They are my specialty. Maybe I can make a living doing what I love the most.” \nI happened to know the Walkers had sold their farm and Mr. Walker ended up working as the manager at our local bank. My husband and I took out a loan and I placed a deposit a tiny empty shop on the square. It wasn’t much, but it was mine. Over the next few weeks, I found tables and chairs and bits of décor.\nToday is opening day. It is all so surreal. I don’t know how I did it. I’m amazed at myself. Step by step, little by little, slowly and surely, I’ve made my dream come true. All morning I’ve been baking pies and cakes. The fried chicken, collard greens, mashed potatoes and corn are ready to go. Everything is piping hot. The air smells like heaven. I’m about to open the doors for the first time. I look out and see my first customers – they are my church friends. I smile and unlock the door.\n“Good afternoon, Ya’ll. Welcome to Maudie’s Café.”\nI feel like a Queen ruling my world. People will come to my café to celebrate having a good time together. There will be laughter and lively conversation. We’ll have birthdays here. People will enjoy my cooking and come back for more. It will give them a sense of home away from home. I will be kind and smile to all who enter. I will be known as Maudie throughout our community.\nSometimes dreams don’t have to be big and crazy. Sometimes they are wrapped up into something like a good plate of hot food or a slice of blueberry pie. I smile and know tonight I’ll be dreaming in blueberries 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: For All the Tea in Texas\n\nGenre: asian-american\n\nWord Count: 2937\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart your story with someone making a cup of tea — either for themself or for someone else." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "He placed his long, bony fingers on the edges of the lid. The container looked like an egg with its top and bottom lopped off. It shone like one of those Hercules beetles you find in rotting ash trees. If you caught one, you could turn it this way and that, and it changed colors in the sunlight. The container would probably do that too, with its streaks of gold in the black lacquer.\n\nMr. Sasaki lifted the lid to reveal a green powder the color of the algae that spreads out on the water between the bald cypress trees in the lake. Setting down the lid, he dipped a long bamboo stick with a scoop end into the matcha powder and dropped two little mounds into a ceramic bowl. Then from the cast-iron kettle he poured steaming water over the powder. My nostrils filled with a smell of the lake in spring. He set a whisk that looked like straw hair standing on end into the bowl and whipped it back and forth, turning the liquid into a bright green froth.\n\nWe sat on bamboo mats. I’d never sat on a mat before. He picked up the bowl, spinning it twice in his palm then bowed from the waist and sipped.\n\n“Now you,” he said, his words light and floaty in the humid winter air, only the slightest trace of accent in his voice.\n\nI bowed and held my hands out. But he set the bowl on the floor, nodding for me to pick it up and spin it. As I touched it, warmth spread from my palms to my fingers.\n\n“Drink,” he said. “Then wipe the edge with the cloth and hand it back to me.”\n\nI did as he said. The green froth tickled my upper lip, tasting like grass, earthy and bitter. I wipe the bowl with neat cloth on the mat.\n\nHe sipped, and we passed it back and forth. He had to make adjustments to the ceremony in Texas, he said. When we had finished the bowl, he cleaned the implements, putting everything away in its proper place before inviting me to sit at the table. I was glad to be off the floor.\n\nI cleared my throat. I came here to find out. He looked at me, his eyes wide with anticipation, like he thought a conversation with a teenage girl would be the most interesting thing he’d ever done.\n\n“They say you made a lot of money from the pearls,” I said, instantly regretting starting that way. Everyone said I was too bold.\n\nMr. Sasaki’s eyes crinkled in laughter. He was eighty if he was a day, deep lines running this and way and that all over this face like the bottom of bald cypress roots, just as they go into the water.\n\n“I did,” he said. “That’s how I bought this house.” He had a good-sized house right on the water where the Spanish moss swayed in the wind. “I sold the pearls to a big jeweler in New York. I met a tea merchant there. He sends me my tea. Where else could I find it here?” He swept his arms in the air. “And you? Your father also sold a pearl.”\n\n“Yeah, but he only made three hundred dollars. It was enough to buy a truck. And made him happy enough to name me Pearl.” We both laughed.\n\n“Pearls are a precious thing. In Japan, they are revered, as are the divers who find them. To be named Pearl is an honor.”\n\nNo one ever thought I was something special just because of my name, or for much else. From that day on, I thought there must a lot to learn from Mr. Sasaki, and I got better at making the tea myself over the next year, visiting him, hearing from him about how he stowed away on an American navy boat in Japan They didn’t kick him off, but made him a cook instead. And when the Admiral he worked for retired in New Orleans, Mr. Sasaki went too, making his way up to the Big Lake to fish.\n\nWe’ve long used mussels for bait around here, but Mr. Sasaki was the one who found the long pink pearl in his mussel. He was the one who showed the folks who’d grown up here how to look for mussels with your toes, wading into the lake and gripping those suckers in the muck. But it paid off, so even when the government built the dam in 1913 and killed the mussels, he’d already made a sackful of money and helped others to do the same. Then he went to cooking for the oil workers because he didn’t like to be idle, he told me. Everybody liked him, even though nobody’d ever met someone from the East. Well, more East than the piney woods of East Texas, that is.\n\nDaddy always said I was an old soul, so I guess he wasn’t surprised when I preferred Mr. Sasaki’s company to the sweaty boys and caddy girls at my school.\n\nOur town was as segregated as any other, maybe worse because we had oil and the highfalutin attitudes that went along with it. But somehow they looked past it with Mr. Sasaki, maybe on account of his quiet ways, maybe on account of there being no history there. But probably because he made them money.\n\nWe plugged along in our town, fishing, swimming, and for me and Mr. Sasaki, drinking tea while he told about the grand wonders of the wide world and I told him about smallness of mine. Things were happening in the rest of the world, and one day he couldn’t seem to smile at all. He was an American citizen now, but part of his heart was in Japan. In the cherry blossoms and the tea ceremonies and little sparks of life that feel like home. Now Japan had started on a dangerous path.\n\nJapan had signed a pact with Germany and Italy. Now, in my town, we didn’t seem to care much about what was going on in the rest of the world, but everyone knew Hitler was doing bad things in Europe. Mr. Sasaki had told me about the history of Japan; they even had women emperors. He said the one they had now though was a man and a bad one at that. He was ashamed that Hirohito allied with Hitler. And he was scared, but I couldn’t understand why.\n\nThen we were having tea one day in early December. I had gotten really good at the whisking. Mr. Sasaki said the froth was light and airy like a cloud in a painting. He gave really nice compliments, and it always felt like he meant them.\n\nI had just brought the bowl to my lips when the door flung open with a bang, swinging and hitting the wall. The sound startled me, and I dropped the bowl. It smashed, lime green tea seeping into the bamboo mat underneath me.\n\n“I’m sorry, Mr. Sasaki,” I said.\n\nHe didn’t seem to hear me. He jumped up and stood rigid in front of the men in the doorway. The men. Men of my town. Men with power. The sheriff, his deputy, and the county judge who lived in the county seat two towns over. Their expressions were set, eyes hard. I stood beside Mr. Sasaki, feeling uneasy and like maybe my presence would stop them from doing whatever they had in their minds to do.\n\n“The Japanese have bombed an American naval base in Hawaii,” the sheriff said, emotion pulling at his words.\n\nI took Mr. Sasaki’s hand. The only time we had ever touched was if our fingers accidentally grazed during tea. But he gripped my hand right back then. I could feel the old bones and gnarled knuckles under my fingertips. The men, I noticed, saw me do it too, but they didn’t move to stop me.\n\n“You should come with us,” said the judge.\n\nI squeezed Mr. Sasaki’s hand tighter. If they were gonna take him, they were gonna take me, too.\n\n“He hasn’t done anything,” I said, my voice unnaturally high. “We were just having tea. He’s an American now. He hasn’t done anything.”\n\nAll the law men turned to me. The deputy was my uncle. He took a step toward me.\n\n“Now, Pearl, it’s for his own good.”\n\n“That’s a lie, Uncle Bobby, and you know it.”\n\n“They’re gonna be people out for him, Pearl. We can protect him.”\n\nI’d seen how they’d protected citizens of my town, people that didn’t look like them. This town was built on the backs of our Black residents, always had been. Sharecroppers eking out a life while white fat cats sat on their porches drinking whiskey and chewing tobacco. They’d always acted better toward Mr. Sasaki, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t turn on him.\n\nMr. Sasaki squeezed my hand and then released it. Stepping forward, he said, “I’ll go with you.”\n\nI grabbed his arm. “No! It’s not fair. Don’t go.”\n\nHe patted my hand. “Take care of my tea things. Clean up the spill. I’ll be ok.”\n\nThe law men parted to open the doorway, and Mr. Sasaki stepped through the opening. Uncle Bobby was the last to leave, turning to me.\n\n“Get that cleaned up and get on home.”\n\n“Uncle Bobby…”\n\nHis face softened. “I promise, he’s gonna be alright.” He closed the door, and I stood there, tears streaming my cheeks, helpless and hopeless.\n\nWe listened to the radio that night, and it was all over the news. Daddy said he thought people would start trying to hurt Japanese folks. That was all he said, and it put the fear in me.\n\nI woke up early the next day and headed straight to the jailhouse. They kept him in there, but didn’t lock him up.\n\n“I told you, it was for his protection,” Uncle Bobby said. “We thought maybe some folk woulda got a wild hair and come to make trouble. But it’s been real quiet.”\n\nMr. Sasaki was smiling, that smile he got when he was real content. It spread wide across, stretching out some wrinkles and squeezing others together. He sat at a table and played cards with the sheriff. It all seemed like a dream.\n\nBut a few days later, the big lawmen came from Dallas: the Feds. An order had come from Washington that they were to round up all Japanese. It didn’t matter that Mr. Sasaki was an American citizen. In fact, they said even people born here were enemies. I knew Mr. Sasaki loved Japan, but he had served in the U.S. Navy. He loved living here. He’d been here longer than he’d been in Japan. He said Japan was like his mother, but America was his wife, and a child must leave his home to make his family.\n\nWhen the sheriff got word that the Feds were coming, they scuppered Mr. Sasaki off to the judge’s house. I wanted to go too, but Daddy said no. He let me stay at the jailhouse with Uncle Bobby, though. I sat on pins and needles in a chair in the corner.\n\nThose big lawmen weren’t so big. One of them was real small, like his fancy trench coat swallowed him up. And by the way he talked, his mind was small too. Well, anyway, the sheriff said they couldn’t take Mr. Sasaki.\n\n“It’s not your decision to make, sheriff,” the taller but rounder of the two Feds said.\n\n“This is my town, and I say it is.”\n\n“We’ll bring the full force of the Federal government down on your head if you don’t surrender the alien traitor.”\n\n“He’s neither alien nor traitor.”\n\nThe Feds couldn’t do much but bluster they’d be back with reinforcements. As soon as they left, the sheriff flopped into a chair and wiped sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief.\n\n“Bobby, get over to the judge’s. We can’t hold them off forever.”\n\nI dashed out after Uncle Bobby, sliding into the passenger seat of the police car. He looked at me as if I had appeared out of thin air.\n\n“You can’t come, Pearl. Your Daddy’d kill me.”\n\n“He won’t. Drive.”\n\nHe shook his head, but didn’t say anything else until we pulled up at the judge’s office at the county courthouse. “Mind your manners, Pearl.”\n\n“Best behavior,” I said with a smile, though my insides churned.\n\nWe were shown into his office, possibly the biggest office I’d ever seen. Texas and American flags hung on big stands behind him. Heavy, dark furniture filled the room, and it smelled like old money.\n\nUncle Bobby explained the situation, the judge listening intently, his elbows on the burgundy leather-wrapped arms of his chair and his fingers steepled and resting on his mouth.\n\n“Time for the big guns,” he said when Uncle Bobby finished.\n\nI didn’t know what that meant, but I’d find out soon. Along with the rest of the town.\n\nUncle Bobby dropped me at old Jeb’s grocery in town, told me to head on back home. I picked up the few things I knew Mama needed and brought them to the counter. Jeb made a note in his ledger so we could settle at the end of the month when Daddy got paid. He set his pen down and put his hands flat on the counter.\n\n“Don’t you worry, Pearl. This town won’t let anything happen to him.”\n\nI stared at Jeb. He’d never said anything about Mr. Sasaki before, least of all to me. “Thank you, sir,” I wasn’t sure what else to say.\n\n“This town looks out for its own.”\n\nI nodded and went home. I couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep, sick with worry over Mr. Sasaki.\n\nDaddy offered to take me out on the boat on the lake for some fishing, but I didn’t want to. Even Tuck, our old hound dog, seemed restless and uncertain.\n\nA frantic knock on the door roused me, made Tuck yelp. Uncle Bobby didn’t wait for an answer and pushed the door open.\n\n“Come on,” he said. I looked at Mama and Daddy. They didn’t say anything, and we all followed Uncle Bobby down to the jailhouse.\n\nThe main street was full of people. Everyone in the town must have been there. I caught sight of Mr. Sasaki on the porch of the jailhouse. He made a small bow in my direction, and I returned it. I shifted my attention to the big black car parked in front. The Feds stood with their arms limp at their sides, waiting like the rest of us.\n\nA man stepped out of the big black car, his door opened by his Black driver. He was dressed like something from a magazine, fine looking suit, brimmed-edge hat, and skin so smooth it glowed in the soft December sunlight. With a smile, he pulled that expensive-looking hat off his head.\n\nI went closer so I could hear him. The Feds took a step back.\n\n“You’ll follow me inside, boys,” the fancy man said, his voice so low it vibrated.\n\nTo my surprise, they obliged and followed him inside the jailhouse, the sheriff, Uncle Bobby, and the judge following with Mr. Sasaki. I made to go too, but Daddy held me back.\n\n“Who is that man?” I asked.\n\n“Big Cappy Jones,” he replied, keeping his eye on the jailhouse door.\n\nEveryone knew who Big Cappy Jones was, but I’d never seen him. He lived in the big plantation house on the other side of the Lake, the fancy side. He had dozens of sharecroppers working his land and calling him “Big Mister” like nothing had changed in eighty years. What he said around these parts went, no matter the color of your skin. Word was he knew everyone worth knowing, all the way up to the King of England.\n\nThe whole town stood in the street and on the sidewalk, the winter wind whipping around us like water around river stones. After awhile, the door opened. Big Cappy got in his car and drove away. The Feds didn’t say a word, but their hangdog expressions said enough. The sheriff and judge shook hands, and the judge got in his own car and left. Mr. Sasaki and Uncle Bobby came to us.\n\n“They won’t bother him anymore,” Uncle Bobby said.\n\n“Would you like to have some tea?” Mr. Sasaki asked. “All of you?”\n\nMama, Daddy, and Uncle Bobby all mumbled excuses about this and that. They liked Mr. Sasaki, but the thought of tea was a step too far. I was over the moon.\n\nWe sat on the mats, and Mr. Sasaki brought a bowl, one I had never seen before, to replace the one I had broken. It was just as beetle-shiny, but black with water and pearl divers painted in red all around it.\n\nHe didn’t offer for me to help, but performed every step himself, carefully and with a contented smile on his lips. At last he bowed, offering me the bowl.\n\nNo one bothered him throughout the long days of the war. Midway through, we could no longer get the powder, as supplies of matcha ran dry with the embargo. He grew herbs in a small garden and ground them up. We kept taking tea until he died, peacefully, in his bed, a year after the war ended. He left a note for me alongside all his tea things. It read only: Musume.\n\nDaughter.\n\n(Inspired by the true story of Sachihiko Ono Murata.)" } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Staring at the Inbox\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 1599\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character who’s finally on the verge of achieving their lifelong dream." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Staring at the Inbox\nBy Mackenzie Littledale\nNovember 3, 2020\nMichelle sat staring at her inbox since 5:30 AM, nearly two hours. It wasn’t even a weekday, but her literary agent worked odd hours, so it could come at any time. It -- the announcement of whether or not the next publisher on the list was offering to buy her manuscript. Already, five publishers had been given the chance. Three declined and two remained silent. Michelle considered them a practice round to make sure the pitch was tight like a hermetically sealed glass jar. The publisher she dreamed of signing with was next on the agent’s list. This one. This would be ‘the one’. Michelle was altogether sure of it, because she’d prayed, she’d wept, she’d thrown herself at the mercy of the gods, she’d donated money to a worthy literacy program.\nIn the beginning, specifically September 2017, her only dream had been to start writing the story. Six months later with seventy-thousand words committed, the dream expanded to finishing the story -- getting to ‘The End’. Michelle nearly shit herself when typing ‘The End’ turned out to be far from the final stage. Not only had she found typos, but there were several steps to learn, like querying literary agents but not until after editing, which should come after beta readers have a crack at reading through the manuscript. From there, revisions and rewrites may come into play, and other foreign stuff that could easily swallow up an additional year. In the meantime, she saw more and more authors offering their books for ninety-nine cents and often even for free. Michelle despaired that she might not make a dime, especially if she went the self-publishing route.\nLong before the beginning, she’d attempted to write three novels but without any idea of craft, plot, character development or scene-setting. She’d tossed out her floppy disks with the crusty leftovers, and put her dream on the backburner. Again. This manuscript was stored in the cloud and on USB drives. So many decades had gone into this dream.\nA reliably busy period at work had arrived two years into this go-round with writing a novel and she’d known she wouldn’t have two free minutes to write for the entire two months of the promotion. During those two months, Michelle’s manuscript had been with beta readers. Michelle chuckled thinking about how naive and green she was. When she began writing, she didn’t know what a beta reader was. Trusting the circle of writer friends she’d made along the way, she laid out her idiot-proof plans.\nSince the story touched on bipolar disorder, she had a shortlist of psychology professionals. It mentioned leaving the Jehovah’s Witnesses organization, so she tapped her ex-JW friends. Her neighbors were avid readers, so she asked them to read. Her shortlist was a dozen deep. She invited each person to read the first chapter and let her know if it was something they’d read and provide feedback on. Seven had ignored her or were out of the country or declined. Resisting the temptation to wither in the dismal grey clouds of rejections, Michelle clung to the five yeses.\nFour hours at FedEx Office printing hard copies, binding the manuscripts with vinyl covers, and shipping with return shipping paid cost her a pretty penny. She’d convinced herself that the expense and effort were worth it just so her manuscript would be returned safely to her, not dangling in the cloud. The beta readers signed non-disclosure agreements and had a full two months to read and provide feedback without so much as a peep of interference from Michelle. Just as she’d predicted, work wiped her out, ruined her shoulders and neck, and left her reeling in pain every night. She couldn’t have written if a baby’s life depended on it.\nThe process from typing the first word to waiting for her agent to email had taken three years and three months. In that time, her family had been who they’d always been.\n“You’re a pretty good writer,” said her brother.\n“Gee, thanks,” Michelle answered.\n“I wish you the best,” her mother said, and returned her attention to her favorite TV show. \nMichelle remembered sharing a vision for becoming a motivational speaker and selling out the college theater. They’d been sitting around her brother’s dining room table having an otherwise enjoyable time.\n“You have no credentials,” he’d said, eyes hostile, fists pounding. “You need a college degree, and you need to sell books, and be famous, and have a string of successes in your wake. How are you going to sell out a theater?”\nHe would have gone on, but Michelle waved her hands. “All right, dream assassin. Enough.” The roasted salmon lost its flavor and sat heavily in her belly.\nThree years and three months. She hadn’t earned a dime on this manuscript yet and hoped with every ounce of her being that the dream publisher would make a generous offer. \n“What do you mean by ‘generous’?” her agent had asked.\n“I mean a full year’s pay, so I can spend an entire year writing without worrying about bills,” Michelle said. “Fifty-thousand...or more. I won’t turn away more.”\n“I can’t guarantee a result,” her agent said, still in a chipper voice.\n“I know. I’m not asking you for a guarantee on anything, but I won’t be lowballed. We both saw the Publishing Paid Me hashtag on Twitter. We know what’s up.”\n“I will certainly try my best. As your agent, I don’t get paid until and unless you get paid, so I’m definitely on your side and want to get you as much as possible. It works for both of us.”\nMichelle sipped her Coke. “Exactly. We’ve both worked our asses off for this, and you know I’ll do some heavy lifting to get the word out.”\n“Publishers will be very happy to know you’re willing to do that,” her agent said.\n“Good. One of my beta readers said my story’s message is so important for people who struggle with bipolar. It gives them hope. A publisher has to see that.”\n“The right one will.”\nMichelle let out a wispy breath. The daydream burst out of her mind’s vault again. Multi-city book signing tours with eager readers lined up around the block. “How do writers do book signing tours with covid-19 going on?”\n“If we get a deal from a large publisher, they’ll have an in-house publicist who coordinates the events. Instead of touring fifteen cities, you might only have three virtual events. Cross that bridge when it’s in front of you, okay?”\nMichelle pursed her lips for a moment, begging herself for internal fortitude and patience. “Okay.”\n“After a publisher signs, it means their sales and marketing team are sold on the book’s potential as well. The editor, the whole team will be on your side.”\nMichelle hoped her agent wasn’t tiring of her, even though the agent’s voice still sounded crisp and forward-looking. She couldn’t be tired. Not yet. “You still believe in the book, right?” She inspected her cuticles and resisted the urged to pull on the desiccated strands.\nWithout missing a beat, the agent cheered. “Of course! I love your writing, and your beta reader is so right. The story is important, and I love the edits you made. The ending is going to give readers the satisfied feeling they want.”\nMichelle nodded. “That’s so important. I don’t want to let readers down at any stage of the reading experience!”\n“They’ll love it as much as I do.” The agent took in a deep breath. “I have to get back to work. You’re doing great things. Keep it up. And send me more of your short stories.”\nMichelle jumped in her seat, giggling. “I will. They haven’t won any major contests yet, although I did get that honorable mention in Texas.”\n“It’ll happen.”\nHere now at 7:30 AM, staring at her inbox, Michelle wondered if an email from her agent would arrive. She started feeling stupid for being so anxious, for giving an iota of credence to mental telepathy. “Can’t you feel my energy calling to you? Email me. Now. Please.” She waited a second. “Okay, how about now?”\nShe threw her hands up at her own hopelessness. “I need coffee. That’s what.” She went to the kitchen to brew a mini-pot of French roast. Ten minutes later, she took her steaming cuppa Joe back to command headquarters: bed. Her laptop screen had faded to the randomizer light show, so she tapped the space bar.\nNo email from her agent, but her cell phone dinged, a text message. “Figures,” she mumbled to herself. “Probably a damn message from an election candidate.”\nThe text was from her agent: Can I call right now? Good news!\nMichelle’s eye sockets could barely contain her eyes. Her heart pounded with a joy that only mother’s felt when they held their newborns. Michelle’s grip on her phone slipped, and she spilled her coffee. Reaching for a Kleenex, she dabbed at the coffee on her white comforter and grabbed the phone. No need to wait for a call, so she dialed the agency. Three years’ worth of tears -- each one tattooed with 97,000 words -- built up and choked Michelle. Her entire manuscript got stuck in her throat and rendered her capacity to speak null. She breathed in to a count of five but had trouble letting the breath back out. In an instant, her eyelashes were soaked and tears dripped to her comforter. No amount of tears could halt her smile." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on 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 Tea Ceremony\n\nGenre: asian-american\n\nWord Count: 2078\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart your story with someone making a cup of tea — either for themself or for someone else." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "From a chipped repurposed Milo tin, Frances shook out the dried flowers, crumpled together like children’s fists, into a glass teapot of steaming water. She followed the flowers with half a palm-full of South Word “Lump Candy” that splashed up the clear walls, sending snaking droplets racing down and down. After stirring the tea with a wooden spoon, Frances replaced the lid without making a clink or a pop, gripped the teapot’s handle and adjusted to its weight without letting the moist glass slip in her hand. Then, with her left hand, she pinched together three tall porcelain tea cups, each with a depiction of a rooster on it, and carried everything to the circular coffee table in her room. \n Frances poured the sweet chrysanthemum tea into the three cups, one for her mother, Evelyn, who sat on the bed, her legs stretched into the tangle of blankets left out for her cats to nap in, one to her sister, Joanna, who occupied the grey armchair to the right of the coffee table, then one for herself, which she immediately sipped upon sitting in the identical armchair on the left of the coffee table. Though the three women sat facing each other now, France had designed the room to maximize the natural light, placing the armchairs in front of the only windows in the room so she could look out over the sprawling mess of wildflowers, mostly occidental daisies and nasturtium, that Frances and Evelyn had scattered one year and had subsequently exploded in uncontrollable growth. Though the two women hacked the stalks down every year, each spring, the flowers returned, sometimes reaching several feet. They attracted red-breasted hummingbirds, bees, tiny sparrows, yellow butterflies, and sometimes rats that would gnaw on the wood panels outside the windows at night, prompting Frances to run outside barefoot and throw fist-fulls of sliced Serrano peppers at the ground wherever she saw any movement in the stalks. \n Joanna was second to taste the tea, bringing the cup to her mouth, carefully gauging the heat of her drink before inviting the pale golden liquid in.\n “It’s been a while since we had sweet tea like this,” Joanna smiled, tucking a loose strand of her silk-thread brown hair behind her ear. Frances’ eye caught the glint off of a gem on her older sister's finger and reminded herself it would be even longer soon after this.\n “You’ll just have to bully Rob into making tea for you,” Frances chuckled, avoiding her sister’s hand as it flicked toward her. \n “Jo, make sure not to bully Rob, okay?” Evelyn looked over her daughters, barely noticing their smiles.\n “I don’t bully him.”\n “Anymore,” Frances dodged again, but Joanna landed a smack on Frances’ shoulder. \n “I don’t bully you into making tea either. Plus you make it so well.”\n Frances rolled her eyes slightly. In her mid-20’s now, she finally picked up on Joanna’s manipulation techniques. But she didn’t mind making tea for her family. She had claimed the title of tea preparer years ago, not only because she was the youngest, but also because she enjoyed the art of it, watching thin shrivels of mountain oolong or silver thread green tea unfurl, swell, and burst out plumes of green, yellow, sometimes blue. Frances even loved the teapots, the way water poured like glass from their spouts, the deepening sheen and richness in color of the Yixing clay, the way the handles distributed the weight as she moved her wrist. She collected them, the Purple Sand clay teapots, and stored them in her old room on the other side of the house.\n “I got these cups for you, right?” Evelyn inspected the roosters.\n Frances nodded, humming out a yes. \n “I grew up with cups like these, with painted roosters. I tried to find hand painted ones for you, but they’re all printed nowadays.”\n “That’s okay, Mom. I like them.”\n Evelyn propped herself up more in bed. Gray hair frizzed out from the nape of Evelyn’s neck where she didn’t bother to dye it black yet. She usually waited until her monthly trip to the hairdresser who would only scold Evelyn for not saving money and using boxed root-touch-up. Evelyn always tried to scold back but at home, told Frances that she only wanted to give her friend the business as she knew the hairdresser’s family had medical bills weighing down on them. \n Noticing Evelyn’s shift in gaze, from the teacup to the two sisters, Frances pressed her lips together, bracing.\n “I got a letter a few days ago,” Evelyn’s voice resumed a sternness overused in Frances’ childhood. “I have to decide whether or not I should continue to pay Dad’s life insurance. And remove myself as his primary beneficiary.”\n Joanna sat up in the armchair, planting her feet flat into the pile of the off-white shag carpet. Frances pulled her knees to her chest and hugged them so that she barely had room to inhale deeply and let out a shallow breath. With her mouth shut tight, the taste of floral rock sugar soured.\n “Why are you even paying for it in the first place? Didn’t you remove yourself as his primary beneficiary during the divorce? How do you even have the access to pay it?”\n Frances eyed her mother and then Joanna, recognizing the immediate anger, the rage at the injustice of it all, as similar to her own anger from years ago that had burned so hot and so wildly that Frances fizzled to ashes. Back then, Joanna disapproved of her younger’s sister’s anger, but now Joanna understood it: anger at the wounds of abandonment. \n “Jo, don’t give me a hard time about it,” Though Evelyn’s face was plastered with irritation, she shrunk back into the pillows cushioning her back.\n Joanna scratched the top of the teacup with a long nail, smothering the printed rooster with her thumb.\n “I won’t,” Joanna gulped the tea. “So what are you deciding on?”\n “Well, I’m still paying for it,” Evelyn stated, monotone and terse.\n An image of Joanna’s scowl flashed into Frances’ mind, but she focused her attention on the grit forming on her teeth. An ache of guilt gnawed at Frances’ tongue as the secret Evelyn asked Frances to keep begged to be spoken. Evelyn had been paying for several of her ex-husband’s bills whenever she came across them, which was often. He never changed his permanent address, even though he lived half-way across the globe. Frances always figured he had run away to a place he once revered and that had revered him as a white man, after years of living away from his family, chasing images that his muddled brain conjured up in his dreams. That is how Frances came to understand her father now: caught in a game of chasing and running away. \n “But I don’t know if I should keep paying it,” Evelyn’s voice called Frances away from her guilty conscience, “It just depends on whether or not we think he’ll die in the next ten years.”\n Frances once again looked up at her mother, whose cavernous frown lines, like the one split down the middle of her eyebrows, had softened recently, and then at her sister, who still sat with her back straight, even as she relaxed. \n “I know he’s gained some weight, but I doubt he’d die in the next ten years,” Frances eyed her family more carefully.\n “Personally, I’m more worried something’s going to happen to him,” Joanna pinched her lips together.\n “I am too. That’s why I’m asking you girls,” Evelyn met Joanna’s eyes and nodded.\n “What sort of something?” Frances’ grip on the conversation began to slip and she felt herself falling away from her mother and sister, who remained on the same level.\n “I’m just worried he’ll kill himself,” Joanna shrugged.\n “And that’s where the beneficiary money comes in. If he does die…”\n Words jumbled together as Evelyn and Joanna continued to talk of the logistics of death, numbers, payouts, how-to’s. Frances didn’t understand half of what they talked about, especially the mutual conclusion of her father killing himself. \n Instead, her father’s hospital bed, his home for two weeks when she was 10, came to mind. Eyes swollen to the point of near-bursting, green, purple, and blue tracing out rings on his face, her father’s jaw wired shut so that his protests of drinking strawberry flavored liquid protein and homemade split pea soup from the neighbors were an incoherent mumble. \n The stitches in his head that held together his fractured skull, the rhythmic whoosh of machines pressing against his feet to keep the blood from pooling, the smell of disinfectant and hot flesh of open wounds on the verge of infection. \n The uncontrollable disgust that fluttered up when she first visited, the pity as she watched him hobble to and from his car, struggling to breath, grappling with tasks that should have been familiar, but something in his brain had been crossed. \n Then the rage as his body healed but his mind did not, and Frances’ prepubescent body could not understand who this stranger that had replaced her father was. \n Frances nibbled the inside of her cheek with her front molars, making small tears into the gelatin of her mouth until she tasted copper. \n “One of us will have to go get his remains, but I doubt I’ll be able to do it with the work schedule I have now,” Joanna rubbed her temples, and Frances noticed the bare etchings of crow’s feet around her sister’s eyes.\n “Do you really think he’d kill himself?” Frances echoed aloud the question that resounded in her mind. \n “It’s just a feeling,” Joanna turned toward Frances, but Frances couldn’t meet her older sister’s eyes.\n “I have it, too,” Evelyn sighed. \n Evelyn’s intuition was eerily attuned to reality, and Frances learned to trust it. Releasing her knees, Frances inhaled deeply, conjuring the image of her father sitting in his box apartment in Nanjing, piles of ungraded college essays stacked high amongst strewn pens and white board markers. Though he had been lucky to land a job at an international university in his favorite country, Frances struggled to picture him as he might be now: sinking behind unfamiliar shadows that she couldn't fill in the gaps for--the rice cooker he used now or if he just used the stove, his bed frame though he often slept on the floor to help his back, his speakers, since the ones he used to play Dexter Gordon and Norah Jones on broke a few months before he moved to China--but further he sunk, undiscovered and alone, until finally a stranger--his neighbor or landlord--found him. \n Frances knew she would be the one to buy the ticket, to struggle to navigate her way to his foreign apartment to pack his things and sell them or bring them back, arrange in broken Mandarin for his remains to be cremated, to bring him back.\n Holding the rooster cup in her hand, cradling the cooling ceramic and rubbing the outline of the print, Frances let out a long breath. The tea had cooled into syrup as the women sat in a long stillness. Soon, Frances would take the teapot, still mostly full, and pour its contents into a mason jar to be sealed and stored in the fridge. She would toss the bloated flowers in the trash, wash, and dry everything, and put them where they belonged. \n She might think of her father as she threw the chrysanthemums away, white flowers good for sweet tea and death. \n “If you want to pay for it, you should. I can help out, too,” Frances swallowed the last bit of copper in her mouth. \n Joanna shook her head and with hooded eyes betraying reluctance, said “I’m making more than you, I’ll handle it.”\n “Tsk,” Evelyn waved her hand at the younger women, “I can handle it just fine.” \n Throwing her legs off the bed and pushing herself up, Evelyn waved once more.\n “Alright, alright. Enough tea. Jo, come look at the tiles we picked out for the bathroom remodel. I think you’ll approve.”\n Joanna followed her mother’s movements and stood up. Frances, slower and more deliberate, stood up too, stared at the now vacant room, and collected the half-empty tea cups and nearly full teapot, which,unlike the cups, sloshed with warmth. She looked forward to pouring it over ice and drinking it at her coffee table, looking out over the wildflowers and birds and mountains." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Gang members\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 1007\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a contest with life or death stakes." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "GANG MEMBERS\n By Dewain Williams\n The beef was on going for over twenty years. The Westside Boys against The Eastside Homies. Dozens of lives lost and countless injuries to innocent people in the process. A senseless turf battle that only continued so long because of pride and greed. \n The Westside Boys was the larger group and started in the late 90's. Headed by Big Steve, a true thug and killer by nature. It was rumoured that one time he killed three guys in one night because they were all short on cash they owed. People knew not to mess with Big Steve. On another occasion he broke his girlfriend arm because she cheated on him. His following grew with the more evil he committed. He knew it and did what he had to to keep his men.\n The Eastside Homies was started in the early 2000's by Big Steve younger brother Anthony. Anthony saw flaws in his big brother and wanted to start his own thing. Anthony moved to the east side and did just that. In almost a year Anthony had a group almost as large as his brothers. Killing and ruthless activity was the norm for The Eastside Homies. \n In one incident Anthony killed one of The Westside Boys in an attempted robbery. Anthony didn't want beef with his brother. He regretted the murder but he wasn't going to back down from no one. \n \"We good. Let's roll!\" He told his homies in the aftermath.\n When word got back to his brother he snapped. Big Steve immediately went out and shot up two of The Eastside Homies for revenge. No one was arrested for the attack but Anthony knew his big brother had something to do with it. The killing went on and on for years before the two brothers agreed to meet and talk it out.\n The date and time was set. They both agreed to meet to talk with no weapons and no plans to fight. But both had some members of their crew with them. \"Wassup little bro? What it do?\" \"I'm good Steve. How we going to handle this?\" After some discussion they agreed to \"do a one\" That was to fight till death. Everybody understood the terms. No weapons just Big Steve and Anthony in a room alone and only one man can walk out alive. \n The day was here! Big Steve and Anthony was going to \"have a one.\" Both wanted to end the beef. Since the beginning many African Americans lost their life to gang violence. They entered the room and stared at each other and then the fight started. After an intense battle the younger brother overtook Big Steve. Big Steve was dead! Anthony came out victorious. The Eastside Homies prevailed. \n Weeks after \"the one\" The Westside Boys wanted revenge. Many lives were lost in the feud. Despite the agreement to kill the beef after \"the one,\" killing continued. Anthony decide to talk to his mom about the situation for advice. \"Mom a lot of people are dying for nothing. What should I do?\" She encouraged him to never back down and to always stand your ground. \"Those fools deserve what they get.\" He listened and continued fighting.\n Sometime After Anthony met with his mom she decided to have a meeting of her own with white nationalist David Duke. Some members of the East side Homies saw the meeting between Anthony's mom and David Duke. Why would Anthony's mom be talking with him? \"Hi Mr Duke! How are you today?\" David Duke created all the gangs in the black community in efforts to destroy as many African Americans as he could. He figured if he created superficial separations within the black community they would kill themselves off. Some of his ideas came from Willie Lynch a well known racist. Anthony's mom was a coconspirator. \"Did you encouraged your son to continue fighting like I told you? Did you tell him he must not go out bad?\" Anthony's mom nodded her head in agreement. \n Racist white man secretly encouraged, supported, and helped gangs across America flourish to obtain there goals. Destroy as many African Americans as they could. Blacks were complicit in the name of I'm not no punk, I got to represent my hood, and ain't nobody in these streets going to mess with me. Senseless black on black violence has been sky high sense gang creation including Big Steve and the Westside Boys.\n Anthony on his mom advice almost completely wiped out the Westside Boys. With an average of two killings a week. Young Tony, a member of the Westside Boys saw the weakness of his crew and decided to start another group. He would call them The Big Dawgs. There whole mission would be to get Anthony back for what he did to there friends in the Westside Boys. Young Tony teamed up with another group to strengthen his new crew. Months later the Eastside Homies were out the picture. Hundreds of African Americans lives gone over group violence.\n Anthony right hand man Jayrock wasn't going down without a fight. After Anthony's death Jayrock started a new gang called the Loyal Buddies. They did beef with the Big Dawgs for years. This continued for years to come. \n On the other side of town there was a rally held by white nationalist. Thousands were in attendance to hear the speech. The keynote speaker shouted, \" We are in a good place now in this country. We could be better yes indeed but we are in a good place and we must be thankful for that. Let me tell you why. Whites will rule America forever.\" The crowd cheered loudly as he spoke. He continued! \" We will rule forever because we are smarter and better than any race on the planet and that's a fact. Our enemies especially the blacks is diminishing for many reasons. The three more important reasons is because of high incarceration, disease, and gang violence. Let's give a salute to white American." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: God Sucker-Punched Me in the Gut\n\nGenre: asian-american\n\nWord Count: 1291\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character learning to trust their intuition." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Many years ago, I lived in Thailand. Instead of becoming closer to my heritage, I was a missionary trying to teach people about Jesus. Most people didn’t want to listen because they were happy being Buddhist, so we had to find creative ways to get them to hear our message. “Creative” often meant being sneaky, deceitful, and dishonest, but it was a necessary evil because we had souls to save. Every Tuesday evening, we held a free English class at the church. The only cost was sitting through a five-minute talk about Jesus and the Mormon religion after the class was over. Of course, the more righteous missionaries taught much longer than that. When I would tell these missionaries we promised to only take five minutes, they’d say, “What’s more important? English or their eternal salvation?”\nAfter class one day, we talked with the students to gauge if any were interested in learning more about our religion. A member from the church let me know that a young woman wanted to speak with me. I was training a brand-new missionary, Elder Edwards, who had only been in Thailand for a few weeks. I had a feeling that he should set up an appointment with her, so I sent him to do that. A few minutes later, he returned with a piece of paper and tugged on his oversized tie like he always did when he got excited. “She gave me her phone number, and we’re meeting this Friday afternoon!” he said. It was a miracle.\nWhenever I had these gut feelings, I was never wrong. It wasn’t only spiritual matters either. I knew the police were following me moments before being pulled over. There was an omen surrounding my wife’s first pregnancy, but only I sensed it. A few weeks later, she had a miscarriage. The church I grew up in taught me that this was the gift of discernment or the companionship of the Holy Ghost. I thought I was always right when I had these feelings from God, but life doesn’t let us have these powers unchecked.\nMy friend Harrison and his family took me to Las Vegas for spring break one year in high school. We drove there and arrived late at night. I saw a bright light on the horizon and was confused because the sun had set hours ago. Once our car reached the top of the hill, I was blinded. As I opened my eyes, I realized they were the lights from thousands of buildings. We drove through the city, and I had never experienced anything like it before. There were almost as many people as flyers to strip clubs scattered on the street. Silence did not exist in the city and was replaced by generic hip-hop songs blasting our eardrums everywhere we went. I could smell and touch the alcohol and semen in the air, making me feel like a sinner, a totally enthralled and excited sinner.\nHarrison’s grandpa had a few timeshares and let me and Harrison have our own room. We were alone in Vegas, and it was the freest I had ever felt. Except we weren’t allowed to gamble, drink, or have sex, and his family was staying right next door to us. Still, for a naive Idaho boy, it was the most liberated I had ever been. We wanted to do something rebellious. So when we spotted a menu slid under our door after midnight, we decided to order a pizza. \n“They said they’ll be here in about 30 minutes,” Harrison said.\n“I can’t believe we ordered a pizza this late at night,” I said. “And in Vegas of all places!”\n“You know, I’ve never heard of this pizza company before. Do you think they’re legit?”\n“Dang, I didn’t think of that. What if it’s fake, and they just want to steal our stuff?”\n“Oh my gosh! What should we do?”\nMy gut was telling me to plan for the worst. “Look for some weapons to protect ourselves,” I said as I picked up a mallet. Harrison found the knives.\n“We need a plan,” he said. “I’ll answer the door, and you hide behind it in case I can’t hold him off.”\n“If he gets in, we can escape out the back. I’ll leave the door open, and we can jump off the balcony.”\nHarrison peered over the railings. “We’re on the second floor, so it’s not too high up. We can make it.”\nThe two of us paced the room and imagined being cut up limb by limb or kidnapped and ransomed for money. Knowing my parents, they would probably say it was my fault and refuse to pay. They’d hang up the phone, and mom would complain about me being so naughty. “We don’t have much time left,” I said. “But we should try to hide anything valuable. Somewhere he won’t think of looking.” We put our wallets in our pockets and everything else we shoved into the washing machine and stuffed a blanket on top. \nThe doorbell rang. I rushed behind the door and gripped the mallet tight against my chest. Harrison peeked into the door eye hole, backed up, and gave me a nod. He opened the door a few inches.\n“Hello. One large supreme pizza?” a voice asked. Harrison said yes, and the man handed him the box. “That will be $17.89, please.”\nI came out from behind the door and saw a short, skinny man in shorts and a cap too big for his head. Harrison gave him the money, and the man walked away with a thank you. We were both so sure we would be murdered by the pizza delivery guy, and I was a little disappointed we didn’t see any action. My intuition was wrong, and that wasn’t the only time.\nEvery time my family spent the night at a hotel, we went swimming. I would stand at the edge of the pool at the deep end and think I could walk on water. “I have so much faith in Christ. I can do this. I’m not like Peter.” I would close my eyes, take one step, and sink into the depths. This happened hundreds of times despite feeling I had enough faith to walk on water. My gut was mistaken every time, so what else was I wrong about? Joseph Smith? God? Over time, I realized that the Holy Ghost, my intuition, and the feelings I got were all the same. And I learned that my gut was usually full of shit, so why trust it?\nIn Thailand, on the Friday after our English class all those years ago, the young woman showed up at the appointment. She wore stunning clothes and brought us homemade desserts. We went into the church building and began introducing who we were and our roles as missionaries. The two of us took turns testifying of Jesus Christ and the restored church, and I felt the spirit so strongly. I was sure she felt it too. Elder Edwards asked if she understood or had any questions. \n“ไม่เข้าใจค่ะ (I don’t understand),” she said. “ฉันคิดว่านี่เป็นเดท (I thought this was a date).”\nI explained that we were missionaries and couldn’t go on dates. Then I asked the young woman if she was interested in learning more about Jesus. “ขอโทษค่ะ ไม่ค่อยสนใจค่ะ (Sorry, I’m not really interested). Elder Edwards and I were mistaken about what she wanted, and we were disappointed we couldn’t bring another person unto Christ. Yet years later, both of us left the Mormon religion we were born into and stopped believing in God altogether. I didn’t rely on any gut feeling to reach this conclusion. It’s been wrong enough times already, so I’ll trust myself instead." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on 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 Pretty Ones\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 1567\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart your story with two characters deciding to spend the night in a graveyard." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "***TRIGGER WARNING: Allusion to rape. \n\"Where the field kisses the forest,\nWhere the rats build their nest, \nMy pretty ones pin their wrists,\nPreferring this \nOver pale fists\nThat groped and choked their breath,\" I murmured these lines as my steps fell in line with Jacob's. \nJacob stopped at the last verse, eyes wide and flashing in moonlight. \n\"You make that up?\" \nI shook my head and nudged to continue forward. \"No. Mama would say 'em, hours before we started our work with the sun. I used to think it was for her own comfort, hiccuping up her tears when she thought no one was awake. Now I think she knew I was up. That she wanted me to know how to find them.\" \nWe skirted the edge of the almost ripe wheat plants, wavering but persisting like flies trying to bite at a smacking hand. The quilt of trees started not too far from where we were, and if I could I would rush into its embrace, exposing my stockings as my skirt flared up behind me. \n\"Very well could be,\" Jacob said,\"but what would you think she might want you to find them for?\" \nHis tone was all dodgy and I knew now that he only agreed to come with me because I would've went without him, not because he agreed I should go. \n\"Jacob, if there's something you want to say to me, say it straight. That's why I fancy you. 'Cause you tell me the truth exactly how it's on your mind, no matter which way it comes out. But you've been dressing up your words with me lately and I can't handle.\"\n\"I'm sorry Em,\" Jacob said. \"Be a bit careful about brushing up against the wheat though, will you? It ain't a windy night and we don't know who could be paying close attention.\" \nI scooted further away from the shadowy stalks. \n\"All I was trying to ask,\" Jacob said, \"is what you expect from going out to where your sisters are buried. Even if it's just for comfort, I understand. Just say that and I'll calm down.\"\nMy tingling feet were pressing so deeply down, I thought I might cement myself in the ground if I carried on the way I was walking. I had forced him to ask a question I couldn't say the truth of. How could I when all I had is a knotted ball of short pieces of thread? My mother's poem, my body growing, the master noticing, inviting me to work in the house where \"things are nicer, and you'll like it.\" Who could sew a dress from this? I brushed into a different type of plant now: the leaves of the trees of the forest. I gazed up into the moon before going in, like the mistresses gazing at their pale faces in the mirror before setting out the house. Does the moon feel abashed for being beautiful? Feel intruded on by the eyes of watching men? I interlaced my fingers into Jacob's and entered the brush, and told him, honest, \"I don't know. Ma believed they chose to die as babies rather than suffer the touch of-\"\n\"Yeah,\" Jacob said. \n\"If their spirits had that wisdom, maybe they'll have a wisdom for me too. I must find them Jacob. I don't,\" and I hiccupped and all the numbness I had built in my mind was poked through. \"I can't have him on my body,\" I said in my pouring tears. \"Maybe it'd be better to d-\" but I couldn't finish. \nJacob used his palms to cup up my tears and he pressed his nose down against mine. \"Emeline, I'll take you to them. We just can't risk being heard, please.\" \nI managed to shut myself up. \n\"Guess we're looking for a rat nest?\"\n\"Guess so,\" I said. \nThe forest remained silent except for our steps and the bugs that weren't shy of the cool air. Mama's poem said \"where the field kisses the forest,\" so instead of going any deeper into the trees we stayed searching along the forest's entrance.\n I don't know how long it was as I scoured the ground for piles of sticks built up in a mound that rats could live under, when Jacob said, \"Up.\" \nThings weren't clear in the dark, but as I blinked at where he was pointing I could make out a sort of hump on the branch of a fallen tree. \"\nSisters,\" I whispered, coming up to the tree and falling to my knees. I scratched the leaves off the ground, hands longing for a familial presence. Did Mama leave some marker? Did she ever come and visit them out here? My fingers traced something indented. It was a stone, and it was flat. Clumsily scratched into it were etchings I couldn't make out in the dark and wouldn't have been able to read if they were words. \"She even marked it with a gravestone.\" I shouldn't have been surprised, and now knew I was right for letting Ma's song guide me here. \"Sisters, do you hear me? What is your advice for me? Mama told me the first of you came out with breath, and you were the most beautiful baby with the fiercest eyes. The next of you came out stillborn and close-eyed but gorgeous with bashful wisdom. It may be my fifteenth year and my body is starting to fill in and this curse is twisting my face in ways I didn't ask for. I didn't do anything for Master to notice me. I only wanna have kids with Jacob and no one else. My spirit didn't decide death like yours did before I grew up this much. What do I do? What do I do?\" I pressed my ears against the cold stone, trying to hear their voices come through. Did they understand this English forced upon my people? Was I too stupid to deserve a response? \"Sisters, please. Please talk to me. I don't know what to do.\" \n\"Em,\" a voice to the side of me screeched into my ears. \"They aren't alive. They can't respond to you.\"\n\"Quiet,\" I hissed. \"I am with my sisters.\"\nI crouched there, ears imprinted on the stone. I pleaded my case, I played the naive younger sister role desperately, praying for them to take pity. They inherited stubbornness from their father, who got shot trying to escape his chains. \nEternity in the forest is like being ant-sized and traversing upon a winter quilt, patterns changing but still so helplessly lost. I would stay all night even while already my brain felt as if it was dozing. Or I would wait until my body seeped through the rock and dirt. Maybe the obvious answer was death. \n\"Sister?\"\nI looked up, blurry eyed. Two shapes sat on the side of the rat mound on the fallen tree in front of me. \n\"Can you see us yet?\" they asked together. \nI couldn't discern their features or tell of their age. But I heard twin voices, one beautifully fiery and the other bashfully wise. \nMy heart embraced their voices, falling into it as I did into Mama's hugs. \"Y-yes,\" I stuttered. I had been so vocal when they weren't responding, but at their first words I was shut up. \n\"You are a pretty one, like us,\" said the one to the right. \n\"And he has no right to touch you,\" said the one on the left. \"But your life gets to know great love, and yet must know great pain.\"\n\"Your life is precious,\" the twins said together, agreeing. \n\"So what do I do?\" I pressed. \nOne of the twins tilted their heads to me, and I caught a glimpse of her piercing look as dawn's first light peeked in. \nMy other sister bowed her head and her eyelashes. \nThey turned and looked behind them towards the direction of the horizon, then down at the rats' nest.\n\"No,\" I sobbed. \"Please tell me.\" \nThe shapes of my sisters hopped down from the tree, and I could feel the kiss on my forehead. \"I can't-\" I choked. \"Please, I can't figure this out alone.\" \n\"You ain't alone Em.\"\nIt took me a while to process that Jacob had come to sit beside me and hold me.\n\"Can you believe my sisters?\" I asked him. \"They came and wouldn't answer my one question!\" \n\"I'm sorry,\" Jacob said. \"We'll have to work as a team and figure this out.\" \n\"How?\" \n\"Maybe, maybe we could leave. I've been hearing rumors that Samuel, he's missing from the neighbor's plantation. Or you could pretend to get sick, shave your head or something. But maybe not, maybe they'll hurt you.\" Jacob shook his head. His body shook with anger. \"I just know if he lays his hands on you I'll strangle him.\" \nJacob was smart. If I could make myself not pretty, would that be enough? Did my sisters answer my pleas after all?\nA whirlwind of reflections and hypotheticals swished through my mind, my hand clasped firmly into Jacob's. I tried to intertwine my intuition into his intelligence. His soul was warm as it whispered to mine, and I felt my sisters giggling in their hiding place, until the forest's quilt unraveled suddenly. \nA voice- not mine, not my sisters', not Jacob's- spoke. \"Who exactly you think you gonna strangle, boy?\"" } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Birth Mother\n\nGenre: asian-american\n\nWord Count: 2995\n\nPrompt:\n\nEnd your story with someone finding themselves." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "I stand in a perfectly pristine kitchen. The counter tops are covered in flour. She stands at them, waiting for me. She’s rolling out the cookie dough in deep, even strokes, like the ocean kissing the beach. Her soft humming fills the kitchen with love. Her hands lift me up; I'm in a navy blue sundress with little yellow sunflowers on it. “Here, sweetie,” she hands me an apron and I lift my little arms obediently to her. She ties it around my waist. A little teddy bear clutching a rolling pin in one soft, brown paw is splashed across my tummy. And beside me, she rolls. I watch the muscles in his taunt arms ripple with the pressure. The sunlight makes the sugar glisten and sparkle like glitter. The room smells sweetly of the confections we are working so diligently to create. She smiles at me and gestures at the cookie cutters. \n\nThere’s some part of me that knows that these cookie cutters are Mama’s. Why does she have Mama’s special cookie cutters I wonder. They are a deep copper color and Mama got them from her mama who got them from her mama. For 11 and a half months out of the year, they’re stored in worn gallon sized baggies with zipper seals. The bags feel rough on my little fingers, but Mama says they don’t need to be replaced yet. When they cascade out of the bags, they play a chorus of music that sounds like their own Christmas carol as they crash onto the wooden table. Maggie’s fingers and mine grasp and reach for our favorite shapes. Mama tells us that we need to cut out the big shapes on the gingerbread dough first, as she nibbles a morsel. So Maggie and I press the big giant angel; her wings are the span of my palm. “Press down firmly,” she instructs, placing her soft palm onto ours. It hurts for a moment, but when we release we can see the shape of the angel. Delicately, Mama scoops the angel onto the cookie pan. Maggie is in her corner, pressing the cut out of holiday bells into one corner. When we’ve done all our little hearts can, Mama balls up the dough and rolls it out again. Maggie and I nibble on the cookie dough giggling while singing, “Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow!” So why does the woman have Mama’s cutters?\n\nWhen she looks at me, I notice she’s Asian. Like me. I trace my almond shaped eyes and examine hers. I trace the slope of my button nose while memorizing the slope of hers. She smiles and her eyes crinkle just like mine. “How can you possibly see when you smile like that,” the white school photographer asked me so I stopped smiling in the photos. But she doesn’t ask me. She knows. Her long fingers indicate Mama’s cookie cutters, but I don’t feel right using them without her. I shake my head, so the woman grabs a cutter. She cuts out the shape of the bells. “Mama says you need to cut the big shapes first,” I protest and reach for the big angel. But she disappears. I search the counters wildly. Then, I reach for the biggest gingerbread man instead, who is as tall as the angel. I grasp him tightly and press him into the dough.\n\nThe woman nods encouragingly. She presses her hand into mine and since she is standing so close I can smell her perfume. The scent of almonds fills my nose. It's sweet and light. And I want more of it. Her hand is cold against mine. Mama’s is never cold. “Where’s Maggie,” I ask. Mama says we can’t make cookies without my little sister by my side. It’s the rules. The woman doesn’t answer, just shakes her head. Her long, black hair cascades around her shoulders. The woman reaches up and ties it with a long, single, thick, red ribbon. I notice she’s wearing earrings. Little pearls. Like the kind I asked for when Mama let me pierce my ears. \n\nI hear the sound of a timer going off. The woman begins pressing shapes into the dough with expert speed. She chooses the bells, a small angel, two little men, and one snowman. I just stand back and watch. The dough dries on my palms and I dust them off. She has filled a tray. The woman grips the silver nonstick sheet tightly and opens the oven. When she turns I see she’s in a cashmere, cream colored sweater. The kind I have only ever seen Granny wear, not one Mama would wear. Mama wears bright red sweatshirts with Snoopy from Peanuts decorating his little red house for Christmas on them. I also notice the tan pants and little ballet flats on the woman’s feet. They have a big gold belt buckle. Those aren’t Mama’s shoes, either. She wears bright red Converse All Stars with her bright red sweaters. When the woman opens the oven door, the heat engulfs me.\n\nI’m a little uncomfortable and I fumble with the straps of my little dress. The woman returns to the counter and scoops up the dough. She balls it tightly and flours the counter. I watch her roll out the dough and begin the process again. \nThe timer sings loudly. The woman has filled the next cookie sheet. She walks to the oven, releases the cookies, and sets them on top of the stove. With expert precision she spins on her heel and pops the tray of dough in. I want to ask her why she left me, why she let me be adopted. But the words don’t come. Instead, she begins arranging the cookies on a silver cooling rack on the counter by the tan stove. Mama never uses cooling racks. She just lets the cookies cool on the trays. Once the cookies are arranged the woman returns to me. The once monstrous ball of dough is now very small. She tears a chunk of it off and drops it in the palm of my hand. She smiles and tears some for herself. I notice her impeccable white teeth. The way her eyes crinkle makes mine crinkle. The dough is sweet and just a little bit spicy. It melts in my mouth.\n\nThe woman places the first cookie sheet in the perfectly white sink. It has no other dishes. Mama’s sink always has other dishes. Maggie’s colorful sippy cups and plastic plates that are all sectioned off so her broccoli doesn’t touch her Mac and Cheese which doesn’t touch her fish sticks. The woman places the second tray of cookies on the stove as she did with the first and begins arranging the cookies onto another cooling rack. I stand on my little step stool and reach for the dessert plates. They’re decorated with llamas wearing holiday lights and Santa hats. There are little leaves of holly along the edges. The woman takes the plates from my hands and loads them with some of the cookies from the first batch, all cooled and ready to be devoured. She also pours a couple glasses of milk. That’s just like Mama. “A little protein with your treat, my loves,” she’d say to Maggie and me. The woman and I sit at Mama’s kitchen table. The cookies are crunchy on the outside and soft in the middle. I bite the head off the big angel which makes the woman laugh. I want to hear more so I tear into her left wing, then her right. The woman is laughing loudly. I wonder if Mama can hear and I wonder where Mama is. I feel tears pricking the back of my little black eyes. My eyes look just like that woman’s. She offers me a hug. But I don’t want her. I want Mama. \n\n\nI awake to the sound of eggs being fried. The morning sun cuts through a thin pink curtain. Maggie can sleep through it, though. “She’s always been a heavy sleeper,” says Mama when I tell her she doesn’t want breakfast. Mama marches up to me. She lifts my chin so I can gaze into her soft blue eyes. Eyes, not like mine. “Are you ok, sweetheart, you look like you’ve had a rough night,” she says. Her voice is soft. It sounds like home. My eyes nervously dart to the tallest cabinet in the kitchen. To the home of the cookie cutters. I don’t have to answer as Maggie stumbles in. My sister devours her eggs and pancakes that Mama has cut into achievable bites for her. “Now remember, today we’re going to the eye doctor after school,” Mama says. She always reminds us of our schedule during breakfast. Mama glances at the kitchen clock; the one with the big cat eyes that dart back and forth as time passes. She claps her hands and begins clearing the table. I gulp down my glass of milk and race Maggie to our shared bathroom to brush our teeth. My mind is drifting to the woman. \n\nMama is waiting by the door, clutching our backpacks. Maggie’s is blue. Mine is pink. We rush into the car. I am still haunted by the woman in the dream. By her smile most especially. Mama picks Maggie and me up in the pickup lane at school. We pile into her white civic and she asks us the best part of our day. Maggie says the cafeteria served Mac and Cheese. I say I am sick of Mac and Cheese. We drive to a big, red brick building with lots of windows. Mama drives up and down the lanes of cars for a while. Maggie is singing some song she learned about the four seasons and swinging her feet. Mama tells her to stop kicking the seat. Maggie doesn’t stop. We finally park and Mama takes our hands. My left hand slips into her right. Mama’s hands are warm and soft. I like them more than the woman from my dream’s hands. We walk into the air conditioned building. Our feet sound loud and squeaky on the tile floor. There is a large water fountain which Maggie rushes up to. Her little fingers reach for the water. “We’ll come back when we’re done,” Mama promises. She ushers us into the office with the blue eye on the glass door. I take in the large room full of glasses. Mama marches up to the counter and brushes her gray hair from her face. She talks with the lady with the red lipstick and redder hair who tells us to stand against the white wall for a picture. I don’t smile. \n\nMama sits in the middle of Maggie and me. I can feel my palms getting sweaty and reach for Mama’s hand. She strokes mine gently so I open up my palm. I press my fingers into hers and giggle because the top of my nails only reach ⅔ up her finger. “You’re growing so big,” she whispers. A woman in blue scrubs calls out Maggie and my names. We jump up and follow her into another big white room. “I’m going first because I am the oldest,” I proclaim. Maggie does not protest. She has us sit in a chair and look at an image of a red hot air balloon soaring through green fields. The woman smiles a lot and while Maggie stares at the balloon, I read her name badge says Becky. Becky tells Mama some things and we follow her out of the room down a long white hallway with wooden doors on either side of us. She flicks a few colorful plastic flags posted above the door before letting us in.\n\nI take a seat in the big, black, leather chair. I sink back in it. The room is cold and smells too clean. Mama and Maggie sit in green cloth covered chairs. The same one from the waiting room. I notice a mirror. Becky comes back in. She takes a seat on the stool across from me. I am handed a little wooden spoon which I use to cover my left eye and the lights click off. Becky shows me a chart of letters. She instructs me to read the last line I can. I am desperate to pass the test. I mumble out: M, P, Q, Z? The last letter is certainly questionable. Becky just smiles and has me switch the spoon to my other eye. I repeat the test. But now I’m not so sure on the Q, too. \nBecky just smiles again and tells me this machine will help me do better. I lean forward against the black alien contraption with hundreds of little lenses. Becky is right. She has me select from two different options, but with each click the letters become clearer. I hear her say to my mother that I will need glasses. She tells me that it’s time to “dilate my eyes.” My heart begins to race as Mama stands and holds my hand. Becky tells me to hold open my eyes and look directly up. The first drop hits like acid. I scream. Maggie screams and jumps up. I can see her rushing to me. Becky says, “We have to do three more.” I demand to know why to which she replies, “It’s because you have such dark eyes, sweetie.”\n\nI don’t want to be her sweetie. Each drop feels like salt and chlorine from the pool is rushing in and burning my eyes. Maggie is thoroughly freaked out and Mama is trying to convince her to be brave. I dab at my eyes with the provided tissues. I feel better. Maggie takes her seat and completes the same ritual I did with Becky. When I spin to look at the mirror beside me I realize I can see the letters clearly. The Q was an O and the Z was a T. I feel like a fool. Becky has Maggie and I switch seats because the doctor will be in soon. \n\nOnce Becky is gone, Mama tells Maggie and me that we were so brave. Maggie’s eyes are red and her pupils are huge. We stand and giggle at each other while Mama watches. There comes a little knock on the door and the giggles subside. I diligently take my seat. The woman who walks in is the woman from my dreams. I have to stumble to pick my jaw up from the floor. She sits on Becky’s stool. She wheels over and intrudes herself as Doctor Yang. I mumble out my name and she smiles that same crinkly eyed smile from my dream. She leans forward and tells me to do the same. A bright light hits my eyes. She tells me to look at her earring. It’s a little pearl. With her this close I can smell the almonds again. I concentrate on her earring as she concentrates on my eye.The woman’s long fingers brush a lock of my hair from my eye. As instructed I look up, down, left, and right with my left eye. Then, I repeat the process with my left. Maggie takes her turn. I wonder if she feels as connected to Dr. Yang as I do. Probably not because Mama says Maggie and I have different birth mothers. Dr. Yang is not her birth mother. She is mine. Mama talks with Dr. Yang for a while and we walk back to the waiting room. “I’ll see you soon,” says Dr. Yang. I nod and smile as I do my best to memorize her soothing voice. \n\nMama takes us to a man with curly brown hair and square glasses. He sits at a glass table and welcomes us as we approach. Mama hands him two pieces of paper and instructs Maggie and me to “take a look around!” Maggie and I gaze at the colorful frames like kids in a candy shop. We try on red ones, black ones, blue ones, and purple ones. Some frames are square, others are round, and a few are oval. Our noses crinkle at the clear plastic part of a handful of frames that pinch slightly. Some grams don’t have that feature. Maggie settles on a blue square frame and I choose a pink rounded square frame. Out of the corner of my eye I see Dr. Yang. I wonder if I ran to her now if she could answer my questions. Since it’s no longer a dream. But she walks briskly to one of the doors and shuts it behind herself. Maggie and I stare at ourselves and each other in the mirror. Our pupils look like they came off our stuffed animals. Our little eyes are now so big. Mama hands over her credit card and we bounce away with the promise to return soon to pick up our glasses. \n\nOutside the office, the indoor water feature rushes around. As we step closer, I inhale the pungent scent of chlorine and cringe. But Maggie is ever fearless. She boldly skips over to the big, square bowl and takes a seat on the tiled edge. Her little feet dangle and graze the tile floor as her fingers reach for the water. “It’s cold,” she says as Mama digs in her worn, red wallet and hands her a penny. She gives me one, too. It’s cold in my hand and I know if I bring it to my lips for a kiss for good luck, it’ll smell metallicy. The water rushes louder beside me. I want to burst back into the office and throw my arms around Dr. Yang. I need to apologize for not trusting her last night. But will she take me away from Mama? “Make a wish and toss the penny in the fountain,” says Mama. I squeeze my eyes shut and wish to stay with mama." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Mary and jerry:spending one knight at graveyard\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 1052\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart your story with two characters deciding to spend the night in a graveyard." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "do youyou think its true?Mary asked while jerry kissing her cheeks\nThey're in inside a camp tent not far from the old lady's grave,painted in orange with a lot of balloons around it flying around like someone is playing with them.marry hears footsteps coming towards the tent and a shadow,as soon as the shadow reaches the tent she screams\"oh jesus what now\"?jerry asks marry while stopping to kiss her.\nShe points at the shadow at back of jerry,when he turns he's head around the door's tent is opened by the security man\"oh how can we help you \"?jerry asks the security\" I should be the one who asking you that?are you working with them?the security asks them shaking he's head\"hey what do you mean\"?marry asked the security\n\"My shift is over,oh I wish you all the luck I hope to see you tomorrow he said leaving\" hey what do you mean\"marry asks the security\"don't you know about the story that happened here?\"no tell me what happened \"marry said.the security shakes he's head\" one day a Mayor from the other cities was buried and two days after,I heard a knock on the door,I thought its some people who came to check out a free space to bury their loved ones but I was mistaken it was that Mayor,he said to me,he wants to drink a whiskey for the last time and he did and guess what he ranned away after drinking the whiskey after a while I heard that he's whole family was killed and my mother was killed too,I never knew who did that, I gotta warn you, don't open this tent when someone knows again good Knight \"he said while leaving\n\" he's bluffing,you know how security can be\"he said while laughing looking at marry\nMary runs her hand through her hair,\"this is not right,we are supposed to come here ok\"!she swallows down the lump on her throat,hoping to find a glue about what the security said\nJerry hold's Marty's hand and kisses her forehead\"chill babey let's enjoy this moment ok,with me on your side nothing will happen to you\"jerry lays on her back looking up sighing heavy.\nAgain the trees swinging to the right while the air is going to the left,the low roar of a kat close to the tent and old woman's cough to the grave.marry slowly opens the tent's window to see the cat.\n\"Should have known I am dating a jerk\"!marry argues alone while looking at jerry on his sleep.\nThe tree swing harder and harder,the tent is being blown by the strong wind\" whoa what's happening \"?jerry wakes up fast\" I told you this was a bad idea,you're an idiot\"marry said covering herself with a blanket so tightly.\nThe words tug at Jerry's heartstrings\"that's not fair of you to say that,how could I know something like this will happen, I said I'll protect you why being a baby\"marry moves away from him and covers her ears with her hands.\nWhile jerry listens what's happening outside, the rain start raining softly,lightning strikes close to the tent marry wakes up fast and hugs jerry tightly\"oh please nothing its happening outside,its just a lightning indicating that the rain is coming chill babey\"Jerry said while turning at the other side,marry begins to pray none stop\"please babey just sleep nothing its gonna happening here.\nAnother lightning hits the grave,jerry goes out of the tent holding a torch and a bat\"oh you came with a bat here I didn't know you gonna play cricket here\"marry said while going after jerry.\nThe rain stops,the air stops too when jerry sets he's foot out of the tent\"oh my god the hole to the grave is opened, jerry we gotta get out here before its too late\"marry said while running back to the tent,the tent gets blown away too.marry runs back to jerry.\nJerry when he looks at he's right hand side,he sees an old womam covered with mud walking towards them\"oh no we need to get out of here\"marry said while crying\nThey try jump the gate but its gets longer and longer when they arrive in front of it\"what the hell is this\"jerry asked with a sweat on he's neck.\nThe grandmother walks towards them slowly,they run in front of the door of the church,marry tries to open the door but it is locked,the old woman walks towards them and marry holds jerry tightly.\n\"Please don't kill us,we sorry to wake you up\" jerry says while holding marry, the old begins to talk\"why are you all children doing here this knight\"she asks\n\"We just came to spend Knight we are sorry please don't kill us,we are begging you\" jerry said bowing down\"I've been up for years without resting in peace without company, can you all come and a chill with for the last time in my life,I wanna laugh.\nThey went to the tent, the old woman did her trick,delicious cookies,and juices appeared,they all ate and talked laughing out loud,finally the time of the old woman to rest in peace,she smiled and said\"I wish you all good luck,you make a wonderful couple'she disappeared.\n\"I think we had enough for today\" jerry said,\"I thought you're not afraid go anything, what changed\"?marry asks j\nMarry and jerry were left alone with a lot of food inside the tent,they pack their tent and leave the graveyard \"can we come back tomorrow\"? Marry asks jerry while laughing.jerry laughs at her\" I'll never come back here ever again,\"but at the end it was fun and peaceful \"marry said while laughing at jerry.\nThey start the engine of their mini van,and leave the graveyard,the lightning hits for the last time at the grave and the voice began to say\" I've rested in peace at last,I should sleep till god wakes up us again, what a wonderful with the happy couple, they look good together \"the voice goes quite.\nThe rain starts showering, marry and jerry arrives at their house and make each other coffees, they both sits at the couch while watching television\"babey I am pregnant\" marry said while looking at jerry with a smile on her face \"oh really\" he stands and starts dancing\nThe grave goes back at normal the woman rested in peace,every in the graveyard is normal no longer strange or scary.\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: The Sandman Ball\n\nGenre: asian-american\n\nWord Count: 2986\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character who always wears a mask (physical or metaphorical)." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "The envelope sat at the edge of the large, wooden, dining room table. The seal depicting a crescent moon glistened gold in the warm kitchen light. Sarah returned from school to find her parents awaiting her. Her mother indicated the envelope and she took a seat. Sarah broke the seal by sliding one long, index finger along the front. Dear Ms. Shepard, We are so glad to invite you to the Sandman Ball. Please arrive at the estate by 5pm on Saturday, June 30th. We will be delighted to serve you a full supper before you dance. The Sandman would like you to wear EMERALD. The letter fell from her hands,“They want me in emerald.” Her parents lit up. Sarah’s mother reached across the table and began counting the cash from the envelope. Sarah bit her lip. “Emerald will look lovely on you,” praised her father. Sarah retreated to her bedroom for the evening. Supper was brought to her by her little sister, Lila, “Sarah, why won’t you come down with us?” Sarah rolled over in bed and sat up to look at her sister’s doe eyes. She patted her bed spread. Lila put the tray on the bed side table. \n“Come here, I need to tell you a story,” Sarah said and pulled Lila’s squirming, hot body onto her lap, “Once upon a time, the world’s population was exploding. The Government knew that there’d never be enough food, land, or work for that kind of population. So they made a rule, each family could bear one child.” Lila looked with little furrowed brows at Sarah. “The population diminished drastically as families were taxed heavily if they chose to keep multiple children. A few decades passed and it became apparent that now the elderly outnumbered the youth. There wasn’t anyone to care for the growing retired population, people like Grandma and Grandpa,” explained Sarah. “So The Sandman stepped in. He created a way for every girl in the world to have her own fairytale.” Sarah reached for the invitation. Lila’s little finger’s traced the loop of the “S” in Sandman. She was beaming with excitement. “All of the women would receive an invitation the spring before her 20th birthday. They would be assigned a color and treated to a large dinner provided by the families with sons. That evening, they’d be expected to find a match and marry in the morning. They would live happily ever after…” Sarah trailed off.\nThree years prior, Naomi had received the letter in the mail. Sarah cried herself to sleep remembering the pain of her sister’s strong arms around her the night before the ball. It was the last time Sarah would fall asleep to the sound of her rhythmic breathing. In the morning, Naomi had been whisked away to her fairytale.\nPenelope began the preparations for her daughter’s ball the morning after the letter had arrived. Sarah came stumbling down the stairs and Penelope cringed at the sight of her red rimmed eyes. “I made fresh orange juice, your favorite, Sarah Bearah,” Penelope set down a tall glass which Sarah gulped down in seconds. Penelope refilled it and offered some to Lila. “I think we’ll start with the dress,” Penelope commanded. “Then, we can go shoe shopping,” she filled her husband’s coffee mug, “Make sure you wear something you can slip out of easily.” Sarah nodded obediently. Peter offered his wife a brief kiss on the cheek, mumbling about how he would take Lila to the park. The girls raced off to the bathroom and Penelope tidied the dishes. Penelope was giddy with anticipation as she counted out the bills provided by the Sandman. She folded them neatly in an envelope just as Sarah descended the stairs.\nSarah walked into the store with her head hung low. Sarah watched her mother in her blue cotton dress walk confidently up to the counter. The woman with the pale, swanlike neck and a name badge reading Claudette, took the letter from Penelope’s hands. She nodded along and approached Sarah with a frightening smile. She led Sarah to the changing hall. Sarah watched in awe as Claudette reached a pale, thin hand up to open one white curtain silently. In the dressing room were three ball gowns. One was satin and seemed to shimmer in the light of the store. One was a slimming sheath style gown. It was covered in bejeweled lace. The third one was a strapless A-line. It had the same satin base, but was adorned with green tule.\n“Take your time,” instructed Claudette. She left Sarah staring at the softly billowing curtain. The room smelled strongly of disinfectant. Sarah reached up and slipped out of her pink, cotton dress, a hand me down from Naomi. She stood in the full length mirror and stared at her lanky arms, her barely visible breasts, her freckled face. Her nose scrunched like a bunny, her pink tongue darted out like a lizard, her lips pursed like a fish. “How’s it going in there?” called out her mother.\n“Fine!” shouted Sarah. She reached for the A line dress and swished the gown around her ankles. Penelope tapped lightly on the door frame and began to lace up the corset in the back of the dress. Sarah stepped back, her mother assessed with pride. “I love this one!” gushed Penelope. “But we need some heels,” she frowned at her daughter, “You’re just a bit,” she ran her warm hand along Sarah’s slender bicep, “Stubby…” Sarah blushed and demanded to be released from the corset.\nSarah shoved the gown to one corner of the dressing room before she reached for the sheath gown. She stepped out with more pride. She felt as tall as the shop mannequins. Penelope beamed back at her little girl. “This one is better,” sighed Sarah. Her mother nodded full heartedly. Sarah stepped back into the dressing room and stepped through the top of the final dress. She pulled the half sleeves up on her shoulders. When she turned to assess the damage she hardly recognized the woman in the mirror. She imagined her dark, Asian silk up in an updo. She imagined flaming red lips. She imagined a daring cat eye. Her fingers grazed the goosebumps on her shoulders and imagined a fur wrap. Sarah smiled for the first time. \nThe day of the ball came all too soon. Sarah’s ball gown hung pressed and clean in her closet. At the base was a small shoe box containing a pair of emerald ballet slippers. In the morning, Penelope fixed a light breakfast. Lila came down stairs, clinging to her sister’s hand. Her doe eyes were rimmed in red. Penelope felt the threat of tears herself. She tried to remain cheerful, “Orange juice for you, Sarah Bearah?” Sarah took her seat without a word. She did not fight her sister as her monkey limbs helped her climb into Sarah’s lap. Even the house cat seemed to understand the weight of the day. “When are we going for pictures?” inquired Sarah. Her father held up two fingers from behind his newspaper. He raised his coffee mug to his lips, swallowing his fear with each sip.\nSarah nodded and finished her meal. Once in the sanctuary of her room, she finished packing her emerald silk bag. She could fit her teddy bear from her childhood and her favorite picture book. Lila stood in the doorway, “I made this for you,” she offered a small sketch of the two of them, down by the river that ran through their village. A poorly sketched heart with their initials and a plus sign in between floated above their heads. Lila through her arms around her. \nAt 1:30, the family raced down to the river bank. A few other families gathered with their photographers and it was the first time Sarah glimpsed the other colors. She saw girls with pink gowns, with yellow, and orange heels gleaming in the sun. All of the families wore the same, pained grin. The photographer pushed everyone together underneath the willow tree. Her long branches wrapped around them and tickled their chins, causing a burst of happiness on a difficult day. Sarah posed, holding tight to her sister, wondering if she saw her future in this moment the way Sarah had seen her future when she posed with Naomi. “This is for you,” whispered Penelope. She held out a small, velvet jewelry box. Sarah opened it with a soft crack.\nA photo of Naomi and Lila, one of the last ones ever taken, was on the right side of a golden locket in the shape of a heart. On the left was a photo of her parents from their wedding day. Her mother stood in a glittering blue ball gown. Her father was in a black tux with a single, dark blue tie. They did not smile. They were perfect strangers.\nThe car arrived at 4:14pm to whisk Sarah off to her fairytale. On the car ride there, she tried to commit to perfect memory the feeling of her mother’s strong fingers in her hair. The way that she smelled softly of oranges and the way she smiled softly as she applied the red lipstick. Sarah clung to her small, emerald bag of treasures. She resisted the urge to examine the drawing from Lila. Her eyes filled with tears at the memory of her sister tugging on her hand, “When you get back from the ball, can we go play down by the river?” \nThe driver pulled into a large, circular gravel drive behind the growing row of cars. Sarah exited the vehicle and followed the trail of princesses into the castle. None of the girls spoke to each other. The large, oak front door was decorated with a carving of a crescent moon and a swooping “S.” The doors swung open and the girls shuffled in. “Welcome,” raised a melodic voice, “To The Sandman Estate,” Claudette from the shop stood at the balcony above the girls. She was the only one dressed in gold. Her dress glittered and shimmered in the candle light. “Please, find your room. Place your silk bag there, it will be returned to you at the end of the evening.” Slowly and cautiously, like baby birds seeking the edge of their nest, the girls peeled off to their rooms. \nA large emerald adorned one door. Sarah slowly pushed on the glass handle and was overwhelmed with the familiar scent of oranges. She found a large, green vanity, lit by old fashioned bulbs. She sat in front of the mirror and applied another coat of lipstick. She placed her green bag beside her. She took a steadying breath. “Ms. Emerald, we’re seating for supper,” Claudette stood at her doorway. Sarah felt her anxiety increase as she stood to follow the goddess out of the door. She was led to a large dining hall. A single, long table sat in the middle.\nSarah admired the way the candle lit chandeliers provided a romantic sheen. Soft violin music played. She noticed place cards with a single, full dot of color by each of the plates. Sarah sat at the very end of the table. The girls sat in anxious silence. The violins had stopped. A single gong rang out and the men entered. They all wore the same charcoal black suit, but each of them had a custom silk tie. Sarah’s anxiety grew as she realized none of the men wore an emerald tie. Sarah brushed a stray lock of hair from her face. Silence followed once again. The gong rang out again. Then, the big oak doors opened. A tall man in an all white suit entered. He was the only one in a mask. It was a gold, Cavalli mask that covered his forehead and the edges of his eyes only, shimmering beneath the candlelight. His hair was the color of golden straw. All of the guests watched in awe as the Sandman took his own at the head of the table, in front of Sarah.\n“They say he is ageless,” giggled Naomi in Sarah’s memory, “They also say he is the most dreamy man in the world!” Naomi threw herself on the bed spread. “And, he picks a bride each year. I hear she lives in the lap of luxury,” Naomi sighed dreamily. Sarah had watched her sister and found herself wanting to meet the man who could make a woman swoon like that. At 17 she had only flirted with a few young boys on the playground. “But it comes at a cost,” Sarah whispered into the dark of their shared bedroom. Her voice lowered, suddenly serious, and Sarah had felt an unexpected fear wash over her as her sister warned,“I mean, they call her the Shooting Star for a reason.” Her sister patted the bed and Sarah dutifully sat allowing her long hair to be braided. They mulled over the thought in their minds. “But it’d be worth it. To burn bright at his side. To be his queen,” Naomi’s voice echoed in Sarah’s mind.\nThe Sandman beamed at Sarah and she basked in the warmth of his gaze. His eyes seemed to glitter like black diamonds in sunlight, highlighted by the jewels encrusted on the mask. “Sarah, I am so glad to have you here,” his voice was like honey dripping from a golden spoon. Sarah sat entranced. She did not notice when the waiters filled her cup with a glittering, golden liquid which was unlike the deep red wine served to the other guests. “Drink,” he ordered. \nTheir glasses clinked in a toast and the sound rang out through the dining hall. Her lips parted and allowed a few droplets to enter her mouth. Sarah was surprised at the taste. It was the first glass of water after a long, hot summer day working in the fields. She recognized the spices her mother placed in healing teas when the girls felt ill. The drink felt warm and cool, hot and cold, refreshing and soothing, all at the same time. The main course was served next, a decadent wine braised beef roast. Sarah downed her glass of elixir and the Sandman chuckled. His laughter sounded like wind chimes dancing in the breeze. Sarah instantly craved more. Dessert was a glorious fruit torte served in individual goblets. The Sandman’s smooth index finger wiped away a bit of whipped cream from Sarah’s button nose as he released another laugh. \nThe Sandman stood and encouraged his guests to do the same. In the blink of an eye the dining table disappeared. Sarah stood in the center of the room facing the Sandman. He extended his hand out to her. The orchestra swelled as they began to dance. The Sandman gazed adoringly at her. Sarah clutched to him, her balance seemed impaired. She inquired,“Why do you wear the mask?” She noticed soft streaks of white in his dark curls and a few laugh lines around his face. Her question went unanswered. The world swirled around her as she posed the question again. Sarah could identify flashes of the beautiful ball gowns, the bright chandeliers. Sarah held onto the feeling of The Sandman's strong hand, firmly on her back. They danced for what felt like minutes, but the candles around her seemed to dim. She vaguely noticed couples leaving the ballroom. Suddenly, the music stopped. Sarah was out of breath and collapsed into the waiting arms of the Sandman.\nWhen she awoke, she was wearing a white chiffon gown. She relished in the cool, satin sheets. The memory of the ball lingered on her like perfume. Her emerald dress was laid on a chair in one corner, tucked in front of the oak desk. Around her, soft tulle billowed in the morning light. The air smelled of fresh cut grass. Outside, she could hear soft birds calling to one another. She sat up in bed and found herself drawn to the balcony. As she approached she saw him. He was in a white tux with a beautiful green tie. Yet, he still wore the mask.\nShe was entranced, “It’s time,” he told her. His hand was cool, smooth, and flawless like marble. When she gazed into his eyes, she noticed the laugh lines had faded away, his hair was once again pitch black. Sarah’s hand reached to touch it, but she quickly felt the cool, directive grip of his fingers on her wrist. They stood side by side on a balcony. Below stood the couples from the night before. The women wore variations of the gown that Sarah wore, but in the same colors they had from last night. “I now pronounce you man and wife!” boomed the Sandman. A shiver danced down her spine at the sound of his laughter. A soft rain of golden glitter began to fall from the sky and cover the couples as they kissed for the first time. At last, he turned his attention to Sarah who flushed a vivid red in his gaze. “I now pronounce you mine,” he whispered before sealing his promise with a kiss. \nBelow the estate, deep tunnels led to a mausoleum. Four footmen carried a long, elegant, white coffin with a glass lid. They set it down with a loud thud. Claudette lay in her tomb, her once long, lucious black hair had turned to aged grey. Beside her lay a woman named Lilac. Her once perfect skin wrinkled and aged. To Lilac’s left was another coffin with a thin veil of dust. The woman in this coffin’s eyes were open. They had been a deep, inky black, the kind of eyes one could get lost in. Now, they were a haunted, misty grey. In the corners of all of the women’s eyes was a soft dusting of golden sand. Her plaque read: Naomi Sandman." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Shyama's Choice\n\nGenre: asian-american\n\nWord Count: 2453\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": "The temperature on the phone registered 24 degrees Fahrenheit. Shyama looked at it without recognition and then typed, \"What is 24 degrees Fahrenheit in Degree Celsius\". As the number flashed on the screen, she put her hand on her mouth and let out an \"aah\". Then, slowly, she tiptoed towards the pearly white front door. She put her hand on the golden knob and turned it. Her bangles clinked as the door revealed a flurry of white powder. It was snowing. And Shyama was seeing it for the first time in her life.\nShyama didn't belong here. She understood it when she boarded the flight from New Delhi to Missoula, Montana. Twenty-three hours later, everything had changed. Missoula airport was nothing like the airports she had seen before. The floor was wooden, the dry air filled with an earthy fragrance she didn't recognize. The women were gigantic; the men, almost all of them, had a long beard. There were pictures of wild animals, especially the grizzly bear, hanging from the walls. Every corner announced that this state was proud of its mountains. Shyama thought about her colorful little town in central India – how it was packed with little shops, carts selling fruits and vegetables, and narrow alleys where big families still lived together in the same house.\n'What was I thinking?' the thought haunted her for a long time.\nShe fiddled with a red string tied around her wrist as her big black eyes explored a whole new world in awe. This world, in turn, looked at her with similar surprise. That was July. The smoke was in the air, fires burning in the mountains, summer at its peak. She had not imagined that this green land, filled with flowers and berries, would turn into a bare white field in just five months. \nShyama carefully folded her Pashmina shawl and put it on the couch. Her bangles clinked as she picked two cups of chai from last night. It was a cold day. 'I need more chai', with the thought, she filled the little pan with water and turned the knob of her electric stove. Her eyes traveled to the box lying next to the couch again. It had arrived yesterday. The address was correct, but it was for Jillian Downey. Maybe she lived here before Shyama moved in. The back had a little slip stating: \nIf Undelivered, please return to\n 'Elliot Foster Home'\nFrench Town (Montana)\nShyama put her little finger through the red string again. She mustered the courage to pull it. But the thought of breaking it scared her, so she started smoothening the threads instead.\nAs the chai cooked, Shyama looked outside her kitchen window. Patty was standing outside her big house, looking at her. She was startled but then knocked on her window. The sound startled Patty as if she'd come out of a trance. Shyama gestured her hands, asking Patty to come in.\n\"What were you doing out in the snow?\" Shyama handed a cup of hot chai to Patty.\n\"Thinking\" Patty smiled back.\nShyama sat down next to her and sipped her chai. She felt sad for her neighbor. Patty, in her seventies now, lived alone. She had no family or friends. After seeing no visitors come to Patty's house for five months, that was Shyama's conclusion. \"Children make me nervous\" Patty had explained her singledom to Shyama. This was also the end of their conversation. Shyama did not know how to reply, and Patty had no idea that Shyama was uncomfortable. There were other dissimilarities between their cultures, like how independent Patty was and how she could still go on road trips independently. To Shyama, this felt almost like abandonment from her people -a sin! But the more she explored, the more sense it made. This was a different way of living as well as thinking. And yet, seeing Patty standing alone in the snow triggered that thought again. \nThe women were sitting silently. The snow had silenced the world outside too. The only sound in the room was the hum of the heater.\n\"What's that package?\" Patty spoke finally. She was squinting her eyes to get a clear picture of the package. \n\"What will you do with it?\" Patty didn't wait to listen for Shyama's reply.\n\"I don't know. What do you think we should do?\" Shyama spoke faster, matching Patty.\n\"You could give it back; let me see what it says\" squinting her eyes, Patty started reading \", Hmm, this is in Frenchtown. Not too far, but far enough. What bad handwriting.\"\n\"Did you know Jillian Downey?\" Shyama looked expectantly at Patty now.\n\"Nope. That's what surprises me, honestly. Because the address is right on. Maybe somebody wanted you to have it. You know a secret gift kind of thing.\" Patty's eyes searched Shyama's face for a reaction.\n\"I don't like surprises\", Shyama frowned.\n\"Yeah, they can be hard to deal with at times. By the way, I am happy you finally put these pictures on the wall. But you never told me – are these your kids?\". \n\"Uhh.. no, my sister's. My nephew and niece.\" \n\"And this man?\" Patty was looking at the other picture on the wall. \nBefore Shyama could reply, Patty started again, \"Oh! I'm sorry. I didn't mean to intrude.\"\nShyama started fiddling with the string again. She looked at the pictures on the wall. A little boy about eight was standing next to a little girl. His hands wrapped possessively over her shoulders. She looked not more than five. Both were smiling. The other picture was not as happy. Maybe in his thirties, a man was sitting on a cot in front of a yellow house.\n\"Do all men in India have this serious look?\" Patty was looking at the picture with the same intensity as Shyama.\n\"What? Oh! No. I hope not.\" Shyama hesitated. She wanted to say, 'What is it to you?' yet was surprised that Patty could see through the picture. This man in the picture did look angry.\n\"What's his name?\"\n\"Vanraj\"\nBefore Patty could ask more questions, Shyama got up. She put the cups in the sink and turned on the tap. Then, waiting for the water to turn warm, she started thinking. The day when she had decided to leave it all. The house, the money, the safety and comfort of an entire, thriving home. How difficult was the decision? And yet, how inevitable.\n\"If you'd like, I can drive you to this place tomorrow. I remember it.\" \nPatty had shifted her legs on top of the couch now and was looking at Shyama.\n\"Are you sure?\" Shyama sounded a little hesitant.\n\"Of course. Whoever this Jillian Downey is, needs a little help.\"\nAs Shyama's mouth curled up in a smile, the frown on her forehead smoothened. Closing her eyes, she let go of the images taking space in her mind. She sat down next to Patty and unexpectedly put her head on her shoulder. The older woman patted her head and released a long sigh. 'Patty is a good woman after all', Shyama concluded. Although there was a lot that she didn't know about her, Shyama felt safe with her. It was hard for her to imagine Patty not having children. But maybe you don't have to have children to be motherly.\nWhen Shyama stepped out of Patty's black Subaru in the crisp winter morning, the ice beneath her shoes cracked. She looked at the old, yellow building in front of her. Holding the package in her hand, she was curious to meet the person who had sent that gift to her address. She hoped there was still time to send it to the person it was intended for.\n\"Okay, Honey! I'll finish up my work and be back to pick you up in an hour. Does that sound okay?\" Patty's sunglasses reflected Shyama's innocent face. She nodded, and the black vehicle drove away. \nThere is something eerie about being in another country. Something uncanny that reminds you that you don't belong. As Shyama walked into the yellow building in her green salwar kameez, she had the same feeling. Like being a pickle in a bakery, as much as she tried, she could never fit in. And yet, she was trying to do precisely the same. \nThe yellow paint was chipping away. The pavement leading to the front door hadn't been cleared off the snow. A small sign said 'Elliot Foster Home', but the rust had eaten away most letters. Shyama balanced the box in one of her hands and pushed the door open. A whiff of air laden with a strange smell greeted her. She knew this fragrance. What was it? Marigold. What was Jasmine doing here in Montana? Wasn't marigold the flower people wore at auspicious ceremonies in India? At least that's what her memories told her. Her eyes started searching for the source but couldn't find anything recognizable. \n\"May I help you?\" A voice pulled her away from her search. A short man was standing between a half-opened door. His thick glasses couldn't let Shyama look into his eyes. So she replied hurriedly, \"I came here to return this.\"\n\"I'm sorry?\" \n\"This\", Shyama replied with her hands outstretched now. The box jingled along with her bangles.\n\"Come in,\" the man said, somewhat confused.\nAs Shyama stepped into this room, the same fragrance greeted her, and she saw two incense sticks oozing out a thick white cloud and the smell of a marigold flower. \n\"Okay, lady, what is it?\" the man looked at Shyama again. She blinked. This frail man was perhaps as old as her father. She looked at the room. The two bookshelves were stacked with books on Parenting, Adoption, and Laws about Adoption. There was a lot of paper on one of the shelves: some old photographs, trophies, and Christmas decorations. A thick layer of dust covered everything. The man probably didn't see or care.\n\"I wanted to return this package. It was delivered to my address. But there is no Jillian Downey there.\" Her thin finger pointed at the name as if her words were not enough to convince him. \n\"So?\" He looked at the name and then at Shyama.\n\"So, it had your address on it,\" she turned the package and pointed at the orphanage's name. \nThe man burst out into a laugh. When Shyama did not respond to his good humor, he grew serious, \"There is no way !\" \n\"What do you mean?\" Shyama grew more serious. \n\"Well, if there was a Jillian Downey, she visited us years ago. Think 30 – 40 years. I was a young lad, living here as one of the orphans. Yeah, I remember her; in fact, she visited exactly this time of the year, near Christmas, bringing in food, clothes, washing supplies, money, Christmas decoration, and whatnot. But she was a sad, very sad woman!\"\n\"So, where is she now?\" Shyama looked at the man who was lost in remembering something. \n\"She disappeared.\" \n\"Disappeared?\"\n\"Yep!\" \n\"What do you mean? How can someone just disappear?\" \n\"People can disappear, you know. Suppose they have a hard time in life. Or someone does them wrong, or they do something wrong to others and can't face it. They just leave; move cities, states, or countries, who knows?\"\nShyama looked at that man, her eyes unmoving. \n\"Of course, I don't mean that for you. But, you know,\" the man's voice was a little shaky now, \"What I'm trying to say, nobody knows where she went. She just disappeared one day.\" \n\"So, how did this package reach me?\"\n\"I have no idea. Maybe somebody played a joke\" the old man tried to chuckle but coughed instead. \nShyama was fiddling with her red thread again. \n\"So, are you a Hindi?\" he said, looking at the read thread now. \n\"Yes, Hindu.\"\n\"Married?\" \nShyama hesitated. \n\"I know there is something about the red thread, left wrist, and right. Married – left, unmarried – right. Right?\" He looked at Shyama, proud of his knowledge.\n\"Can I leave this package with you?\" She stood up.\n\"What will I do? Maybe it's for you.\" He hesitated. \"Do you have children?\" The question caught Shyama off guard. \n\"Children make me nervous,\" came out from her mouth. \n\"Hmm... I didn't know Hindu women can say that.\"\nWhen Shyama didn't respond, he continued, \"Well, that was a bad joke. Let's see what's in this package.\"\nShe nodded and pushed it towards him. He looked at her through his thick glasses and then at the tiny scissors on his table. He picked them up and cut the tape wrapped carefully around the package. Shyama started fiddling with the red thread again; she put her finger through it and tugged at it. Snap! It let go of her wrist and fell on the floor. The man opened up the package and then looked at Shyama in disbelief.\nHe started taking out things inside the package - cleaning supplies, Christmas decorations, clothes, and an envelope. \nThe man looked at the note and asked, \"Is your name Shyama?\"\nShyama nodded with surprise. \n\"This is for you\" he handed her the envelope.\nHer heart skipped a beat when she took out the letter inside the envelope and opened it. It was written in very clumsy, bad handwriting: \nThis may be the last time we are having this conversation Shyama. But I know that the kids in the photograph are yours. I cannot think of any reason why mothers would leave their children behind. Yes, I can think of madness, but you are not mad. I can think of drugs, but you don't do them. It means there is something else there. \nI cannot do anything except tell you how your presence has made me feel these past months. By the time you will read this, I will be gone. Who knows where! But know that I have been hiding something from you. Children don't make me nervous. The thought of leaving them does. Mine were in this foster home before they were taken away. And I could never get them back. \nIf it can be of help. I'm leaving my house for you. If it suits you, get them here. I hope that is what's in your heart. \nLove \nPatty (Jillian Downey) \nThere was another paper in the envelope. It was the papers of Patty's house. It looked like she had done all the legal work necessary before writing this letter. \nShyama looked at the papers and then at the older man. \n\"What is it? What does the letter say?\" The man looked worried. \n\"Would you like to have a new building for your foster 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: SUPREME\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 2178\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a vampire or werewolf who moves into a quiet suburban neighborhood." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Chapter one\nLagos, Sunday, March 11\n\"What does it matter what he looks like?\" Mary tyson said into the phone, looking like hell the dark, primal lust drumming through her veins didn't bleed into her voice. She frowned absently at her control's odd question as she shifted the compact sat phone between chin and shoulder, and the binocs left an inch for a better view.\nA logos street and a shit load of swirling fog separated the two apartment windows. The lights over here were off. The lights over there weren't. Desire tightened her body and clogged her throat. Her heart, which was normally as steady as a rock, still pounded uncomfortably sixty seconds after she'd lifted the binoculars to her eyes and taken her first look at him.\nBam! Mary felt as though someone had punched her in the solar plexus, grabbed her heart and squeezed hard.\nThat's what Edoh John Francis looked like.\nNot that she had share her physically reaction with her control. Adakole Chris. He was like a frigging dog with a bone , if he thought his people weren't focused. Unfortunately she was plenty focused. \"Earth to Mary\".\n\"He looks.......I don't know\" sexy, handsome. \"Strong, expensive\". She told Christopher smoothly. Her heart was racing, she assumed herself, because her god-damned knee hurt like hell. She leaned a little more of her weight on the shoulder she had propped against the wall.\nFrancis had pushed the sleeves of the soft looking black sweater up his strong muscled forearms while he worked on something at the table. The fabric dropped over his tall muscled body as if it had been custom-made, probably had. John Francis had more money than many third-world countries.\n\"Interesting location for him to hide out,\" Mary dragged her gaze from the gentle swell of Francis's cheek back to the top of his head. \"Look up again, sweetheart, let's see those cute eyes again. \"How long's he been there?\" Were his eyes green?, Brown? Black? Hard to tell from this distance.\n\"About six months, \" Christopher told her. \"Why?\"\nReluctantly Mary shifted the binocs. \"Places pretty stark. Chair, bed, table. Nothing personal that I can see.\"\n\"He's been moving around.\"\n\"Yeah\". And not easy to track down, according to Christopher, finding Francis's father first would've expedited this op, and made it a lot more interesting, Mary thought. Unfortunately, O'neil John had been missing for the better part of a year. Not surprisingly, he'd completely obliterated his trail, so he was a little freaking hard to find at the moment.\nWhich left his delectable son to the mystic beings.\nMary figured she'd been in physical rehab for too damn long if just looking at the devil's son gave her a hard-on.\nLong, elegant bones. Chocolate strong fingers. Black looking hair, shinning that would feel like sun light the world. Francis, the most powerful being in the universe.\nShe'd begged Christopher to send her on a mission. Anywhere, any damn thing to escape the hospital. This had been the best Christopher claimed he could come up with at short notice.\nBullshit. Fact was: He didn't think she was ready to go back into the field.\nThis wasn't an op. A simple question needed answering. Hell, someone could call it in.\nBut here she was, because anything was better than being stuck in a rehab center for months on end. Boredom seemed to be a family trait this week. Her older brother, james, had visited her a couple of days ago on his way to woshinton DC to get Intel from some scientist there. He'd been uncharacteristically crank and out of sorts. Clearly needing a little action himself.\nHer younger brother, cavill, was secretly lobbying to become head of the wizards council and was off somewhere, totally focused on his goal. And when Cavill focused, he was pretty frigging single-minded.\nSo Mary didn't even have her brothers to spare with at the moment. Too bad, she wouldn't mind a kick-ass sweaty workout with with James and his magical training or cavill and his game of mischief with knife throwing or both right now.\nInstead she was in Lagos watching the son of the banker to some of the worlds most Lethal tangos. Francis is different though.\nSurprisingly, Mary's reaction to the man she'd been sent to find had been visceral and immediate. She liked men just fine. No, she loved women. But she'd never had such an instantaneous, energizing, chemical.......... Jolt looking at a man before.\nAdrenaline junkie that she was , her physical reaction on seeing him - blood pressure up, - libido up, temperature up,- entrigued her. Pheromones were one thing, but she wasn't even in sniffing distance of him.\nHer reaction was so immediate, so primitive it shocked the hell out of her.\n\"Why him? Why here? Why now?\"\n\"Ok, then let me ask you an easy question,\" Christopher said in her ear. Mary braced herself. Christopher was an empath, and she didn't want him picking up any signals. \"How's the leg?\" He asked, throwing her.\nYeah. Concentrate on something that made sense. The new knee still hurt which annoyed the hell out of her. One of her unique powers was the ability to heal, but the only persons injuries she couldn't fix were her own. Pissed her off no end. Mary consider her body too in her arsenal against tangos. She needed to be in tip-top condition to do her job well, and she worked to keep herself in the peak of physical performance at all times. She was marelly I'll, and this knee injury was the first time in her career that she'd been stuck in the hospital for so long.\n\"One hundred percent A-okay,\" she assured christopher.\nShe'd been pathetically grateful when she'd gotten the call an hour ago during her hopefully final physical therapy session in Abuja. Hell yeah, she was only a few hours from lagos, she'd talked to John's son. Anything to cut short the boring sessions. She'd been going stir-crazy.\nShe had commandeered an apartment across the street , one whose windows looked directly into his. A typical winters day in Lagos.\nDamp, misty fog addied in gossamer ribbons between the tall, narrow buildings in an ever-changing screen that made it difficult to maintain a clear view into Francis's apartment, even with his lights on. Mary had seen enough.\n\"Liar,\" christopher told her. Dr. Palma just told me you're still favoring that knee\".\n\"Then why did you ask?\" She'd had her knee replaced, but there'd been some nerve and muscle damage. It would heal. Eventually. These things usually did she had plenty of scars to prove it.\nWatching JOHN FRANCIS was more interesting than discussing her knee. Which in turn made her bad tempered. Which in turn made her even more antsy to get back to work so she could forget about it.\nBased on photographs, John's son had changed some during the last year.\n\"To see if you'd like,\" christopher informed her.\nLying was the least she'd do to get back to work. \"I have a medical release from the doctor and the therapist. So, quit torturing me, honey.\nFind me something. Anything. I beg you. This lack of activity has made me a basket case.\n\"You're a workaholic, middle Mary.\"\n\"You said that like it's a bad thing. Come on, christopher, help me out here. Send me to some exotic hellhole to kick some terrorist butt.\"\n\"Can you run?\"\n\"Better than most.\" No. But she didn't want her her control to know that her doctors were right. She wasn't fully back up to speed yet. But she had get back into shape on the job. \"And since when does Mary need to run? We show up and take names.\"\n\"That maybe, you should still take some downtime until you're fully recovered. Think of it as a vacation.\"\n\"I don't want a vacation. I don't need a vacation.\"\nChristopher had a pretty laugh, even if it was working.\" You sound like a truculent five-year-old. But I agree. You can do your job just fine limping, your trigger finger's just fine, your brain wasn't damaged-much by that explosion you took.\n\"Heartless, christopher. I'm sharp as a tack\" was he going to send her back in? Mary imagined the Young Man who was her control. Christopher looked like a cross between a biker chick and a goth rocker. With spiked black-and-fuchsia hair, and half a dozen silver rings in each eyebrow, ànd one in his nose for God's sake. But behind that pale face and scary black eye lived the brain of a brilliant tactician warewolfe.\n\"Tell me what you see\" he'd circled back to Francis.\nThis was a \"look-see\" . She wanted to get back to real work. \"Are you sending me back into the fiel---\"\n\"Observation, Mary?\"\nChristopher was like a particularly friendly pit bull. Mary shifted to do a quick scan of Francis one room apartment.\n\"How the mighty have fallen. Like I said, it's almost empty. The walls are bare. No pictures, no knickknacks. Nothing whatsoever to personalize his living space.\nThe covers on the narrow single bed behind him were thrown about haphazardly. Restless night or lover?\nHer insides clinched at the thought of a lover and her reaction surprised her. Good thing she would be with Raphael in Russia within days. That was one of the benefits of been who she was . What she was . She could teleport with ease.\nMary, work for PEACE-CORP/PSI. PEACE CORP was a privately founded counterterrorist organization . PSI was the psychic phenomena offshoot.\nThis wasn't a PSI op. She'd been in Kaduna undergoing forced physical therapy on her knee - it had been just a small bullet hole -\nWhen Francis's print had just been ID'd. Since she was closest, she'd been requested to get Intel from the man. Intel they surely needed if they had a hope in hell of tracking down his father.\n\"He lived alone?\"\n\"Looks like\".\nMary found downtime reluctant. Unlike her laid back younger brother, Cavill, Mary liked to be on the go all the time. But they'd insisted. Getting shot in the knee was a pain in her technically, she was supposed to be off duty for another three weeks. She'd never been real big e technicalities. All she needed was to be sent on an op now. And she'd prove to the team and control that she was in top form. And this wasn't an op. It was a frigging conversation. And a short one at that.\nNo action to prove she could still outrun, out jump, out shoot the best of them.\nRight now even watching a man through binocs beat lying around on a sun- drenched beach somewhere doing nothing. Give her action and she was a happy woman. An op relaxed her. Hell, a fast-paced op made her sleep at night like a baby.\nWatching Francis should have been a step in that direction. But instead her body grew even more coiled and tight. She needed to get a grip. And not -- she thought with a mental thump on the head -on that perfect body of his. Still , the mere thought of running, her fingers through his black-honey-colored hair, of allowing his palms to slide over the gentle curve of his hip, was interfering with her assignment.\nTime to focus.\nYeah.that.\nShe finished checking out Francis living quarters. The kitchen occupied one corner, an open door led to the bathroom, another door led, she presumed, to the stairway. The bed and folding table where he now sat were the sum total of his furnishings. The small, sterile accommodations after living the high life, must really cramp the socialities style.\nHe was seated at the table, some sort of small tool in his hand.\nPrying a stone out of a person piece of jewelry, or putting one in. He made and sold his own jewelry to local jeweler. That's how he'd been found . His finger prints had been lifted from a jewelry store after a robbery there yesterday. The local cops had run them with all the other prints they'd found at the scene. His prints hadn't been in their data-base. They were in PEACE-CORP's.\nNot under the name King, but John Francis. The jewelry store had a current address for him.\nHe had filled out some. In the last photographs they had of him from some high-society thing in Lagos a year ago he looked almost skeletal. Now he had more meat on his bones.\nNot that Mary could see much of him, dressed as he was in jeans and black sweater. But his face looked softer, more appealing now. Her heart, which had started a perculiar erratic beat when she'd first set eyes on him, picked up more speed as she took in the creamy curve of his cheek, the silky sweep of his hair, the stubborn jut of his chin.\nHer reaction to him was weird, as she felt the monster in her trying to come out." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Canis Major\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 1640\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about someone who’s been sent to boarding school." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "It only just now hit me how much this park has been a part of my life. My family has lived in the same neighborhood for my entire life. The picnic is taking place right on the field that I used to play Little League soccer on. I’m standing off to the side a short distance away from everyone else, where one of the goals would go. Specifically the goal that I was tasked with guarding in a particularly heated game about twelve or thirteen years ago. The only reason I chose to play goalie was because it involved the least amount of running around. Then, I was caught daydreaming and got drilled in the face so hard that my nose bled.\nAnd wouldn’t stop.\n Mom hustled me to a hospital before the game ended. She hadn’t stopped crying for the rest of the day, swearing up and down that I wouldn’t play in any other sports leagues. My dad was happy that I was alright, but couldn’t quite hide how funny he thought the situation was. My brother couldn’t be bothered to hide it. \n I don’t remember if we won the game or not.\n Ever since then, the park has been a hangout spot, where a bunch of us kids would come to talk shit and play games against each other, and even Mom would bring the family over to take long walks around the paths and such.\n The picnic is effectively a big farewell picnic for new students. There are fewer than a hundred students here, including me. The academy had a branch established right in our county when I had first started middle school. This academy in particular is a pretty big deal, and it had become a running gag within my family for the past three years that I’d be the first of my family to be part of such a prestigious institution.\nThen the letter came. \n Today is going to be my last day home, for...however the time differences work out. Suffice it to say, a couple years. Even now, on the very day I’m set to move out, I’ve been able to keep the full weight of that realization out of my head. It’s just a school. It’s far away and all, but it’s not like that’s unheard of. To be frank, it’s just a really long trip.\n “I know you’re scared.” My brother, Kevin, suddenly appears next to me.\n “Man, I ain’t scared,” I reply, trying to keep my voice flat.\n “Nah, nah, you’re scared. Can’t blame you either; those things tend to just dump people off in the middle of nowhere.”\n I shove him. “No they don’t. You don’t have to do this, you know. If you wanted the scholarship, you should’ve tried harder.”\n “Not me,” he laughs. “I wasn’t made for school. That’s why you gotta remember to stay on your shit out there. You represent all of us when you move in.” He places a finger on his arm, indicating the melanin in his skin. “You understand?”\n I laugh. “Well, thank God it’s me and not you.”\n “Trust me, I am. Don’t go making everybody look bad.”\n “Michael? Michael!” My mom’s voice cuts through the crowd. Bless her, she’s kept herself together for the whole event so far. Dad is close behind her, and he’s been noticeably quiet today.\n “I think they’re going to start soon,” Mom says. “We should head back over now, okay?”\n The four of us move back into the crowd of other families. Everyone is in a group, standing a considerable distance away from the man in the suit, who is standing next to a massive platform, kind of like an amphitheater. \nThe man in the suit looks to the sky inquisitively. After a second, he smiles, then claps his hands. “Alright, everyone, the platform is primed and ready. All students, please climb aboard.”\n My mom hugs me, then my dad hugs me, then my mom hugs me, then my brother shoves me so hard I almost fall over, my mom tells him off and then hugs me.\n “I’ll miss you…” she says for the fourth time.\nI guess I should just let her have this moment. “I’ll miss you too,” I reply.\n I make my way up the steps and stand in line with the other students. The man in the suit sets up a tripod in front of us to take one big group photo, but about 50 moms in the crowd beat them to the punch. Once the photo is taken, Suit Man steps up on the platform with us.\n He clears his throat. “Canis Major Academy is truly humbled and honored that you all have decided to place your children in our care. This is the start of a journey, and we pledge to work with them to the best of our abilities and provide them with the tools they need to truly succeed in whatever it is they choose to do.” With that, he claps his hands twice.\nOn command, the platform lights up and begins to hum. I had only seen this happen before, when the movers brought my stuff to the living quarters on-campus. I’m not sure what’s to blame for the inconsolable butterflies in my stomach: My general anxiety or the energy being given off by the platform? I look into the crowd and smile at my family once more.\nMom is bawling. Dad wipes his eyes and waves at me. Kevin raises both arms, pointing to his forearm again and mouths “Represent.”\nI laugh, and in an instant, it feels like the weight of a space shuttle crashing onto my shoulders. It’s a struggle just to stay on my feet. I can’t exactly turn my head to look, but from the sound of it, the other students aren’t exactly having the best time either.\nThen, as quickly as it came down, the pressure lifted. I open my eyes to see an open, medieval castle style gate under a spire that seems to just keep going up until it pierces the massive sun above.\nThe man in the suit claps his hands again. “Now! The first thing’s first, I apologize for the ‘rough ride’ but it’s simply a treat to see new students dealing with their first Jump.”\nI grimace, from both the shock and his comment.\n“Second,” he continues. “You may be experiencing nausea, but please do not worry. Your bodies will adjust in a short time. For now, if I may have your attention…” He points a finger up, turns around, then lowers his arm, leveling his pointer finger at a bright light in the distance, no larger than a stone. “That…” He pauses. “Is Sol, the star of your Milky Way galaxy.”\nIt hits me all at once. The distance traveled, the new expectations placed on me. The semester was only going to last for a few months, but thinking about just how far away from home I am makes my legs go numb.\n“Man, what is this thing made out of?” The guy next to me nudges my arm. “This shit’s crazy…”\nA half-hearted chuckle is the only reply I can make.\nWe all slowly step off of the platform, not fully trusting that we won’t fly off into space just yet. Every time I take a step forward, my body panics like it’s about to fly off the ground. Taking slow, uneasy steps, our group follows the Suit Guy right up to the gate.\n“I should ask,” he says, turning around to smile at us like we aren’t fighting for our lives. “Are there any general questions you have before we move forward?”\nNone of us have any questions. Or, if anyone did, they were too preoccupied trying not to fly into the void.\nSuit Guy starts talking again after a couple seconds anyway. “As you know, it is several times larger than yours, so it is unsafe to head out of the buildings during the day. Please take care to mind the curfews. When the bell sounds, please immediately make your way to the dormitories.”\nI think it’s safe to say that the rest of us are only half listening. At least I’m only half listening, trying to re-learn how to walk and all.\n“Ah, and here comes our council president. Everyone, say hello to Siaki K.”\nA woman stepped over to us and bowed at the suited man. “Thank you, Ambassador.”\nThe Ambassador returns the gesture and steps back onto the platform, disappearing. The woman turns and smiles at us. She seems almost...reptilian; there are scales all over her face. Her eyes seem pretty far apart, and when she smiles, I notice that there’s an extra pair of teeth.\nIt isn’t until she turns and offers an awkward smile specifically at me that I realize I’ve been staring at her too directly for too long. I very quickly drop my gaze.\n“Each of you will be assigned a personal Ambassador to help you become acquainted with the school grounds and its rules. Are there any questions?”the kid next to me\n“Yeah,” the kid next to me speaks up again. “We call this CoRot 7b, but what do you guys call it?”\nSiaki offers a defeated laugh, before spitting out a terse set of rough syllables that seems to grind against my inner ear. “CoRot 7b is fine, our name for it has a history of being hard for humans to replicate. Still, if you wish to learn, you’re more than welcome.\n“Now, if that is all,” Siaki continues. “Please follow me to your living quarters.”\nShe walks off and I prepare to follow, but every nerve in my body starts to panic as soon as my weight shifts.\nI better figure out this whole “walking around on other planets” thing fast." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Lake Tahoe\n\nGenre: asian-american\n\nWord Count: 1464\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character, animal or human, who is reborn as something totally different." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "It began the day Tanuja dove after the dog into Lake Tahoe.\nNothing dramatic happened. Tanuja held Yogi’s collar and did a survival backstroke with her other three limbs until the boat doubled back for them. Lucky for her, Dad had made her learn it during their annual summer trips to Tahoe and reminded her every year before she was allowed to cannonball into the water. Also lucky for her, she had her life vest on.\nThe current wasn’t strong that day, but her teeth chattered. Tanuja hummed to herself, both as a comfort and to soothe Yogi, who was starting to squirm. Something crackled in her ear like the walkie talkies she Alina used to talk before their parents would allow them pink Motorola Razrs.\nThen the boat was pulling up beside them, spraying them with foam. She passed Yogi up and allowed Jun and Neal to haul her up. Her soaked clothes seemed to have doubled her weight. Alina wrapped a blanket around her. Jun wrapped his arms around her. The pitbull was still shivering but Neal soothed him in quiet tones.\n“You got quite a pair,” Jun said, half-admiringly, half-enviously.\n“I got a steel vagina,” she said, raising an eyebrow.\nHe mimed bowing to her.\nThat was the most exciting part of the day by far. They returned to their hotel. Tanuja got cleaned up—and heard some more crackling in the shower. Maybe the water had gotten into her eardrums? Was that even possible?—and they went to dinner at a lakefront hotel where her friends made her sound like Odysseus.\nIn reality, she had reacted without thinking. As someone who had grown up with the lake, Tanuja trusted it. She was excited to be here, and even more excited to share it with Jun.\n*/*/*\nThe next morning, the event was more-or-less forgotten, except as a running joke. Yogi was secured to the boat with very little leash purchase, and he looked out over the water, panting and wagging his tail.\nAnd then Tanuja fell in again.\nIt was different this time. Neal turned the boat too sharply, pitching her off the side. It felt like the water rose, coiled around her, and dragged her in.\nBack to the survivor backstroke. The water was choppier today and sloshed over her, even as she faced the sky again. Kelp tried to tangle around her ankles, but she shook it off. She hummed again. The billowing of her hair and clothes reminded her of Ophelia in the river, but she shook off the thought too. How ironic would it be if the lake that was her second home stole her life? \nThe relationship was still new, and Tanuja was looking forward to seeing where it was going. It wouldn’t do if she succumbed to a cold lake on their first trip together. Plus, she really liked his dog.\nThere was that crackling again. A little wave broke over her, momentarily thrusting her downward. Voices. They were whispering but she came up gasping for air. She couldn’t hear what they were saying.\nAs the boat approached, she did something Dad would have been furious with and ducked her head underneath. The whispers were urgent, many voices rising over each other. But in the end, before a hand closed around her arm and yanked her to the surface, she made out just one phrase: “Help.”\n“I know you like to swim, but 40-degree water is not it,” Alina joked after they had Tanuja back in the boat.\nShe only managed a half-hearted smile.\nAlina and Neal exchanged a concerned glance.\n“How about this,” said Jun, sitting beside her and putting an arm around her shoulders. “We won’t come out on the lake tomorrow.”\n“No,” Tanuja said, surprising herself as much as them. “Let’s come back.”\nShe knew she was noticeably quiet the rest of the day. Though she wanted to say something and put their minds at ease, she was tired.\nIt didn’t help that Tanuja kept hearing the whispers now. She heard them when she washed her hands and brushed her teeth. She heard them when Alina uncapped her water bottle. She heard them the loudest when she sank into a hot bubble bath that night. Like before, the only word she could distinguish was: “Help.” The word filled her ears, so it was like being underwater, and the voices of her friends sounded so far away.\nAlina gave her a hug with an extra squeeze when they went to their separate rooms. But Tanuja couldn’t sleep. The curtains turned the moonlight blue. She lay in bed, listening to Jun’s steady breathing and felt Yogi’s weight partially on her feet.\nAfter a moment’s thought, she slipped out of bed. Yogi lifted his head and whined. She set a hand on his head as she passed to tug open the heavy door. Yogi padded behind her.\n“Go back,” she told him, but he just cocked his head and wagged his tail at her. “Fine, come on then.”\nIt was only when the wintry night air gusted against her that she realized she’d come outside in pajamas and house slippers without even grabbing her coat. Her flesh rose in protest against the cold, and her breath painted the air in front of her, but she kept going until she reached the edge of the lake.\nThere were footprints in the snow on the dock. In the darkness, it looked like they reached the water and never came back.\nTanuja followed the footprints to the end and sat with her legs folded beneath her, ignoring the snow soaking through her pajama pants. The water was both still and loud, the voices anxious and eager. She looked past her reflection and reached out, adjusting to lie on her stomach until her fingertip could touch the water.\nIt wasn’t just voices anymore. Desperate sadness sank into her heart. The lake sang of despair. It cried for her. It wanted her love, her essence, her lifeblood. It didn’t just want them—it needed them.\nShe wanted to give it what it needed and stretched her arm out as far as it would go—\nA tug brought her back. She craned her neck around to see Yogi with his teeth clamped on her pajama top, trying to tug her back.\n“You’re right,” she told him, rising to her feet and walking back with him.\nShe didn’t feel cold or wet anymore. When she got back to her room, she was able to fall asleep with her arm draped across Jun’s waist. It was her turn to be the big spoon.\n*/*/*\nIn the morning, they kept asking Tanuja if she was absolutely, positively sure she wanted to get back on the water. She told them she was and lugged a packed picnic basket with her, refusing when Jun tried to take it from her.\nThe current was excited today, not desperate and frightened like yesterday.\nTanuja talked and joked with her friends. She kissed Jun. She tussled with Yogi.\n“We have an announcement,” Alina said, holding Neal with one hand and patting her belly with the other. “We wanted you to be the first to know.”\nTanuja shrieked and hugged Alina, patting mini-Alina/Neal. \n“I thought you were glowing extra bright lately,” she said.\nWhen they reached what Tanuja intuitively knew was the center of the lake, she asked Neal to cut the engine. There was only the sound of the wind and birds overhead.\n“A toast,” Tanuja said, bringing out sparkling cider because she’d promised Dad she would never drink while out on the lake and because now Alina couldn’t drink. “Congratulations, to the both of you. You’re going to be the best parents a kid could have. Just...don’t be mad if your kid goes to Stanford.”\nThey laughed and made faces at the mention of Stanford, as any good Cal alum should.\nHer voice caught. The whispers had been quiet since last night. They were waiting patiently now.\n“I wish I could be there to meet baby Alina--or Neal.” She gave Alina’s belly a wistful smile.\nAlina’s expression grew alarmed. “What are you talking about?” She nudged Neal. “See, I knew something was wrong.”\n“It isn’t,” Tanuja said, squeezing Alina’s hands before pulling her and Neal into a hug.\nShe dropped to her knees in front of Yogi. He licked her cheek.\n“It’s been a joy getting to know you,” she told Jun, pressing her lips to his.\n“Hold on—” he said, but she was already turning and pressing her hand to the water.\nBefore they could even grab for her, Tanuja dissolved. She wasn’t drowned. She was still there. Every atom of her being was reconstructed and rearranged, her consciousness joining the chorus of voices that had sought her out." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: the rescue\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 1030\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a romance that involves one partner saving the other from a fire." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "I really don't remember when the fire started, but i remember coughing. I could feel someone carrying me to my bedroom window. When I came to I was in the hospital. My parents hadn't been home when the fire started. The investigators found out that the electrical system in the house was the cause.\nAll I wanted was to find who saved me. How did they know I was there? I didn't have any burns, but I had to stay overnight for observation. of course my parents were devastated. Everything they had worked for was in that house. So many pictures, and unbeknownst to me, a rare family heirloom.\nWhile the doctors were running their tests, I noticed a guy I had never seen before. He was a rich chocolate brown, about six foot two and he looked like God have carved him out of the finest chocolate. He had locs, that he wore just past his shoulders. It was his look of concern that made me look at him. We locked eyes as they checked my blood pressure.\nThe machine didn't beep, but my doctor noticed the slight rise and looked outside, into the hallway.\n\"Oh, so that's what got your pressure up. Well he's been here since they brought you in. No one has spoken to him. He's quite stunning. \" said the doctor as she removed the cuff.\n\"Can he come in? I want to ask if he saved me. Did he tell anyone his name?\" I asked as I watched Mr. HC. (Hot Chocolate)\n\"I don't see why not. Why dont you try getting his attention?\"\nSince I knew he was watching I waved at him. He smiled and my heart jumped. That was odd, but I waved again. This time he stood at my door.\nMy doctor giggled along with me as we watched HC.\n\"I'll be back in the morning. The nurses will be on duty, if you need anything, Miss Deveaux, the call button is on your left. \" she explained.\n\" Please, come in. its rude not introduce yourself.\" I said.\nIn he came. I could see that he looked tired, His clothes were dingy. He had a thin layer of soot on his clothes. I noticed he cradled a cloak in his lap.\n\"Was it you? Did you save me from the fire?\" I asked.\nThis time, he spoke. His voice was almost as rich and warm as his coloring.\n\"Yes, I did. I wasn't supposed to interfere,but there is something about you. I had to save both of you. My name is Jabari Monroe.\" explained my savior.\nI was not the type of girl to get all mushy over some dashing stranger, but this wonderful human man saved me. I have to do something to repay him. I could at least make sure he got a change of clothes, some food and rest. It struck me that he said he wasn't\nsupposed to interfere.\nA nurse came in to check my vitals again. I asked her if they had a change of clothes for my special visitor. The nurse took one look at Jabari and quickly rushed out. She came back carrying some scrubs and a pair of crocs.\n\"You can take a shower in my bathroom. When I leave in the morning, I want you to come with me. Meet my parents, they will be so grateful.\" I told him as the nurse put his things down.\nJabari gave me a tired smile and went into the bathroom. I heard the shower go on while the nurse did her check.\nThe next morning, I was surprised to find Jabari asleep near me on a cot. I didn't know anything about this man but I knew I couldn't be without him. We talked most of the night, answering questions about each other, telling each other our dreams and fantasies, by the time my mom showed up to pick me up, we had decided that we would be together.\nLove happened and I never saw it coming, although I still had a lot to find out about Jabari. One thing was what was in his cloak and how could I feel this way about someone who saved my life. Was it just because he saved me or was this more?\n* * * *\nToday was the day. Jabari and i hadn't separated, we stayed true to our plan. The cloak he had was how he got us out. The thing he had wrapped in it, was a box made of purple cowrie shells. This belonged to my great great great great grandmother. She was a slave, but in her homeland she was royalty. This box was her dowry and it held magic in it. My family came from a long line of female shamans. My parents were going to tell me about our lineage when they got back on the night of the fire.\nJabari was my soulmate, he heard my heart call out to him. I shudder to think what my life would be like if we never met. Out of all of my friends, I was the last one to finally be getting married.\nI stood in front of the mirror, looking at myself. I couldn't believe what my makeup artist had done.\nI looked like some forgotten queen. My hair had been braided into an updo Bey would have killed for herself. My peanut butter colored skin had been soaked in pure milk and honey.My eyes were lined with gold kohl to show my lineage. I was wearing my grandmothers wedding gown. I was covered in cowrie shells. My gown hugged every curve. I felt amazing. My friends had come from all across the country to celebrate with me.\nThis would be a day I would never forget. No bride ever forgets her wedding so this would be a day no one would forget. I walked down the isle keeping my eyes on Jabari. He looked so handsome. His suit was all white like mine and his groomsmen wore shells in their cummerbund.\"White is the color of purity,new beginnings, let us give this couple our love and" } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: PR103 to MNL\n\nGenre: asian-american\n\nWord Count: 1081\n\nPrompt:\n\nSet your story at the boundary between two realms." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "They have put you in this box with me. A casualty of commons. Death by our own tax money.\nThey have put you in this box with me. Three walls of cement with one large glass pane so that we may watch the anthill world below us.\nI wanted you to see this place. This less than perfect side of me. My anthill. Where the rules are only as firm as your will and where your tribe is the real law.\nIt is as dis/honest as it is un/flattering. You are here now. And this is the truth of it.\nWe have given everything to come here. Our tidy little home among the Angels has been rented by another hopeful couple. It was once an empty box, but we made it ours. May they treat those walls with as much love as we have. I hope they remember to water the plants. I hope they love our tree the way you and I did.\nWe have left everything and come here. Traded a nuptial bed for two pieces of paper marked 41F&G. That bed was the only thing I had to my name in the early days, besides that overused duffel with its broken strap which carried my whole life inside. You helped me build it, back when you were my first friend in a foreign country. I thought I would need a hammer and you laughed. Apparently everything in your country is built with an Allen wrench.\nThat bed followed me to every new box. Each time, we took it apart and rebuilt it together. It was there for us, at the end of every long day. As you were for me, whenever I felt the walls of that strange land closing in. Whenever I felt foreign and less than. You seemed, somehow, to understand, though you had never lived anywhere else but among the Angels.\nI will never forget how it felt to take it apart, one last time.\nPiece by piece it went, out the door, down the stairs (all three flights), out to the lobby and into the garbage. First the legs, which held us up for so many years. Then the frame. Then the headboard. As I carried it in my arms for the last time, I imagined your fingers gripping the edges, the way they did every night when we were finally alone again.\nI wish I had kept a piece of it. One screw or splinter. I wish someone or something else could make its home in that bed. I suppose we left it for the flies and the worms in the landfill. Nothing ever really disappears. \nAnd now we are here. Come all this way. To live in a box in the sky. I wanted you to see this place, and I suppose that's my wish fulfilled. From this view, my anthill looks so different. It sprawls until it meets the horizon in every direction. Our greatest structures touch the sky and the neon billboards flash unyieldingly into the night. It looks grand. And terrifying. I watch you as you peer into the streets below, curious about life in this new world. And I wonder if we will ever really be a part of it.\nMy anthill can be a savage and unforgiving place. Once upon a time, you would have been welcomed here by a band of singing men and dancing ladies as we walked the carpet out of the airport. But today… today we are treated with sterility. Today we are carted off by strangers in hazmat suits, ushered hurriedly into a van and delivered to our box to await judgment. \nThere was a time when you would have been seen as an Angel. A welcome visitor. And my people would bend over backwards to speak your language, accommodate your whims, treat you with kindness and offer you the best of our meager anthill.\nToday you are a stranger, and carry with you a foreign scent that sends my people into a scramble. Today you are to be contained. Hence, the box.\nThey tried to take you from me. How have you come here, they asked you. Who are you with, in the rough tongue of my people. They can see that you are different, but they don't lend you the courtesy of speaking your language. That time has passed. I must translate. They resist, they are suspicious. They do not want you near me. I bear the mark of one of their own, but you do not. You are a threat and they place partitions between us. I must yell over the barrier. I must summon the will of my people that has lain dormant for years. I must assert my will over the rules.\nNo, I say. This one is with me. This one is my tribe. They are skeptical. I insist. They scramble to call a superior. And you… are terrified. You cannot understand our words, but know implicitly what authority looks like. It takes a strange new form here, doesn't it? We have all the right paperwork and yet somehow that does not matter. In the land of Angels, that's usually all that matters. Welcome to my anthill, darling, where one must wield their will and invoke the power of their tribe like a sword and shield, or in your parlance, a badge and gun. Here I am, your chthonic knight, come from under the earth to defend you. In your land, you would have resented me for it. I would have resented it myself. But here and now… it is necessary. Or else they will take you away.\nThey have put me in this box with you. The bed is not our bed. The walls have no love. We watch the man across the street with envy as he tends to his roof garden, missing our tree. But we are here. We have made it. And now you see this side of me and have begun to understand the first rules of this earthly place. I watch you as you stare out the window, too ashamed to touch you, to speak. I have brought you here. Have made you feel trapped, less-than, foreign.\nYou turn around and meet my gaze. I feel as though I have been caught watching you, and I turn away in shame, but you take my hand. Placing it on your chest, you smile and say, so this is what it's like." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Haunted With Love\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 2304\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a ghost story where there’s more going on than it first appears." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "“Did you hear that?” Bella asked her best friend and cousin, Ethel.\n“What?” I didn’t hear anything. Ethel said, wiping the sleep out of her eyes.\n“You can’t tell me that you didn’t hear that loud noise. It sounded like a big bang. Like someone was banging on the door.” \n“Bella, I honestly didn’t hear anything. I think that you are just creeped out because we are here.” Ethel responded\nThe house on 1620 Josephina Avenue. Now sat empty with the exception of the girls being there now. It was once a home filled with love, laughter, family, friends and fun. Lot’s of fun was had at that house. There were many parties, Anniversaries, Birthday’s, Graduation, Weddings, Christmas, Halloween, Easter. You name it there was probably a celebration of some kind had in that house. The house was painted yellow and green. Everyone thought that Bella’s grandmother was crazy for choosing those colors to paint a house. After all, whoever heard of those color combinations for a house this big and this grand in the middle of a neighborhood surrounded by old houses and old cars and generations of families sometimes living in the same house. Bella’s grandmother, Edith, didn’t care. She and her husband, Jimmy had saved for years and years to buy a house on that block. When they first tried to buy the house they were turned away. They weren’t turned away because they couldn’t afford it, they were turned away because of the color of their skin. In the 1950’s the neighbors didn’t want anyone who didn’t look like them owning anything in their neighborhood or even driving through the neighborhood. Jimmy had an idea: he had one of his White friends pretend to be the buyer of the house and Jimmy had to go through the back door and pretend he was a worker to even see the inside of the house. In reality Jimmy was a young lawyer. He swallowed his pride and pretended he was working for his friend and that he was going to look at the wiring. \nAfter all was said and done they purchased the house and the neighbors were not too pleased about that, to say the least. But, Ethel was a strong Black woman who came from generations of strong women and she stood up to all the hate filled neighbors and told them they can hate her all they wanted but she had just as much right to be there as they did. Eventually, her next door neighbor, a woman around her age came over and introduced herself and they became friends over the years and over several decades the haters moved out, times changed and the yellow and green house became known as the house to go to if you ever needed anything. \nNow, decades later, the house stood empty. All the people who went to the parties and celebrations there were mostly gone, either to heaven, or moved away. After Ethel and Jimmy passed away the house stood there empty. Bella was not sure why but rumor had it that the spirits of Ethel and Jimmy still remained in the house and they didn’t want anyone else to live there and anyone who attempted to buy the house would be cursed. Several people attempted to buy it but when they were shown the house many of them said they saw ghosts and lights turned off and on and they heard strange noises and voices of Ethel and Jimmy talking in the parlor. The house was not kept up and the backyard was void of flowers that Ethel used to plan every Spring. It was a jungle of old trees and fences barely standing in the dry dirt which had become the backyard now and the weeds that were almost as high as the old fences. The basement was filled with spiderwebs and old toys and lawn furniture and other nicknacks from the 1970’s and 1980’s. Nobody ever went down there or in the attic. \n“I’m a little scared. But I swear I heard something.” Bella said again to Ethel.\n“I am too but am thinking that we really don’t have anything to be sacred of. Jimmy and Edith loved us. They would protect us now. I think of them like angels. Our personal angels watching over us.”\n“That’s a good way to think about it, Ethel, but what if you are wrong? What if there is some entity here that is evil and drove Jimmy and Edith out of the house.”\n“You do remember your grandmother don’t you? We are talking about your grandmother after all. She wasn’t scared of nothing.” Ethel laughed. \n“I’m sure you are right.” Bella said, pulling the covers to her chest.\n“Ethel?” Bella said from her bed.\n“What now?”\n“What if the ghosts are trying to tell us something?” \n“Bella, there are no ghosts, spirits or whatever else you think there might be in here. The only thing we are going to hear tomorrow is the real estate lady tell us what the house is worth and when we can put it on the market. That is something that someone should have done a long time ago.”\n“But, Ethel, you know that someone tried. My aunt Danny tried. My uncle Mark tried. My great aunt even tried. They all tried but it wouldn’t sell because of the ghosts.”\n“Bella, would you please stop talking about ghosts. You have worked yourself up to hearing sounds that aren’t there. Just please go to sleep. Good night.” Ethel said adjusting her pillow and closing her eyes.\nMrs. Mulberry, the real estate agent arrived right on time. She was an older lady with hair which looked like it was rinsed in blue water or something. She was barely five feet tall and wore thick glasses which were on a chain hanging from her neck. She had on pearl earrings and a blue flowered dress to match her blue rinse hair. Mrs. Mulberry closed her car door a little harder than she had liked and stood outside just a far enough distance to give the house a look over from the outside. She remembered this house well. Her grandmother was always over for various parties and get togethers back in the day. She looked at the door and shook her head thinking that the first thing to go would have to be the door. It was old and the paint was peeling off it and it reminded her of an over ripe banana. The house would need to also be painted another color than this faded greenish color. She thought some flowers would be nice to put in the front yard too. She rang the doorbell and stood back waiting for one of the girls to answer it.\n“Hello, Mrs. Mulberry.” Ethel said opening the screen door wide and gesturing for Mrs. Mulberry to come inside.\n“Hello. Where’s Bella?” She questioned looking around the living room.\n“Oh she is on the deck. We made some coffee and got some donuts. We thought we would talk out there since everything is so old and dusty in here.” Ethel replied.\n“Fine.” Mrs. Mulberry said following Ethel to the backyard deck.\n“So girls you want to sell this place?” Mrs. Mulberry said, adjusting her glasses on her face.\n“Yes, we do.” Bella said sipping some coffee.\n“Well, you know that people have tried to sell it in the past and there were no takers after…” \n“We know the rumors and the place is not haunted.” Ethel interrupted. \n“I’m not saying that it is. There is a difference from being a haunted house and a house that just has spirits.” \n“Mrs. Mulberry why do you think this house has spirits?” Bella asked\n“Well, girls, you know the history of this house. How hard it was for your grand to buy it right and what they had to do right? Well, let me tell you that sometimes when a person dies in their own home they’re spirit is still there. The spirit stays for many reasons.” Mrs. Mulberry tried to explain.\n“Well, there aren’t any spirits here.” Ethel said again.\n“But, I did hear something last night. It sounded like someone was knocking on the door or something.” \n“Bella, I told you that you were hearing things. There wasn’t anything there or anyone knocking on anything.” Ethel said, getting a little irritated with the whole conversation.\n“Ok, girls, are we going to sell this place or not?” Mrs. Mulberry asked.\n“Yes, we are.” The girls chimed in.\n“First of all we have to get rid of these cobwebs, paint the house top to bottom, replace the carpet, and update the appliances. That’s just for starters.” Mrs. Mulberry said to the girls looking around the deck.\n“We can do that. I have the money that Nana left for me in my trust. I get it next month when I turn 25.” Bella said, taking a big bite out of her jelly donut.\n“Good. In the meantime I will see if anyone would be interested in this old house. It could be once again a beautiful house with a little hard work.” Mrs. Mulberry said as she got up from the table and walked to the front door.\n“I will be in touch. Meanwhile you girls can start cleaning up around here. You know mopping, sweeping and deciding what furniture you are going to keep and what you are going to toss. That sort of stuff. I will call you in a few days.” Mrs. Mulberry said as she closed the front door.\nA few months later the house was ready to sell. The girls had hired people to paint, plant, fix, and do everything that needed to be done. \n“Ethel, you know that one of the workers said that he heard weird noises when he was painting the bedrooms.” \n“Bella, here you go again.”\n“I’m just saying.”\n“Guess who’s coming to look at the house?” Bella asked Ethel.\n“Who?”\n“Remember Jenny, the girl I went to college with? Well, her job transferred her here and she is looking to buy a house for her and her son, Thatcher,. He’s the cutest little boy. He just turned 2. Anyway, I mentioned that we had a house for sale and she is coming to look at it at 3pm after she gets off of work with Thatcher.” Bella explained.\n“Okay, do we need to call Mrs. Mulberry too?” Ethel asked.\n“I think we should let her look at it first and than if she is interested we can call Mrs. Mulberry.”\n“Ok, Bella. Did you tell her it was haunted?” Ethel laughed.\n“No, Miss Smarty Pants, I didn’t tell her anything of the sort.” Bella said laughing.\nJenny knocked on the door holding Thatcher in her arms. She knew that if she let him down he would probably run around and not want to keep still. And she needed him to behave while she looked at the house.\n“Come in.” Bella motioned for Jenny and Thatcher to come inside.\nBella and Ethel showed Jenny all the rooms of the house. When they got to the bedroom Thatcher looked up at his mom with his huge blue eyes and said something that shocked all the ladies.\n“Mommy the lady said that the house is not for sale.” \n“What?” Jenny asked, not really paying attention to her little boy.\n“He said that the lady said not to sell the house.” Bella repeated.\n“What lady, Thatcher? There’s nobody here but us ladies and we didn’t say anything like that.” Jenny said, trying to correct him.\n“The lady that is standing next to Bella. She’s right there.” Thatcher pointed to an empty space near Bella.\n“Honey, there is nobody there.” Jenny said.\n“Yes, Mommy, there is. The lady is there. She has long hair and it is curls. She has on glasses too.”\nBella instantly knew that he was talking about her grandmother. But, how can Thatcher know what she looked like? He wasn’t even born when she died. Maybe it is a fluke she thought.\n“Mommy, the lady is smiling and she said to tell Bella that she can’t sell the house.” Thatcher continued.\n“I don’t know what’s gotten into him.” Jenny said scooping up Thatcher in her arms.\n“Mommy, don’t you see the lady?” Thatcher said looking over near Bella.\n“No, Honey, Mommy can’t see the lady.” \n“Umm, thanks for showing me the house. I think I will take this one home for his nap. Say good-bye Thatcher.” Jenny said as she headed for the front door walking fast.\n“See, what I mean?” Bella said to Ethel.\n“You know what? I didn’t believe that there were any spirits in this house before Thatcher said he saw your grandmother. I read somewhere that little kids can sometimes see things, spirits, that grown-ups can’t. And maybe if that is the case Nana was trying to tell us something.”\n“Are you thinking what I am thinking?” Bella asked.\n“If you are thinking that perhaps this house was not meant to be sold that all along it was meant for us to keep, to live in and make memories of our own and pass it down from one generation to the next and that is why people thought it was haunted. It wasn’t really haunted, it was just Nana trying to tell us something. She loved this house and she loved us and wanted us to share the love and always have a place for the family to come and gather for parties, celebrations, and just to hang out.” Ethel said.\n“Yeah, that is what I was thinking. Now, let’s go and take that for sale sign out of the front yard because this house is definitely not for sale.” Bella said smiling." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Translation\n\nGenre: asian-american\n\nWord Count: 1629\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story where a device goes haywire." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Technology.\nI couldn't live without it! It's the thing that cures my boredom\nand helps people understand me. Hi, I’m Katsuro, I am 16 years old. Me and my family moved to America from Tokyo. Now, I don't know the first thing about the English language, so I use my phone a lot for translations. My older brother, Junjie, went out of his way to learn English. Yeah , that’s not me. I didn't want to move here anyway, so why learn the culture if in two years I will go\nback to Tokyo on my own. Other than Junjie, I have 1 other sibling. Her name is Miyuki. Miyuki is younger than me be 2 years. Which is ironic because Junjie is Two years older. Miyuki and Junjie do NOT get along. Why? It's because of me. Weird, right? Well, since I help Junjie with basketball, and Miyuki with her math homework, sometimes they Interfere. Maybe they don't have homework in\nAmerica. School starts tomorrow, and i'm not thrilled like Miyuki is. Junjie isn't either, but he has very diverse teachers. Meanwhile, I have 50 year old white lady's as my teachers.\n\"Katsuro! Get up! Bus comes in an hour!\"\nAh, the voice of my mother. Every morning is the same wonderful\nalarm. If my mom didn't wake me up, I’d hear the same BEEEEP, BEEEP, BEEEEP, every day. My bus was very unordinary. It was more of a candlelight orange than a canary yellow, and the number of the bus was 43, but the 4 was upside down. I'm just going to assume that a student did that. \"Katsuro, Will you help me\nwith my homework later?! \" \"Sure thing . I never wouldn't. Maybe\nafter, you can join Junjie and I in basketball!\" \"Ah, sorry Katsuro.\nI have plans with someone I met in the neighborhood.\" \"Well Miyuki,\nlooks like it's just me and you!\" \"The bus is here for you, Katsuro!\" \"Ok! Thanks mom!\" \"Kai daisuki !\" That means \"I love you guys\" in Japanese. As I walk on the bus, I see the girly girls, goths, the jocks, nerds, and the class clowns. No one like me to be found. Just a few moments later... I found him! Asian, has a basketball jersey\non, and has the same phone as me! Not only is it a basketball jersey, but a Golden State Warriors jersey! I attempt to go\nsit next to him. I type in what I want say, \" Hello. May I sit next to\nyou?\" My phone says. \" Hello, yes you may! If you speak Japanese or\nChinese I can speak to you.\" I put on the voice translate mode and it said what he had said. So I sat down and spoke Japanese. After about five minutes, you'd think we have known each other for years! Then the bus ride was over, and just like that the day began.\n\"Attention class!\"\nBlah, Blah, Blah. She continued, \"It's the first day of\nschool and I assume you will make a good impression on me and your classmates.\" After hearing that , I turned my translation app off. Once or twice she called on me, but I just said my app wasn't working and I was trying to fix it. That worked like a charm. After homeroom, I had math. My teacher was Mrs. Hammond, she was nice. Nice enough that I turned on my voice translate! Just when I thought today was going to be a great day... 3rd period came. Mr.\nRichey was my science teacher. Don't get me wrong I love science, but NOT Mr. Richey. The first thing he said to me was \" Huh, a little Asian boy. You better be a good on cause I ain't never met any Asian boy who was good at science.\" What was that supposed to mean!? After that I typed in, \"I'll be a good one, for sure!\" but the phone said \" No, sir.\" HUH? I did NOT type that in. He gave me a stern look like I was in for a RUFF year. I thought for sure this was a one-time thing. But, as always, the universe hates me and it happened again in 4th period. I typed \"Hello Miss. Scott.\" but instead came out \"I hate school.\" Everyone was shocked , even Brad the trouble-maker.\nSchool ended at 3:30 and my bus was late by 20 minutes.\nI told the kid from this morning, Jin, about my phone. \"\nListen, it might be just a glitch. Check it out with your parents\ntonight.\" I know I had just met Jin, but I wanted him to stay! \"Hey\nJin, did you wanna play basketball sometime this week? \" I hate asking for things. It just seems so rude! \"I don't know when I’m free... but I’ll let you know, for sure!\" Universe 2 Katsuro 1 . Scoring this close to the universe is a WIN in my book. Jin got off the bus at the stop before mine. He lives about half a Kilometer from my house. Which is a good thing considering the only friend I’ve ever lived close to wasn't even my friend. Her name was Ami. Ami was Miyuki's best friend. But Ami was only twelve so she didn't like me very much. But since Junjie was \"adorable\" He got a lot of attention from her. \"Good bye Kat!\" \"Bye Jiney!\" That’s right! We already have nicknames.\n\"Mom! My phone isn't working!\"\n\"Did you try updating it?\" \"Yes mom, I tried everything in the book.\"\n\"Is it all of your phone or just one thing?\" \"Just my translation app.\" \"Alright I’ll look at it after dinner. We're having Takoyaki!\" Takoyaki is my favorite food of all time. \"Hey Katsuro, I don't have any homework so you can do whatever.\" \"But aren't you playing some ball with me?\" \"Sorry, my friend Maya is coming over in a few.\" What a bummer. Junjie is going on a date ( I know better than to believe he has \"Plans with someone in the neighborhood\") , and Miyuki doesn't want to play a quick game. So if they won't play some ball... maybe Jin will? I text him, \"Hey Jin! Are u ok 2 come ovr?\"\nAssuming he will take a little to respond, I try to fix my app.\nNo luck. A few minutes later Jin says,\n\" Yeah sure! What time?\" Universe 2 Katsuro 2. HA! TAKE THAT UNIVERSE!\n\"If u wanna eat dinner with us, we're having Takoyaki, and you shud head ovr in 10. But if not maybe like Half an hour.\"\n\"Cool. I'll get ready 2 go. Be there in 5.\"\nSweet! \"MOM!\" \"Yes Katy \" I hate that\nnickname. Kat is better. \"My friend, Jin ,is coming over and having dinner in 5 minutes!\" \"Ok! Ya know, it really is great all 3 of you have\nmade friends.\" I guess she's right. Ding dong. \"MAYA'S HERE!\nEVERYONE ACT CALM, COOL, AND COLLECTED! AND BE POLITE!\" \"We got it Mi.\" Mom loves calling her Mi, but I’m not a fan. \"Hello Miss Park and Miyuki's siblings!\" \"Hey Maya, I’m Katsuro. But you can Just call me Kat.\" \"Huh, a boy nicknamed Kat. Unordinary. I LOVE IT! \"\n\"Hello Maya. Please, Make yourself at home. Will you be having dinner with us?\" \"Yes Miss. Park. I heard you eat traditional Japanese meals, I'm so hyped!\"\nAbout 3 minutes after, Jin walked in.\n\"Konichiwa Katsuro kazoku.\" \" Koichiwa. Eigo o hanasu?\" \"Yes Miss Park. I know Kat doesn't and Junjie does. Can Miyuki speak English?\" \"Yes she can.\" \"Thank you. May I eat dinner with you?\" \"Yes Jin.\" Jin translated the whole conversation for me. \" This is wonderful Miss. Park. \" \"Thank you Jin.\" \"It’s my FAVORITE meal mom makes.\" \"I can see why!\" Maya and Miyuki ate in her room. After dinner I went in my room with Jin. \"Do you think if I try my app again it will work?\" \"Try it!\" so I typed in, just to be funny, \"Teleport me to a magic land with Jin!\" But something happened. It went dark. I yelled, \"JIN! JIN! JIN ARE YOU THERE!\" \"I'M HERE KAT! BUT I CAN'T SEE A THING!\" A few seconds later we could see \"Wow.\" Ha! We both spoke at the same time. It was magical! There was unicorns, food everywhere, rainbows, and a huge waterfall. Almost like the Niagara Falls. \"KAT CAN YOU SEE THIS?\"\n\"I'm seeing what you are Jin!\"\nLong-story-short we ate A LOT.\n\"Jin, wanna ride that unicorn to the top of the waterfall\nand build a boat! \" \"OH YEAH I DO! \" \"Ride Jat, ride!\"\nWe named it \"Jat\" after the two of us. Just when I thought it was the\nbest day ever... It went dark. \"Ah man!\" \"Your here right,\nKatsuro!\" \"Yeah. Maybe we left because I opened my phone to see the time.\" It was light again. Huh! \"Jin... are we in a jail cell?\"\n\"I think so...\" All the sudden, A HUGE GUY APPEARED! \" JIN RUN!\nI'LL FOLLOW!\" We ended up stopping and the man almost thought about letting us go, but he punched Jin in the stomach! \"JIN! SOMEONE HELP! \" \"Kat I’m ok, see look.\" He tried to stand but couldn't. But once again it was dark. This time we were in my room. Jin was ok. We couldn't stop laughing, but sooner or later Jin had to go home.\nThe next day I had school.\nI went into to class and, thankfully, my app was working. In\nFact, I got every question right today! Me and Jin stayed best friends for a while and never forgot about my first day at school in 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: The Girl with No Face\n\nGenre: asian-american\n\nWord Count: 1976\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about someone grappling with an insecurity." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "CW: bullying, gore\n\nJia Si Ya started off with all the facial features a normal human would have. Two years, one mouth, two eyes and a nose. \nShe was a normal sort of girl growing up in China. Quiet, artistic, most importantly, her grades are always among the top three in her class. She was left alone to her own devices, because you simply don’t mess with a girl who has good grades in China. The teachers would be on her side. She’s not close to most of her classmates but they look at her with some jealousy, but that was plenty made up by their reverence for her good grades. She had one or two close friends who knew her like they knew themselves. \nThen, one day, her parents set her down and told her they’re getting on an airplane. Their three room apartment is packed into ten plastic boxes. They caught a taxi to the airport. That is how Jia Si Ya ended up in a land where night is day and day is night. \nJia Si Ya began to lose her body parts the first day of school. \n“Everyone, this is a new student, her name is…”\nThe teacher’s face scrunched up into a walnut, filled with lines. She looked like she ate something wrong. \n“Jia Si Ya,” Jia Si Ya said sincerely. “It’s Jia-Si-Ya.”\nAll her new classmates stayed silent. Some of their faces scrunched up like walnuts too. Suddenly, Jia Si Ya is standing in front of a classroom of walnuts. \n“Do you have an English name?” the teacher approached her carefully as if speaking to a sleeping lion rather than a small girl. \n“No,” Jia Si Ya replied. “I’m not English.” \nThat made the class laugh. Not the sort of laugh Jia Si Ya is used to from her old classmates. It had a strange tone to it, as if there was poison mixed inside honey. \nThe teacher shook her head as if Jia Si Ya just admitted she kicked someone off the cliff. “Well, you’ll need one from now on. You’ll be Jane. A pretty name.”\nJia Si Ya didn’t reply. She wanted to ask the teacher who she was to give her a name when she already had one. The teacher simply threw a name at her, as if she was a stray kitten the teacher just picked up from the streets. \nJia Si Ya lost an ear on that day, because she didn’t want to hear the name that she did not claim. Everyone called her that one syllable word from then on. Although Jia Si Ya always walked away not answering their words as they screamed at her from down the hall.\nHer classmates slowly realized that Jia Si Ya was purposefully ignoring them. They took personal offense with that, like how children always do. They thought that Jia Si Ya was the newcomer, the outsider, the one who doesn’t look like anyone else. \n“Why is that girl not talking to us?” They asked their parents. \n“She probably just doesn’t know how to speak English,” their parents answered patiently. \nThe next day when the classmates came back to school, they repeated the exact words their parents told them to Jia Si Ya.\n“You cannot speak English, can you?” They said, “That is why you don’t speak so much.”\n“What?” Jia Si Ya splattered in indignation. “No, I learned English ever since I was a child. I just don’t like to talk much. I like books.”\n“Haha,” the classmates laughed with delight. “She couldn’t speak English.”\n“I am literally speaking English with you right now.”\n“I am literally speaking English with you right now!” The children chanted, with a twisty and shrill voice as if they were singing in the opera. \nJia Si Ya lost another ear that day. She would not listen to any more of this nonsense, she would not give them any ammunition. So she shreded her ears as if she shred off some bad skin, from then on she has to hear no more. \nJia Si Ya could no longer hear. She spends all her days in the library reading books. Books about love and death. Books about friendship and happiness. Books about magic. Jia Si Ya thought she must have a certain kind of magic, too. She has never seen anyone else who could shed parts of themselves without it hurting, or anyone noticing. \nThe only person who noticed she had no ears was the librarian, a kind older woman with dreadlocks. She never tried to speak to Jia Si Ya because she noticed Jia Si Ya had no ears, so instead the librarian communicated with her with writings. \nThe old librarian had the most beautiful handwriting. Her words looked like butterflies that could open their wings and fly away. Jia Si Ya tried to imitate the old librarian’s handwriting at home, but the scribbles that came out from her childish hands are just an ugly turtle. \nThe librarian gave books to Jia Si Ya with different kinds of people in them. Some had the librarian’s skin colour, some spoke Jia Si Ya’s language. Some whose brain functions differently, some who lost body parts like Jia Si Ya. Some books with girls kissing girls and boys kissing boys, some with protagonists who don't like kissing at all. \n“It’s important,” the librarian wrote to Jia Si Ya. “Stories are a reflection of the world. Only when our stories rightfully reflect all different kinds of people in the world, then can stories become real.”\nJia Si Ya thought of that often. She thought that her classmates and her teacher possibly have magic, too, since they saw a different world other than the reality the librarian and Jia Si Ya lived in. Her classmates and her teachers only see the world of their own, where every single person is like themselves.\nUntil one day, the principal came and told the librarian to go home. The librarian had been trying to fill the library with books that reflect the real world. The principal said the parents didn’t like that. He said the parents think the librarian was trying to cause a fracture in their beautiful imaginary world. \nThe librarian was gone the next morning. She left behind a note on Jia Si Ya’s locker. “Never forget to keep reading,” it said. \nJia Si Ya nodded and kept the note inside her pencil case. Her mouth peeled off like a worned sticker. It was useless, anyway. There was no use of a mouth, when no one wanted to hear what you have to say. \nThere was a birthday party coming up for one of the most popular girls of their year. She came up to a mouthless and earless Jia Si Ya one day, handing her an invitation to the party. Jia Si Ya stood there, not understanding at first, since she had no ears or a mouth, she couldn’t understand what they were saying to her, nor could she give a reply. \nHowever, at the end of the day Jia Si Ya went home and read the letter. She wanted to scream in joy at seeing the words on the invitation. This was the first time she was welcomed to a party, she was ready to be fully prepared.\nShe even asked her mother how to do eye makeup. Her mother, who was a model when they were back in China, happily obliged. Her mother was always busy keeping the family afloat in this foreign country, as the dream they were promised was not nearly as good as they were told. She noticed her daughter gradually losing facial features, but the mom just assumed her daughter had misplaced them. \n“They’ll come back,” the mother told herself. “Once Si Ya is a little older, they'll grow back.”\nJia Si Ya went to the party, with a heart filled with hope. She couldn’t hear the music blasting, but she could smell the stench of alcohol. It made her throat perk up, unlike the cool kids in school. She has never tried alcohol yet. \nThe girl who this party was for led Jia Si Ya into a different room away from everyone. She whispered something to Jia Si Ya that Jia Si Ya didn’t understand. But Jia Si Ya wasn’t stupid, from the body language of the girl, Jia Si Ya understood that she wanted Jia Si Ya to stay in this room because there was a surprise for her.\nJia Si Ya was thinking how kind this all was. It was the girl’s birthday, but she was making a surprise for Jia Si Ya? That was so thoughtful and sweet. \nShe waited. The girl came back and led Jia Si Ya back into the room where everyone was. \nJia Si Ya blinked. All the students that were there had their eyes taped into a line. She could see vines popping up from where the tape stretched skin into the corner. You could barely see their eyeballs, all you can see is a thin line of red tissue. \nJia Si Ya didn’t say a thing as the entire room of students stared at her down as if they were expecting her to laugh. \nHer eyes peeled away from her face. One by one. The second eye to drop on the ground still had a single drop of tear leaking out of it as it evaporated.\nAll Jia Si Ya left was her nose. \nHer nose was great. Despite not having any other facial features anymore, Jia Si Ya cherished her nose as if it was a piece of treasure. She loved all the smells of the world. The grass after a rainy day. An old book with pages turning yellow. Pu’er tea that was her mom’s favorite. \nMost importantly, the lunch filled with Jing Cai (Cuisine of Beijing) her parents always pack for her. Eggplant sauce noodles, Beijing barbeque, beef dipped in a special sauce for days on end just for that particular flavor. One time after her parents had a gathering dinner with all their Chinese friends, her mom even took some leftover Beijing roast duck with her to school.\nThat was the day her classmate took her lunch box. They had always been holding their fingers on their nose whenever Jia Si Ya opened her lunch box or made sputtering sounds. But that day, they went a little bit further. \nThey snatched the lunch box from Jia Si Ya’s grip. Because she had no eyes or ears, Jia Si Ya didn’t see or hear them coming. Because she had no mouth, Jia Si Ya couldn’t scream or tell them to stop. \nThe only sensation left was a tingling sense in her nostril. As the rich smell of the roast duck ready for consumption mixed up with the odor of overday trash. The rotten banana skin, the scrunched up tissue papers filled with someone’s coughed up saliva, the stench of chewed up gum. All of that turned into a gigantic monster and swallowed up the delicious roasted duck. \nJia Si Ya’s nose slipped away like the last feather of a bird. It dropped on the ground, leaving raw pink skin and flat surface behind. \nHer classmates stopped laughing. They only now noticed that Jia Si Ya has no features left on her face. \nThe screams filled with the school. No one came out of there when school ended that day. Not the next day or the day after. \nRumor has it, even now when you step onto the haunted grounds of that school, you can still possibly encounter a girl with no face. \nIf you ever do see her, you better bet that you are not the kind of person who took away other people’s faces. Or she will take yours, because you made her insecure about hers." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Honey and Spice\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 1913\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about two characters going apple picking." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Sweat forms on my brow. My skin was exposed to the sun, and even with the cool air, it was still scorching. I lift my eyes to block the peaking light from the trees. The fiery leaves of the board tree in front of me ruffles. A few leaves part from the branches, drifting off in the wind. My eyes lock with amber ones. I drop the basket I held and round, ripen apples roll on the dirt ground.\n¨Atlas!¨\nMy head snaps to an angry, older woman. Her face was sunken, her lips pursed as her arms were crossed. The lines on her forehead deepened. Her black eyes grew into a deep abyss destroying those who dare to look into them.\n¨ What is up with your child! Your mind is always up in the clouds. Is your attention span so small?!¨\nI lower my head as the other girls glance my way in pity. I did not say anything. I refuse to muster anything from my trembling lips. Casually, my irisś look up at the golden, scarlet tree. For this reason, I was so aroused in the first place. The person I saw in the tree is still there. In fact, he did not hide his presence but only I had noticed him. He smirked at me, and an amused look grazed his face while he was watching all the events unfold before him. He made fun of my troubles and teased my slip-ups. My face heats up.\n¨ I am over here! Listen as I talk- You know what, never mind.¨ The mistress yelled.\nMistress Jade steps closer to me, fuming and hot-headed.\n¨Please do not ruin this week with your carelessness. Be back in the kitchen with new, fresh apples picked. Then you can start the finish the cooking by yourself!¨\nMy eyes widen. My shoulders slump. I can not do that. My family is waiting for me to come home. That´s what I wanted to say, but I didn't.\nThe mistress huffed and left me behind. The girls follow her. Some of the girls pat my back for comfort. I nodded at them, showing a small smile. One by one, they left me all alone. Alone with him, who I now have to deal with. I roll my eyes as I walk into the deep forest filled with apples.\nA figure jumps down and follows after me. He casually takes the basket from my grasps and grins at me. This is your fault, I utter in my mind.\n¨Please don´t go around saying that F word.¨\nI glared at him and took my basket back. It is your fault. \n¨Itś, not my fault you should have been paying attention. You do have a small-¨\nI stop in my tracks, turn to him, and walk towards him. He backs up, his smile dropping.\n¨ It is your fault. This was my only day to visit my family with the other girls, but now, now I-! This is your fault! It's always been.¨\nI whispered the last part and put my head down. Oh, what have I done? I shouldn't have yelled. Tears threaten to spill from my eyes. I blink them away and resume searching for ripe apples. The absence of his footsteps gave me hope he would leave, but he caught up to me again. \nHeat trace up my arms and my back as he embraces me. \n¨Forgive me, Atlas. I had no idea my actions would cause this.¨\nI slip out of his arms.\n¨No, I shouldn't have yelled. I should be asking for forgiveness your highness.¨ \nThe prince sighed. ¨Stop calling me that, it´s weird coming from you.¨ He mumbled under his breath.\nWe stayed silent, as we both picked off apples from the trees that still had them. After a while, we met back with each other. I look at the few apples he grasped and raise a brow at him.\n¨What? Are these not good enough for your mistress,¨ He asked.\nYou do know those are not yet ripe, right? Mine won't be enough. We need them this week. ¨\n¨I can always purchase apples from the town.¨\n¨Yes, but the Miss does not want them.¨ She said it wouldn't be appropriate for commoners goods to fit the standards of royalty.¨\nHe furrows his rows and chuckles.\n¨They are just apples, Atlas. There's nothing different about those and these. Ill go to the market right now to get them for you.¨\nHe grins and starts marching away, but I stop him.\n¨Please, don´t go there,¨ I tried to prevent him.\n He turns to me and smiles\n¨I think those apples fit mine and my father's standards just fine. I'll be back Atlas, wait for me in the kitchen.¨\n--------------------\nThe Prince \nI jog away from Atlas before she could stop me. She´s always been like this and it got worse as we grew up. People made sure to warn of us of our status and purpose. She wanted to put a wedge between our friendship, but I can't do that. I´ll always fight for her when I can.\nI reach my room and grab a bandana, a black cloak, and a mask. I made sure no one saw me leave, then I headed out to the market place. \nThe sun is bright and scorching. I guess this is why my father avoids going out for too long. He tries to keep his light color as long as he can. Although, no one told him that he´s already getting darker. I smiled at myself. Besides that, I remember the time we would come here every other weekend. It was and is always so bustling and cheerful here. \nAfter purchasing the apples I come across a store filled with spices and condiments. It's one of the oldest shops here, and it´s filled with many memories. It was where I met Atlas. I snapped out the rushing memories I began to remember.\n¨Prince Won, what are you doing here?¨ Someone asked in a hushed tone. They approach me and I can see it´s one of the palace guards, but another friend of mine. I lift the bag of apples and grinned at him. How did he know it was me?\n¨You could at least change your mask. It´s too easy to find you. Also, don´t grin at me. You´re supposed to be in the study room,¨ he hissed.\nI roll my eyes. ¨ Oh come on Daniel- I´m not even here for that long.¨\nDaniel crosses his arms and taps his foot aggressively.\n¨I´ll come back soon, yeah?¨ I back away, but he grabs my cloak to stop me. I groaned.\n¨Come one, Dan. Are we not friends?¨\n¨ Of course we are! As a friend, I'm to make sure you're doing the right thing.¨\n¨ You´ll be doing right by giving me freedom.¨ I said. \nDaniel stares at me in a bored tone.\n¨ Ill give you some of Atlas candy apples,¨ I tempt.\nHe perks up to the offer and starts considered.\n ¨Fine, but not too long after evening.¨ \nI slapped his back and thanked him. That was way too easy. They say a way to a man's heart is his stomach. It seems to be all too true for Daniel. I snickered to myself as I continue searching for items. I end up buying Honey and different spices.\nI exit the shop and look at more places. Dan, of course, comes along to make sure I come back. Where else would I go? I approach a store and besides it was a mother and her child who was whaling. I approached them and crouch beside the mother, trying to console her kid.\n¨Hey what's wrong little guy,¨ I said as I pat his head. He blinks with his big, blue eyes, but he cries louder this time which attracts a few glares. The mother picks up her son and walks away, furious.\nBesides me, Daniel stifles a laugh. I glared at him. It's not that funny.\n¨That was too funny.¨ He said\n¨ I didn't even do anything wrong.¨\nHe chuckles. ¨Yeah, but you scared him.¨\nI sighed and walked away from him. He laughs and catches up to me.\n¨ Had enough today?¨ He teased\nWhatever, I mutter under my breath. We head back to the palace and both climb over the walls. \n¨You should take that off before you scare Atlas!¨ Daniel suggested as he left and waved. I shake my head and take the mask off along with the cloak and bandana. Then I rushed over to the kitchen\nThere was no one present but Atlas. She stood by a window washing and peeling some of the apples. Her hair shines in the light and her form is small but strong. I approach her slight, accidentally knocking a plate to the floor. She whips around with a concerned look. When she saw it was me, she shook her head and hurried to help me pick the broken glass up. I grab her hand to stop her from touching it, as I cleaned them all up. She pulled away from my grapes and picks up my hands, studying it. Atlas brushed them and I stared intently at her while she. In hesitation, she looks up to meet my eyes. I didn't look away, but unfortunately, she did and went back to her work.\nI assisted in rinsing the apples and making the mix of the honey and spices. It was quiet. Too quiet for me.\n¨Hey, Atlas am I scary?¨ I suddenly ask her.\nShe cocks her head, but eventually, she answers me.\n¨You´re not scary, in fact, everyone adores you for your kindness. Although it seems that they are acting casual around you, they deeply respect you. In the past years, you´ve made many happy.\n¨What about you? Do you feel the same¨, I asked cautiously. She stops coating the apples for a bit. She slowly turns to me.\n¨I deeply respect you. ¨\n¨And adore me?¨ She stayed quiet at this and turned around to her work. I approached her and stopped her from continuing. I pulled her into a hug. ¨I adore you, Atlas. You had always been there for me.¨\nShe tries to pull away but I held her tighter. I don't care what they say. I'll always stay by your side, I told her. \n¨You´ll be betrothed soon,¨ she replied. I let the air sit quietly for a moment before replying. \n¨ No. I won't leave.¨\n¨You´ll be king in due time and I´ll be forgotten. You will have so much to do that I´ll be a passing breeze. We won´t be together¨ \nI turn her around. ¨I´ll make sure to change that. I´ll change your mind and I´ll make you mine,¨ I told her. Her eyes began to water and her mouth was left agape. I leaned closer to her and she flinched. Eventually, her eyes closed. I smile at her and leaned it, pecking her forehead then her cheek. I let go and start coating the apples. Her eyes fluttered open and she stares at me. \nÏ smile at her. ¨Were you expecting something else?¨ I teased.\n¨ No! I- I´ll just do my work over there!¨ She said as she moved to another part of the kitchen. However, I followed her and chuckled as she recklessly coats the apples in the Honey spice mixture." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on 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 the Colored Leaves\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 1557\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character making fall decorations out of construction paper." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Trouble. It was a word that followed me from birth. That echoed in the halls of school. That seemed to exude from my dark black skin and the way kids would look at me like I were an enigma. A problem. Trouble.\nIt was the inexorable weight placed on a young black girl’s shoulders by a society of expectations. A Georgetown study calls this the adultifaction of young black girls finding that “girls as young as 5 need less protection and nurturing than their white peers” which itself is linked to higher standards and harsher treatment.\nIn a word, trouble.\nIt was the word that passed through my mind as I was forced to stay after school and do fall decorations with Miss Kaufman. A way too cheerful grade school teacher -- exactly the type of cheerful I didn't trust. The type that marks you as either a very happy person or a complete psycho. \nLooking back, I believe she was caught in that age between hope and disillusionment. A hope that could see potential in even the most troubling students but a lurking disillusionment that caused her to recognize the ones that had potential versus the ones that were a lost cause. But even as I cut another leaf from the construction paper, I figured I was in the latter category.\nDo you know what the Matthew effect is? It comes from a passage in the bible that says, \"To whom that has much, much will be given and to he that hath not it will be taken away.\" In psychology, this is the tendency of teachers to focus heavily on kids who they see as having potential. They push them so that they become even better. The children who they see as ending up on crack ten years from now they ignore making school even harder for them.\nJane Elliot confirmed this effect in 1968 with the blue eyes/brown eyes experiment where she told blue eyed children in her classroom they were not as smart or clean as those with brown eyes. The effect was the blue-eyed kids struggled in class and the brown-eyed children thrived. As Elliot revealed, this same process goes on in all our schools except with white and black kids. White kids get validation. Black kids get constant rejection.\nMatthew's effect was playing out with the slow snip of paper: punishment disguised as an art project. Miss Kaufman knew art was my least favorite subject. I hated how clunky the scissors felt in my hands. How everyone else's art projects seemed so perfect and beautiful and mine so ugly and jagged. Even as a precocious seven-year-old the entire thing seemed so pointless to me. Why couldn't we just buy the decorations? Why did we have to make them? Why did she have to remind me of how terrible I was at art? \nThese epithets were running through my mind as my teacher asked '\"Are you alright?\" \nI just looked at her. Why would I tell her? She couldn't understand. She was white. And I was a little black girl messing up her class. A BAD little black girl. Still, she somehow picked up on my frustration.\n\"Look,\" she said. \nAnd then she took my hand and guided me in cutting the leaf. \n\"It helps if you do it like this. You have to just let the scissors melt into the paper.\" \nI don't know. Somehow the way she said it made sense and I slowly was able to get the hang of it. Eventually, I was getting a little creative with it and with each leaf, she would look at the design I made and say; \"That's pretty.\" or \"Gorgeous.\" \nAnd while I know you would never tell a little seven-year-old their leaf looked like trash -- even today I still believe she was giving her honest opinion. I certainly did then. Turns out this was just a part of her nefarious scheme. Her scheme to get me to open up. \nI'm ashamed to say it worked -- what can I say I was a sucker for ass-kissing and not yet privy to the subtle psychological tactics adults use on little kids. It's quite unfair when you think about it. Still, she took her newfound trust and asked a question, \"Tasha, do you know why you're here?\" \nA stinging pulsed through my body because I knew what this was. This was the now-you-can-think-about-what-you’ve-done part of the punishment. The part where I admit what a terrible girl I was and go home to my parents who will scold me mercilessly. I lowered my head and shyly squeaked out, \"Yes, ma'am. I know.\"\n\"And why are you here?\" \n\"Because I'm a bad girl,\" I admitted. \nHer response was not what I expected. she took me by the chin forcing me to look her in the eye. \n\"What? No!\" she said with an anger I had NEVER seen in miss Kaufman. \"Why do you think you're a bad girl?\" \n\"Because I hit Britany in the face. That's what the principal said.\" \nHer face. Her “pretty” face. It would not be until many years later I would read about the Doll Test. A 2006 study where children were asked to pick between two dolls -- a nice one and a “bad” one. The results were staggering: the white doll was continuously associated with goodness and the black with badness.\nOne girl, when asked why she picked the black doll, said, “Because she’s Black,”\nThe little girl was black herself.\nI remember right after the event sitting outside the door of the principles office. He and Miss Kaufman were in a heated argument. I remember Miss Kaufman's voice going to levels I had never heard. Whatever the two decided, Miss Kaufman emerged from the office and took me to her class to stay until after school.\nObviously, I figured, I was being punished for being bad. Because I was a bad girl. But much to my confusion, Miss Kaufman revealed, \"You're actually here because you're a good girl.\" \n\"Huh?\"\n\"You have been nothing but good in my class. So I know that if someone as shy and thoughtful as you hit someone, you had to have a very good reason.\" \nBrittany Herrington was the popular kid-- well as popular as a first grader could be. She had the right kind of parents and was beautiful as could be. I remember her getting put into all those pageants. However, she also had influential parents -- and some thought that’s why she never got in any big trouble despite being -- well -- not so nice.\nI remember the bouts Miss Kaufman would have with Britany, sending her to the principal’s office for snide remarks only for her to come back with a smug smile because her parents read the principal the riot act.\nThis was personal to Miss Kaufman, too.\n\"What did Brittany tell you,\" she nudged. \nA part of me didn't want to say because I was used to people not believing me. People thinking I was exaggerating. And even if they did believe me. They wouldn't care. And even if they cared, I didn't want to relive it. I did not want to say why I hit her and knocked from the stands as we were about to take group pictures. \nBut the desperate edge in Miss Kaufman’s voice convinced me this was a thing of urgent importance as she asked again, \"What did she say?\" \nThere was some relief in hearing her request. Like I was being given permission to hurt. To feel. A permission snatched from me on a daily basis.\n \"She said,\" I finally squeezed out, \"Don't stand next to me in the picture.\" \n\"Did she say why?\" \n\"She said because my skin was too dark and ugly.\" And that's when I cried. All the pain held back from that moment was not just confined to the interaction between me and Britany but all the people who looked and stared at me or just looked at me as less than. That's when Miss Kaufman picked up the pile of leaves we had made -- first she picked up a red one. \"What did I tell you about this leaf?\" \n\"You called it pretty.\" \nShe picked up a green one \"And this leaf?\" \n\"You called it pretty.\" \n\"And this leaf.\" And I hadn't noticed it before but this one was a deep bronze. it seemed like looking in a mirror as I gazed at it for an eternity and finally out came the words, \"It's pretty.\"\n \"Pretty is not a color Tasha. it's an attitude, a form. And it doesn't come in one size or shape. And it certainly doesn’t come in one color. You in all your sweetness. your thoughtfulness, your brilliance are pretty. People who do things like Britney are the ugly ones. You are more beautiful than you know.\" \nI don’t know what happened to Brittany. I don’t even know what happened to Miss Kaufman. And I’d like to tell you this moment changed me in a profound way such that I never doubt my value. \nBut in my darkest days on an autumn stroll, I look at the myriad of leaves falling from the heavens and it confirms my hope in myself. It renews my hope in the world." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Laila from Nowhere\n\nGenre: asian-american\n\nWord Count: 2964\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story where something magical happens when it starts to rain." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Laila from Nowhere\n“What a prick,” Katsuji sighed as he looked through his clear umbrella to the dark sky. “Your money won’t even save her.”\nThe person on the other end of the line remained silent for a few moments until, with a broken voice, he murmured, “What did the doctor tell you?”\n“I mean, she’s dying. What do you think he told me?” This time, the other person didn’t even bother to answer, and Katsuji inhaled and exhaled deeply, trying to calm himself down. Glancing at the Glico runner, he tried to organize his thoughts and then apologized. “Hey, I know I shouldn’t be talking to you this way, but I really need some time alone. A lot has been going on recently, and I need to,” he paused for a second as he pinched the bridge of his nose, “think about some things. So, if you...”\nKatsuji couldn’t even finish talking as Yūto, with a desperate tone, quickly interrupted him, “But, what did he specifically tell you? Is she dying soon? Will she die in the next few days or so? Or is she dying tonight?”\n“Hey, man. What kind of questions are those?” Katsuji answered, feeling quite offended. “That’s... ”\nBut, interrupting him once again, the other person almost yelled, “This is really important, Katsuji. Don’t evade my questions. Please, just tell me.”\nThere was something in his voice besides the evident desperation, something that certainly resembled a kind of horror, and Katsuji, feeling somewhat confused by the other’s sudden alarm, finally answered, “He thinks she won’t be even able to make it through the night.”\n“Where are you?” Yūto immediately snapped, and Katsuji frowned.\n“Hey, why the hell are you…?”\n“Katsuji, please. You won’t be able to understand many things as of now, but I promise I will explain everything to you later. Just tell me where you are.”\n“Yūto…”\n“No, don’t ask any questions.”\n“Are you aware of the fact that you sound like a madman right now?”\n“Katsuji, please,” Yūto begged, and Katsuji rolled his eyes.\n“I’m in Dōtonbori. I came here looking for you, but... ”\n\"That doesn’t matter right now. Just stay there, and I’ll go pick you up in a few minutes,” and with that, he hung up.\nKatsuji sighed and put his phone back in his pocket. \n“What the hell is going on with this guy?” he whispered to himself and looked at the people around him. \nNight had begun to fall, attracting more people to the famous tourist destination, and Katsuji felt a little melancholic. He remembered the first time he had been to Dōtonbori, the first time that his obaachan had introduced him to takoyaki. He was just a little boy back then, but the memory had always clung to his mind. To be honest, it was one of the few memories he had in which he and his grandmother were both equally happy to be by each other’s side. This didn’t mean they had a bad relationship, but there was definitely something going on that Katsuji would never understand.\nEverything began in 1965 when the United States, seeking to amend some of its past behaviors, increased quotas for countries that had seen a notable reduction in them. It could be said that his parents lived a comfortable life in Japan, but still, motivated almost by an inexplicable force, they decided to leave the place that had seen them grow up and move to a country full of promises. Nakano Katsuji was born and lived the first years of his life in the Bay Area in a small community through which he captured several glimpses of his parents’ culture. Eventually, his parents decided that this was not enough and, following an old tradition, sent their young son to live with his grandmother in Osaka. \nHis obaachan was a hard-working woman, despite the social restrictions that relegated women to a less conspicuous fort. Kamio-san grew up in a distant village, so from a young age, she learned to value her very own efforts, something that significantly helped her several years later when she moved to the city after her husband died. With difficulty, she opened a bakery and, while working, raised her only daughter until she married and moved to the United States. Kamio-san took this as a betrayal and, for a time, refused to respond to her daughter’s missives when the latter tried to contact her. \nHowever, things changed when Katsuji was born. Suddenly, his obaachan resumed communication with her daughter and happily agreed when the latter told her that Katsuji would be staying with her for a while. Kamio-san adored Katsuji and cared for him as if he were her own son, and, during his stay, taught the kid everything he needed to know about Japan. She certainly spoiled him, and Katsuji soon found himself feeling reluctant at the prospect of returning to the United States. The experiences of a kibei were certainly difficult, and Katsuji was a clear example of that. On the one hand, his parents awaited him in a country across the ocean, but, on the other, he had begun to appreciate Japan and his obaachan, a division that truly conflicted him\nAnd then Katsuji’s parents died. \nKamio-san was his only family member left in the world, so it was decided that he would stay with her in Osaka. For a time, things remained the same between the two of them, but, eventually, her attitude towards the little boy notably changed. She did not mistreat him, nor did she make him feel bad, for Kamio-san would never be capable of that, but something definitely happened. She was always busy, so Katsuji spent most of his free time in Takeru-san’s coffee shop, one of Kamio-san's neighbors. And when she was free, she would always have an excuse for not spending time with her grandson. It didn't take Katsuji long to understand that his grandmother was avoiding him. \nUnexpectedly, one day, a little before Katsuji finished high school, she told him he was going back to the United States for college. His inquiries were answered with a simple, “You do not belong here,” and he did not question her decision. \nHe was finishing his master’s degree when, several years later, he suddenly received a call from Takeru-san informing him that his obaachan had fallen ill. Katsuji still had mixed feelings about Kamio-san for pushing him away, but he still returned to Japan. Upon his return, he learned that, in addition to her illness, his grandmother had also been facing a financial crisis that had resulted in the loss of her much-loved bakery. Determined, this time Katsuji ignored his obaachan’s pleas when she asked him to return to the United States, and he moved back to Osaka. \nSoon, his savings were significantly depleted by his obaachan’s expensive medications, and Katsuji then began to worry. He tried to look for work at several companies, but these, clearly noticing his prolonged stay in a foreign country, turned him down with the excuse that he did not have enough experience. Yūto, an acquaintance of his grandmother and one of Katsuji’s high school classmates, decided to help them for a while by paying for the medicines, until Katsuji himself, clearly uncomfortable, asked him to stop doing it.\nEventually, Katsuji was hired at a company that offered him a salary that could fairly cover his grandmother’s expenses and the rent, so financial concerns faded away for a while. Or at least until a new department head came to the company. The man did not seem to like him, so he discreetly did everything in his power to get Katsuji to leave. \nOgawa Mitsuo’s efforts culminated with the alleged late delivery of a report that Katsuji clearly knew was part of a premeditated plan. Ogawa had asked him to deliver his report before nine o’clock in the evening, which Katsuji effectively accomplished. However, a call from his boss confirmed what he had feared the most: Ogawa had an unpleasant surprise in store for him. Ogawa insisted that the delivery time was actually four o’clock and, taking into account the young man’s previous mistakes in the company, fired him. \nKatsuji sighted his anger away, accepted Ogawa’s decision, and tried to think of a solution. A bit hesitant at first, he eventually called Yūto and, after telling him about his situation, the other promised to help him find a job. He should have known what would happen next because, when hours later he went to Takeru-san’s coffee shop to clear his mind, the owner of the place handed him a small white envelope that Yūto had supposedly left for Katsuji. \nKatsuji did not want to look like he was taking advantage of the situation, so, despite the financial problems he may encounter, he decided to go and return the money to Yūto personally. But, in the end, he didn’t find Yūto in Dōtonbori. \nWith a deep sigh, Katsuji walked to one of the benches and sat down, waiting for Yūto to come. He tried to distract himself by looking at all of the illuminated neon signs, but he soon found himself remembering the doctor’s words.\nHe looked around, trying to clear his eyes, but it was impossible. Tears slipped from his eyes and, placing the umbrella aside, he buried his face into his hands. A deep sob left his throat, and then the rain began to fall heavily.\nHe didn’t mind getting wet; now he only cared about the current situation. His grandmother, the woman he had never understood and would never understand, was dying. \nAnd his phone rang again.\nKatsuji wiped his tears aggressively and quickly pulled the phone out of his pocket, ready to answer, but then something strange happened. \nThe wind suddenly died down, and Katsuji heard the distinguishable sound of bells in the distance. His body felt strangely light, but ignoring this sudden feeling, he began to search for the source of that singular sound. \nHe didn’t realize he had answered his phone until Yūto’s concerned voice began to repeat his name insistently, but he could not answer due to the strange scene that unfolded before his eyes. \nTime seemed to have slowed down as a person of average height and shoulder-length hair walked slowly through the crowd just a few steps away from where Katsuji was sitting. Raindrops fell lightly and gracefully on what appeared to be a girl, visibly wetting her black hair. The most interesting thing was not the person herself or the aura she transmitted, but rather the artifacts she was carrying. From a belt on her hips, two large katanas stood out, and from their same hilts, two omamori swung swiftly through an absent breeze. Hanging on a sort of backpack, a variety of silvery bells transmitted a melodious tone as they tumbled and crashed against the heads of three red, strange creatures, from which thick red blood dripped to the ground. \nAll of this was surprising, but the most fascinating thing was, without any doubt, that no one could see her. The girl was clearly walking through the endless crowd, but no single person turned to acknowledge her presence. She just kept walking, her eyes straight ahead, unperturbed. \nKatsuji thought he may be actually imagining her, so he blinked. He blinked a couple of times, but the girl never disappeared. \nIn his ear, Yūto’s voice had begun to grow louder, but just as Katsuji prepared himself to answer, the girl suddenly turned her face to him and his body froze. It was a horrid feeling, nothing compared to the lightness he had felt seconds before. Instead, it was more like a sudden wave of tremendous fear and horror. The girl did not take her narrowed eyes from him nor Katsuji from hers, and then she began to walk towards him. \nHis heart sank as the girl took one of the katanas by the hilt, and he tried to think of something. He couldn’t exactly ask Yūto for help and couldn't also rely on the people around him as they clearly did not know about the girl. But, Katsuji had read many books, and he knew what happened when someone saw something they should not have seen in the first place. So, as he hung up his phone, he looked at the people beyond the girl and, surprised by what he sighted, he thought.\n“But what a coincidence.”\nFaking a smile, he stood up and, determined, walked past the girl, whom he tried to ignore as much as possible despite his fear. \n“Ogawa-buchō!” he called, drawing the attention of his superior, who had recently fired him. \nOgawa Mitsuo turned to him with sudden abruptness, and the strange surprise on his face made Katsuji wonder if he had made a good decision by calling him. But, then, Ogawa’s face went from surprise to confusion, and from confusion to recognition. \n“Nakano-kun, I didn’t think I’d see you around here,” he murmured with a slight smile. \nThe encounter was somewhat awkward considering the current situation between the two, but, for the moment, Katsuji had to pretend that he was happy to see him. \nSmiling back, Katsuji replied, “I didn’t think so either, but I saw you and decided to come to say hello.” Out of the corner of his eye, Katsuji could see that the girl was dangerously approaching, and he began to tremble. He stepped closer to his ex-superior and spoke nervously, “Ogawa-buchō, I wanted to tell you that…”\nA sudden flash of lightning lit up the sky and people screamed around him, both amazed and scared; but, the kind of surprise Katsuji felt was different. \nAs the lighting lit up the sky, he thought he saw a katana on the back of his former superior, but then, as the thunder echoed in his ears, both the girl and the katana on Ogawa’s back disappeared. \nKatsuji gasped and ran his hand through his face. He checked his surroundings and, ready to leave that place as fast as he could, started to turn around. A hand on his shoulder stopped him, and Katsuji jumped. \n“Is something wrong, Nakano-kun?”\nKatsuji looked at Ogawa and, trembling, shook his head. He tried to leave again, but Ogawa stopped him once more. \nWith worried eyes, the other whispered, “Katsuji-kun, you look very pale. Let me invite you over to dinner.”\n“I’m sorry, but I have to…”\n“I insist.”\nKatsuji tried to refuse, but Ogawa’s deep gaze confused him and, curiously, he found himself following the other to a kushikatsu restaurant.\nHe didn’t know what happened, but, feeling as if he had lost control of his body, Katsuji found himself calmly eating kushikatsu next to Ogawa, who asked Katsuji to tell him what had occurred out there. After Katsuji told him about his apparent hallucinations, Ogawa began to tell him a story.\n“That reminds me of a tale my mother used to tell me when I was just a child. According to her, there was a young girl who, along with many other warriors like her, was in charge of eradicating the yōkai. Her name was Laila and she came from nowhere.”\nKatsuji frowned and, feeling both sleepy and dizzy, asked, “And what would she be doing here?”\nOgawa sighed thoughtfully and straightened up in his seat, and he studied Katsuji as the latter lowered his body and rested his head on the countertop of the restaurant to stop his dizziness.\n“You see, Katsuji-kun, many years ago, the souls of a group of powerful demons escaped and reincarnated as ordinary humans. They believed that this way they could save themselves from doom, but Laila never stopped looking for them,” he paused as he leaned forward and whispered in Katsuji’s ear. “She found them all except for their leader. It took her several years to track him down, but, in the end, he made a terrible mistake. Do you know what this means?”\nKatsuji did not answer as an absurd weariness began to envelop him. Still, as he slowly began to lose consciousness, he heard Ogawa mutter with a mocking tone. \n“It means that a few moments ago, out there, you should not have seen my sister and me.”\nOgawa smiled when Katsuji didn’t answer, and, with a quick snap of his fingers, time stopped around him. He watched Katsuji’s sleeping figure as he placed some bills on the counter and made a phone call.\nAfter the other person answered, he muttered a quick, “ I got him,” and hung up. He put his phone away and then picked up Katsuji, placing him on his back and carrying him like a child.\nHe walked through the frozen crowd towards a black car and, after getting inside, he broke the spell, and time resumed.\nInside the car, Ogawa unsheathed his katana and placed it against Katsuji’s soft neck, drawing some blood.\nThe girl, who sat in the driver’s seat, asked, “What are you doing?”\n“He’s dangerous. We should get rid of him as fast as we can”\nShe shook her head, “Not yet. We still have to find out who helped him.”\nOgawa looked at her for a moment through the rearview mirror and then sighed, putting his katana away. \n“I think I have an idea about who it was.”\n“It looks like he recognized you earlier.”\nOgawa nodded, “I fired him a few hours ago. A coincidence really. I never suspected him,” he paused. “From what I remember, his grandmother was ill. She was probably the one who did it and the protection spell slowly faded with her illness.”\nThe girl nodded, “yes, it's very likely.”\nAnd with that, looking at both lanes, she accelerated. The rain intensified and delicately enveloped the black car as it drove into nothingness." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on 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 JOURNEY WITHOUT LUCY.\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 1035\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story from the perspective of a bird migrating for the winter." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Lucy woke up to the sound of birds early morning, stretching and smiling through the brighter sun. she pull up the curtains and saw numerous birds feeding on the grass not far from her backyard farm.\nLucy walked up to the birds and tried getting one as a pet, unfortunately she slipped and fell. Her neighbour's children giggle and chuckled at her. \nOne of the children walked up to Lucy and said, would you love to keep one? She nodded and said yes, would like to keep one as a pet, I wouldn't mind if you offer a help.maybe your friends would call you names.\nThe little boy said to her, don't worry you will have one but my friends do not dictate to me, I do things on my free will and that makes me free from slavery. \nLucy was astonished by his response and cheered him up after a slippery catch of the birds. \nHe successfully held one of the birds and hand it over to Lucy, Lucy was happy and planned getting a house for her pet. Lucy appreciated the child's gesture and promised him a sumptuous meal with ice cream and cake. \nIt's a beautiful Monday morning, Lucy swiftly dressed up for work, she had a free class coupon on ornithology, she invited her friend, mercilla who joined her later.lucy grabbed her bag to get a snack, \nOn her way to the shop she chanced upon her boyfriend Roland who was busily romancing another young woman. She stepped back and got home depressed. She needed to talk to someone. \nI may not have the right friends to talk to because they may go out to talk my problems and wouldn't understand me but I think I may need to move on and love myself. It obvious he doesnt need me and apparently has a new woman. She stressed. \nShe remembered the bird, she hastily rushed out and went to it. You don't know how much have really missed you, how was your day? hope you had a great day but mine went roughly bad and hope to share with you.\nLucy held it and headed straight to her room . She had a tree like structure in her room. The bird rests on it. She cried and narrated how she pop up with her boyfriend with another woman.\n Have tried all my strength to give my love and attention but it failed, my attention wouldn't be enough for him but I think it's understanding. Roland wouldn't let me explain myself. So my efforts was void to him. \nLucy cried and slept off. \nShe went to work the following day only to be sacked from her workplace because her sex video got leaked and since she act as a representative to the company's she lost her job at hand.\nShe cried back home and called Ronald. \nLucy :what is the meaning of what you did and what have I done to you to deserve this? \nRoland :I want you to feel the pain I went through all for fighting out our love but you were busy with studies of birds that got no plans for us. What will a pet bring value to our relationship? \nLucy: but Roland I tried to make it work despite my busy schedules, I tried, \nRoland: maybe it wasn't good enough and I'm sorry to put you through this but you deserve it. \nLucy drop the call immediately and run up to the bird, the bird has been silence on her breakup issue, it finally said to her:\n \"I might be leaving you soon, you need to stay strong and fight your battles. The bird quickly flew back to it house. \nOne wouldn't imagine the smile and shock on Lucy's face, she couldn't believe her pet finally spoke but saddened about its leaving soon. \nShe questioned herself why the leave and why it been so soon?\nSome few weeks later, Lucy went out with her pet since it's the last time they're gonna see each other. At night ,they had a fun time. \n Bird :Lucy, the day you tried a grip on us, I felt shaken and sad especially when your lad caught me, was thinking that could be end of me but hey see who is having a good time! It's sad I have to leave you here and migrate. You might not know I'm a migratory bird, I need to find a better place for shelter, food and look also at the climatic condition that will favor me, have got it all planned up but it's sad I have to leave you here, you have been an amazing person and hopes to know you more but surely my way through here won't be missen,\nLucy :I appreciate you and and your time spent with me, wish you a safer journey. \nBird: That has been my fear but I'm gonna conquer, we get threatened by your collegues forgetting we're just like them, crossing several borders hasn't been an easy task but we will pull through. My advice to you is to be yourself, love yourself more, make yourself happy because no one else will do and appreciate life. \nLove will come on it own never and never force it. Be kind Lucy. \nLucy: I'm flattered, thanks for your kind words. It's a bye, be good too. Safe journey Malos\nBird :hahaha guess that's my new name, I really love it my sweet pop Lucy. \nThey all laughed and embraced each other. \nIt was time for Malos to set off, it bid a farewell to Lucy, it tears drop on her and flew away. \nOn it way, it had a flashback on Lucy. Lucy is a kind young lady, she doesn't deserve a bad treat from that guy but well who knows it all. I'm already missing my stay. Wish to find a place like hers but hey this humans might hit you up there and try hurting you for nothing. Wish to tell them I'm innocent. If this journey doesn't go well, I might return to my sweet Lucy. \nMalos placid face lit up with a smile gives him energy and good hopes for its migration." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on 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 Poet\n\nGenre: asian-american\n\nWord Count: 1327\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story where something magical happens when it starts to rain." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "I could see the storm upon us. I had planned this day for so long, I did not want anything to derail us. We needed this. To be honest I needed this. I had been laid off a year now, and there were days I started to feel like I was disappearing. Have you ever felt that, one little limb at a time, heavy, gravity pulling you down. Inertia, vertigo, depression, many people had much to say. You didn't. Your life carried on much the same, the work, the glory, the parties until one day when you came home and saw me curled up as a foetus in the dog's bed.\nI felt ashamed you had to see me like that, perhaps I had engineered it so you felt some guilt, either way it worked and you made this plan and put me in charge. We were going to make a picnic of it Friday afternoon, on our anniversary, just the way you and I did before your life took off and mine stymied. We would relive our first few years, take off with a lunch basket and those mini champagne bottles and choose a quiet corner in Hyde Park. I would read you my poetry and in turn you would read me some pretty prose.\nWe were upcoming stars, they would tell us at the poetry jams, the spoken word fests, the side panels of lit fests, so many lit fests. You went on to write your first book, I went on to write my first book of poetry. Your book did well, it was a thriller and it sold. Imagine a first book reaching its audiences, how often does that happen. My poetry I was told made people swoon, at the many literary gatherings we went to. People would congratulate you on your success and then come and ask me to recite some of my lines. We both put on a happy face, but somewhere inside we had become competitors.\nI would dream of a book deal, you would dream of getting invited to speak like I did. I guess we both wanted the balance of fame and commercial success. I remember that year when we went to Hyde Park, the year it was so cold, we decided not to miss our picnic. We stole into the park, and put our portable chairs onto the snow lining the ground. We opened our picnic basket. It was too cold outside to eat, so we poured the coffee from the thermos into our cups and added a generous measure of whiskey to it. It would be our very own Irish coffee. We could still look at each other and every fibre of my body would light up and so would yours I think. That was five years ago.\nThe year after I published a book of poems, and you got the call from a studio. They were going to adapt your book into a series. I remember I wanted to go open champagne at Hyde Park, but you said you were busy and somehow we never got around to it. That was the first anniversary we missed our Hyde Park appointment. I had a premonition things were going to go south then, and it did, slowly. You were so excited about your book being adapted, that you ignored me when I told you to write your second one. You got caught in the whirlwind of glamour and parties and the industry. I was left alone to my poetry.\nMy book was a modest success and I got invited to many lit fests and speaking engagements. I even started making money off of it, well a tiny bit. The series kept on getting delayed and the script kept on getting changed until one day I came home and saw you in an alcohol fuelled rage in the bedroom. You had given up the script rights to your book, and hated the series. I was the recipient of your frustration. I tried to tell you it was time to stop obsessing over the series and start writing your second book, when you accused me of having it easy. Only a lazy writer becomes a poet you threw in my face, rendering my work invisible with one blow of your tongue. You were my confidant, my biggest supporter and now where were we. Nowhere at all.\nYou started drinking more, I started sinking into my work more, picking up more speaking engagements, a little tutoring here and there as the bills piled. We met in the evening at our home, what had seemed cosy earlier now seemed too small a space, sometimes uninviting even. You said you would work late at the library writing, I wondered whether thats where you were. The horrid series version of your book came out, against all odds, it worked and once again you were in demand. Parties, photo ops, speaking engagements, meetings, agencies all lined up to meet you. No wonder your head went for a spin. Yet again the anniversary passed and I walked past Hyde Park, lonely without you. As your stars glowed, mine dimmed. There is only so far one can go with poetry, but all I wanted to do was write and you told me I had to leverage it into paid work.\nSo easy for you to say now that you were commissioned to write a second book. The money was back, and so was the confidence. We came apart at the seams more. Why is that art cannot thrive in the presence of art, or is that the artist cannot shine in the presence of another artist. I knew there were limitations to my craft. Rejection after rejection, I was skilled for nothing, until you came to my rescue. You got me the interview, you could do anything now. I got the job. Associate Professor at a local college teaching poetry. Didn't know these jobs existed.Maybe they made it up for you.\nYou laughed when you said I was paranoid, I stewed when you said I should be thankful for work. How could I explain that being in your orbit was the death knell, like the lives of many before me. Sylvia Plath, Camille Claudel and the likes. Not that I aspire to their genius. I know my strength is lyrical, poetry in motion, well above average, but not extraordinary.\nI died a little everyday, teaching a bunch of students who cared not as much as me, perhaps they care more, but what will I advise them, they can become, when my path forward I don' t know. I stopped going to classes, lost interest in teaching, until I lost the job. I knew I was a burden to you, but I clung on, because I knew not what else to do. So I tried and I try now to bring you back to me. One picnic together should do the magic trick I think, but this impending storm will surely spoil everything.\nYou call and call, to cancel I know, but my feet move forward. I still have faith, I think. I need to do this, for what we used to be, for what I need to be. The rain comes down hard in waves. I am at Hyde Park now. If you are there waiting for me, on this day of our anniversary, I know we will be okay. I move forward, the music of the rain on the trees, leaves, ground, blending into a magical moment of sorts. You are not there. I finally look at my phone. The sole message says we are done, you are moving on. The rain stops and the next moment brings a rainbow, criss crossing the sky, the magic and beauty of nature rendering me speechless. Then I sit down, open my bottle of champagne, take a swig and start writing poetry, the art pushing all other thoughts aside." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on 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 ghost who wanted a home\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 1048\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a ghost story where there’s more going on than it first appears." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "The Ghost Who wanted a home\nNicole jalonen \nin honour of black lives mattering\nA woman dressed in white with blonde hair ran down a dirt path carrying a crying infant girl in one hand and a lantern in the other. She was a African American women who had to obey a white family who were very wealthy. Not only did she race through the foggy stormy night with her crying infant but she carried with her scars from whips and a dark secret she knew she would be beaten for if her mistress caught her. She could hear her pursuers right behind her as she ducked low branches and raced through puddles , then she saw it the boat her daughters way out to freedom!....,,,,,\nCenturies passed and it was 2020 . In Boston massetutqtes. Where a twenty two year old African American woman was struggling to make ends meat for herself and her twin boys . Being a women of color in this world was not easy. Though slavery was not permitted anymore African Americans were still treated differently and were slmost demon used by the media saying that an average of crimes like assault and murders were committed by black men . Yet when white people made it to the news their crimes were always downplayed it seemed. Or African Americans were called vulgar names and were accused of stealing always. So Nia Miston and her sons Devahn and Shawn ages 10 years old were always careful and kept there heads down . For fear the same thing that happened to poor George Floyd would happen to one of them!Nia had a degree to become a lawyer and wanted to start her own practice but knew it was going to be an uphill battle for any firm to even hire her. But she and her boys had moved recently so she hoped by the move she could find a job as a paralegal . The first few weeks they spend moving their furniture and belongings in their four bedroom house they were now renting and during the move Nia noticed things like dishes and cds and pillows and hammers being moved around the two story house. She didn’t think much at first maybe her sons moved them or the movers. Then the house was moved into and everything was put into its place and it still happened . Remotes went missing , and would appear in different rooms all the way up stairs. Or into the attic or the basement .\nEventually as the weeks went on and Nia came home from her temp job as a dog walker . She came home for lunch peered up to the second story of her house and saw very clearly a ghost of a African women in a rag brown dress. And very messy wavy black hair staring straight at her through the bay window !\nNo sooner had she saw the ghost women the Nia stopped dead in her tracks and thought fearfully that a homeless women had broke in her house!\nHeart pounding in intense fear she raced up the front steps and into the upstairs brightly lit with sun room but the women was gone !\nA month later after that and Nia never saying anything to her sons about what she had seen her son Shawn was at home alone while she was at a friends place with devahn . Shawn was a thin African American boy of ten years old who loved soccer and painting and watching horror movies.\nRight now while his mom was out he was watching seteven kings it even though his mom had forbade the twins from watching that movie until they were older. Right at the part where never saw the clown and all the blood in the bathroom sink he heard a strange woman’s voice yell. “Bad boy shouldn’t watch that!”\nYet he knew his mom and brother were not home yet . With his heart pounding so loud he thought he could hear it in his ears he tiptoed up stairs and down looking for an intruder !thinking someone had broken in!\nBut the ten year old found no one til he was in the dark cold basement with a flashlight because the bulb didn’t work down there it only ever flickered on and off!\nOnce Shawn entered the basement the boy felt a rush of cold wind push him backwards and into the brick wall . No bleeding he heard a cruel man shout . “You don’t belong here !”\nSo he ran out of the house and waited outside til his mom and brother came home!\nNow that one of her sons had gotten pushed and hurt by the ghost Nia called in paranormal investigators to search her new house and what the team of psychics found and a priest was not only did a African woman from slave days still inhabit the house she worked in but so did her white rich master! \nSuddenly the psychic women were hit with a vision of a young blank women in brown torn dress running through a first with a baby as her mistress the wife of her master hot on her heals with a whip yelling vulgar things at the women and saying the African women would not bare his child and he and his wife murdered her because she had given birth to her masters child but they never found the new born baby girl !”\nThen they had another vision they assumed from the women spirit in the house showing a black wound in brown dress racing through the woods with a caring infant with the master close behind her until she lost him and found her way to a vhurch where she left the baby girl just in time for her master to\nFind her mom and murder her but her baby daughter grew up safe and happy and the servant women said she wanted to tell someone her story and had guided her descendant Nia back to her masters house .”\nSo the priest exercised the masters spirit out of the house and Nia allowed the servant women’s ghost to reside in the house with the family !\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: Keira's Invention\n\nGenre: asian-american\n\nWord Count: 2982\n\nPrompt:\n\nAn intelligent young girl solves a big problem, but becomes frustrated that no one wants to believe her. Write about what she does next." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Keira tried to fight the frown that was wrestling for control of her face. She didn’t want to look like a grouchy child on national television.\n “It’s cute. Really Keira, and I look forward to seeing what you do with your future, but-” Here came the truth following his lie. “It’s just not possible. Trust me, I’ve been in the energy business for decades pushing the technology to its limits,” he stopped to drink water from the table in front of him, “and this just isn’t feasible.”\n “Perhaps, Michael, the only thing you’ve pushed to its limits is yourself. This is possible. My results already show that.” Keira fought the impulse to swear or fold her arms across her chest. She had to be taken seriously. If she looked like a bratty eight-year-old no one would take her invention seriously.\n “I’m sorry Miss Omura but I have to agree with Michael. We have industries with the best scientists in the world testing the technology in laboratory conditions, you do not. You are an incredible young woman-”\n “Do not infantilise me, Jonas. There are many reasons your scientists have never found a better alternative to fossil fuels. The foremost of those reasons is that their jobs rely on it. Why should the world put its safety in the hands of men like you who profit from destroying it with oil and gas? Your industries are subsidised because they are long past the point of worth. Renewable energy was strangled in the cradle several times by corporations like yours to keep the money rolling in.” Though she had not crossed her arms or frowned Keira’s voice had become a growl.\n “Eloquent as your tantrum is Keira, it’s clear that you can see we’re right. Lashing out at us because your home-made toys look better than they are in heavily edited YouTube videos just goes to show you’re not quite the child prodigy you pretend to be.” He was smiling. Michael Boyd, CEO of the biggest oil conglomerate in Europe smiling with his fake teeth and his spray tan and the suit he’d bought with money made polluting.\n “I look forward to proving you wrong. Can I ask one last question before this is over?” She’d been saving this for the moment they crossed the line.\n “Sure,” Boyd smiled as if she’d asked for a lollipop.\n “What percentage of the 70-billion-dollar clean-up bill for the panama spill is being paid by your company? It’s completely responsible. Is that reflected in its commitment to the clean up?” She smiled. He smiled.\n “Well, I think this interview is over. Wonderful meeting you Keira. Good luck.” Michael Boyd stood, smiling a smile that did not reach his eyes. He straightened his tie and walked away.\n Jonas Fernandez, Acting CEO of the second biggest fossil fuel producer in Europe smiled as if Michael’s departure had been awkward. He held up his hands, thinking he was being winning. Sadly, Keira knew plenty of people watching the rich man dressed like a rocker would think he was being genuine. You had to be there in person to spot the signs of a sociopath.\n “You’re married aren’t you, Jonas?” Keira asked. She looked at the wedding ring on his finger.\n “Yes.” He smiled to the camera. “Six years now.”\n “Is that your assistant backstage in the black pinstripe uniform?”\n “Yes?” He looked very confused, and his cheeks were starting to flush as his fingers gripped the black pleather of the studio chair.\n “Maybe you should give her more time to shower in the mornings so that she doesn’t come to work smelling of your aftershave. Also, it looks like she needs a new skirt. Hers has a silvery mark on it as if it had snails sliding across. Does the assistance she provides you often end up slimy?”\n “Enough!” shouted Jonas. He leapt out of his chair and pointed a finger at Keira. She smiled sweetly back at him. Realising cameras were watching his outburst and the end of his marriage Jonas stormed off with more steam than Michael Boyd.\n “We have a few minutes left of the panel, don’t we?” Keira asked the presenter.\n “Eight minutes Keira,” said Johnathan Morpurgo who was smiling but red in the face.\n “Do you have something that can plug in but requires a lot of power?” she asked. “I have a new working model of my designs that I would like to demonstrate for the audience if that’s alright?”\n “Well, we can’t exactly have dead air, can we?” Johnathan said, his voice nervous. “Show us how it works please.”\n Keira asked for her suitcase to be brought in from backstage. The metal suitcase was covered with stickers of her favourite television shows, films, musicians, and mechanical diagrams.\n The studio audience were dim faces in the crowd, hard to see because of the stage lights on her. Despite that, revealing her new work was nerve wracking. More so than facing down spoiled, self-important man-children.\n As she unpacked the odd device from the suitcase Keira explained the problem with traditional green energy devices. Wind turbines only work when there’s wind. Due to friction windmills also destroy themselves slowly as they turn, requiring maintenance. Solar panels need sunlight but lose efficiency outside optimal temperatures.\n Half of those problems could be solved by combining currently available technologies. Keira lifted out what looked like a living room fan because it had been. She was given a studio light and handed the plug, which was dusty.\n She plugged in the studio light and flipped a switch on the body of the device. Sadly, the results weren’t instant.\n “As you can see it’s less impressive with artificial light but all of the bright lights in the studio are powering the solar panels on the fan blades. The fan blades then turn, keeping them from overheating. On a windy day that momentum generates energy as well as maintaining solar generation efficiency. The problem of degradation caused by friction has been solved by creating free floating fan blades suspended by magnetic levitation like a mag-lev train. Without friction the only cause of damage to the materials are weather meaning this device could go years longer without maintenance. That saves a fortune which makes production of these devices more cost effective than traditional wind and solar tech. Both of which are already more energy efficient than fossil fuel technology.”\n The host nodded to words in his ear and moved into camera with a big smile. He put a patronising hand on Keira’s shoulder. His smile wasn’t so dissimilar to that of the oil executives.\n “I’m afraid that’s all we’ve got time for now. Thank you to Keira Omura for showing us this wonderful new technology. Thank you to Michael Boyd and Jonas Fernandez for being here with us today. Now it’s over to Ellen Summers with the weather forecast.” Johnathan Morpurgo pulled out his earpiece and removed his microphone. He frowned at Keira before looking away at the audience. “I hope you enjoyed that. Your little thing there probably just lost me my job. They’re both already threatening to sue.”\n “I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true,” she argued.\n “Telling the truth isn’t always the right thing to do Keira. Someday you’ll understand that.” He looked at her. If that was the case, she never wanted to grow up.\n She packed her device back into the suitcase as her parents ran to see her. Her mum hugged her, smiling ear to ear. Her dad kept packing the device into the suitcase. He looked worried about something.\n “You were amazing. You really kicked ass,” said her mother Nabiya. “That first one that walked off called you a little bitch. I almost punched him.”\n “They want to sue us,” said her father, Keita.\n “For what?” asked Keira’s mother. “Telling the truth? Being awesome?” She looked at the studio audience beyond the lights and waved. “Hello. Oh my god. Keira. Does my hair look alright?”\n Nabiya tilted her head to show Keira the braids wrapped with gold bands she’d taken hours with the day before at the barbershop. Keira smiled.\n “You look beautiful as always mom.”\n “I knew it.” Nabiya winked. “Hey.” She nudged her husband. “You look really handsome as well.” He smiled but Keira could see he was worried. Jonas and Michael were clearly as spiteful as they were fake.\n\nKeira’s parents drove her home, a four-hour journey. Their electric car, Japanese of course because Keita insisted, was almost silent so Nabiya’s exited talk all the way home bounced off Keira as she tried to sort through the consequences of the interview.\n Back at their house there were endless messages waiting for them. Family had called to say how proud they were. Keira had emails from her dad’s side of the family asking for links to the video of her big television debut. Keita had to translate the message because her Japanese was still basic. She could read hiragana and katakana, but kanji were beyond her.\n On her YouTube channel, followers had posted messages of support. There were a few trolls of course. She flagged as many abusive messages as she could be bothered to before logging off.\n “Time to get some sleep Keira,” said Keita. “You still have school tomorrow.”\n “Half-breed? Wow. Who the fuck wrote this? Well of course they voted for him.” Keira saw her mother was scrolling through comments on her YouTube channel. She’d warned Nabiya not to.\n “Mom. Leave it, please.”\n “Why should I? People like this think they can just say stuff like that and log off.”\n “First rule of the internet mom. Don’t feed the trolls. They want a reaction.”\n “You are so many kinds of smart.” Nabiya closed the window on her browser. “Your father is right. Time to get to bed. Your brains and beauty sleep.”\n After brushing her teeth and washing Keira went to bed. Looking up at the scaled constellations in glowing stars on her ceiling, she tried to remember pi to a hundred places because it always put her to sleep.\n\nKeira was woken by screaming. She shot upright in bed and jumped to her feet. Running downstairs she saw what looked like smoke through the frosted glass of the front door. Keita was on the phone, telling the police that people were on his property and they’d started a fire.\n “What’s happening mom?” Keira asked.\n “Idiots. Same as always. They got our address somehow. Those CEO assholes I bet.”\n “Don’t say anything they really can sue us for Nabiya,” said her dad, covering the mic on the phone with his hand for a moment. “Yes. Please come as fast as you can.”\n There were a dozen people outside their house. Some had placards. GlobAl Warning is A lie. Save Oil Jods. God has a favorite color. Some of them were actually spelled correctly.\n The smoke was from a paper bag of dog shit that had been set on fire. As Nabiya began filming them on her phone at the window, eggs hit the glass.\n “That’s it. I’m getting it all on camera assholes! Keira, how do I live-stream this? I want the world to know who they are.”\n Explaining that you needed an application to live-stream, she watched her mother’s raw fury and her father’s pained depression. Nabiya was looking out of the window when Keira started crying. Keita hugged her, saying that the upside was she didn’t have to go to school.\n\nSome of the trespassers were charged with criminal damage. Apparently, there were no laws against the racist abuse they began chanting just before the police arrived. Both oil CEOs tried to sue her for defamation. Jonas’ case lasted a week. Michael’s was thrown out after two hours.\n The assistant that had the odd stains on her suit eventually went public with accusations of coercion against Jonas. He denied the whole thing and countersued. Keira publicly apologised for any harm she might have caused Ariella Giovanni.\n A year later the green energy subsidiary created by the two unveiled a wonder of innovation which seemed very similar to Keira’s work. Her pay-out from the patent violation case was enough to start her own company. Her first hire was Ariella as her head of marketing. It took years for Ariella to come to terms with Jonas’ abuse and the hatred of people who stood up for him and called her a liar.\n Keira had to sue several fossil fuel subsidiaries for slander when their stooges accused her of fabricating results or stealing her technology. Yet again the pay-outs were funnelled into her work.\n Growth was slow. Keira relied on celebrities buying her technology to power their mansions for a while which was good for publicity but not sales. She needed government contracts to really make a difference. She didn’t want to compete with other green industry companies. She wanted to compete with the likes of Jonas and Michael.\n She refined her designs. She created models which could be integrated into ship architecture. She worked with cargo ship manufacturers to create ships running on renewable energy. No engine leaks would pollute. It was slow. From design to manufacturing roll out took years.\n In the end the shipping solution proved a faster way to alter humanities carbon footprint. She made connections with other shipping giants who didn’t care how their ships worked and were happy to look green for their advertising campaigns.\n One shipping magnate was a manufacturing tycoon as well. He, they were mostly old men, offered Keira a deal to mass manufacture her designs for a share of her patent. They haggled long and hard for several weeks until both would be satisfied in the short and long term.\n With a mass manufacturer in her corner, she could finally compete with the big fish. Keira was twenty-two. Six months later she received her first government contract to supply Germany with five thousand models for the grid. That many would supply up to half a million households on sunny or windy days, more if gusts blew on bright days.\n Instead of absorbing the profits herself Keira used them to lower the price. There were other interested governments looking to cut their carbon emissions to meet the 2015 Paris Agreement which many of them looked set to fall short of. The United Kingdom were negotiating the cost of two thousand units but were struggling to convince communities that their hilltop would better suit her turbines. If the other option was a nuclear power station or a coal powered plant Keira couldn’t see the problem.\n On home soil in the US interest in coastal states had been wavering for years. Claims were made but budgets were tight. Keira went on local TV to make interview after interview but wondered if racism was once again holding her back. Some of the same lawmakers who vetoed her products were the same that propped up draconian policing policies. As her mother said, if it walks like a Nazi and talks like a Nazi, it’s probably a fucking Nazi. They weren’t all Nazis, some of them were just assholes.\n Next came the biggest order of Keira’s life so far. The Communist Party of China threw itself a congratulatory propaganda party after ordering seven hundred thousand units which were going to sit in the Gobi Desert in the north. Keira didn’t care about the pat on the back they were giving themselves. That order took her business to the next level and them some. She had to buy out other manufacturers to keep up with the order.\n Eventually Keira put Ariella Giovanni in charge of marketing in the US. She wanted to focus on development. The next push was to increase the range of light frequencies her devices could convert to usable energy.\n Johnathan Morpurgo invited Keira for an interview on his own talk show at the age of twenty-four. He’d let his hair go grey and the laughter lines on his face were clearer in person than she had noticed watching him on TV. He had jowls and if he looked down his chin began to roll back towards his cheeks. He looked happy.\n “It’s good to see you again,” said the presenter. He shook her hand, careful to keep his face in shot and not turn his back to the camera.\n “Thank you, Johnathan. It’s good to be here. I see you still have a job.”\n “Yes,” he laughed awkwardly, throwing his hands up. Some of the studio audience laughed with him.\n “White men always land on their feet. Like cats.” Johnathan nodded and smiled. His teeth were whiter than they had been last time. It was almost uncomfortable to see them straight on.\n “You’re doing quite well yourself Keira, aren’t you? Do you have a suitcase with you today?” He laughed, though none of the audience got the joke.\n “Not a suitcase Johnathan but I do have a new prototype to demonstrate to you.” Someone wheeled in the box which rolled smoothly on the studio laminate. Keira thanked the woman who was already running out of camera shot. She gave the pitch as she unclipped legs with rubber feet that would clamp it to the floor.\n “The whole thing weighs just eight kilograms, sorry, seventeen point 6 pounds. It can fold out and be unpacked or packed in seconds. It’s as tough as the models that sit on hilltops, and it will generate enough energy to power two to three average houses every day. In good weather you will be able to sell energy to the grid and make an income for yourself. It can be mounted to the roof of your house or sit in the garden. We really pushed the limits for this one.” When Keira plugged in the studio light as planned the light was blinding, almost as bright as the smile on her face." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Color envy\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 2003\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart your story with the line, “By the time I stepped outside, the leaves were on fire.” (Whether this is a literal fire is up to you.)" }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Color Envy\nWritten by Marcie Van Cleave\n\n“By the time I stepped outside the leaves were on fire.” They were brilliant colors of red, yellow, orange,with tinges of green. The sights were impressive, and the familiar smells brought a new definition to Autumn in my mind. I gazed upon the sunset as a tear ran down my cheek, a flood of emotions found their way to my insides as my stomach flipped and my heart raced. The sky was a beautiful assortment of blues to grey with brushstrokes of pinks smeared into orange that set so brilliantly. How could I have ever known I was taking sunsets for granted? Now, I can enjoy the same beauty everyone else talks about, I felt a slight squeeze on my shoulder that startled me as if I was awakened from a dream. I turned to gaze upon beautiful strawberry blonde hair, porcelain white skin, green eyes, and a red lipstick smile. \"Mom,\" I exclaimed. She just gave me a huge hug and said when you are ready come back to your birthday dinner. I nodded to her as I looked back upon my father sitting at a table in the cafe. Birthday balloons never seemed so bright, and in those moments, I recounted every birthday party, prom, or homecoming parade I experienced never really knowing what I was missing, and only just now realizing.\nThe evening came into view, lights flickered on at the park across the street, swing sets and slides shown under a crescent moon sky. What was it about this night? That small town atmosphere, brought on memories of late-night teenage parties and first loves, and oh the awkwardness of high school. I snickered at the past pubescent me that thought I needed bigger boobs and lots of makeup to fit in. I felt glad to have outgrown that stage in life to become the young woman that I am. The confidence I exude now and having my own sense of self-worth was a fair trade off. I looked up at the cafe that still occupies the corner of the downtown plaza. Old layers of brick towering over me with a quaint window peering down at me from what was once the upstairs offices of a very old bank. I loved that about my old Texas hometown it has history including an old county courthouse square in the middle of the town that still stands in use today. Every year they host a downtown parade and booths on the courtyard filled with barbecue, antiquities, and hand made goods for sale. A band plays good old fashion tunes with fiddles and bass guitars, and the music echos through the air from downtown to the surrounding streets and dirt roads. Could it be? Am I missing my old town? I swore I would never come back when I packed and went off to college. Yet, here I am feeling nostalgic. As I reach the door of the café a strong arm grabs the door and opens it for me. “After you,” a man's voice says. I look up to thank the person and see none other than my high school crush looking back at me. He was such a fine-looking young man now, broad chest and muscles all over. He smiled at me and said,” didn’t I go to high school with you? Your different from what I remember then again change is inevitable. “I nearly missed the step up as wobbly kneed as I was, but I managed to save face. I felt my cheeks start to flush and instantly felt like that high school sophomore girl I once was. I replied “Yes, we were in advanced English together.” “Ah, yes that’s right you always sat in front.\" He replied. We both stood in the entrance of the café silently for a few moments then I said “Well, it was so good to see you again, but I must get back to my dinner. It's my birthday and my party awaits.” He says “of course, and happy birthday.” As I turned towards my dinner table, he says hey if you are not doing anything later would you like to meet me at the movies?” To which I quickly replied “yes actually that would be nice to get away from my parents for the evening I have been back in town visiting for a few days and I am already feeling a bit smothered.” “K it’s a date then, and the movie starts at nine forty-five, he replied “and uh, nice shades by the way.” I quickly removed my glasses and walked back to my table. I had forgotten I was wearing my color-blind correcting glasses my parents had just given me for my birthday.\n When I sat back down, I heard my dad whisper something inaudible to my mother then they both looked at me “who was that colored boy you were talking to?” asked my dad. “My date to the movies later, and I think you have forgotten that I am color blind” I laughed. Mom said “Very funny sweetie, but you know what your dad meant. He loves you and we want to see you with…….” Some one less black” I interrupted. I love you both and respect your opinions, but I am an adult now and besides its just a movie date. Never mind that, you guys are the best thank you for the glasses. I honestly can not believe the difference it makes and what I was missing. I never would have with out these glasses, and guess who likes them and wants me to sport them to the movies tonight?” My mom and dad both said Your welcome and we each shared a glass of wine and of course I acted as though it was the first sip of wine I’d ever had, but it was not and surely they knew it, but did as parents do. And as our dinner came to a close, I started feeling excited about my movie date.\n As I later explained to my mom when we arrived home that Bruno was my high school crush and he was talented and smart just like me. She and I secretly shared another glass of wine and chit chatted as I got ready for the date. I was amazed by how grown up she treated me compared to my dad and I greatly appreciated it. Spaghetti strap crop top in bright red and tight black leggings with zippers at the ankle. What for I do not know, but I liked them especially with the black flats I was wearing. Mom loaned me her silver hoops a necklace and bracelet to match. I slid my glasses on to check myself out in the mirror. “wow, mom I’ve never seen myself in red!” I exclaimed. She and I both screeched in excitement “you have always been so beautiful Lilly and now as a young woman I see so much of my self in you. I am strong willed and before your father I was very independent. I want you to be happy with whomever you choose to be with. Go have a great night and happy birthday hun.”\nI arrived at the theater which was the actual movie theater from many years ago. It belonged to the old town square and fit in perfectly rest of the historical buildings. The old lights around the billboard shined so bright announcing the movie were big black letters “Romeo and Juliet” Leonardo DiCaprio and Clair Danes from 1996. So, cliché, but so perfect for tonight and there he was my date for this evening. We grabbed some snacks and drinks before heading in. The concessions were small time, basic popcorn, milk duds, soda fountain, and nachos with cheese and jalapenos my absolute favorite. The old me would have said no to messy nachos, however the more mature me did not care. We found good seats right down front middle. I do not know how much of the movie Bruno watched, because through out the movie I felt eyes on me. He grabbed my hand and we stayed holding hands till the end of the movie. We exited the theater holding hands when he asked if he could take me somewhere, to which I excitedly replied yes let’s go. \" On the short drive we talked and I told him” did you know I had a crush on you in high school?” to which he responded “No, but it went both ways I guess cause I stared at you all the time, I was surprised you never called me a creep ha ha.” He has such a great smile. I laughed with him the whole way then we stopped. I looked out the window a Texas flag waved in the wind as if to greet us. Perhaps this would be the best part of our night. He opened my door and I stepped out onto the gravel driveway. An ice chest in hand he says to me “I hope you don’t mind I brought us some brews.” I’ll have one of those thank you” I replied. We approached the entrance to an old fort built to replicate the fort that once stood in a great battle. Wood planks lead us down a hallway with rooms filled with antiques and mannequins dressed in uniforms and olden days clothing their eyes eerily starring back at us. Now I remember why I was so creeped out by this place when I was a kid. When we were young we would ride our bikes up the hill and play around at the fort it was only a few blocks from my childhood home. The long hallway descended upon a long covered back porch, which overlooked the whole town. The sky was clear and stars shown bright as the town-lights mimicked them below. The old fort held the best memories and the prettiest view in town.\n Bruno and I took some time to enjoy the silence before we both began to speak “what… I said and he said “where’s\" we laughed, and I smiled and said \"go ahead.\" He asked me “where my shades were?” \"Oh right, well obviously its nighttime, but those were color blindness shades. He said I had no idea you were color blind” My parents gave those to me tonight at dinner.” I began to explain my experience seeing colors for the first time and how these memories came flooding back and how emotional I was.” He was the best date standing there listening to it all never interrupting not once. “And here we are now” I said. “can I tell you something’ he said “Sure” I replied. I lied when I said I didn’t know you had a crush on me and to tell you the truth I didn’t think I was good enough for you so I didn’t approach you.” I was amazed by his honesty and Said “really why?” he told me how one time in the school hallway he was about to talk to me and my brother stepped in his way and said to keep moving we don’t like your kind.” I was angered by this and apologized for the actions of my brother. Bruno had such a kind heart and did not deserve that. What he said next was somewhat of a shock. He said for a long time he wished he were white so he could approach me finally. Until today when he saw me in town in front of the café, he knew it was now or never.” I stayed quiet for a time and then replied “ I may need glasses to see colors, but with you I don't see color, I see kindness, honesty, and intelligence, and right then I kissed him. I was given a present at my birthday dinner, and I never thought in a million years that a pair of glasses would change my life in such a big way." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Little Casanova Town Diner\n\nGenre: asian-american\n\nWord Count: 1243\n\nPrompt:\n\nSet your story in a roadside diner." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "I watched the downpour pound away at the old gas pumps through the window. They were already rusted from however many years they’ve stood there, barely covered by the awning hanging overhead. Must have been about seventy years by now. My chin resting on my palm, I sighed into the silence of Little Casanova Town Diner, just outside the town.\n“Nice weather out there,” called a voice a few rotating stools away. I turned around to look at the young man with pretty, silver hair and a kind smile. A dark silver, almost like he was going gray despite looking twenty-four or five at most.\n“I guess,” I said quietly. He raised a silver eyebrow at me like he was confused.\n“I was being sarcastic,” he said.\n“Oh.” I nodded quietly. I turned back to my little mug of tea that had gotten cold by then. How long had I been looking out the window for that to happen?\n“I’m Nathan. What’s your name?”\n“Heejin,” I responded.\n“Heejin? That’s a weird name. Does it mean something?” I looked over at him again and noticed he had golden eyes.\n“I don’t know. It’s just a name. It’s Korean.”\n“Oh, I see.” He turned his gaze to the swinging door that led to the kitchen in the back of the diner as the only server and cook for that night came out with a light blue plate. He walked toward me gently set the plate down in front of me.\n“Here’s your usual, Heejin.”\n“Thank you, Jay.”\nHe picked up my mug of cold tea as he asked in his Louisianan accent, “want me to get you a fresh cup, darlin’?” I nodded. Jay turned and walked the few steps to swing door and passed through it. I noticed Nathan watching the exchange with curiosity.\n“You know him?” I nodded in response to his question. “So are you like a regular here?”\n“I come here every night after work.”\n“Ah, I see,” Nathan said with a smile. Jay came back with a different mug with steam rolling into the air above it.\n“Her you are,” He said jovially as he set the drink down in front of me. “Anythin’ else you need before I go back to slackin’ off,” he joked.\n“Nope.” He returned to the kitchen with his friendly smile. I looked down at my grilled cheese sandwich and little bowl of tomato soup sitting on the plate. My stomach growled a little, barely audible over the rain.\n“‘Feed me, Heejin,’” Nathan said in a high-pitched voice. I glanced his way. “Your stomach is yelling at you. You should probably listen to it.”\nHe turned back to his own plate of half-eaten food and cup of some type of pop. I picked up the first triangle of my sandwich and dipped it carefully into the red-filled bowl. My usual order always comforted me. After having come here night after night for a few months, Jay picked up on the routine I had and had gotten to know me a little in the few years that followed. We had very different backgrounds. He came from Louisiana up to this little midwestern Wisconsin town with his dad when he was young after his mom was killed in a hate crime. I was born in Korea and brought to the United States to this little midwestern Wisconsin town before I turned three. He grew up going to prestigious private schools that you have to take tests to get into. I went to run-down public schools. Now he works part-time in the Little Casanova Town's Diner just outside Casanova, Wisconsin to pay his online college tuitions that his dad agreed to help pay for half of, and I come in to see him every night after my shift at the factory, ordering the same thing and meeting different people that come in from time to time.\nI polished off my sandwich and began to eat (drink?) the rest of my soup, adding the occasional bland saltine cracker to spice it up. I remembered the pretty man with the silver hair and turned my head to find those golden eyes again. Nathan had moved to the seat next to me in the time I was focused on eating my meal. He didn’t look at me when I turned, just casually kept eating his burger. Having no conversation to bring up, I went back to quietly finishing my soup and tea. Nathan had a strangely comforting presence, so I didn’t mind the sudden closeness. And I liked the silence. People always have this annoying need to fill quiet moments with conversation like they’re anxious from them. Sitting with someone in silence is an underappreciated experience. After another ten minutes passed, the silence was broken.\n“You enjoy the quiet too?” We turned to look at each other, almost in unison.\n“Yeah, I do,” Nathan responded. “I like it when it’s quiet. Especially on days like this when you can hear every drop of rain.” He pointed at the window I was focused on earlier. “It’s nice, you know?” I nodded.\n“Underappreciated,” I said.\n“Exactly! Nobody recognizes the value of a good silence these days.”\n“You say that like you’re a cranky old man who yells at kids to get off his lawn every day.” Nathan hunched his back made an angry face.\n“Well, these damn hooligans these days, always being all loud,” he said in a mock-elderly voice, “no appreciation for the days when we sat around playing with sticks in the yard.” We laughed at his old-timer jokes for a little while. Eventually, he returned to his normal voice and raised his hand toward my head. He gently patted the top of my head.\n“What’s that for?”\n“You just seemed like you needed a good pat on the head.” I blinked at him for a moment.\n“You’re odd, Nathan.” He nodded at me with a big grin.\n“Life’s no fun when you aren’t.”\nSuddenly, the swing door opened, and Jay walked out, heading towards me. He reached out and took my empty plate and mug. He turned around to set them on the back counter and opened a glass cloche on a cake stand. He placed a slice of Chocolate Peanut Butter Pie on a small black plate and passed it to me along with a small metal fork. He placed his hands on the counter and looked at me with his usual kind smile.\n“Finishin’ touch of the night,” he said. I picked up the fork and sliced into the tip of the pie.\n“Is he real, Jay?” Jay looked down the counter through the small, empty diner before turning back to me.\n“Not this one, Heejin.” I nodded sadly and took a small bite. “What was this one’s name?”\n“Nathan,” I said.\n“An’ only one this time?”\n“Yeah. No other voices, either. Just him.”\n“Was he a nice one, at least?” I nodded and continued to chip away at my little slice. Jay patted my head gently like he always did by this time. “They’ll stop soon, darlin’. Them voices gotta go away sometime.” We smiled at the optimistic statement, and I spent the rest of my night like I always did: sitting in the old gas station-turned Little Casanova Town Diner just outside of a little midwestern town in Wisconsin, talking to my best friend who always gave me comfort when my schizophrenia was at its worst." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Diner of Wishes\n\nGenre: asian-american\n\nWord Count: 1437\n\nPrompt:\n\nSet your story in a roadside diner." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Aladdin. The one movie I've watched more than I care to admit. It's just that I find something about that movie so appealing. Three wishes? Like, three wishes! Aladdin has three wishes, and every time I watch that movie it blows my mind that he uses the wishes the way he uses them. He uses them, if I might say, selfishly. If I had a Genie lamp I'd wish for world peace or something, and I know this sounds strange, but it makes me real sad that I even have to wish for that.\nThe world is moving around me, and the \"new world\" seems to offer a good amount of opportunities, but sometimes I wish that the world could move a little faster. That it would grow accustomed quickly to who I was, and to who my friends and family were.\nAnyways, I'm not usually this insightful, and my story doesn't start there. It starts with the fact that I was driving through Texas, and I'm directionally challenged, which is how I ended up stumbling upon the Dream Diner.\n---\nI slammed my foot on the break of my Jeep, just missing the curb. New car, new accident. That seemed to be my motto. Still clutching the wheel, I took a breath, before releasing the hold on my car. Everything was going to be okay. Well except for the fact that it wasn't.\nIf I was being honest, I had no idea how to get to Albuquerque and what if I didn't get there by the end of the week? I rubbed my temples, and did sort of a mental chant. Don't think about it, Jai, don't think about it.\nAnother deep, deep breath. I pulled myself out of my car, and hoped the diner in front of me would help me in any sort of way. What other 18 year old found themself in a situation like this? I didn't think too many.\nPushing the glass door open, a bell chimed above me, and I entered the dimly lit Dream Diner. Everyone sat neatly at booths, and glanced in my direction, as I tried to hide behind my hair. My waiter led me to the table, and I tried to sit on the narrow seat as best as I could.\nJerry, my waiter, brought me my steak and mashed potatoes, which was steaming as he set it on the table. I said grace before forking some steak into my mouth, right when the bell chimed, and a boy about my age walked in. Followed by a girl. Jerry greeted them, obviously, and there was a whole lot of hand movements. Jerry pinched the bridge of his nose, and the boy got a real stern look on his face, as if he had to carry out a mission that was of some importance.\nIn the end Jerry sighed, and began to walk towards me. My eyes snapped back to my potatoes. My cheeks flushed red, and I recalled this saying about eavesdroppers, didn't they-\n\"Hi, ma'am-\"\n\"You can call me Jai,\" I pointed out. I didn't like anything formal, whether it was a name, an article of clothing, or I might even add, food. Jerry still, very much ignored me.\n\"I was wondering, if it's possible, would you be able to move over there?\" He asked pointing to the corner with one hand, and wiping the other on his black apron, \"The boy requested a window seat for their date, and-\"\n\"Yeah, it's okay I'll move,\" I muttered, standing up, \"ma'am is fine.\"\nJerry grabbed my plate, and helped me over to the corner, where it was dark. And dusty. My eyes trailed over to the girl and the boy. who were having such a good time, and it only took my unhappiness for them to get there. Besides that though, all I could see was the lady who had been seated in the booth behind me. Her food hadn't even been delivered yet, and she had a huge window seat. Yet Jerry had asked me to move. Not her. It was enraging. Stupid Diner. This place hadn't helped me find directions, and it had just broken my mental state.\nI shoved my fork into the steak, gripping the handle so tightly that I could've sworn the metal had broken.\nPeople continued to enter the diner, and I stayed where I was. The couple who had taken my seat eventually left. I was determined to prove a point by staying where I was, but I knew that it wouldn't accomplish anything. Eventually Jerry came with the bill, and I didn't have any energy to do anything but pay for the food, and leave. The food hadn't even been that good. The potatoes were too salty and the steak didn't have enough seasoning.\nI stumbled out of the diner, and fell to the curb, burying my face in my hands. A cool breeze tickled my ears, and all I could think about was how my eyes were shaped like almond instead of circles. The lady she had been just like me, and she hadn't even eaten her food yet, but she had pale white skin, and blue eyes. Therefore Jerry had turned to me. To give up my seat.\nBecause of my name. My perfectly asian name. My perfectly asian looks.\nI shot up, anger running through me like an electric current. How dare Jerry do this? I was a customer, all customers were supposed to be treated correctly, with respect. Wasn't I correct? I stood there feeling idiotic, and people passed me. Parties of people, and they all looked the same. I felt so out of place it hurt, physically.\nI pulled my car door open, before slamming it. My head fell limp on the steering wheel, and everything inside of me felt numb. Everything hurt so badly that it had caused my pain circuits to short-wire.\nSlamming my head against the steering wheel, I blankly registered someone yelping in front of me. As if I shouldn't honk my horn at them while I was parked in front of the diner. My eyes were clenched shut, so I leapt out of my skin when someone knocked on the window. As soon as my eyes adjusted I wanted to jump off a bridge, \"What do you want, Jerry?\"\nMaybe he had come to apologize. He looked a little guilty.\n\"We've gotten some complaints about your car, would-\"\nI ground my teeth together, \"Have a good life, Jerry. I'll be going.\"\nI meant to leave the parking lot in reverse, but instead ended up accelerating into the curb. There was a screech like sound of metal hitting concrete. Jerry and I winced simultaneously. I somehow finally got out of the lot, and pulled over on the side of the road.\nI felt the shock roll off of me, leaving me vulnerable. Had that really just happened? Had I been dismissed because of my race? It was hard to believe something as small as that sent me spiraling, but then again. Was it that small? I'd heard of microaggressions, but I'd never experienced it. Why even call them microaggressions, when an aggression was an aggression no matter what it be.\nI caught a glimpse of a hill in the distance, and faintly wished a genie lamp would be hidden in there.\nJust like Aladdin. The one movie I've watched more than I care to admit. Three wishes? Like, three wishes! Aladdin has three wishes, and every time I watch that movie it blows my mind that he uses the wishes the way he uses them. He uses them, if I might say, selfishly. If I had a Genie lamp I'd wish for world peace or the end of racism, and I know this sounds strange, but it makes me real sad that I even have to wish for that.\nThe world is moving around me, and the \"new world\" seems to offer a good amount of opportunities, but sometimes I wish that the world could move a little faster. That it would grow accustomed quickly to who I was. It may sound selfish, but is it really?\nIf the world wasn't going to accept me because of my features then was the world really worth living in?\nThe stars shone above me, and I realized how deep I was being. That made me really think; if you try to have a light-heart in serious situations, you're going to get real mixed up about the world. You have to face the world with a head on mentality.\nJust like Aladdin." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Apple Pickers\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 1023\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about two characters going apple picking." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Alex Ramirez\nApple Pickers\nOne day on a sunny afternoon a kid named Bill went to school in a very happy mood because a special toy his mother has gotten for him has finally come in it is called the “Robot Blaster.” On the way to school in the early morning Bill sat in the backseat fidgeting with the toy like his life depended on it. His mother said” Billy are you having fun back there?” Billy replied” Yes mom but this toy is just so cool looking and amazing to play with.” They approved the school zone where it says slow down and Billy knew he got to see his best friend very soon. When Billy got out of the car he sat there and thought to himself about being one step closer to being a teenager as he was in 4th grade this year. He Walked into the school and locked eyes with his best friend Erick “ said Bill is that really you, I haven’t seen you in a while” Bill replied with “Yep, it's me and I feel like a toddler still so I don't grow or change that much.” Bill and Erick were both part of the cool kids group. I mean they did everything together in school such as sit by each other, get in trouble together, and even swing together at recess and you never knew if that was a bad or good thing. The next day at school a really cute girl came up to them and said” Hey there boys My name is Addison and I am the one and only girl president of STUCCO and sounds very weird but this weekend we are going apple picking and we would like you two to join us.” Bill seemed a little hesitant because he has really never been around girls that much except his mom but Erick “ said yes we will go” as fast as his lips could move and Addison said “ Great be here on Saturday Bus leaves at 2:30 P.M. For the rest of the day Bill stayed quiet because he was trying to prepare himself to be on the bus because the teachers were not the best to him.\nWednesday comes around and Bill started getting picked on by this fat and ugly sixth grader named Rob. Rob told him to go to the restrooms at 3:00 because they were going to fight just because Rob wanted too and no teacher could stop it because it was in the bathrooms and they wouldn't know it was going on. Rob was sick that day so Bill was out of luck. As 3:00 came all of the boys were crowded up in the bathroom with all of their phones out none of them really thought that Bill would show up because you could tell Bill was really scared. He went into the bathroom and everyone started cheering because they knew that the fight was going to happen well turns out it wasn’t a fight it was more like a wrestling match because they really didn’t know how to fight. They wrestled around for about 3 minutes and they finally gave up because they knew they weren’t going to get anything out of this. Billy went back home to his mom with a couple bumps and bruises His mom said” Oh my god what happened?” Billy lied because if he told her then Rob would be really trying to go after him so he lied and said” Mom I just fell down some of the stairs” she was still worried and made him sit down and ice the whole night and he had to ice Thursday too.\nAs Friday came around everyone that was going to pick apples was happy because it was their first field trip of the year. Billy asked Erick” Aren’t you excited? we are finally going somewhere together.” Erick was kind of pumped just they were a little nervous about all of the girls that were going. They both went home and knew they had to pack snacks and everything they both spent up until dinner time about what they wanted to pack for this trip. As the night came quickly around they started doing their night routine before it was their bedtime they both had the jittery feeling about going that they couldn’t sleep for a while but they eventually fell asleep.\nThe day that they have been waiting for Saturday morning came they spring out of their bed and run downstairs to eat breakfast and start their morning and their mom said “ Bill you have to do all of your stuff that you do in the morning.” when Bill got to the school the bus was getting ready to leave so he was late. He quickly ran and got on the bus and Erick was already waiting for him in the back. Erick jumped up in joy as he saw his best friend soon enough they were on their way. Once they got there they both jumped out and the teacher said” Erick, Bill you need to calm down and wait for the rest of us.” they finally got to the tree and started picking those red juicy apples. They had finally filled their big tub that they had and started to walk back when Addison said ``You guys are already done helping us, we aren’t even half way.” they started helping them as they saw that the girls had a hole in their bucket that's why all the apples were falling out or they would’ve had a full bucket by now so they had to find some tape to tape up the bottom and they filled it up again. They all started walking back with the buckets and there was an anaconda right there in the front of the group that was staring into their soul. But the snake was no threat they waited there for 5 minutes while it past and all the kids have fun and none got hurt as they returned home to tell their parents the funny story that had happened." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: It's Sweet\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 2966\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about two characters going apple picking." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "\"I think it's sweet.\" peyton said suddenly out of the blue. \"what is?!\" I asked anxiously and curiously. \"that your family takes care of the apple orchard in town.\" He answered while examining a pink lady apple. \"oh.\" I let my shoulders drop in disappointment. We continued picking apples quietly for a bit, but then I had the urge to break the silence. \"I am thankful really.\"\n\"who said you weren't?\" silence. \"you must think this is funny don't you?\"\n\"what's there to laugh at? you love apples.\"\n\"yes but not more than I love baking.'' Peyton then looked at me and smirked. \"what?\" I narrowed my eyes at him in suspicion. \" OH POOR CHARLIE! do you need some tissues for your issues?\" He teased. \"I didn't think it would end so quickly, p! I was just getting there... I just got there.\" I plopped down next to the group of granny smith apples I picked. Peyton looked at me passionately. The sunlight in his eyes was so bright that I could see myself in them surrounded by a fern green river. If chocolate people like me could blush, my face would be apples by now. Peyton's skin was the vanilla ice cream, and strawberry when he blushed. I tuned back into what he was saying after a moment. \"- Charlie, they loved it. they even said you could start your own bakery business.\" He gently placed his hand on my shoulder as he sat beside me. \"...they cheated.\" I murmured with a crack in my voice. \"and what did you do?\" I folded my arms and lifted my nose to the sky. \" that's not it...you let them go. you didn't turn them in.\"\n\"why did I do that, peyton!?\" I cried. \" you saw them struggling. God just let you know how he felt about it.\" He responded. I scoffed \"they took the one ingredient I needed. that I brought. from my own house...\"\n\" God allows others to see what you have. that makes them hungry.\" my eyes started to water. \"but, why out of all, take mine?\"\n\"God had to show you that YOU won.but...in a different way. Think of it like this. You are this, beautiful honey crisp apple, fresh right from the tree. But here comes an apple from a bad tree,trying to steal your position. But they can't, because God made you with a unique sweetness no one can take from you.\" I laughed in awe but still struggled to accept what I had done. \" even so every good tree bringeth forth good fruit; but a corrupt tree bringeth forth evil fruit.\" My joy jumped back in me \"Matthew 7:17...\"\n\"that's my girl.\" He chuckled. I still couldn't accept part of this, it made me feel a little guilty. \" So It's okay that I just let go of my chance to free my family from low income...?\" I choked. \"it was God's choice.\"\n\"that I didn't get the prize for a new home?\"\n\"God has a better place.\" I could feel some tears rolling down my cheeks. there was silence again.\n\" I think it's sweet.\"\n\"...what is?\" I sniffed, wiping away tears.\n\"that you didn't get that prize or the new home.\"\n\"what?\" I asked, hinting that I was already hurt.\n\"you almost left me.\" I thought. I pondered. and realized I almost won a house tons of miles away from peyton. I gasped and felt the tears rising again as he pulled me in,holding tight. \" I think it's sweet. the way God planned it... don't you?\"\n\n“An apple pie?”\n“An apple pie!”\nI stood there staring at her trying to put everything together\n“F-for what, exactly?”\n“Um, our wedding peyton.” I paused for a moment.\n“ are...you feeling okay charlotte?” she laughed. “Peyton imagine this! Instead of a cake, we have a giant apple pie!”\n“...is age 18 too young for marriage? I could wait for you charli-”\n“NO! I want this! I’m ready peyton. I’m just thinking what if!” she spun around and stared into space. “We could do something completely different you know? A unique kind of-WOAH-wedding?” I interrupted her “-and it will be! You know why?”\n“Why?” her eyes lit up. That’s when I lost it. The lights in my house had revealed the true color of her warming brown eyes, reminding me of the flare of burning wood in the fireplace. I felt a rush of heat flow through my cheeks and I regained my composure. “- because- your bakery is opening the same week! Amazing right? Blessings on blessings, charlie.” I saved it.\n“Yes! It’s going to be amazing and Sweet and romantic-” she kept going on and on. But I knew how she felt. I was just waiting for her to open up to me. I could wait. “Are you coming with me to meet with my family?”\n“Yes I’m coming.” although I felt a bit anxious about getting it out of her mind. I was tired of seeing her worry so much. It’s been like this ever since that baking competition. I needed her to let go and just trust. Trust me. And trust God. “ ahhh geez…” there she goes\n“What’s wrong?” I didn’t hesitate to assist her.\n\"Where could I have put my wallet…?\" \n\"Where is your purse?... were you planning on buying something?\"\n\" nope, just thought to bring it.\"\nI knew what that meant. I made the decision not to stop her or lecture her. We arrived at her parent's house and greeted her mom at the door. \n“Yes! Please come in! Spend some time with your mama.” My mother in law welcomed us cheerfully.\n“Where’s mr. P, mom?” charlie asked as she sat on the couch\n“ He went to help his brother with some business work, what are you two doing out? You usually come on wednesdays and saturdays…” she questioned before taking a sip of tea.\n“Oh what kind of tea is that you’ve got ther-”\n“Charlie!” both my mother in law and I called.\n“ She’s got you in this too, huh peyton?”\n“She won’t talk about it with me either.” I whined\n“Charlie, don’t give me any more money.”\nCharlie’s face looked shocked then she calmed down and tried to speak but nothing came out. “We know, charlie. Now it’s time to talk about it.” I came and sat beside her. Her eyes lit up again. Then her mom began to explain. “I see that you’ve been holding on to that pain for a while…” she began. “What pain?” Charlie cleared her throat. “ You are a great daughter, charlie. I’m very proud of you. Don’t think that it’s your job to make sure the family’s needs are met.” Charlie shook,then I comforted her. “ God always plans it out for us instead.” I added, then her mother continued. “God didn’t say that the baking competition was for a financial breakthrough, and don’t think because you didn’t win that it was your fault our family was still in debt.” that hit the mark. “What? You guys think I’m still stuck on that? What makes you think that??” she hid her guilt under a confident smile. I turned away and answered “you’ve been lending our life savings to them… a lot…” I felt her head hit my shoulder and she began to whisper “no I- I just wanted to take care of-”\n“We are already taken care of, Charlie. God hasn’t stopped taking care of us for a second.” her mother saved it. \n“...okay okay okay.” she motioned her hands as if to pat something down.\n“I won’t lend any more money… unless you ask then of course…” she declared and I embraced her. “But, how can I repay you mom?”\n“Just keep visiting me,send some gifts, and maybe take me and your step father out to dinner a couple of times!” she and I both laughed. “We can manage that.” I said trying to hide some relief. “Thanks miss p.” I hugged my mother in law and walked Charlie out. “Thanks mom! See you later!”\n“You two make sure not to eat on saturday, I want you to come over and try my new dish!”\n“We will!”\nAs soon as we got home I swung Charlie around and she laughed at me. I could tell God was easing her stress one situation at a time. And I was thankful for it. She then waved me goodbye and I drove back home in peace.\n“Good morning!” I greeted peyton on the phone.\n“Hey- you’re up early.” he spoke in a soft snore.\n“Yes of course I am! Just getting ready to come over to your place.”\n“HUH?” startled, he dropped his phone. I giggled in excitement. I only desired to come over and plan our wedding. Although part of me felt it was wrong of me to intrude, after letting go of ‘taking care’ of my family I just got the sudden urge that I could be working on something else. Even something other than college work. I was a B+ B- kind of freshman and he was an A- type. Peyton inspired me to work above and beyond when it came to planning. I thought that it was what married couples do all the time. “What time are you coming?! I’m not even dre-*COUGH*” he stopped himself realizing what I shouldn’t know. I laughed even more at this and felt my face go numb after smiling so much. “Is 9 oclock good?”\n“Yes that works for me charlie.” he laughed\n“See you then sweetie!” I hung up on him immediately and rushed to get ready. I packed notebooks,pencils, and the cash that I had just withdrawn from the bank. After I finished my hair I collapsed on my bed to see that it was 8:30. I sighed and picked up my phone again to scroll through pictures of me and peyton. “ gosh it feels like that competition was only yesterday…” I laughed to myself. “ and as if he just proposed to me today…” I turned over and plopped my hands at the sides of my bed. “ a Husband…I have...a” my phone started ringing. “Oh it’s those real estate business people… decline!” I declared as I swiped my phone screen to the right. Before all the business papers,wages, and agreements were finished, I was worried about getting a building just to run my bakery business. Peyton and I ran around trying to find ways to get one, then God blessed me right out of the blue right when we gave it a rest. The deed to the building is mine and we soon will be hosting a grand opening! Once I get all my bakery supplies and goods of course… The whole thing is a work in progress. I drove over to peyton’s house which was most gorgeous in the fall due to the wide range of colours the leaves changed to a brilliant reddish orange. When you tried to blur your sight by squinting, the leaves almost looked like falling hearts as the wind blew. I got out of the car and saw him open his door. We hugged and sat down to talk. \n“ what’s our plan?” I began.\n“...plan for the wedding?” he cleared his throat.\n“Yes of course silly! Tell me what I should do and I’ll get to work on it right away.” I pulled out a notebook and my pencils spilled out on the floor. I felt anxious, and I knew he could tell. I rushed to pick up all my pencils and then felt his gentle hand lift my chin. “ Why are you so worried? It’s all covered and ready.” I perked up “I’m not worried about anything! I just want to help and get something done-” he picked up all my pencils, stood me up and took my backpack away. At that moment I knew he was trying to get me to focus on him and just talk. So for the rest of the morning we had a conversation about how we both felt, and came up with a conclusion that made us both open our eyes. I was too caught up in “making things right” when we needed to discuss it first,so that we were able to work together. Peyton was doing all the work by himself and needed a break while I started something instead of running around to everyone else. From that day forward I promised him I’d do things a bit differently.\n\n“Is the cake here yet!?” I spun around the corner and made my aunt jump.\n“Y-yes dear, it’s been here since I got here.” she answered with concern in her voice. “Peyton are you feeling okay?”\n“Yes of course I am! This is the best day of my life! My wedding day, and the day of her business’s grand opening! 2 blessings back to back! In one day!” I exclaimed running my hand through my hair,messing up the swoop.\n“ -she looks like a chocolate cake with vanilla frosting!” we could her charlie’s younger cousin describing the way she looked, making all the women laugh and “aww!” in the restroom. When I heard it my heart started pounding like a beatbox and I felt my cheeks burn, and I began to imagine that chocolate cake with vanilla frosting. Her cousin walked out and looked at me and sang to tease me “he’s blushing! He’s blushing! Because he loves charlie!” I laughed and pinched her nose “thanks for telling me, Evie.” she giggled and ran off as charlie's older brother, Jake, came down stairs looking for me. “Peyton! Bro, you can’t be down here yet your not supposed to se-”\n“-Not supposed to see charlie yet. I know, I’m just…” I sighed, plopped down in my chair and leaned back. “ this is hilarious.” jake said.\n“-what?”\n“And...it’s sweet.” I sat up and stared at him.\n“ I spent years listening to her talk about how much she loves you,and how you make her go APPLES.” he and I laughed, but our expressions were melancholy. “ I guess it took me a while to accept that God was saying it WAS you…” I got mad but felt tears falling. He embraced me and slapped my neck. “ I’m really glad God put you guys together. You changed her life,bro.” I chuckled and wiped a tear away,as he pulled away. “Jake?”\n“Yeah?” \nI sniffed. “ I told you to stop slapping my neck, bro.” we both laughed more\n“Come on let’s get you up stairs, man. Your face is so red, if she saw you, she would faint.” We went up stairs and I was greeted by family, friends and even teachers. Moments passed by and before I knew it, the ceremony had begun. My head was spinning,heart racing, although everything was slow paced I just couldn’t calm myself. Then I heard, “he will keep them in perfect peace, whose mind stays on him.” I lightly chuckled and heard the music suddenly go sweetly dim, and I heard “Look.” I turned to see her. And I honestly thought I saw a crown on her head as she strode passed the first row of friends seated in the back, who were smiling,sniffling and wiping their eyes constantly. For moments my heart was overwhelmed within me, but I was calm at the same time. It took me a while to realize I was crying again, but what I was concerned about was how Charlie wouldn’t look up at me right when our hands met. I squeezed her hands to get a signal to her, she gently moved her fingers. Somehow I knew she felt stiff...or that she had to be. We soon got to our vows and my joy was restored when I made Charlie and the whole church laugh, then it was her turn. she caused the whole church go “awww!” perking up, she relaxed. “You may now, kiss the bride.” I swung her and gave her a peck. She was startled but laughing along with the church, patting me at the chest. The rest was so much fun. Feeding each other cake, dancing, talking about the past! Breathtaking. But now things were going to get a bit more crazy. “Business time?” she asked. I nodded. “We’re going undercover.” We took one last picture and zoomed to attend the meeting.it was crazy enough to find out there was time to schedule a meeting on our wedding day, but we didn’t tell anyone,our little secret. The agent we were sent to laughed at us for trying to get the work done on our wedding day, but everything was settled and all we had to do was set up shop. It was funny though, how we had struggled to come up with a name for the bakery. “...charlie and peyton’s?...no” I brainstormed. “CP’S bakery shop?” charlie suggested. “No.” we both disapproved in unison. “This is hilarious. The very last thing we need to do is come up with a name…”\n“Hilarious, the name should have been the first thing…”\nWe were dressed in our casual outfits, we didn’t want to ruin our wedding clothes of course.then I thought back to the beginning. “I loved that. The way we signal each other...I understood that when you rubbed my hands, that you felt stiff.”\n“...and I understood when you swung me,that you wanted me to loosen up.” We laughed at each other and stared for moments and we held each other. “You know what I think, peyton?”\n“Hm?”\n“I think it’s sweet.”\nShe smirked at me and started picking through the giant letters we’d bought for the bakery name. I chuckled and started looking for them too." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: She envied my being me!\n\nGenre: asian-american\n\nWord Count: 1034\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character pretending to be someone they’re not." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Growing up a tomboy I didn't know that it would be an engaging matter to become popular that a girl in my class used my name, my photo, and all my favorite things to do her dream, she stole my identity to meet boys!\nI was in the middle of the busy week preparing for an exam when I was told someone was looking for me.\nI grew up in the Philippines, attending one of the prominent private high schools, but very religious, and have strict rules and uniforms. I hated the strict rules of my school, but my parents believed it would help me developed into a respectable citizen someday as I was crooked as I could be growing up, I detest everything that this school stands for, oh, it was fun growing up in this community, looking back, high school was the highlight of my life, but I was just too rebellious, and I did not know this attitude has become envy to some, I crave freedom and I expressed it anyway I could get away with, and this is how the story of this girl in my class pretending to be me started.\nShe was meeting boys through pen-paling since the internet did not exist yet in the '80s. She would meet boys from other high schools using my name. I don't know why, but this girl is pretty and has a very sunny-side-up personality. I would never think she will have any problems meeting boys. I even envied her ways of flirting with just any boys she gets her interest in.\nSo, one afternoon I was told someone was requesting to see me,\nThe messenger told the name of the person, and I replied I don't know this person. The messenger was smiling,\" oh? but he is tall, very good looking, very athletic, and really specific about seeing you like he really is excited to see you \", I retorted \" He needs his nose punch?\"The other girls around me just laughed but were very much interested to hear about this news, I never dated in high school. I see every boy as shallow and pretentious, so I never have any interest but hang out with them like I'm just one of them. One of the girls from my class who hang-out with my crowd was turning pale and sick. \" Can I talk to you?\"We both stepped out of the library. \" What's the matter?” she looked sickened by the minute. “I have something to confess”, I was taken back, “ you know something about this person?” She was a bit nervous and embarrassed “ yeah, I…..I kinda used your name when I was communicating with him”, “okay” I answered, “so, go and meet him!”. She was more reluctant, “ you see, I sent him your picture, so, I can’t really see him because I’m not you, you have to go and see him because he would be expecting to see you.” I never laughed so hard in my life, not because it was funny, but I was just too pissed,” why the hell you sabotage my life?”, “I’m sorry!”, she answered apologetically. “You are so cool and so fun, boys like that, I am so boring and uninteresting, who would want that? It was just a joke at first, but the more I pretend to be you the more he likes me, I have so much to talk to him about being you, I have nothing to talk about being me ! ”. That shocked me, I would never have thought I have this interesting life that someone wants to be like me. But I didn’t let this go as an excuse, I was not pleased, who knows how many boys she met using my name? And I wonder, what the hell is so interesting about me? \nI ended up meeting the boy, of course, I was a little curious, so in spite of my irritation, I went down to the lobby and met him. From the far, I can see him with his friends. He had this quality of being so sure about himself, maybe in his own school, his popularity gave him this confidence and might hold this standard of superiority to other students. His friends were so much like him too, and had this aura of “we’re the cool bunch!”. He was good-looking, but nothing that could shake my pants. I had so much confidence in myself too, like a bravado. I don’t know where that came from but I always had this outlook that no matter what I am facing I do not let my confidence waiver and that seems to make his stance changed. I had casual attention to boys, that no matter how good their appearance is, they are still boys, plus I did not know him, I had nothing to do with whatever conversation came up during their communications. It wasn’t me he was communicating with, and so, I ended up explaining the whole debacle my classmate did. He was blushing while trying to process, understanding my explanation, he was trying to avoid meeting my gaze, his excitement died down, and feeling disappointed that he was really meeting me but not expecting this greeting. He was the top popular kid in his school, one of the girls told me, and I should never pass up the chance of dating him! I should be lucky! Since they got the chance of ogling him across from where we were talking, they got a good view and would have done that if they were me. I just gave them this stupid look.\nThe girl stopped talking to me for some time, maybe she was just too embarrassed by what she did. A few weeks later she started hanging out with our group like nothing happened, but I casually reminded her she cannot be me again, I’m too cool to be her! I jokingly added. She would ignore that comment and pretend I didn’t say that. \nLooking back at it now, I can only smile, and I wonder what happened to that girl? Did she ever gain confidence the way she thought I handled confidence?" } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Maroon Cherry Sunglasses\n\nGenre: asian-american\n\nWord Count: 1994\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a person trying to see something from another’s point of view." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "“Cliff, could you get that pancake mix for me?” \n\nCliff looked down at Nick, who was stirring egg yolks in a plastic bowl. He was wearing a light pink apron with frills around the bottom. He was wearing a large white tanktop that was cut open on the sides. He was also wearing a black tube top underneath. His black legging shorts were a bit dirty from the egg yolk spilling. \n\n“Uh...yeah, sure.” Cliff reached towards a higher shelf, grabbing the box of pancake mix and handing it to Nick. He smiled up at Cliff in response, adding a cup or two of the pancake mix into the bowl. \n\nCliff watched Nick cook the pancakes that morning. He too was wearing an apron, except it was a plain white one. His hair was slicked back, with a string or two of hair sticking out and laying across his forehead. The two men had lived together for about a week ever since Cliff first showed up at Nick’s door. Since that day, they had started to get to know each other a bit more. This process was pretty slow, however. Cliff didn’t really like to talk about his past or about himself. In fact, he found more enjoyment and interest in learning about Nick. \n\nNick worked as a fashion designer for a popular fashion brand in his city. He was relatively well known in this industry, but he described himself to Cliff as still a fledgeling. Because of this, a lot of clothes in his closet were pieces that Nick had made himself. At times, he had even offered to sew clothes for Cliff. Cliff denied these offers, however, claiming that he didn’t have to do that for him.\n\nHe was planning on buying new clothes himself when news of him died down. As of now, he had been wearing hand me downs from Nick’s older brother, Kris. In secret, Cliff didn’t want Nick to go through the trouble of making him new clothes and felt bad, even though he did think it would be nice to see what clothes Nick could make for him. \n\nAt this point in their morning, Nick was pouring the pancake batter into a heated frying pan sitting on the stovetop. As Nick was doing this, Cliff leaned back a bit on the island in the middle of the kitchen behind him as he continued to watch Nick cook. In a way, he enjoyed these mornings with him. Every movement that Nick made, whether he was stirring pancake mix together in a bowl or carefully designing his next big piece to present to his panel of fashion designers, it all seemed to have a certain flow to it. There was hardly a break in his rhythm whenever he moved, and this mesmerized Cliff. \n\nSo much in fact, that he knocked the box of pancake mix over while his arms were relaxed on the island counter behind him. The pancake mix was spilled across the counter and stained the backs of Cliff’s arms. Cliff looked back at the pancake mix that had spilled with a disheartened expression, grabbing some paper towels and cleaning up the mess. Nick was plating a few pancakes on a large white plate next to the stove before he looked back at Cliff.\n\nCliff was still cleaning up the pancake mix when he heard Nick’s giggling from behind him. Looking back at Nick, he blushed a bit at Nick’s smile and scrunched up nose. Nick walked over to help Cliff clean up the pancake mix. As Cliff was cleaning, a thought came to mind that bothered him a little bit. He seemed puzzled, miffed, even, while trying to figure out how to bring up this kind of conversation to Nick. Biting his lip a bit, Cliff turned to Nick. \n\n“Hey, can I ask you something?”\n\nNick looks up at Cliff with a confused expression on his face. He then smiles and walks a bit closer to him, leaning sideways on the island counter and looking up at Cliff from underneath his bangs. \n\n“What’s up?”\n\nCliff looked down at Nick, trying to find the right words to say to him. \n\n“You know I appreciate you taking me in and all…” Nick nods in agreement. “And I don’t think I would be in a good place right now if you didn’t take me in that night.” Nick tilted his head to the side a little bit. “But what I’m trying to figure out is why.” \n\nNick frowned a little at this inquiry. He was a bit miffed, but tried to keep his cool a little bit. “What’re you getting at?”\n\n“Why did you decide to let me stay here in the first place?”\n\nNick felt like he understood what Cliff was asking him a bit better and his expression changed from miffed to calm.\n\n“Well, because I didn’t think that you deserved to stay out there in the rain the way you were. It didn’t matter what happened to you or where you came from, and it still doesn’t. I just knew that I needed to do something to help you.”\n\nCliff blushed a little at that statement. He hadn’t met anyone in his lifetime who was as forgiving and kind as Nick was. Regardless of how he felt, he kept going. “Wel, I mean, I could have been a criminal or something.”\n\n“Wouldn’t have made any difference to me.”\nThis answer only angered Cliff a little bit. Not because of how he answered the question, but because of how dangerous that answer was. \n\n“So it would have made no difference if I had done something absolutely horrible? You still would have let me into your home?”\n\nNick looked at him like he thought Cliff was joking. “Like I said, it doesn’t make any difference to me. It didn’t when I first met you and it doesn’t now either.”\n\nCliff only felt some type of rage over this statement. In a heat of anger, he gripped onto Nick’s shoulders a bit tightly.\n\n“I could have been trying to trick you so that I could take advantage of you! Do you not understand why I’m so bothered by this? Do you really understand why I’m so upset at the way this has been picking at my brain for this long?”\n\nNick could feel Cliff’s grip on his shoulders get tighter. He tried to push his hands off, but to no avail. It started to feel painful. Cliff’s hands were completely enveloped over Nick’s shoulders. His nails were digging into Nick’s shoulders a bit.\n\n“No, I don’t know why! Now get off, you’re hurting me!”\n\nCliff blinked his eyes for a moment before looking down at Nick. Tears were forming in the corners of his eyes and his brows were furrowed. His hands were still on the sides of Cliff’s hands, trying his hardest to pry them off of his shoulders. In that moment, a wave of guilt washed over him. He knew that he was bigger and stronger than Nick. Before he moved in with him, Cliff used to work out as often as he could. Feeling this sense of guilt, he released Nick’s shoulders from his grasp and watched Nick’s arms fall to his sides. Cliff stepped back a little to give Nick some space.\n\n“I...I’m sorry.” Cliff spoke. “I didn’t mean to hold you that hard…”\n\nNick seemed unconvinced that Cliff was truly sorry or felt any kind of remorse for what he did. He crossed his arms across his chest and looked away from him. Cliff felt hurt by this as his eyebrows furrowed a little. \n\n“I was just...really upset by what you said...and I just lashed out! You understand, right?” Cliff stared at the floor with his hands jammed in his pants pockets. He looked up at Nick who was only more upset. He bit his lip at this. Clearly this wasn’t the right thing to say. Cliff sighed softly, before doing something that he never thought he would do with anyone, much less the man who took him in while he was injured a couple of days prior. He opened up to Nick about his past. \n\n“While I was growing up, I learned from a young age that I couldn’t trust anyone that I’d meet.” Nick seemed unfazed by this statement, but Cliff kept going. “I remember when I was still about 10 years old and living with my mom and one of her boyfriends. He was just like the rest of them. He promised her that he would keep her safe, that he would keep me safe, and that they would be happy together if they ‘just worked hard’. But he didn’t keep his promise. We were never safe when we were with him. He always took things from my mom. Money, her credit card, her car keys...he took everything from her. I think at some point she realized what was going on, and decided to go out on her own without his support. So she took me with her and we stayed at this motel.\"\n\n\"We were doing okay for a while, I mean, we had food and clothes and water, so that’s all that really mattered at that point. But one day, my mom got sick. We didn’t have enough money for traditional medicine, so I tried looking around the other motel rooms for help. I came across this one guy who promised to pay for my mom’s medicine if I did his laundry for a few days. I didn’t wanna trust him and go through with it, but my mom was really sick, and I didn’t really have a choice.\"\n\n\"So I did his laundry, waiting to receive the money that I was promised to help make my mom feel better. The money never came; there was no money. I wasted what was left of our savings to do this slob's laundry only to get nothing in return for it. He was just like all of mom’s boyfriends.”\n\nNick only looked at Cliff with more sympathy for him than ever. Cliff got more emotional at this point. \n\n“So, hearing you say that about just letting someone into your house without any concern...it made me think about my mom...I’m sorry I lashed out at you.” Cliff then suddenly realized just how much he had told Nick about his childhood and his life in general. He got flustered pretty quickly as he clasped his hands together behind his head. “I-I’m sorry for just dumping all that on you, I don’t know why I said all of that…”\n\nNick didn’t say anything at first. He only walked up close to him, his hands behind his back and a smile on his face. \n\n“It’s okay, these kinds of arguments happen.” \n\nCliff looked down at Nick in surprise, eliciting a small laugh from Nick.\n\n“It’s okay, really! These things happen sometimes, but at least now I know why you got so upset. It’s my fault too. I should have explained myself more, since I wasn’t raised in the same kind of situation you were raised in.” \n\nCliff blushed a bit more as he wiped his hand down his face. “You don’t need to apologize…” He looked down at Nick with his cheeks flushed pink as his small frown turned into a smile. \n\nNick’s eyes glittered in excitement and a newfound happiness between them. He then grabbed the plate of pancakes that were still sitting on the counter next to the stove. “Hey...we should eat these before they get cold.” \n\nCliff couldn’t even protest when there was food involved in the conversation. At the same time, however, he couldn’t fathom how easily Nick de escalated the situation. This only further amazed Cliff and made him admire Nick a lot more. But for now, that thought was put to rest. Pancakes sounded like a better way to start off this morning on a lighter foot. \n\n“Yeah, good idea.”" } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on 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 shot gun and an apple tree\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 1009\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about two characters going apple picking." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "His dark brown eyes looking into my soul as his soft lips brushed against mine. I looked up, as he stood over the top of me, he told me “I love you”... Love? Did he love me? Or did he love the features and curves of my body? Did he love the thought of showing me off or did he love the inside of me that cannot be touched? I looked at him and replied “I love you too” knowing I wasn’t sure if it was a truth or a short response to break the awkward silence. As I got into the passenger seat of my sister’s car those words couldn’t leave my head. As soon as I got home he texted me “meet me in the orchard”. The apple trees? That’s an odd place I thought. My father was a difficult man, a very old school and old fashioned one. Stay in your race, don’t leave a trace, and be home for supper. My love was not Caucasian he was African and my father would never approve. So instead of worrying about him, I followed my heart. Time to go apple picking. I know what I was doing could get everyone fired up but my heart belonged to him. He was the one I wanted, the one I thought of at night, and the one I longed for. 8 o’clock time to head that way. I grabbed a piece of bread and told my dad I had an assignment to do. At midnight I was assured everyone was asleep. The milk crates stacked in the corner were now placed in front of my window. The ruffles on my autumn dress were plumped over the window and I was on my way to the orchards. The television in the living room was at 25 not too high not too low. Father was watching the house on the prairie as I crawled past the windows. The only thing I could think of was him, the man I believed I loved, the man I wanted more than anything, the man I’d give my life itself too. The uncertainty came when he’d ask why I love him and, to be honest, I wasn’t quite sure. Maybe it was the way he smiled at me when I was feisty, the way he picked me up when I was laying down, how’d he’d hug me with all of his strength and how warm his touch was, maybe it was because everything I’ve ever wanted in a man finally came true. Although maybe it was because of the night he said: “I love you”? This man had me falling in love with him emphasized on the falling part. As I snuck along town avoiding all neighbors and family friends my heart was pounding through my chest. 1st, 2nd, 3rd, 4th, 5th, 6th, and orchard. Orchard was the street where all of my problems would go away with the touch of the one man I’ve lived for. My white shoes slipped into the grass and alongside the tree’s I walked. How would he find me? I remembered the necklace he gave me an apple-basket on the outer corner of the emblem. Was this a clue? I ran around the walkways in between many many trees. Finally, a tattered white shirt with cut off shorts was surrounding the body of the one’s arms made from steel and touch warm enough to cure a cold. A basket was lay near the edge of his bare feet. I ran faster than I had ever run before, faster than light, and faster than any misleading children’s characters have run before. He was right there in front of me sure enough picking apples and laying them in the basket. But as I started to run he started to become farther. I was staring at a trail of apples picked from the apple tree running alongside trying to just reach him. My eyes were filled with water as I just kept screaming I’m here!!!! I sounded like a maniac who couldn’t get his attention. The world did not move but my feet were not in place. Did he not want to see me? Did he not understand the sacrifices I just made with my father to be here to see him? He meant everything to me and I was being blown off as if I didn’t exist to him. I shouted, I threw apples, I bit my nails, I stomped my feet, I pulled my hair, all while tears running down my frozen cheeks. A ringing began to fill my ears louder than I’ve ever heard before. Bright lights were flashing in all different directions. My hands felt like ice while my feet felt as if they were in cement blocks. I couldn’t breathe nor could I move. I could feel my heartbeat slower and slower and the sight of my other half suddenly started to disappear. Sirens began; The tornado sirens were turned up to the fullest amount possible. The lights began to flicker. Eventually, they began to dim with the slightest and slowest amount of flickering. Till everything stopped. One sound was left in my ears; bum bum, bum bum, bum bum ,bum bum. Till eventually, that stopped too. Darkness not a flicker of light not a flicker of sound. As I opened my eyes again I saw a girl, a girl in an autumn dress in an orchard. Beside her lay the man she loved and the man she never wanted to see this night. Her father sat beside them both screaming NOOO!!!! YOU DID THIS he screamed as he looked upon the sky. Soon enough I realized a red puncture in my dress as the liquid began to pour out and a shotgun in my father’s hand and a beer in the other he began to sob. I felt a cold breeze around my shoulder and as I looked up it was him. The man I loved and wanted to spend eternity with. Nothing could stop us 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: The Seeing\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 1881\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart your story with the line, “By the time I stepped outside, the leaves were on fire.” (Whether this is a literal fire is up to you.)" }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "By the time I stepped outside, the leaves were on fire, and I stopped in my tracks. I was confused. There were people in the neighborhood who were still going on their daily morning jogs, and walks, and cars driving by on the road. I closed my eyes, and counted to three, but when I opened them back up, it’s like the fire got even bigger. I thought to myself, not again. What was happening? My eyes were deceiving me, and I felt trapped in my own mind. I heard the front door open, looked back and it was my older brother leaving to go to work. I turned back around, and I didn’t see the fire anymore, but I could still feel the heat coming from it. My brother told me bye, hopped in his car, and drove away. It was a brisk Saturday, and I decided to get up early to get some fresh air. I haven’t been able to sleep lately. My nightmares were turning into night terrors, and I couldn’t shake this feeling of dread. As I began to walk, I got deep into my thoughts, and it felt like everything around me was a part of my imagination. It was fall. The leaves were turning colors, and the moon was taking over the sky. My mother owned a healing shop in the city where people who needed healing, and protection would go to her for help, and guidance. I didn’t realize how far I had walked, until I came upon the street my grandmother lives on. I shrugged and told myself why not and walked into her neighborhood. I haven’t told anybody about my dreams, or visions I have been seeing, because I knew it sounded crazy, and didn’t want my mother and grandmother to worry. My phone began to ring, and the caller ID was my grandmother. What a coincidence. When I answered, she said she left the back gate open for me and then hung up the phone. How does she do that? I never knew. I always thought it was just an intuition thing, I have that feeling too. I finally made it to her house, and the dread I had suddenly went away. Grandmothers do bring comfort. I opened the gate to the backyard and saw my grandmother watering her flowers. She had a very pretty garden, and always kept it up. I never saw a plant or flower loose its life. We greeted each other, and I helped her water the rest of the garden. Before I could say anything, she asked me how I’d been sleeping lately, and I didn’t lie. I told her the truth about my nightmares and the hallucinations I’ve been having while asleep and awake. She asked me how long this has been going on and I told her three months. My grandmother then grabbed my hand and rushed me inside. We went into her office, which was filled with books, journals, incense, sage, jewelry boxes, stones, and crystals, and I sat down on the couch near the window. I looked outside, and it really was a beautiful day. My grandmother had her glasses on, and was picking out books from her bookcase, handing me each one to put on her desk. Once she was done, she placed her hand on my forehead and began to pray. It wasn’t strange for her to do that. Prayer was something we did in my family every day, all day. There was never a bad time to pray. She closed the office door and began to sage the room. My family and I were deep into spirituality and were always aware of the company we kept around our souls and in our home. For that reason, my mother never allowed me to bring home just anybody because she said some people have demons in them, but don’t know it, and next thing you know there is a bad spirit wandering in our house, looking for its next vessel. Both my mother and grandmother had red brick clay at the front and back doors of the house for protection from evil spirits and negative energy. My body began to tingle, and I felt tense, as my grandmother was still cleansing the room. I closed my eyes and counted to five, and I started to hear voices. When I opened my eyes, there was a candle floating in the middle of the room. The sort of candle you find at the front altar in a church. It wasn’t lit, but the voices were coming from inside of it. I got up from the couch and walked to the middle of the room and looked inside the candle. There were three tiny creatures dressed in white robes, dancing around in a circle humming to a hymn. I smiled and then they abruptly stopped, and slowly turned to look at me. My smile turned into a frown, and one by one each creature disappeared, and the candle ignited with fire, blowing up in my face. I panicked and called for my grandmother, who I didn’t see in the room anymore, but I wasn’t scared. I started to feel that sense of dread again and became light headed. I walked back over to the couch, laid down and fell asleep. When I woke up, my mother, grandmother, and brother were all in the room looking at me. My grandmother was looking through one of her books, my mother was stirring a cup of tea, and my brother was shaving down a red brick over a pot. My grandmother asked me what I had saw, and I told her what happened, and the reoccurrence of fire in my visions. My mother handed me the cup of tea, kissed me on the check, and told me that everything was going to be okay. Honestly, I just wanted to know what was going on.\n“Oneiromancy”, Grandma Sadie said, while she sat back in the chair at her desk.\n“I’m sorry, what?”, Niani, replied back, removing the tea cup away from her mouth.\n“Hoodoo”, Sarah, Niani’s mom declared.\nI looked at my brother to see if he was hearing what I was hearing.\n“It’s real”, Nasir, my brother said to me.\nI was mind boggled to say the least. I have heard my grandmother and mother talk about it, but I didn’t know they were affirmed believers who participated in it.\nAs I finished my tea, and sat up on the couch, my grandmother told me that we all have gifts, and that it’s up to us to decide if want to embrace it or not. Oneiromancy is one of the several forms of divination in hoodoo, which meant the interpretation of dreams in order to foretell the future. My mother said my gift is being a seer. She said my brother went through this phase too when he was my age, but that my visions are stronger, and hold more power. My grandmother told me that the time has come for her to start training me to control my visions and to use my dreams to help people. I wasn’t opposed to it; I was actually excited. I finally felt like I had a purpose in life; a reason to live. Nasir began to tell me that dad had the same gift but was killed because of it. No one likes people who have special gifts, because they see them as a threat to normal ideologies. My grandmother told me that there are people who want to steal our magic and have always gone after our family, to either lock them up in a mental institution or kill them, taking their souls. I wasn’t asking many questions because they were answering them before I could even think about it. Boo Hag is who they told me we had to be aware of. Boo Hag is an evil spirit who torments the living, while also sending other demons to take possession of those who are weak and vulnerable. However, before my mother could finish telling me about our family secrets, we all became overwhelmed with dread and heartache. We quickly went into the living room and turned on the television, and that’s when we saw it. There was an explosion in the downtown area at a church, during a youth service program, killing three small children, who were performing a dance ritual in their white robes. My heart dropped and I fainted. I was in the kitchen, the sink was running water, and there was a bowl on the dining room table spinning. It began to spin faster, spurring fire, and then the water cut off. Signs. I took a deep breath in and a deep breath out. I looked around the room, which was getting smaller each second, and a crystal appeared in the fire. I grabbed the crystal and woke up. I was in the car. My brother was driving, my mother was in the front seat, and my grandmother was next to me holding my hand. My grandmother demanded that I tell her everything I just saw. She told me to listen to my heart, and I told Nasir to drive to the library in town.\n“What did you pull out of your vision?”, Sarah asked.\nI opened my hand and it was the crystal that was in my dream in the bowl of fire. When we pulled up in front of the library, there were police cars, fire trucks, and an ambulance in the parking lot. We got out the car, and there was smoke coming from the building. The police were trying to keep people back, and there were firemen carrying people from out of the building. My grandmother told me to go to the front line and tell the firemen where to look. I went up to the front of the line, and told one of the police to tell the firefighters to go down in the basement, near the windows that are shaped like bowls, because there is a pregnant mother stuck down there and she cant get out, but there is still time left to save her. The cop looked at me like I was crazy, but I pleaded. He rolled his eyes at me and turned his head. I grabbed the cops hand with a tight grip, and looked at him deep in his eyes, showing him what would happen to him if he didn’t help me save the pregnant woman. I let go of his hand, he stumbled back, and ran to the nearest fireman to tell him about the woman stuck in the basement. The fireman looked at me, grabbed his partner, and then they went inside. Five minutes later they came out with the pregnant woman, she was unharmed and still breathing. Seconds later the library collapsed. I walked away from the front line, and went back to my family, who hugged me. I looked at my grandmother, and she told me that I had the gift of seeing, and showing, but the showing could become a dangerous thing if I let it take control over me. I liked the showing. Just to think that this day ended how it did because of leaves on fire." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Split\n\nGenre: asian-american\n\nWord Count: 1042\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character who can suddenly see through another person's eyes — literally." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Death was quick.\n\nWell, it wasn't quick, but it sure felt like that.\n\nI thought I'd see a light and leave, but nope.\n\nI could see my body laying on the bed as I hovered around looking for a light. The only light I saw was my bed lamp which I'm pretty sure I turned off before swallowing that cup of pills.\n\n\"Hey Pri, are you awake? I wanted to tal-\"\n\nI saw my twin sister Zoya's jaw drop when she saw the bottles of pills on my bedside table. She slapped my face trying to wake up my lifeless body. It was such a thunderous slap that I heard the sound past the plane of the living and into the land of the dead.\n\nShe reached for my hand to look for a pulse.\n\nWhen did she learn how to do that? We're only in high school. I mean, I was.\n\nI saw the note she had crumpled in her hand. I must have forgotten to rip it off the notepad.\n\nI didn't leave much of a note:\n\n\"I was tired of the abuse, the ridicule, and not having support for my identity. It made sense to just leave...forever.\"\n\nShe frantically ran out of the room. Eventually, she brought in our parents, who were devastated and endlessly tried to bring me back to life.\n\nIt was the first time that I had seen my parents brought to tears. They looked remorseful. \"Why didn't you ask for help before doing something like this?\"\n\nWould they have helped me? But I did ask...didn't I?\n\nDid I mess up?\n\nIs it too late to go back?\n\n...\nMy body wasn't taking me back. It had been too long. Every attempt just took time away from me. After three tries, my body wasn't even there anymore. All that was left were the ashes collected from the crematorium.\n\nFamily members from all over the country came to my funeral. My parents told everyone different stories. \"She had a cardiac arrest, she had some health issues, some allergy medication side effects.\"\n\nSuicide was a stigma. My parents didn't want to be seen as failures. Did they really care that I died or was it more what other people thought? For all that I had left on Earth, there wasn't much to keep me staying.\n\nBut I guess, my soul was missing something. Maybe that's why I wasn't leaving. I felt myself being pulled towards my sister, my other half. Literally. We were born, attached by the hip.\n\n\"Zoya, how are you doing?\" I found myself sitting in a therapist's office. Are there therapists in heaven? Also, why is she calling me Zoya?\n\n\"The circumstances through which you lost your sister must have been heavy on y—.\"\n\nWait, is this actually the therapist's office? Am I in Zoya's body? Am I Zoya?\n\n\"We were in a bit of a tiff, and things were just getting better between us. I'm trying my best to cope, but it feels like I've lost my other half.\"\n\nZoya responded, but I'm still here, too. Do I have any control?\n\nAs I thought of picking my nose, I saw Zoya's arm lift towards her nose. Unaware of my presence, she used her other hand to push her hand down.\n\n\"Is everything okay?\" Sheila, the therapist looked just as confused as I assume my sister was.\n\n\"I need to go use the restroom...really quickly.\"\n\n'We' were in the restroom as quick as possible.\n\nFacing the mirror, Zoya asked, \"Pri, are you there?\"\n\n\"Yes!\" The word uncontrollably left my mouth. As I looked in the mirror, I saw her/our face contort into shock.\n\n\"How?!\"\n\n\"I don't know. Maybe this is a second chance?\"\n\n...\n\nFor the first time in our lives, my sister and I walked together down our high school hallway. I don't want to sound cliche, but my sister was what some may call, the popular one. She didn't really stand up for me and wasn't much of a sister to me. In fact, she was one of my bullies.\n\n\"Hey, Zoya! We're here for you.\"\n\n\"Stay strong, my love.\"\n\n\"You're a warrior!\"\n\nMy sister wasn't a warrior, but of course, she was getting all of this attention. I was the one who died. No one cared, obviously. I was just Zoya's sister.\n\nAlthough we were born together, I've despised her since we were detached from each other. She outed me as soon as she found out. Made my parents think I was crazy, did nothing to stop other people from hurting me, and had a horrible boyfriend who did everything to ridicule who I was. She's always done everything to hurt me, and I finally have the chance to make sure she knows how much she screwed up.\n\n\"I'm tired of your ranting. Do I have to deal with this even after you died?\"\n\nZoya must have heard my thoughts and responded. Well, it makes sense. We were sharing a body.\n\n\"Well, I'm tired of your crap and your theatrics. I don't even think you cared when I died. You probably thought...good riddance.\"\n\n\"I was going to say sorry before you decided to just kill yourself.\"\n\nI gasped so loud at her audacity. Did she ever care or was it just to make herself feel better for being such a bitch to me.\n\nAs we nudged each other for headspace, my fury silenced her. It was finally just me walking down the hallway.\n\nI walked into the front office. Zoya, being the student body president, had to give the announcements that morning for an important event, but I had other plans.\n\nI grabbed the mic and sat myself down on the rickety blue chair. I ignored the notes that were placed in front of me.\n\n\"Good morning everyone, this is Pri...I mean Zoya speaking! Hope that everyone is having a great morning because I sure am. Let's talk about second chances today.\"\n\n*This tale is not meant to be glorifying suicide in any way. It's important to speak up about what you are dealing with and get the help you need before it's too late. Be kind to one another and make sure that you're paying attention to all of the signs.*" } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Ennui\n\nGenre: asian-american\n\nWord Count: 1012\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about someone who wants to stay home alone, only for their plans to be disrupted." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Since the pandemic started, my life outside has already disappeared but my life inside our home continues as if nothing is happening outside. But, I often watch the television, rolled my eyes when I get irritated because the news is all the same! All of them, none of them even change, so, because of my irritation I turned it off in a matter of time. On social media, heck, give me peace of mind. Damn, I need those. When the President of the country declared that 18 years old and above are allowed to go outside, some are happy about it, of course, who wouldn’t be? House is like a prison, but it was fun! And, I want to go outside too, I want to get out of this prison, but who am I kidding? Agh! When was the last time I stepped out on the soil of this city? The last time I roamed around with my friends. The last text I got with them is that they are asking me if I can come with them on their vacation in Palawan? Even my Mother called me saying, “Maybe, we should go to Ilocos, Vigan.” She is happy while declaring to me that! My Aunty? Well, she just called me and said, “Come with us, hija.” I had nothing to say... Even my other relatives are planning to have a vacation in California with them, of course I refused. My other close friend just asked me out and I couldn’t refuse! So when I stepped outside the door, the feeling was overwhelming, shit, I’m paranoid. My feet just paralyzed in a seconds before I start walking, a walk like a robot. When finally I saw her, I saw a glint of happiness in her eyes. She must be very happy that finally… finally she got out with permission from her parents. Funny, she looked like a kid who was like it was her first time going outside alone. I can’t see her face but her beautiful eyes are shining because of the rays in the sun reflecting on her eyes. A face mask and a face shield is required to go outside. I groaned when I stepped on something and that something is shit! Curse to that dog and the owner who let it take his shit on the sidewalk. No choice, I have to go home. And, good thing she waited for me patiently but she looked like a lost dog who doesn’t even know where she will go. Poor her, she waited for me and I didn’t even apologize! Damn you, self! I actually enjoyed it but agh! Can I just stay home? Watch Netflix and chill on my sofa. Eat until I become bloated. I want inside instead of this polluted air I’m breathing, the smell of the smoke, I rather smell the dead mouse. Good thing, we go in a good kind of community. And, it is where I lost my phone, snatched. I was really in a bad mood that timr and I nearly smacked someone’s head just to remove the bad feelings. What a phenomenal person. Just me being sarcastic. And realization hit me, the outside world is dangerous, very thrilling. Adventure everywhere, perfect for those people who want it. But, the outside world is beautiful, and there are many fun things to do outside. And that doesn’t mean I choose it, I really want to end someone’s happiness just because of my lost phone. Agh! Good thing there are none important. Outside world is really unpredictable, very thrilling, not my cup of tea. Well, there are also so many dangers inside, if… if you are not being careful. Everyone thinks that I am an extrovert but come to think, I’ve been paralyzed for a second when I step my feet on the ground, not overreacting. Everytime I go outside is when I need to buy groceries, when I’m out of stock. Scrolling on my social media, so many people shared that they already had their vacation in a nice place, like I care? \nSince it started and the class was suspended, I realized that there are many destinations in my apartment, so many to explore. I didn’t even notice that because I am too occupied with studying and hanging out with my friends who are extroverts. I can’t say no to them, because everytime they asked me out, they didn’t buy ‘no’, instead they pulled me with them. Of course, I am with them, should I refuse? I have nothing to say about that. They usually said the magic word which is “Let me treat you”, and like that, “Sure, I’ll go”. Me being a fragile tree, used to be happy with them, of course that was just an act, I want to go home quality! I tried to remove the ennui feeling of going outside and tried planning about exploring outside and not just inside my apartment, because I looked like a home sick. Seriously, when I agreed to come with them, I felt like my home was calling me and telling me to be with them. Jeez, they don’t know that I am feeling about going home already and my home didn’t even know that I want to be with them. I want to go home! I have this feeling that when I am staying outside hanging out with them, I feel like time is slowly running, but when I am inside, the time is very fast as I expected and that is what I want. I never thought that when I grow up, that is the time when I feel less exciting outside, what’s wrong? I don’t know...\nEven though I wanted to be outside in this beautiful prison, I still wanted to stay here. It was dangerous outside, I couldn't risk it. In the end, all my plans about going outside with them are now off my list. Feel kinda ennui while staring at my notes. I shouldn't have planned all of this. I want to stay home. Like, forever." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Launch Day\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 2529\n\nPrompt:\n\nSet your story in a coffee shop that’s just introduced a new line of autumnal drinks." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "The aroma of black coffee seeped through the cracks of the doorway of The Sandhill Coffee House, piercing the early morning with the smooth, rich scent of roasted beans, and … hints of vanilla, spice, nuts, and Fall.\n\nIt was an important day in York, Georgia – the day that the Sandhill Coffee House presented its seasonal line-up of new coffee blends.\n\nAnd people around the small town looked forward to the day – even the non-coffee drinkers. Not only did the coffee house launch its fall flavors of coffee … they launched new autumnal flavored hot teas, baked goods, and homemade soups.\n\nThe invigorating odors coming from the 35-year, two-generation, family-owned business bridged the gap between the non-coffee, coffee, and tea drinkers. It just drew everyone into the cafe.\n\nWell, it wasn’t just the products that drew the folks in – it was the family that ran the place that played a big part in its popularity – Simon Jones, his wife, Teresa, their two youngest children, Sadie and Scott, and Simon’s brother, Matthew and his wife, Leigh Ann.\n\nSimon had loved coffee for a long time, and while building houses, he learned how to ‘build the perfect coffee blend.’ He sold his contracting business and opened the coffee house within two years. Simon became a certified roaster and master coffee blender.\n\nSadie went to college overseas and studied coffee making and roasting. Scott went to business management school and became a certified accountant. Matthew handles the marketing. Leigh Ann bakes, and Teresa handles the homemade soups they serve.\n\nSo, today was a special day.\n\nThe sign outside the door said Closed. It was early – it was 6 am. They would be opening their doors in 30 minutes. There were fall decorations inside the windows. Over the outside speakers, the sounds of old Motown tempted, if you will pardon the pun, all who passed by into smiles.\n\nMatthew yawned as he walked outside with the signs to put on the sidewalk advertising the new flavors. He had on the uniform of the store – the colors matched the season – orange, browns, and black. Someone in a truck honked as they passed. “Hey, Matthew!” A voice called through an open window.\n\nHe turned around, and waved, “Hey!”\n\nSadie Jones walked across the street, carrying her backpack, and dressed in a similar uniform to her uncle, with her long, chocolate brown hair pulled back in a ponytail. “Good Morning, Unc.”\n\n“Hey, Tiny Dancer! You ready for the unveiling?” Matthew asked as he worked on the sign.\n\nSadie stopped, “You want me to get, Daddy?” She reached for the door.\n\n“Yeah, holler for them to come up. You got your phone? I want to do a live.” Matthew started looking for his phone in his pockets. “I think I left mine in the office.”\n\nSadie reached into her pocket and handed her phone to him. “Here you go. I will be right back. DADDY!” Sadie called as she walked into the coffee house.\n\nScott was standing behind one of the three cash registers. “Lord, you are loud this morning.” He was putting money in the register.\n\nSadie smiled, “Good morning to you too, Grumpy. By the way, you left this on the kitchen table.” She tossed him his wallet as she passed by. “Unc says we are going to do the unveiling.”\n\nScott caught his wallet and shut the register. “Will you grab my phone off my desk, please?”\n\nShe nodded, as she passed through the cafe, greeting a few employees who were sauntering about, and walked through the kitchen, where her aunt and mom were working on soups and baked goods with the kitchen staff. “Hey, Mom. Auntie. Unc wants everyone upfront for the unveiling.”\n\n“’ Morning, wild child. Thank you. Go tell your dad, he is in the office.” Teresa said. Sadie kept walking.\n\n“Morning, sweetness,” Leigh Ann called as she stuck a pan full of baked goods in the oven.\n\nSadie went back through a hallway where the employee lounge was located, as well as offices – Matthew and her dad’s office, her and Scott’s office, and a conference meeting room.\n\nShe threw her bag in her and Scott’s office, grabbed her apron, and a hat, pulling her ponytail through the back. Her brother’s phone was sitting in the middle of his desk. As she went to grab it, someone poked her from behind.\n\n“You ready, daughter?” Simon stood behind her – dressed in uniform, sans the apron, and hat.\n\nSadie nodded. “Unc said it is time to do the unveiling.”\n\n“So, this is all you today, baby girl, and I wanted you to know I think you did a good job with the flavorings and the roastings.” Simon fixed the front of her hat and turned to walk out the door with her.\n\nSadie sighed, “I am nervous, can you believe it?” They walked back up the hall.\n\n“You shouldn’t be. You have done a lot of research and I think we made some good choices,” He held open the swinging door to the kitchen. No one was in the kitchen.\n\nSadie nodded, “Maybe. Hopefully.”\n\nWhen they got outside, they joined the rest of the employees around the front of the store. Sadie handed Scott his phone, and Matthew took his phone from Simon, giving Sadie her phone back.\n\n“So, big brother, want to say a few words before we do this?” Matthew handed his phone to his assistant who would be filming. Scott and Sadie stood against the window, behind their dad and uncle, and the sign. Teresa and Leigh Ann were on the other side.\n\n“Well, guys, this will be our 35th launch of autumnal season drinks … And what a ride it has been to get this together. I have to say, I couldn’t be prouder of these blends, especially since, of the six, I only did two, and Sadie took over the reins on the other, and all of you had something to do with these. It is a team effort and all that. Let’s hope everyone else likes them.” Simon said and looked at Matthew.\n\nThen he added, “And we appreciate you all wearing your masks, and remembering the protocols. Staying six feet apart, and sanitizing and cleaning. We are small-staffed, and today everyone is here, but I see what we are all. Teresa and Leigh Ann will be taking temps all throughout the day, and if you feel sick at any point, don’t come to work or go home. We will take care of you, and you won’t lose your jobs. If you see a customer come in that is not wearing a mask or following the protocols, they will be asked to leave. Not going to put any of you in the line of fire, find me or Matthew or Scott or Sadie. Your health and our customers’ health is the most important.”\n\nSadie piped in, “And we have as you all know, marked off the areas, and changed the tables around and marked the lines off to keep everyone as safe as we can. Everyone was given five masks with filters and without, and your gloves and own personal hand sanitizer. These pockets on these aprons will hold them all.”\n\nMatthew nodded, “COVID-19 is still out there … we all know that … several of us have had to deal with it personally and with members of our family. Everyone as of today as a clean bill of health.”\n\nThere were about a dozen employees besides the family members. Everyone was standing a good distance from each other as they could and they all had on masks, though some hadn’t pulled them over their noses yet.\n\n“Sadie, Scott, Teresa, Leigh Ann, need you guys up here.” Everyone gathered around the sign, and Matthew motioned everyone else around. “Um, wait. We need someone to take a photo as she does the picture.” Matthew said.\n\n“I’ve got you.” Malik Anderson, owner of the bookstore across the street, and Sadie’s fiance came jogging up. Sadie grinned and passed him her phone. He stood next to Matthew’s assistant.\n\n\nMalik is a former college basketball star – a power forward – who came back home after he was injured, and his career came to a stop. His grandmother had owned the bookstore, and Malik took it over. “Wait to come up with the save, Malik,” Simon said. Malik nodded and pulled his own mask over his face.\n\n“Everyone, pull up your masks,” Simon said, and he turned to his kids, “Even if we are talking in this thing … just talk loud. We want to be proactive here.”\n\n“OK, we are on Facebook Live people.” Matthew’s assistant said. “Just like we rehearsed.”\n\nSimon looked at Matthew, who nodded. Simon stood out from the sign and the group. “Hey. We are here at the Sandhill Coffee House at 172 N. Maxwell Street, in downtown York. The aromas of freshly baked goods, pots of homemade soup and, of course, our blends of special coffees have us all excited, and hungry.”\n\nMatthew said, “I am Matthew Jones, and this is my brother, Master Roaster Simon Jones, and our Sandhill Coffee House family. We are about to do our big reveal of the new autumnal blends we have for the Fall and wanted you our Facebook family to get the first look.”\n\nScott stepped up, “Our coffees, teas, soups, and delicious baked goods are all homemade, and recipes that come from years of experience.” He pointed to his dad, mom, aunt, and uncle, “and a little of bit of newness.” Scott walked over to Sadie and gestured to himself and his sister.\n\nSadie had her hand on the sheet covering the sign. “This season’s blends combine the comfort of tradition and the boldness of the new day. So, here we go.” She slowly took the covering off, and added, “We have our traditional Autumn Blend, the Genuine Pumpkin and Caramel Spice coffee blends.”\n\n“And now, we are adding a Cinnamon Graham Coffee – with a mix of cinnamon-brown sugar simple syrup blended with a graham cracker – sure to be your favorite as a coffee or a latte,” Scott said.\n\n“We also have our new Maple coffee – which combines fresh maple, clove, and other spices,” Matthew said.\n\n“Lastly, we are introducing, my personal favorite, a Mexican Spice blend with cocoa powder, cayenne pepper, and other spices,” Simon said.\n\nThe sign was revealed.\n\n“For our teas, we have our original Vanilla Chai, Pumpkin and Cinnamon and Autumn Blend, as well as a Maple and Brown Sugar and Spicy Apple. We have four soups for the fall – our famous Grandma Nannie’s Potato Soup, Chicken and Rice Soup, and Auntie Ella’s Vegetable Soup with two new – Sandhill Sweet Potato and Garlic Soup and Sandhill Spicy Roasted Butternut Squash Soup.” Matthew said.\n\n“And last but not least, our bakery is smelling oh so good with fresh batches of our Fall cookies and cupcakes – like Spicy Pecan Shortbread cookies, apple pie cupcakes, and pumpkin cheesecake cookies. So, we open in about 20 minutes, come on over.” Scott said.\n\nThe camera zoomed in on Simon. “COVID-19 hit everyone hard. A lot of lives have been lost, businesses have closed and people have gotten sick, and are still getting sick. Here at the Sandhill Coffee House, we take this very seriously, even now, months later. We wear masks. We wear our gloves. We clean a lot, and we social distance. We have done curbside and delivery, and today’s our first day to open our seating area. You will notice we have spread out, and there will be special markings for customers to follow. We ask that you respect that and respect us, and each other. We are requiring masks when you order, and requiring social distancing. To get sugar or milk or special things for your drinks, ask for it, and we will give you individual wrappings and cups. We ask that all trash goes in trash cans and that there be no grouping of more than four people if possible. It is the only way, we will beat this thing. Thank you.”\n\nMalik took one last picture and looked at Matthew’s assistant who was turning off Facebook live. He said, “And that’s done.”\n\n\n“OK, let’s hit it, people. Hit your stations.” Matthew said taking his phone back from his assistant, and he wiped it down with a cloth.\n\nMalik handed Sadie hers. “Hey, can I talk to you a minute over her?” He asked nodding to a spot near the outdoor dining area. Sadie nods and follows him over.\n\n“Nervous?” He asked her as they leaned against a brick outer wall, facing each other.\n\nShe shook her head. “Maybe? I think I will finally be able to sleep once this launch is over.”\n\n“Well, I wanted to wish you luck and to give you this. It was in the mailbox this morning – since we didn’t get it yesterday ...” It was a large manila envelope.\n\nShe read the return address. “The Specialty Coffee Association of America.” Sadie looked at him. “Oh my.”\n\nSadie tore into it. As she pulled it out, she hollered, “DADDY!” Malik smiled behind his mask. “Open it.” He had his phone out taking pictures of her.\n\nSimon walked over, “What trouble are you two starting over her?” Simon asked, and then he saw it. “Is that what I think it is?”\n\n“Yes.” Sadie pulled it out – her master coffee roaster designation.\n\nSimon held out his hand in a fist, and Malik's fist-bumped him. “You did it, squirt. Malik, get her picture. We need to post this.”\n\n“After all those months and all those roastings, finally.” Sadie stepped away from the wall and held up her certificate. “Wait, Dad, you get in the picture.” Simon walked over, and they both held it.\n\nMalik asked, “With the masks on?”\n\nSimon said, “Do one with them on, and without them on.” After the pictures were taken, Simon took the certificate, “I have the frame ready.” He walked off.\n\nSadie laughed, “My father.”\n\n“It’s launch day, you know, and he’s proud of you, his little roaster,” Malik said, and leaned down, “And I am proud of you too.” He pulled his mask to his chin, and kissed her forehead.\n\nHe quickly pulled his mask back on, and started across the street, “See you in a bit.”\n\nShe nodded. “You know, you just can’t do that, kiss my forehead, and leave me hanging like that … that is the spot,” Sadie said.\n\n“Bring some of the Spicy Mexican Coffee home tonight and we will continue this then.” He waved as he trotted back to his store.\n\nSadie walked around to the front door. Scott was standing there, texting. “Master Roaster, huh? Congrats, sis.”\n\n“Thank you, Master CPA,” Sadie said.\n\nScott put his phone back in his pocket. Sadie took in a deep breath, and smiled, “I smell cinnamon, maple, vanilla, and nutmeg.”\n\n“Her brother grinned, “I smell money.” They walked inside, and Scott flipped the sign to open.\n\nAnd launch day at the Sandhill Coffee House 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: From introvert to extrovert. Crossing boundaries\n\nGenre: asian-american\n\nWord Count: 1023\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about an introvert and an extrovert who are best friends." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Facing the fears I grew up with was challenging. Latino - Chinese born and raised, obviously two worlds collided with no winners on the battlefield. The Chinese factor, still predominant, on my mom side; my dad’s first generation was loosing ground. But his blood was pure. On my mom’s side, she was 2nd generation. So I was literally 70% Chinese with the other 30% Latino complications. Very conflicting and compelling at the same time.\nI am the 4th in line, the youngest, the girl in the family. Mom’s favourite if you would’ve thought. Nope. The oldest of the boys, of course the first one took the throne away. It was a 3 to 1 score. I decided not to lower my guard and go against the flow. Yeah right.\nEvery time we sat at the table for our meals, no talking when you are eating, only when you finished. Say good morning, good afternoon, good night. In Chinese. Study hard. Succeed. No questions until after meals are eaten…… being the last one; again being number 4th, had to wait a long time. If my bother number was lucky to be listened to, was a lucky situation from Mom or Dad to be considered.\nMy parents way of teaching was to let us know survive on our own devices. Perhaps brother number one , who got all the acknowledgement was to teach us everything he learned from our parents. Encouraging. My mom praised: ‘you will know how to react to life’s situations’ when ur time comes.\nHello? - I’m the only girl in the family Meh \nThe 4 of us grew up looking forward to study totally different careers: Administration, Mechanics, Programming and Advertising. All of them demanding lots of communication, skills. Being bold and confident in every single way, was the key to survive. No room for shy people lady!\nAs adults we all departed our own separate ways. \nGuided by trial and error; that was at least better than waiting for the lucky lady to come and help us.\nTime passed by and the opportunity to migrate to another country showed up in the horizon. I love challenges, I took it. A door of opportunities just opened bright for me. A new world of opportunities was to open In front for me.\nJobs just started to become more scarce in my country as the government was not keeping up with solving the country’s problems. I decided to give a try. Maybe an opportunity is waiting for me somewhere. \nThe question was - where?\nI went to the Canadian Embassy and applied for a visa, hoping my credentials would be beneficial to complete and graduate on my career.\nFour months later, an acceptance letter arrived. More documentation was required, so I proceed to request the required documentation for the final approval. Also needed were the passports photos. \nI was also interviewed to prove the authority’s my fluency in English. \nTo reinforce my English pronunciation , I continued studying English pronunciation, to ease on my Spanish speaking pronunciation that identifies easily this language. I like to sing, so I started to sing along the music being played on the radio. \nAt that time, karaoke was starting to be the favourite for parties and weddings; and weekend family reunions.\nOne Monday morning, I received a letter snd an informative package. I got approved and accepted to migrate to Canada. I just needed to go and pick up my passport.\n2 years later, I embarked on a plane were the final destination. \nOnce landed, had to study English first. Then apply for a job. I had to break my shyness. I went back to having an increased sense of insecurity. \nLots of verbal training and vocabulary, still practicing, shy on conversations. I was afraid of saying or sounding awkwardly stupid, my introverted personality increased.\nI had to find a job. \nI had to break the ice.\nI had to gain my confidence back.\nA year passed by snd landed my first job. A friend recommended me to work at a dry cleaners company. I had to quit due to my transfer to a higher level English and fluency. Yes, it sounded too good to be true, but still not confident enough to carry a proper conversion. Still shy.\nMany opportunities to apply for a job were present at that time, it was easy to apply, and the employer supported you on the time slot work, to allocate time for studying the new language.\nDue to my grammar and vocabulary, I only needed to be more fluent. Needed a different type of job. By word of word mouth, I learned a new company was looking for people to work filling orders, with a possibility of moving up in the original position for what they applied for. And I applied for it. And got accepted. \nI started as a packer. Then I was given an opportunity to process online orders, filing, administrative support. That forced me to be more fluent on my pronunciation. One day, I overcame that fear, and took over different positions throughout the company. I also learn a new job: manufacturing and packing of teas. I was offered to implement their packing snd blending of their products, security and design of their online business. The company also gave me opportunity to edit their product catalogue along with the maintenance of their website. The company started not only to export, imports of finished related products were added to the variety of products already being sold e everywhere. \nI created possible scenarios for the CTPAT (Customs Trade Partnership Against Terrorism) where I explained and prevented overseas incoming shipments being tampered before and during shipment to their destination. \nMy English started to become my steady everyday talking language, taking over my mother tongue, Spanish.\nI became the translator needed for business in Latin America.\nI even forgot when that change happened. My shyness disappeared. Not only speaking wise, but writing wise. Now I’m writing to keep my anxiety down during lockdown times. I have discovered that writing ng relaxes me. And keeps my mental health in good shape." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on 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 is 'not' well\n\nGenre: asian-american\n\nWord Count: 1458\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart your story with a character saying, “Are you coming tonight?”" }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "The sunlight would keep stinging your eyes unless you, yourself would stand up to draw the curtains. With legs cocked up on the table, Hemal slowly massaged her temples, convincing the disturbed soul of hers. Random thoughts came swirling inside her skull no matter how hard she tried to suppress, reforming in a hurricane of unsettlement. It’s funny how the world has changed nowadays. Her eyes kept shuffling towards her phone, getting pulled by a wireless rod. With a fraction of seconds, she snatched her phone and pressed some buttons until the ring was produced. \n\nExpectedly, she was answered by a familiar voice.\n“Are you coming tonight?” Hemal asked, her voice agitating in her throat. \nSilence\n\n“Aryan?” She spoke in alarm, her voice volunteered with fear. \n\n“Yes Hemal! I am here only! I will come in half an hour. Keep the set-up ready.” Aryan replied, his agitated voice barely audible from the continuous honking blaring from the back. \n\n“Where are you?” Hemal yelled, her phone now at a measurable distance from her ear.\n\nThe phone disconnected.\n\nHemal sighed and took a sip from her ceramic mug, as she mumbled assuringly “It’s just the bad connectivity, nothing unusual. Nope, moreover, he’s a man now. She rolled her hazy eyes about around the surroundings, fixing her eyes at nothing but a white wall.\n\n\n\nIt was an unusual morning. The sun deviated golden shades as it outshined its silver companies. I adjusted my hat in front of my eyes, blocking the defying rays and pulled up my round spectacles. I winced at the already formed mud path between the white-spotted hay grass and then glared at my cacked shoes. \n\n“Here we go!” I yelled and ran towards either side, my long skirt pulled up till my knees with my hands, as I splashed mud on my way. \n\nThe little dirty run caught me panting and coughing but as I looked back, my origin stood a long way. I gazed to the resting piece in front of me, a fine playing park. I caught my breath as a voice rang out in the distance. I looked back to find a shadowy figure of a brunette dude in blurred blue shorts and a casual shirt. He was running towards me. \n\n“Aryan” I grinned. Taking the chance on the knock, I ran forward. My limbs ached but the unseen forces couldn’t stop me, I kept swaying my hands. \n\nFinally, I came across the farthest end of the park, decorated with bowing pine trees and thick bushes. I stepped inside the outgrown shrubbery and sat there, scratching here and there once in a while. \n\nAfter continuous gazes on my watch and the endless countings of little dotted flowers, I stepped out. Maybe he wasn’t coming. I stroked off the tiny bits of grasses and thorns and started walking. I kept wondering at the clear sky, my curiosity boiling up as I saw the sharp-clawed eagles flying over my head. My gazing head was pulled up straight by an eerie shriek. I tried to ignore the noises first, afraid it might be something or someone I would prefer not to run into but the sobbing grew louder and louder as my steps approached and somehow, they sounded familiar. \n\nAs my feet took me further, I came across the sitting area. Empty jhulas or swings moved vacuously offering the rough air, a ride on way. Beautifully carved stones were scattered all over the place, all empty and still except...except one. \n\nA chocolate haired aunty (adult) was sitting on one of the stones, her back facing me but she wasn’t the one crying. \nMy heartbeat somersaulted as my orbs travelled further. I rushed forward with a sudden jerk, my mind rambling with jumbled thoughts, unable to think what to do now. I kneeled before my ten-year-old brother. It was Aryan who was crying. \n\nHis forehead was dipped in splotches of blood and so was his shirt. Scratches were scattered all over his face as if forming freckles and big drops heaved his eyes. My stomach grew cold as I fixed my teary eyes at my blood-stained brother, my hands still trembling. An uncomfortable gulp formed in my throat as I tried to roll my tongue. “What-how?” \n“I-I tried c-calling you.” He said, his sob growing even louder as he covered his vigorously bleeding elbow with his other arm. \n\nMy heart curled inside my soul, its curtains dripping with guilt. How could I? My-my brother came running towards me for help and I- I just ran away assuming it to be a little game of his. I should be ashamed of being such a woeful sister! At that time, I wished I could go back to that particular Tuesday. The day, when I was all ready and set but my tenacity had faltered. That day, when I was on the verge of ending all my problems but I didn’t. Under the fading light of the yellow bulb, the knife was just a few centimetres away from the tips of my fingernail then WHY? Why didn’t I? A thick tear fell down my left eye. At least then, I won’t be standing there right then, accusing myself and watching my brother sobbing with blood. \n\n“Aryan! What took you so long and-” before Hemal could argue any more, she was pulled in a tight hug. Her face glowed up with a smile as she lightly patted his brother’s back. \n\n“I am here now didi, please, now you can relax.” \n\n“Ok fine” Hemal sighed “So...you ready?” \n\nSilence met her ears. “What happened?” She asked, her forehead now forming thin creased linings.\n\nThe boy was staring down at his feet nervously, tangling his fingers with one another, his heartbeat speeding a race car. “I-I just.”\n\n“You’re scared?” Hemal offered the words.\n\n“Hm”\n\nA delicate touch tapped his shoulder and quieted him. He looked up, meeting his sister's glinting eyes.\n\n“Place your palm on your heart. Like this.” She instructed.\n\nAryan imitated her without raising any questions. \n\n“Now say ‘all is well.”\n\n“All is well?” Aryan exclaimed, almost bursting into chuckles. “Why?”\n\n“Listen, that heart of yours is very turbulent. You have to learn to fool it. Blind him by making him believe ‘all is well’ and trust me, everything will turn out just fine.”\n\nHemal’s word sliced through Aryan as if giving him the sparkle of light, he has been looking for so long, and confidence refilled his soul. “Let’s go then” His cheerful voice bounced off the four white walls. \n\nBoth the siblings were sitting on a velvet dressed sofa graced with a marble centre table. Set up on the glass, was a laptop in front of whom, an anxious man sat. Aryan kept tapping his shoes against the marble tiles, his fingers crossed for a good omen. \n\nHe looked up at Hemal and said “You check.” \n\nA cocked brow shot in return. “Oh common, it’s just the Lsat! You can do this.”\n\n“It’s not JUST the Lsat. It’s THE Lsat. Please Hemal. Please. Be a good sister.”\n\nShe sighed and pulled the laptop on her lap. “Fine.” Her eyes shifted from end to end as she visited the result page. The finger taps on the keyboard assured Aryan, he has been logged in...now it’s just the...results! \n\nThe result page was loading and …. Hemal stared in horror as the score lined up in front of her eyes. It was a 144. \n\nHemal clenched her eyes tightly and laid back. \n\n“What is it?” Aryan asked, his voice now full of desperation\n.\nHemal nodded as a tear slipped down her closed eyes. \n\nAryan’s hand crawled up and covered his mouth “No! This can’t be...I can’t. I did so well.” His voice now moulted in sobs. He ran into the balcony. \n\n“Aryan!” Hemal followed. \n\n“It’s all over didi. I am not good enough.” Aryan spoke as he rested his back against the railing. \n\n“No. It’s not! Hard work always pays off okay? Be brave. It’ll all be fine.” Hemal tried to consolidate but they both knew the words were not good enough to heal the damage those three digits have done. \n\n“No didi. It’s all over. Mom and Dad had so many expectations! They sacrificed so much for me! And look at me. I am just a failure.”\n\n“Don’t talk like that Aryan. Please listen to me.”\n\nTears overflowed his eyes. The pale face of his sister blurred with the rest of the burning lights, flickering a flame of despair in the young youth. \n\nHe placed his trembling fingers on his heart and said “All is not well”, flinging his body to the other side, waving off the world from the 22nd floor, while her sister yelled his name from the farthest end." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: A Picking of Your Choice\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 1011\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about two characters going apple picking." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "It was a crisp fall afternoon here in Brick County. The air smelled fresh and the sky was an array of colors from orange, pink, and yellow. The birds had gone back their nests and the animals were quietly settling down. I was exhausted from all of the morning chores and needed a break to ease my mind. Working on a farm can get to you from time to time if you let it. I looked across the fence and saw my next-door neighbor, Tyler. Tyler was the prettiest girl I’ve ever laid eyes on. She was like a doll. Her rich chocolate skin, curly big hair, and the way she pouted her lips. Tyler was so kind and giving, even when people didn’t return the same. Brick County wasn’t the nicest place to live in. It was in the middle of nowhere and unfortunately, Brick County is racist. People like Tyler weren’t welcomed nicely here. However, no matter how many people tested Tyler she never let them get to her. My family has always loved Tyler. Both of our families were close and Tyler and I were best friends. I’ve had a crush on Tyler since elementary school and never got the courage to ask her on a date. Time is filled with swift transitions. I couldn’t wait around forever. However, my shyness and anxiety always ate me up inside. However, today was going to be different. I was determined to make Tyler mine forever. I needed to think of a plan. It’s not like I could just go up to her and ask her, “Hey Tyler will you go on a date with me?” No! No! That was too easy and simple. I need to think of a grand gesture. Something to sweep her off her feet. Then, I looked across our farm and an idea popped into my head. I sprinted across the street and saw Tyler reading a book on the porch eating a juicy red apple. She must have heard me panting heavily because she turned around with a perplexed look on her face. “Umm hey Jackson, are you okay?” she said. I wiped the sweat running down my face and wiped my hands on my pants. God, I was a mess. “Hey, Tyler. I don’t mean to pop up on you like this but I wanted to ask where you got that apple from?” I asked her. Okay. That was bad but, I clam up when I get nervous. I planned to ask Tyler if she wanted to go to a movie Friday night. Tyler looked at her apple and laughed. “You should know genius. I get them from your farm. Your parents let me go apple picking every Sunday afternoon. In return, I use half of the apples I pick and make your parents an apple pie.” My parents never told me Tyler went apple picking. Hell, I didn’t even know we grew apple trees! I needed to have a conversation. Tyler waved her dainty hand in front of my face. “You there love?” she asked. I nodded my head and laughed nervously. Come on Jackson! Just ask her! Tyler put down her book and picked up two straw baskets. “It’s supposed to be raining tomorrow, so I was going to go picking today. Would you like to join me?” she asked. She extended her basket toward me. I took it from her hands as she grabbed my hand warmly and led the way to the farm. Her little hands fit perfectly into me and I couldn’t help but smile on the inside. “You look like you’ve never seen this before”. I put my hand on the back of my neck. “That’s because I haven’t,” I admitted. Tyler laughed and shook her head. “Well, there’s a first time for everything”. She guided me through the trees and explained how you could tell whether the apple was good or not. To be honest, I wasn’t listening at all. I was too distracted by her beauty. We went to almost every single tree possible and our baskets were filled to the rim. “Oh Jackson, look at that one! That’s like the most perfect apple I’ve ever seen. It’s so high up though.” she pouted. I laughed at her childlike aura and dropped my basket. “Allow me”. I said. I scooped her up and ran towards the tree. Tyler laughed and screamed as I felt her wiggle in my arms. I lifted her light body as she retrieved the apple. I let her down gently. She looked at the apple and then at me. “Smell this apple, Jackson”. She said. I gave her a weird look as she held it out to me. As I reached down to smell the apple, she pulled me towards her and kissed me deeply. I was stunned by what was happening but I wrapped my arms around her waist pulling her closer to me. I looked into her eyes and felt right at home. I was caught in the rapture of love. “I knew you didn’t come over here for a stupid apple Jackson”. she said. I looked at her and kissed her some more. I felt her melt under my touch as we both pulled away. “It’s about time. I got tired of waiting for you to make a move, so I decided to take matters into my own hands”. Tyler said. “I’m glad you did.” I laughed. Having her admiring me felt so strange. It felt like I was in a fever dream. After all of these years, I finally had her. After all of these years of not being picked, I can now say that I’ve been chosen. Tyler picked up our baskets and intertwined her arm with mine. “Let’s go, we have a pie to bake”. I took an apple from her basket and took a huge bite. It was so sweet and juicy. “Lead the way captain”. I said. She playfully slapped my arm as we walked our way home before the dawn turned into dusk." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Aftermath\n\nGenre: asian-american\n\nWord Count: 1788\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about someone who everyone thinks is an extrovert, but is actually an introvert." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "The hits were satisfying to land, one after another, my gloves slamming into my opponent's jaw, cheek, and then I pulled back for another.\n\nThat was my mistake. My opponent's eyes focused on the opening, and he hooked me across the face, the force of it launching me back.\n\nThe dull, muted sounds from the beginning of the round were completely gone. Now I could hear the crowd, hisses, screams, cheers, gasps.\n\nA referee was asking me something and impatiently I waved a hand. Fine. I tried to mumble it past my mouth guard, and the ref finally understood.\n\nI forced myself to refocus, these were the final few minutes. Maybe even less. I breathed deeply in and out, and as the judge nodded for the round to start, I leapt at my opponent, pushing him back with a kick.\n\nThe sound of impact was loud, and for a second I was worried, until my opponent got back up, and waved the referee away.\n\nI eyed the ticking clock. And didn't let up, pummelling my opponent with jabs and crosses, ending it off with a kick.\n\nThe crowd screamed again, I barely heard the match close, and finally I bowed to the judges, realizing dimly that it was over.\n\nMy scowling opponent and I bowed to each other and touched gloves. Briefly, I looked him over, worried there was actual damage.\n\nBut he moved away, and I knew it would be eighty times more embarrassing if I went after him to check up on him.\n\nSo I focused on the unravelling, loosening my gloves, pulling off the sparring headgear, and disentangling my hair from the velcro.\n\nMy mouth tasted awful, and as always, I tried to finesse my way out of it. It failed, and as always I looked like some drooling pitbull removing its dentures.\n\nMy father clapped a hand onto my back as I stepped off the mat, grinning like crazy.\n\n\"Nice one, Fatima. That was such a good match, your best one yet.\" My dad steered me by the shoulders, still beaming as he navigated the bustling crowd and unending stream of ambushers trying to congratulate me.\n\nThe pats on my back felt amplified, and I squirmed, resisting the urge to run.\n\nI managed to get through it all with just a few nods, pressed smiles, and mumbles when people really, really pushed me.\n\nMy mother was waiting for us at the back, and I could see the worry and disapproval etched over her lined face.\n\nShe didn't approve of fighting, and on top of it, she hated Kung Fu's Co-ed matches.\n\nToo bad, because my over-enthusiastic dad couldn't care less who I fought, as long as I showed what a strong, independent girl he had raised, and won occasionally.\n\nAnd we all knew he really had the final say in this household.\n\nWhen we finally got to the car, I felt so sweaty and gross that I wanted to jump out of my skin, not just my clothes, but if I stayed to change, more people would bug me.\n\nThe car's cool air was almost painfully refreshing against my warm, flushed skin.\n\nI leaned back against the leather seats, and tried to source the hundreds of aches I felt. In martial arts, the pain was never just from the hits. It was from the tension coiled punishingly in your muscles as you waited, blocked. It was in the bruises from defense you didn't even feel during the fight.\n\nIt showed up the next day with awful consequences, in pulled leg muscles, or pain from punches that had doubled overnight.\n\nI tried to trace the pain, analyzing what was damaged. After over six hours of matches, demonstrating forms, I would say the serious, notable pain was in my punched face, the bruised shin from two matches ago, and my entire left leg, which was on fire.\n\nWith a sinking feeling, I realized I probably wasn't about to make skating practice tomorrow. Ah shit. My skating competition was painfully close, only a couple weeks away, meaning that I really needed practice.\n\nOn the other hand, I could tell all my friends I was injured, and everybody would respect my need to be left alone.\n\nI sighed heavily, realizing that I would have to make extra time here and there between kung fu practice to fit in the extra training.\n\n\"Fatima?\" My mom was saying something and I reluctantly leaned forward to listen. \"Are you listening to music again?\"\n\n\"No, kya huwa?\" I asked, switching seamlessly to Urdu.\n\nMy mother tapped something on her phone before replying. \"I have already cancelled your skating practice tomorrow. You need to-\"\n\n\"Fatima is fine. Why do you always jump the gun and make these choices? She's a strong girl, and she needs to keep training.\" My dad scoffed, turning into another lane, and my mother and I made eye contact in the rearview mirror.\n\nI mouthed a thank you, grateful and too exhausted to deal with dad. I'd just miss it tomorrow and deal with his disappointment later.\n\nMy dad wasn't finished though. \"What do you think, Fatima, should we have a party this weekend to celebrate your wins?\"\n\nWins. I realized with a lurch that I had won today. Third place overall, out of a hundred student martial artists. My father was happy now, but in a weeks' time, or after I failed a test, he'd be calling me the 'second loser' (silver, according to my dad, was the first loser).\n\n\"Uh,\" I started, wondering how best to phrase hell no politely. \"Maybe-uh-\"\n\n\"We could even invite your friends over. The kids from kung fu? Some school friends?\" My dad was already planning it seemed.\n\n\"I have a lot of homework.\" I said tentatively, knowing it wasn't going to work. I already knew his next four arguments.\n\n\"You need to get out more! Finish the homework between now and then, there's so much time if you aren't on Netflix all the time.\" My dad replied, and once again, I knew, this debate was effectively over.\n\nI decided that if I answered, I would definitely lose it and either yell things I couldn't take back, or cry.\n\nSuch a funny thing, I was in two sports that involved me being on display: kung fu and skating.\n\nBoth of them were in front of crowds, a test of technical mastery, stability under pressure, and enormously physically demanding. One would assume that I would be an extrovert.\n\nWait no, not one would assume, everybody assumed. Everyone assumed that I was just dying to be on stage, just dying to show off my skills, dying to have a loud, obnoxious and demanding party to celebrate me getting my ass kicked for an entire afternoon.\n\nNobody ever caught on to me not answering questions, pushing myself into corners of rooms, hiding from literally everyone, all the time.\n\nEverybody actually saw it as another form of self-centredness. Nobody viewed it as honest introversion, but instead as me thinking I was too good, too cool to hang out with them.\n\nOn personality tests, my friends cackled when I entered in 'introverted', not believing that someone like me, could ever want to be away from people.\n\nAnybody who skated or was a martial artist would know how much these 'on display' sports actually required you to be buried in your head. Strategizing, preparing, controlling yourself.\n\nSo I strategized, get out of the car and run. Then I prepared mentally, inhaling to chase away the simmering anger that my father's lack of understanding had conjured. Then I controlled myself up to the final moment.\n\nThe minute the car pulled into the driveway I leapt out of it, barely hearing my dad say something about taking the night off, and ran into the house.\n\nLimped really, but the point is I was out of the uncomfortably tense environment of my car.\n\nThere was only one person who would understand this, and she was currently upstairs, no doubt texting her friends.\n\nI entered Zehra's room, smiling at the music that greeted me. Zehra's newest love was rock music, and I thoroughly enjoyed the raw sound, fun lyrics. If I said I liked it though, Zehra would probably drop rock like an uncool hot potato.\n\n\"And the conquering hero returns!\" Zehra gasped theatrically and jumped up. \"Ew, you smell.\" Her perfect, small nose wrinkled, and a little self consciously I was reminded of the beak that shot out of my face.\n\n\"Thanks, Zee. Definitely what everyone wants to hear after getting their ass kicked.\" I replied, and sat down on her floor.\n\n\"Let's hear it, more details!\" Zee dropped herself back into the wheeled chair in front of her desk.\n\n\"Tomorrow, please?\" I pleaded, really just wanting to vent to the one person who actually listened to me.\n\n\"Fine.\" Zee smiled at me, but only really grinned when her phone beeped.\n\n\"Your new girlfriend?\" I teased, smirking knowingly.\n\n\"Would you please shut up?\" Zee snarked. \"So what's up?\"\n\n\"How's physics?\" I asked, remembering that my sister had only stayed back to cram for a test.\n\n\"Can you please focus, God, I swear you have ADHD.\" Zee flapped a hand, vigorously prompting me.\n\n\"Dad wants a party. I want a girlfriend, but I literally don't have the guts to ask out anyone, and honestly, I'm embarrassed because this morning when I was leaving the grocery store, I said bye and 'I love you' to a cashier. Also, the tournament went like shit.\" I said it all in one breath, sprawled out on the carpet.\n\nZee burst into laughter, and despite my desire to yell at her, I had to start laughing too. And listening to her bona fide, laughing-so-hard-I'm-red-in-the-face-and-choking laugh made mine grow into a loud, crazy one too.\n\nSomedays, I felt like I knew why Zee and I were so different. I was eldest, burdened with a nonstop train of expectations. She was used to getting her own way, succeeding on her own terms.\n\nThis was why, despite me coming out first, Zee had a girlfriend already. Why she dressed on her own terms, listened to music my parents disapproved of.\n\nAnd, if Zee was as introverted as I was, there was no way on heaven or earth that she would have allowed for a party to be thrown.\n\n\"God, you are such a loser. Fine, I think I can pencil you in today, my young grasshopper. Lay it all on me.\" Zee finally got out of it, and magnanimously patted the side of her bed.\n\n\"Okay, so the first thing,\" I grinned and relocated, and spilled all the tea to the one person who saw me as who I was." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Apple Pickers\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 2953\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about two characters going apple picking." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "“Pay five dollars a bushel.” Orin Conner said to the two sad sacks standing at his door. It was early October and the weather in Nedrow had on the chilly side for the past two weeks dipping down close to 32 degrees on two occasions turning the green apples into a happy red and ready for picking. He had nearly forty acres with half of it apple trees that were some of the best apples in upstate New York, or the northeast for that matter, hell the entire country including Washington State and their mushy MacIntosh stock. Both men nodded and Orin continued. “We start at sunrise which is seven sharp. If you’re not here, you won’t be picking.” \n“Yessir.” Said the tall lanky one name Eugene. “We’s the bes’ pic-ars there is.” \nKluth stood there in silence with a spooked expression on his face making Orin think that Kluth appeared as if he had spent the night in the alley up around Burnet Ave. in Syracuse where there were sizable homeless camps. Neither one of them impressed Orin who usually had a bunch of high school native kids who were in top physical shape and could really pick some apples in a short time. Both of these men looked like they had passed their prime and would wind up being more of a liability than a good hand in the orchard. \nSutter Creighton Farms once owned by two families on Tully Valley Road, the Creighton's and the Sutter's, became a single farm when Orin’s father bought out Creighton’s share in 1946 after the war and made Sutter Farms one of the best places to get apples and fresh pressed cider. Out of towners were clued in by the locals and would come from as far away as New Hampshire and Ohio, plus they were shipped often to destinations out west near Washington State. \nAs he saw the brothers Eugene and Kluth Stahan saunter away in their well-worn overalls, Orin wondered if he should take down his sign that advertised for pickers out next to the road. It would be a good harvest and he needed experienced pickers out there, not these two brothers who appeared as charity cases. Orin did not have anything against those types of people, he knew that the overall preconceived notion was that they did not really work hard enough for their pay. Of course some of the farmers said that about the Indians from the reservation, but it turned out they turned out to be quite productive in the field even if they did not always seem to have a healthy respect for showing up on time. \n“Gotta watchum, Orin. Them two will rob ya blind if ya let them.” Mitch Roark commented while they sat on Orin’s porch gazing out at the sunset in between the rows of apple trees that would about two dozen pickers in the morning pulling down the ripe apples. \n“They don’t strike me as that way.” Orin scratched the stubble on his chin.\n“Them folks are all like that.” Mitch let the air press through his teeth sounding like a tire with a leak in it. \n“We’ll see.” He nudged his old neighbor. \n“Cider is top of the line.” Mitch complimented the beverage as he took another swallow.\n“I’m tellin’ ya, that stuff if my big seller, ya know.” Orin nodded proudly.\nApple picking is hard work since you spend most of the time getting up and down ladders and pulling the apple from its happy home to plop into a wooden bushel basket below. Once filled, then you had to carry the filled bushel basket to the flatbed truck. It would take about three to four hours to fill the flatbed with baskets and then the driver would drive to the processing barn and return empty to be filled again. All of this took a lot of work and a bushel basket was heavy by anyone’s standards. \nKluth and Eugene were waiting at the gate when Orin and his younger brother and foremanTheodore, better known as Peck by the picking crews, went to open the gate to the orchard. It surprised Orin that Kluth had a ladder resting on his shoulder while his brother Eugene had a nice well oiled and sharp pair of shears. After over twenty years in the business, Orin had never seen anyone bring tools to pick apples, because everyone expected him, the boss to have all of that. \n“You didn’t need all that.” Orin smiled as the padlock opened with a twist of the key. \n“It’sall right, I brung it anyway on account we work bettah with our own tools.” Eugene pointed out.\n“I got plenty of tools.” Orin pointed to the side of the barn where there were all kinds of ladders and pruning tools.\n“But me and Kluth likes using what we know.” Eugene waved his hand and shook his head.\nBy midday, the sorts declared that the Stahan brothers were in the lead by a substantial margin as Kluth worked the ladder and Eugene managed the basket quickly discarding the worm-eaten rotten fruit which was not as much as he was expecting. The crews were supposed to put that fruit into a barrel that would be mashed and spread out on the ground as a natural fertilizer.\nWhen the brothers ended the day, the paymaster handed over a good payoff to the brothers while other workers looked on in envy. \n“Kluth and Eugene, sign here.” Danny O’Flannery the paymaster put the document in front of them. While Eugene signed his name, Kluth just marked an X.\n“He don’t know how to sign his name?” Danny was a bit surprised.\n“Massah, my brother don’t hear nothing.” He looked Danny in the eye, something he would dare not do in his home town in Mississippi. “When he was a youngun, ain’t nobody had time to teach a Colored boy how to read and write. It ain’t that he ain’t smart, it’s just he’s never been to school.” \n“What about his name, Kluth. I ain’t never heard of such a first name.” Danny tilted his head.\n“Named af’er his Uncle Kluth. When he was a young man, he sassed some old store owner for not servin’ no colored.” Eugene scratched his neck that was covered with mosquito bites from his day in the orchards. “Them hooded riders come one night and lynched him and then burned his place down. He was mama’s oldest brother who served in the war and those men killed him like he was some criminal. Mama named him Kluth so we would never forget what them men do to us. \nThe story he didn’t tell the paymaster was the one that made them leave their home in Mississippi when the brothers were working in the fields when one of them bosses hit him with an iron rod on account he would not answer his question. Dumb cracker never even knew that Kluth was deaf, but Eugene who had sworn to protect his younger brother ran to the boss man who was getting ready for a second blow, when Eugene grabbed the weapon and turned it on its owner. By the time Eugene got done, the man would never be able to utter a comprehensive sentence again. \nRunning was the only option and Eugene had enough to pay for two train tickets north before the hooded men came looking for them. Mama had to go to Montgomery to stay with her sister for a spell until things cooled down a bit. For Kluth and his brother, they could never return to Mississippi. They had done a little bit of this and a little bit of that, but found that even above the Mason Dixon Line where Jim Crow did not exist, there was still plenty of harshness to go around. With the money they had made, Eugene could pay for a month’s rent on their room at the Y.M.C.A. in Syracuse. In the morning they would get up before sunrise and pay for two bus tickets back to the orchard.\n“What was your take on that quiet one?” Mitch said as he bit into a freshly picked apple.\n“I dunno.” Orin slid his legs in between the slats on his porch that ran completely around the two story ranch. \n“Quiet ones are usually the ones who done some bad stuff. Never seen it otherwise with their kind.” Mitch took another bite, “Good crop this year, old man.” \n“Thanks.” He pushed his straw hat over his eyes as the final streaks of sunlight exploded in the sky.\n“Keep an eye on them boys.” Mitch waved his finger as a warning.\n“They doubled the production of all the crews, even the Bently’s.” Orin looked at Mitch.\n“The hellya say.” He chuckled. “They probably cheating.”\n“Mitch have you ever had a good thing to say about any Negro?” Orin blew air through his lips.\n“Some of them is good.” Mitch shook his head.\n“Yeah, like who?” He smiled.\n“That Reverend King seems like a good sort.” Mitch nodded, “But some of them uppity Negroes he has surrounding him are trouble. Feel like they are gonna start trouble.” \n“They already have. Had riots last summer.” Orin pointed out. “But I got this feeling that whatever their gripe is, they may be right.”\n“Ain’t given them no right to destroy other folk’s places.” Mitch snarled.\n“Maybe they’re just looking for an even shake.” Orin chuckled, “Now some of them boys from the reservation, they’re trouble from the get-go.” \n“Sure, sure.” Mitched waved him off.\nNext morning Eugene and Kluth were standing at the locked gate when Orin came out to unlock it. He greeted them as he opened the gate, Eugene still had the ladder hoisted on his shoulder and Kluth offered a cordial smile, but again remained silent. At a table in front of the barn, Orin had hot coffee in a couple of urns to which he turned his head and said, “You boys go ahead and help yourself.” \n“Much obliged.” Eugene tipped his dirty straw hat as Orin walked to the barn to make sure everything was ready for another day of apple picking.\n“Trouble.” Mitch was there in the shadows looking out at the Stahan brothers helping themselves to coffee.\n“Second day they were waiting at the gate for me to open it and they have their own tools and ladder.” Orin explained. \n“Last night the grange got broken into, ya know. How do you know they ain’t the ones who done it?” Mitch looked surly to Orin since he knew Mitch was partial to whiskey. \n“If you are looking to be poking a hive of bees with a stick, maybe you should go on home and call it a day.” Orin watched a bus pull in from the reservation as a dozen boys from the reservation got off shouting and taunting each other. To Orin, these were the ones he needed to keep an eye on. He had caught more than one of them with sacks hidden in their clothing to stuff apples into as they went along the orchard. He also did not hold it against them since most of their parents were finding it hard to get by on what they were getting from the B.I.A. \n“Hard being a Negro these days.” Zack said aloud as Eugene was on the ladder today. Zack worked with his twin brother Dirk and they were part of the Wolf Clan of the Onodaugas who were in senior year at high school and both of them were stars on the Nedrow football team and the undefeated lacrosse team to which their ancestors had invented the sport. \n“S’alright.” Eugene nodded knowing that it could take a lot less to start something if he wasn’t careful.\n“Why don’t he ever say anything?” Dirk pointed at Kluth.\n“He can’t hear a word you say.” Eugene glanced at Dirk to size him up. \n“Honest!” Dirk was amazed and delighted. “Whhhhhaaaaaaaaahhhhhoooo!” He yelled his Indian war cry, but Kluth just kept picking through the bushel basket. “You ain’t lying.” \n“Why would I lie about a thing like that.” He glanced at Dirk again feeling that the boy wanted to do something else, something cruel to Kluth.\n“My uncle is deaf, but he’s old.” Dirk declared.\n“Yeah, ma don’t expect him to last another winter.” Zack shook his head.\n“We injuns got a lot in common with you Negroes.” Dirk observed.\n“How do ya figure?” Eugene saw that Dirk had meant no harm in his observation and there was a lot of truth in what he said.\n“We get treated like crap by the white man.” Zack growled. \n“We work like dogs and get paid next to nothing.” Dirk tossed a rotten apple into the woods near the orchard.\n“How many times have I tolja punk, don’t throw the fruit into the woods?” It was the foreman Mr. Wright who was older than the owner and twice as mean. Kluth saw Mr. Wright running toward Dirk and unable to hear saw the man with the iron bar who had hit him in the head making him deaf. The doctor told him that Kluth would have some hearing loss due to a degenerate nerve in one of his ears, but the blow with the iron bar completely destroyed the nerves resulting in his deafness. As Mr. Wright neared, Kluth threw a nearly full bushel basket at the old man who screamed out before falling with the heavy basket on his chest. The shock of such a thing happening, put Mr. Wright into cardiac arrest. The ambulance would arrive twenty minutes too late to save the old apple picker.\nThe police were also called and they charged Kluth Stahan with assault and manslaughter. In tears, Eugene begged the officers to let him go with them on account of his brother’s deafness, but they said he could not and he stood there helplessly as he watched his brother loaded into the back of a police car and driven away. It would be several hours before Eugene could get to the county courthouse where he was told his brother had confessed to the criminal charges.\n“How could he do that?” Eugene was in a rage, “He can’t hear a word you’d be saying to him.” \n“Mr. Stahan, you need to calm down.” Warned the desk sergeant.\n“Can I see him?” Eugene asked.\n“Visiting hours are not until Monday.” The beleaguered sergeant informed Eugene.\n“I tol’ him. I tol mama I’d be with him and never leave him.” He put his hand over his eyes to cover his tears.\n“He’ll be fine.” The sergeant assured him, “We will take good care of him.” \n“You don’t understand-”\n“You don’t understand, he killed a man this afternoon.” The sergeant told him as he sat next to him on the bench where Eugene was sitting wiping the tears from his eyes.\n“He didn’t mean to.” Eugene explained.\n“Sorry, rules are rules.” The sergeant got up and resumed his place behind the counter. With nothing more to be done, Eugene walked to the Y.M.C.A. \nIn the morning before sunrise, there was a knock at the door and Eugene got up to see would be knocking on his door at this hour. When he opened the door two policemen were standing there with very solemn expressions on their faces. \n“Mr. Stahan?” One of them asked.\n“Yes, what is it?” \nThey sat him down on his bed and told him that his brother Kluth had hanged himself in his cell with his bedsheet that he had shredded. As tears flowed from his eyes, they drove him down to the morgue where his brother lay under a sheet as if he had forgotten to get up to go pick apples. He really didn’t hear much of what they told him, because he had let his mama down. She told him to keep an eye on Kluth and he had failed.\n“Sure you don’t want to stay on. I got some room in the barn. We could fix it up as a room for you.” Orin suggested when Eugene showed up an hour late. The crews were already out in the orchard. “I can always use a good man like you.” \n“I ‘preciate you askin,’ but I think I’m goin’ to head back south, maybe Georgia this time, suh.” His smile was just a bandage over the deep wound he was still suffering from. “Maybe I’ll stop by ‘Gomery and say hello to my aunt and my mama. I had ‘em send Kluth’s remains down there to the cemetery where our folks have been laid to rest.”\n“Do you really want to go back to the south with all that separate but equal Jim Crow stuff?” Orin asked.\n“At least down there, I know where I stand as a man. Up here I gotta guess. Mr. Cpnnor, you was alright to my brother and me, but my apply picking days are over.” He grinned at Orin who bowed his head.\n“I’m sorry things didn’t work out, Eugene, you was a good apple picker. You and your brother.” Orin watched Eugene walk toward the cab waiting in front of the house. He took one look back, waved, got into the back of the cab and was gone.\nA few months later, on April 4, Orin got the news that Reverend Martin Luther King Jr. had been shot in Memphis, Tennessee and for a moment all he could see Old Eugene Stahan’s smiling face picking apples with his brother in his orchard and he did not even bother to wipe the tears from his eyes." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on 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 Aid.\n\nGenre: asian-american\n\nWord Count: 1187\n\nPrompt:\n\nAn apparent coincidence occurs. Write a story about a character who suspects paranormal, spiritual, or criminal causes." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Life was simple. Uneventful. Humaira was always content with what she had. She never complained.\nShe was a pious old woman. Her relentless faith in Allah, whom she believed was the one and only true God was what had kept her going through all that she'd been.\nAnd she had been through a lot. Not only did she lose her husband after only a few years of marriage to tend to her young son on her own, but after her son was up own his own two feet, he left her as well for the life of the hereafter.\nExcept for the few occasional tears, Humaira still never complained.\nIf anyone would try to sympathize with her or count out her misfortunes, she'd smile and mutter, \"It's all a part of Allah's plan.\"\nEven when her husband passed away, she brushed away her tears and hid down her face. \"You know, Allah calls those sooner to him who have the purest of hearts.\"\nNo matter how hard things got, Humaira always found a bright side to focus on.\nWhen her son and daughter-in-law were killed in a crash, Humaira was left with her young grandson, Ahmed.\nThe old woman had her world ripped away from her, yet she didn't break down. Far from it.\nShe did what most people were unable to do. She stayed strong. Knowing she had a young soul depending upon her, she had to stay strong for her little grandson.\nAhmed grew up to be a good Muslim, as pious as his grandmother. He was a sweet young boy, his little heart basked in innocence.\nHe prayed five times a day, showed respect to his elders, did everything his \"Amma\" asked him to do.\nThough blessed with a radiant heart, Ahmed was not the strongest kid for his age. He had always been a frail boy.\nOne day, when Ahmed was about twelve years old, he did not return from his late noon excursions with the village boys.\nHumaira was instantly worried, because her grandson being such an obedient child, would never do anything to cause distress to his poor old Amma.\nMuttering prayers in Arabic, she ran out, as fast as her withered bones would allow, to look for Ahmed, only to find him collapsed on the threshold of her house. His small body shook with convulsions.\nAfter consulting with the village hakeem, it turned out to be a heart disease.\nLeft with no choice, Humaira used all her life savings to take Ahmed to the city and get him treated.\nMonths flew by, and if there was any change in Ahmed's condition, it only took a turn for the worse.\nHumaira was forced to sell her house in order to keep Ahmed admitted in the hospital, but there was no point. All the doctors had said the same thing. There was nothing they could do.\nNone of the cardiologists in the city were confident enough to operate on Ahmed because of his severe condition. They even suggested she should just take him back and spend as much time with him as he had left.\nThe only alternative for Humaira was to take Ahmed abroad and get him treated by some Dr Jacob Michael, the best cardiologist there was in the field. Yet, even if she wanted, Humaira could not afford the money or the resources to plan an international excursions, let alone book an appointment with the most expensive doctor out there.\nWhen Humaira could no longer keep up with the hospital bills, she took Ahmed back to her village.\nThey did not even have a house left to come back to, so Humaira used her good name to borrow a small hut from one of her neighbours which lay on the outskirts of the village.\nAfter everything, Humaira was still not deterred. At this point, the world might have give up, but not her.\nShe often heard her mother say, \"the world is just a trial for us human by Allah.\"\nHumaira had always understood the gravity of those words because she had to experience those over and over again. Her entire life had been a series of endless tests and trials, but she had always found a way out. All because there was a bigger force out there in the universe; who looked after her. She had faith in her lord, her Allah to help her.\nBitter tears squeezed out of her eyes when she lay them on the emaciated form of her grandson. His face, which once looked angelic now had ghastly pale skin and sunken eyes. There was nothing more she wanted than to somehow put the colour back to his skin.\nNo, I can't give up, she decided. She had not tried every weapon in her arsenal yet. The world can't help her, but there was still someone who could. She had her lord. Her Allah.\n***\nThe sky flashed with lighting. The clouds rumbled as the pitter-patter of rain resounded with the screech of tires on wet pavement. \n\"It's too dangerous, Sir!\" The driver shouted at the top of his lungs, yet his voice was cut short by the crackling thunder. \"I'm gonna have to pull over.\"\nThe man on the back passenger seat looked up with a frown.\"But it's the middle of nowhere!\" \n\"I see a hut at the end of the field! We can wait out the storm there!\"\nIt was evident by his clenched jaw that the man in the passenger seat did not appreciate being held up. He wanted to protest, but he understood he had no choice. It would be safest to wait until it stopped pouring.\nHe gave a reluctant nod to the driver, who screeched the vehicle to a halt. They had indeed parked in the middle of nowhere. With the exception of a small hut nearby, there was nothing to see but an endless field stretching into the horizon in every corner.\nThe two men jumped out of the car, each holding an umbrella - which rippled with the wild wind, doing an awful job of providing cover from the rain. Floundering through the muddy road, they approached the hut. A small glow of a flickering lamp from the window was proof enough that the hut was not deserted.\nThe driver knocked incessantly, banging the door as hard as could so that the sound would get drowned by the storm.\nMore than a couple minutes passed, but there was no answer. The driver could feel his heart sinking. Both men were now fully drenched below their chests. The umbrella could only protect their heads from the slanted droplets.\nAs they were about to run back to the car dismissively, the door opened. On the other side stood Humaira. Her head was wrapped around in a large scarf. It was obvious from her bloodshot eyes, and her swollen face that she'd been crying.\n\"Ma'am,\" the driver began. \"My name is Amir, and this is Dr Jacob Michael. We were passing through, but we had to stop because of the storm. If we could just wait it out here...\"" } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Four Lights\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 1597\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character putting something into a time capsule." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "T/W: racial violence, abuse\n “Class, I am so proud of the enthusiasm with which you all have jumped at this Great American Time Capsule project. You have put maximum effort in both the item you plan to put in the capsule and the presentation for why you chose this item. You have all taken very seriously the preservation of our history to future generations.”\n His tone changes slightly as he comes to stand right in front of me.\n “You all have done well with the exception of one person.”\n He looks down at me expectantly, and it’s not because I’m the only black guy in the class. And despite his anticipating my remorse I simply say, “You’re right. We haven’t seen what you’re going to put in that stupid capsule.”\n That gets a laugh from the class. And a kindly shake of Mister Schumacher’s head.\n “You consider giving our ancestors a snapshot of what America means to you to be stupid?”\n “Given that I would be saving them the eyesore of a horrid dystopian shitshow,” I replied, “‘cruel’ would probably be a more apt descriptor. They can save themselves the headache by watching Idiocracy on Netflix.”\n As always, he talks with the patience of Mister Rogers clone as he pushes back. It’s all very eerie.\n “We are, Philby, considered to many to be one of the best and freest nations on earth. Certainly, you can find something good to say about 21st century America.”\n “Freest nation in the world, huh? Then I should be free to pass on this stupid assignment.”\n “No, if you pass on this assignment, you will fail. I expect you to have your assignment ready tomorrow.”\n That night I sit at the dinner table with the same layer of tension surrounding the pot roast and peas. \n “How’s school going?” my mother says out of ritual.\n I try to change the subject to how tragic it is that the killers of Breonna Taylor now roam free, the only person facing charges is the one who missed and accidentally shot into the house next door. That if only he had shot into her dead corpse, then he would have gone free too. How fucked up that was.\n My mother tells me this is impolite to discuss at the dinner table. And I scoff at a world where arguing for the humanity of individuals is “impolite” but minor things like whether someone will pass a history class is what the scholars discuss.\n My father, for his part, does manage to squeeze in that her ex-boyfriend was a thug of some sort. I think to point out that our slave-owning founders would count as “thugs of some sort” but can already feel the stinging slap on my cheek. I forego the smart talk and leave the table to go work on my project.\n While in my room the TV plays in the background. \n There’s this episode of Star Trek: The Next Generation playing where Captain John-Luc Pricard is captured by an alien species known as the Cardassians. His captor Madred uses various methods of torture on the captain before asking him a simple question. He points to the four lights hanging on a lamp and asks, “How many lights are there?” \n I stroll into the class the next day that episode on my mind. \n “Where is your capsule item?” says Mr. Schumacher.\n “Don’t worry. I’ve got it.” I say, taking my place at the front of the room.\n “I thought about putting a piece of paper in it so people could just write their own story. That is what America is after all? A story written by the victors. Oh, some of the victims exist, but we beat them into submission with shamed looks, silence, and shunning. Maybe you called them ‘unamerican’ or deleted them on Facebook because of their ‘spicy’ posts, but we all have our way of shaping history through the violence of the crowd.”\n “I also thought about putting a mirror because maybe America is what you make it. The black abolitionist Frederick A. Douglass, after all, saw in the constitution his freedom. The white abolitionist William Lloyd Garrison saw a deal with the devil. Maybe America is like the blind men and the elephant. One feels a tree. The other a rope. The other a vaccuum cleaner.” \n “But both of those versions would be a cop out to weaker minds. Because it would let America off the hook. America whose two biggest exports are our sex-filled movies and our guns. America who drone strikes civilians without flinching. America backs most of the world’s dictators. America who ravages the world’s climate just so we can have a bigger hummer than the jackass down the street. If I’m being honest, America can be summed up in one action.”\n I open the capsule, make a big loogy, and spit in it.\n “There are four lights,” Pricard says.\n The entire room gasps. Afterwards, once the class has emptied, Mr. Schumacher reads me the riot act as best he can.\n “What is it? This Black Lives Matter business has gotten you believing that the country was only built on slavery and racism.”\n “Not only slavery and racism. There’s a dash of misogyny in there too. Along with a smidgen of genocide. And of course when I say dash and smidgen I mean a whole damned lot.”\n “What are mad at?”\n I smile, angry that he would even ask the question, “I don’t know. I guess I’ve got nothing to be mad at.” \n The walk home has an eerie inevitability. I drag my feet the whole way knowing the news of my fiasco has made it to within my walls. At school, it’s almost like fiction. It’s bright. It’s bold. It’s nothing.\n But when I get home, I slink through the door. Take off my shoes. Shower, and head off to bed. \n When asked “How many lights are there?”\nPricard has rightly said, “Four.”\nMadrid presses a button unleashing untold amounts of pain through Pricard’s body.\n“No,” Madrid says, “there are five lights.”\n I lay in bed not expecting sleep, thinking of Pricard. I close my eyes, the monster comes, and that’s when the torture begins. \n The next day, I limp through the door with big-rimmed sunglasses.\n “You’re late,” Mister Schumacher says, his voice producing a headache.\n I can barely lift my arm to look at my watch, so I take his word for it.\n “I’m sorry. I missed the weather forecast this morning. Was the forecast sunny with a five percent chance of rain in Mister Schumacher’s homeroom class?”\n I turn to him, beating him to the punch, “You want me to take them off?”\n He doesn’t dare. Instead he just says, “As long as you have your item, we can forget it.”\n I stand in front of the crowd and produce a copy of Martin Luther King’s letter from a Birmingham jail. I explain how in this letter, Martin Luther King set forward what would become a new America. An America where peaceful resistance toward a higher goal was something to be lauded.\n “I was going to pick the constitution, but it’s my contention that this is the constitution. Anytime you get into an argument online about the racial foundations of our country? Who do people–both left and right-- usually cite. Those against affirmative action will scream that we should be judged by ‘the color of our skin and not the content of our character’. Or those who defend rioters and looters will say ‘riots are the voices of the unheard.’ Our constitution or declaration of independence are an ever-expanding philosophy which people of color add onto.\n “So, do I have disagreements with history? Yes. But I still know that despite all its bruises, scrapes and nicks. America strives for perfection.”\n Beneath my glasses, my eyes wander, struggling to say the final words.\n “Despite our disagreements, I know America is great.”\n I leave school a little defeated, knowing that’s not exactly the way I felt. But it was closer to what he wanted than my first going.\n When I finally arrive at home, I drag myself into through the door. I barely notice “Mister Schumacher” is sitting in the living room. In the dark. This used to send chills down my spine, but I shrug today having gotten used to it. The show now over, I call him by his natural name.\n “Hello, Dad.”\n “Hello, son.”\n I can tell from his posture he is in the second stage of the abuser: remorse. But as usual he doesn’t say it at first. It’s just, “You did a great job on your presentation today, son.”\n I simply say, “Thanks dad.”\n And then I’m about to head to my room when he finally adds, “I’m sorry I got a little bit out of control last night, son. You OK?”\n “It’s alright dad. That’s what bandaids are for,” I have to say, for in these walls, there is no dissent.\n And then I go to bed and think about that episode of Star Trek.\n Madrid tortures him over and over trying to get him to admit that there are five lights instead of four. Pricard never does. Persisting to the end. Finally, he does escape when his crew comes to the rescue leading to Madrid’s own imprisonment.\n But once back on his spaceship, Pricard is having lunch with friends and it’s then that he confesses that after all the torture. All the mind-games. At one point, he looked up the ceiling actually saw five lights instead of four. \n Welcome to 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: I'm a Grown Woman\n\nGenre: asian-american\n\nWord Count: 1301\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story where a character runs into someone they’ve seen in their dreams, or enters a building they’ve dreamt about before." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "This is how my world will end. The sun starts to move backwards and the moon rises in the daytime. Colours will invert themselves and all speech will play itself backwards. My feet will stop touching the ground and the air will be endlessly light. Light. Leaking into my mind, staining the images forming on the backs of my eyelids. Beautiful, swirling patterns, carving themselves into flesh. Swirling. Whirling. \n\nAt least this is how it always happens in my dreams. My subconscious mind leads me into a lovely restaurant: dim lighting and a 50th floor view of the city. The lights flicker out and I, with my seafood risotto and glass of expensive wine, watch everyone around me die. Soft jazz music is playing in the background. The screams harmonize. \n\nI’ve always been told that I have a knack for making things up. \n\n I sit up in bed and shudder. I’m a grown woman, I should be living life, falling in love, figuring out how to pay my taxes, not fantasizing about the apocalypse. \n\nOn my way to work, I gulp down a boiled egg, get on the train and decide I’m still hungry so I run out again and purchase a steamed dumpling from the street vendors before cramming myself back into a corner of the carriage. Faces in close proximity to me of disgust reveal themselves to me as I shove the Asian delicacy into my mouth, chewing loudly, face distorted as I swallow. I look around and smile innocently. Daintily patting at my lips with the complimentary napkin, I lean against the door and pull out a book. \n\nA man is gazing at me from across the train. His face is bearded and his eyebrows are thick. \n“How exotic,” he mumbles, barely audible. I’m a bit disturbed to be completely honest, but I smile back coyly before returning to my novel. It’s always important to treat strangers with respect. In his heart, he will decide that I am approving of this and his excessive facial hair. He will pride himself on it for the next three days, until eventually an overly honest friend will tell him the truth, or spikes his beard-oil with nair. \n“That’s an interesting book you’re reading.” He says, distorting his mouth to let out each word as slowly as possible. \n“Thanks.” \n“What’s your name? I’m Mark.” \n“My office is having a party tonight, wanna come?” I assert myself in fluent English. \nHe looks at me quizzically for a second. Then,as if remembering that one of his goals for this year was to ‘be more spontaneous’, he said: “Sure.”\n\nLater today, he will look in the mirror, analysing his facial features. He will carefully brush all his facial hair and slick back his head-hair. He will squint in his smudged mirror and grin. The scent of his loathsome confidence will be overpowering. \n\n“You coming to the Anniversary Dinner tonight?” Jane the secretary yells across her desk at me, her mouth full of kale and white bean salad. The tendons in her neck perk up and glance dubiously at me, pilates trained and beat into submission, observing my own mildly pudgy neck. Two effortlessly bushy, yet neat caterpillars push their way up her forehead, creasing into the thin skin stretched across her skull. \n“Uh, yeah.” Shit, stop staring. I scuttle off to my cubicle and spend the rest of the workday regretting the purchase of my medical insurance 2 years ago. I could be dead right now. Click. Tap. Smile. Pretend to type. Drink water. Piss. Hover in the bathrooms for too long. Repeat. At some point in the day, I hover for too long and catch a glimpse of Jane, giggling at a well-dressed man in the corridors before leaving him a peck on the cheek and disappearing back into her organic meth lab of an office.\n\nI know that man. All too well. \n\nTugging at the duvet late at night, the sea of traffic and twinkling city lights lay far below our haven. A mumbled complaint, well-meaning kick in the arm. Moonlight spilling like milk through the curtains, illuminating two grinning faces. Very much happy and very much in love. Late night adventures down to the convenience store, buying boxes of oily noodles and sushi to eat on the sidewalks, sitting amongst the vagrant pigeons, leaning against oversized rubbish bags. Thrift shopping on the weekends. Scaring the children in the jungle gym of our favourite park. The one with the nice view and the squirrels. One entire fucking year of my life ,wasted. \n\nNight has fallen, and I walk into the restaurant, accosted by a man twice my height. It’s the hairy, bigoted one. Mark. I laugh loudly at all of his comments and stand very close to him, clinging onto his arm, never once making eye contact. We politely chuckle through the boss’ address, then a few unintelligent attempts at entertainment by my fellow co-workers, before we are free to mingle. \n\n“It’s a bit loud in here, wanna go somewhere more peaceful? I think I found somewhere with a nice view.” My date’s beard rubs against my earlobe; it tickles. \n\nWe stand up and sneak off into the bathrooms. Mark lifts the window and gestures towards it:” “Ladies first.” I look down. We are very, very high up, and an old anxiety starts to creep back up my throat. He snickers at my bewildered face, and climbs out, landing on the fire escape just a few feet underneath the ledge. He reaches up and I slink through the gap, one high heel encased foot after another. Grasping my hand in his meaty palm, he carries me down. With a massive thud, he appears next to me, carefully disengaging a wine bottle, then two paper cups, from the inside of his suit jacket. He sets up a minibar on the neighbouring windowsill and pours me a glass, tending to it lovingly and taking his time to swill the alcohol. He hands it to me and we sit there sipping from our paper cups, dangling our feet from the edge of the roof. Oblivion seems dreadfully near. If you look down, down through the darkness, through the nothingness that hovers just beneath us, you can see the people, as small and insignificant as toys, going about their silly little lives. Here, high above, I sit regarding them, watching as they laugh, kiss, get drunk. Fumble over each other in their attempts to preserve each others’ mundane existences. How silly of us. \n“What are you thinking?” I can see the pores on his nose. Oil spurting from every single crevice, glistening over the mountainous terrain of his textured skin. The sound of two fully grown adults slamming into a wall echoes from the window above me, and I catch sight of Jane’s veiny neck, an attractive man wrapped around her. Tipping my cup upside down and swallowing the final mouthful of wine, I open my mouth to answer.\n“I-”, my tongue feels too large for my mouth, and the building shifts uncomfortably beneath me. I focus my gaze on the strange man’s nose and try again. The gleam of his skin grows blindingly bright, and light leaks into my mind. Disoriented, I try to stand, try to steady myself against the onset of nausea. \n“Buh-buh buh?” The hairy man’s face becomes blurry and I can feel the overpowering heat of his skin radiating onto the back of my neck, my shoulders, my face. He fades back into the light and all of a sudden he is up and rising away from me, his figure getting smaller and smaller as he disappears into the sky, merging into the moon. I am weightless. The sun is rising. Screams envelop me as I close my eyes and feel relief." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: WHILE.... STILL IN THE WOMB.\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 1219\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character who’s had their future foretold from birth — but isn’t sure if they believe it." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "“What is growing inside you, the life you are carrying, the soul you are nourishing, the spirit that you are going to bring into the world is going to be both.... a boon and a curse. “ The exact words of my guru, that shook me to my very core. Who am I? And why was my child going to be both a boon and a curse for the world? How come my child was going to be a boon and a curse? A curse? A curse?\nAngelina Ray. That is me. A name. A lady of colour living in the world of whites. I was privileged to have been born and married into a family which had yet a considerable amount of respect in this society of whites. I was 7 months pregnant and I had visited my guru to seek blessings from him for my child. It was after seven years of marriage that I was going to embrace motherhood and our family was going to grow. My guru was not just a spiritual leader or a palmist but, he was somebody who could see right through a soul. What shook me to my core were his words which I can never forget in my life. “ Your child will be a curse for you and boon for others, as much as shall you regret having given birth to such an offspring, that much you are going to enjoy the fortune which it will bring to others. This joy and fortune are never going to be yours, for you shall die as an unloved mother by your only child. Your child is going to be both and is going to be none. BOTH AND NONE.” Still his words in the same tone ring in my ears, to this day. My child was going to be both a girl and a boy and neither a boy or a girl.\n2 months down the line and I was going to give birth. As the day was approaching my heart beats were increasing, not of joy and excitement but of anxiety and fear.\nThe prophecy as stated said that my child will be born a boy and will remain so till the first 14 years of his life. He will be born a boy so that his birth could start a legacy that will be lived upon by the forth coming generations. My boy will be ‘that’ boy who is going to be ‘the’ boy for the world. The 13th year of his life will be the most important year. In the 13th year my son will lead the black towards the fight for their freedom from slavery and oppression under the world ruled by white. All the African Americans who have been divided in the States will be united by my son. He will be called..... “Angel”. God’s sent angel.... my Angel. The person who will turn the world around, life saviour of millions, yet who will have no life for himself. The year 13th of his life is going to be worse and darker than Friday the 13th. No. 13 as it is is considered devilish.\nMy Angel is going to be own Devil.\nAngel served the world, he fought for his community, his race and never let us down, only to be laid down in the memory of people as a martyred soldier himself. Angel’s role was over. Angel was down and out of everyone’s life.\nNow came the point I afeard the most. The point I did never want to come. \nFor now there no longer is an Angel. There is now as I would say we call her ‘Angela’. Angela? Yes Angela. This is what we have to call her now.\nThe 15th year of my child’s life has begun; she has turned into a girl. Into a girl overnight, overnight. The second half of the prophecy has begun, Angel has played his part and now it is Angela’s turn. Her role is like that of any other woman. To give birth. To give birth to a child, again not a normal child, no, absolutely not normal.\nAngela is going to follow the footsteps of her mother she will be giving birth to an extraordinary child but unlike in her mother’s case. Angela is for sure going to have a girl and her girl is going to take the world by storm, for she is going to be a queen. A Queen who is going to have her reign over all the countries, the 7 seas, 7 continents and also the whole of universe.\nTHE BLACK QUEEN.\nA king earlier and somebody who is going to give birth to a queen later. That has been the story of my child. We were laughed upon, called stupid, not believed by anybody when we told them about the prophecy exactly like what our guru had told us.\nAngela turned 21 and we had to get her married before she turned 22, we did so. Angela was married off to the son of our community’s chief. Both of them loved each other immensely and cared for each other from the core of their heart. Tick, tick, tick, tick, the clock ticked by daily and with its every tick came closer the moment of the prophecy. Angela was pregnant, the ninth month of the pregnancy was about to end, and.... Angela was not to give birth for another one complete month. Her pregnancy was going to be 10 months long and then Angela’s daughter was to come into this world. That was also going to be the last one month of Angela’s life. For she, was to DIE. Die as soon as her daughter would open her eyes for the first time in this new month.\nA pair of eyes was to open and the other one was to shut.\nThe last day before Angela was going to give birth, the last night she was to witness. That was the time I was supposed to tell her about her life, herself, her transformation, her identity, her REALITY. As expected she didn’t believe me. Not even a single word. She said it was impossible that she was a boy for the first 14 years of her life and she felt that I was lying to her. Nothing came as a shock to me after all the shocks that I had received till date. My baby was to die after her baby was going to be born. A daughter in front of her mother was going to die, take her last breathes.\nThe dooms day was here, or should I say the golden day was here. For the new Queen of the world was born, and my little princess had died. The prophecy had blessed the world and cursed me. For my child did never give me the satisfaction of being a mother and I could never ask for it.\nAngel and Angela played their part, now it was Angelica’s turn to do so. To guide the world out of dark and bring it into light.\nI did not convince Angela into believing me about anything for I knew she could never believe me. The only reason being...\nAngela had lost her memory of the first 14 years of her life." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: The Skyline\n\nGenre: asian-american\n\nWord Count: 1123\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story where a character runs into someone they’ve seen in their dreams, or enters a building they’ve dreamt about before." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Strange shadows flickered in the empty streets after the New York skyline lowered. The neon lights tripped on, one after the other as the city sky glittered in land born stars. \nIt was a late evening in Spring and I had just started off as a writer at Vogue Magazine this month. The leaves crumbled under my heel as I walked downtown. The shops were closing down, and the mannequins stooped at me from shop fronts in ghastly glares of the new fashionable era. A large billboard of Jennifer Aniston-my favorite, hung right in front of my apartment. I was a huge fan. I looked up at it and smiled to myself as I worked my way up the stairway. It was an exhausting day at work. So many written assignments due and clarifications for all the more you need. My article was published yesterday and so it was a little rejoicing at the local club with my gang before we dispersed off for the evening. \nI threw my coat over the telephone chair and the keys in the holder and flicked the lights on. I had a quick wash and came back to grab up on some dinner and wine before heading to get some sleep in.\nI switched on the television and sat down with the bowl of spaghetti and wine. \nI soothed into the comfort and watched as I gulped a mouth full with saucy threads still blobbing out of the mouth. I took the glass and swirled it in and took a sip of the delicate red wine. \nI was at a gala. The name read it at a far corner. I looked down the railing at the red carpet. It was one streaming with reporters on one side and all known on the other. How could this be. Could this be any more real? The biggest stars of Hollywood were just flowing in. Oh my goodness! Who thought where this job could lead me to. They were filling into the hall across the red carpet. Posing and glowing as they entered. And here I was just staring and standing glass in my hand- swirling. \nWhy swirl champagne? \nI just stood watching as long as I can. Then looked around to the most appropriate figure out and approach stance. \nSuddenly I feel myself being pushed to the center and then a round of applause. I never know what I was being applauded for as I cannot hear right. I feel myself in extreme awe of excitement and also my heart pumping out in a sudden blood chase. Just as the glasses raise and applauds rise again, all different stars come at me, hugging me and sending me into fireworks of excitement as I recognize each one by one with their genuine congratulations. Right now, I am blushing in the middle of a hall I don’t know, surrounded by my list of I-love-them-so-much but they-never-know-me prominent people all glancing and smiling as if they knew me forever.\nI keep on swirling and smiling. My heart out in my hand.\nThen suddenly I see her. There she stands in one of my favorite colored dresses by a prominent designer whose name I don’t recall suddenly. Ms. Aniston standing in the center of the hall giving all her love to her friends and all knowns. Wow! That’s how she looks, I just couldn’t believe my eyes.\nAnd the next second she is walking towards me. I feel myself stargazed. I’ve never seen her before and now she was right there in front of me, smiling and sending her lovely wave as she makes her way through the crowds towards me. The first time ever and I am in bits and pieces and my hand starts shaking. Tears are gathering in my eyes; I just feel a blobbing in the eyes. She walks over,\n‘Hi! so nice to meet you! I was awaiting my turn’ She says as she hugs me out. \nI am lost in words as I gaze at her. I smile so hard that my face muscles ache.\n‘You are an angel in heaven! You look so beautiful in person! I just can’t believe meeting you! Wow! You are so beautiful...’I continue as she keeps patting me in appreciation and asking me more. Words keep flowing out as we converse and I suddenly ‘I am your greatest fan’ -She raises her brow and smiles ‘I know’\nMy glass slips and crashes. Suddenly, I feel my hands wet and I jerk forward. I open my eyes slowly. I feel tears streaming down my face and my mouth agape. The lights keep me blinking a few seconds, before I realize I’m looking at the ceiling. I am at the apartment, and my hand are wet. I straighten up and look around. A glass lies shattered at my feet, and I smell wine in my hands. A half-eaten bowl of spaghetti lies on the sofa next to me and the television is blaring in details of a gala. I strain my eyes and there she was on TV waving at the crowds as she enters the hall on the red carpet. I was there just now. She was wearing the same dress I saw.\nI look around once again. It was half past eleven. I am at the apartment. I am dreaming. It was just a dream. I smile.\nI get up and clean up the mess I’ve made and after watching the telecast for a few minutes I switch it off once and for all. I make up my bed, brush my teeth and look at the New York skyline once again before getting behind the sheets. I just met my favorite star all even in a dream. I check on some writing for the next day, before I shut my laptop.\nI shut my eyes.\nA loud blaring sends me off. I clap my hands to knock it off. My mom, suddenly appears shouting in high pitch, ‘Get up! you are late to college!’ I look up at the ceiling. The fan keeps rotating with a creak. I look around. Where am I? The room is different from how I slept in. I walk in towards the window. \nI look out. No New York skyline anymore.\nI look back at the room. Good senses start pouring back and I slap myself. What was that?\nI look in the mirror and here I was back. This was real after all. What a long day it was. What a New York dream. I smile. One inside another. I recall Inception. And I smile once more. I finally had my dreams come live in a dream. And then…\n‘College’- I was late for college." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: LEIS HEADULA\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 1006\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character who can suddenly only “remember” their future, not their past." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "\"Good Morning, my handsome husband!\" Shay said with a joyous smile on her face. \"Good Morning, my lovely wife!\" Carl responded with a kiss on her cheek. \"What are you planning to get into today?\" Shay asked handing Carl his coffee. \"Well, I have a meeting with Stanley today and then I am meeting with a new client. \"Oh, I like the sound of that, new client means new money!\" Shay danced and smiled.\" \"Money, money, money in our future!\" Carl sang. Carl and Shay had been married for two years after dating for five. They wanted to start a family but it just seemed that things were not in the favor and after a year of trying they gave up and just focused on making their life together comfortable!\" \"I am so excited about our future, I know that things will be just good for us in future. Carl assured Shay. \"We will have that family and that house on the hill.\" He added. \"Baby, I am so excited about that future!\" Shay pointed out. Things went on as planned and Carl ended his meeting with Stanley on a good note. He picked up the phone and called Shay telling her that her and Stanley had a wonderful meeting. He also shared that he was heading to meet his new client. Shay wished him and well he was on his way. Carl pulled up to the warehouse, where he was supposed to be meeting with his Client, Landro Steep. \"Mr. Steep?\" Carl asked. \"I am, you must be Carl Wilkes?\" \"I am, yes it a pleasure to meet you.\" \"I am so excited to be meeting with about GenXX!\" \"Stanley and I have worked so hard on this and I am anxious to share this with you!\" Carl admitted. \"I have to admit I was a little thrown off, when Stanley presented it to me but I am always looking for new things to invest in.\" Landro noted. \"Well, that is good to know, shall we get this meeting started?\" Carl said pointing to the desk. The men talked for about an hour and shared their desires for the company, they ended the meeting as new PARTNERS! Before they left the warehouse Carl admitted that he was looking to the future and only wanted to see if life 5 years from now. Landro stared off into space nodding as he listened to Carl. The men shook hands and Landro left Carl with two words \"LEIS HEADULA\", confusing Carl. \"Hey, man, what that mean?\" Carl asked. \"Your future is now, my mother used to say that to me all the time!\" Landro admitted. \"Okay, okay cool I like that!\"\nThey went their own separate ways and life was great! Things seemed to be normal once Carl made it home, he and Shay had dinner and snuggled on the couch! Shay, decided she was tired and wanted to go to bed, Carl also admitted he was tired to! They showered and turned in, before they fell asleep Carl told her about Landro and his weird and curious demeanor. He also noted he was smart and a much needed asset to the Company. He also told her that they had a new word to use \"LEIS HEADULA\" which meant \"Your future is now!\", Carl kissed his wife good night and they fell asleep. The next morning they woke up in each others arms but something was different or someone rather! Shay went into the kitchen and started the coffee as she normally does, she hears Carl coming down the stairs and begins to smile. \"Good morning my handsome husband!\" Shay said. Good morning, wait why you look like that?\" He asked her perplexed. \"What, what are you talking about?\" Shay asked puzzled. \"I mean I like it you just look super young!\" Carl pointed out. \"Okay, well thank you I guess.\" \"Anyway, what where you talking about last night?\" She asked. \"What are you talking about, I told you about that already!\" Carl said. \"Okay, I have no clue what you are talking about, what did you tell me already?\" Shay asked. \"About the contractors coming to break ground on the new house.\" \"You and I met with the builders weeks ago and today is the ground breaking.\" Carl said. \"Baby, I am not sure what you are talking about but we never met with contractors.\" Shay said concerned. \"You know what, you forgot you seem to forget alot these days did you take your medicine?\" Carl asked. \"What do you mean, what medicine are you talking about?\" Shay asked aggravated. \"Shay, I love you baby but you have to make sure you are keeping up with your medicine.\" \"But, on another note where is Bailee?\" Carl asked. \"Who the hell is Bailee and what medicine are you taking about, you know what never mind, I have no clue what is happening here but you need to go back to sleep or something because you are not yourself today!\" Shay stormed off. \"I have no idea what is wrong with her, but I am fine!\" \"It is not my fault when a grown woman refuses to take her medicine,\" \"Meanwhile, I am going to go check on Bailee.\" He goes upstairs and realizes that Bailee is missing! And what is more puzzling is there is no crib, no clothes everything was gone. What was happening here? He could not remember last night, hell he couldn't remember Shay being pregnant! He had no clue what was happening! It is like his life fast forwarded and everyone else's life stopped. Shay was upset because, Bailee was the name they picked for their first daughter and they had discussed having their home built. But, it seems like he was living in the future!! Carl and Shay struggled for weeks as Carl argued she was on meds and lost their baby and he couldn't see anything except his future............ Be careful what you wish for, you just may get it! LEIS HEADULA!!!" } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Déjà Vu\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 1088\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character who can suddenly only “remember” their future, not their past." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "\"Ring... Ring... It's time to wake up!\"\n\"Ring... Ring... It's time to wake up!\"\nFred's eyes slowly opened to behold the behold the beauty of a new morning sunrise, as the repetitive voice of his alarm clock ushered him back to consciousness. He got out of bed, killed the alarm clock and hurriedly began to get ready for work.\nIn about twenty minutes time, he was standing in front of the large mirror placed directly opposite his wardrobe and just right beside his study table.\n\n\"Today is great day...\" he began saying, talking to his reflection in the mirror.\n\"Me will catch many bad guys today again\", he continued as he held up a nine millimeter pistol.\n\"Me not die 'cos me is son of gun\", he grinned as he concluded his daily mantra which he had always believed protected him from being shot for the past twelve years.\n\nAs he stepped out of his apartment, he lost his balance,\n\"Aaaarrrgggghhh!!!!\", he screamed with his eyes tightly shut as he felt a sudden ring in his head which vanished as quickly as it came. As soon as he regained his balance, he reached for the key in his pocket, unlocked his car and drove out.\n\nJust as he was entering the EFCC headquarters, he was met by the Boss Lady who signalled him to stop and wind down his car glass.\n\"Finally, he arrives\", she said.\n\"I've rung you all morning, but you seem to be at war with your phone\".\n[[Fred could swore he had been in this exact situation before.]]\n\"What? Cat got your tongue? Anyways, hurry up now and join the guys. They just left for St. George's house and they would definitely need an extra pair of eyes to conduct the search\", she concluded.\n\"Boss Lady\", Fred called just before she was about to leave.\n\"What is it?\"\n\"Today, what day?\", he asked.\n\"October 10 son. Is everything okay?\"\n\"Me fine\", he replied before driving off.\n\n[[Minutes Later]]\nHe parked at his garage and rushed into his apartment sweating profusely. He locked every window and door with a terrifying look upon his face like he was being chased by someone or something.\n\n\"How this be?\"\n\"How this be?\", he repeatedly screamed trying to make sense of what is happening as everything that was happening has happened before.\n\"Ring! Ring!\"\n\"Ring! Ring!\"\nHis Gionee A1 began to ring, but he decided not to pick the Boss Lady's call. He was expecting her to ring him thirteen times, after which he'd pick up on the fourteenth.\n\n[[Minutes later]]\n\"Ring! Ring!\"\n\"Ring! Ring!\"\nThe thirteenth call rang and stopped.\n\"Rest peace Boss Lady\", Fred muttered to himself. He was fully aware that the thirteenth call was her last just before she died.\n\"Me dream, Me must wake up. Me must confirm\", he said as he stood up and reached for the TV remote, and there before his eyes was the confirmation news he needed. The murder of Lieutenant Funmi Simpson, and the tears that has welled up in his eyes found its way freely down his cheek.\n\n\"This real\", he said feeling shocked.\n\"Me not here. Me not here at all\", he exclaimed as he jumped up and dashed for the door. He was a few inches away when..\n\"Boooooooommmmm!\"\nThe door was blown open and its impact sent him sprawling back across the tiled floor. He coughed, open his eyes and got on his feet. He was face to face with an assassin, and judging from the blood stain on his gloves, he was the same man who murdered the Boss Lady. And he knew what was about to happen. He has been remembering future occurrences since the sudden ring in his head. But his future was already so close to an end as today was the day he died.\n\n\"Who you?\", he asked the assassin.\n\"I am your past coming back to haunt you\", he replied as he leaped forward in a ferocious attack at Fred who easily parried every single one of his attack.\n\"Whoooossshhh!!!\"\nAgain, the assassin threw two knives at Fred while attempting to take him out, but he dodged them completely.\n\"Me not die 'cos me is son of gun\", he said out loud before dashing towards the assassin launching an attack of his own. Back and forth they went, exchanging blows, bruises, and broken ribs in the process of redecorating the million dollar interior designs into a million scattered interior designs.\n\n\"Me not die 'cos me is son of gun\", Fred continued chanting his mantra as he reached for one of the knives stuck on the wall. The assassin was poised to charge at him once more and he was ready for him.. But that was not to be the case. Instead, he brought out a pistol and aimed it at Fred.\n\"What were you thinking?\", the tired assassin asked.\n\"That you had a chance? No way!\"\n\"You really going to do this, this point? Damn it! You no honour\", Fred replied.\n\"Hell yeah, I will. I guess there was honour in you killing my Father and sending my brother to jail for an offense he didn't commit.\"\n\"What you mean? I not do such thing\".\n\"Shut up! You Liar! So now you're denying it. I heard you with my two ears when you told your Boss Lady that you've neutralized the target\".\n\"I not understand! When? How?\", Fred questioned as he couldn't remember those events.\n\"Tell that to God when you see Him\", the assassin said as his face boiled with rage.\n\n[[Fred knew this was the point where his present met his future...]]\n\"Gbaaam!\"\nThe sound of the gunshot echoed as the assassin pulled the trigger.\nFred gave a wry smile as he slowly dropped to the ground. He had lost the war to déjà vu from the very onset. But he just won a battle.\n\n\"Hurgggllllhh\"...\nThe assassin suddenly began vomiting blood from his mouth.\nUnknowing to him, Just before the gunshot, Fred had swiftly launched the knife in his hand into the air, and it had trusted deep into and stayed across the assassin's throat.\nAlthough, Fred knew he could not change his fate, but he was very satisfied that he was able to disrupt one piece of the puzzle.\n\n\"Hurgggllllhhh!!\"\nAnother round of fresh blood spluttered out of his mouth. He fell to the ground and died right beside a smiling Fred.\n\nFor Fred never remembered at any point, the death of the assassin.\n\n#El_Magnifico™" } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on 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 Lucky Cat\n\nGenre: asian-american\n\nWord Count: 1209\n\nPrompt:\n\nAn apparent coincidence occurs. Write a story about a character who suspects paranormal, spiritual, or criminal causes." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "It only cost one dollar.\nShe’d picked it up on a whim from that popular Japanese variety store, Daiso. It was a shiny, gold-painted plastic cat with a solar-powered waving arm.\nNoticing them in people’s cars, she’d always thought these cats were so cute. Her best friend from Japan told her that it was a “Maneki Neko” or “beckoning cat”; a talisman of good luck and fortune.\nNow she had a lucky cat of her very own sitting on her dashboard.\nAs soon as she removed it from its packaging, the cat’s arm immediately started waving. Amused, she said to it, “Why, hello there! You’re going to be my little travel buddy and keep me safe when I drive, won’t you?”\nIn response, the cat waved its arm up and down vigorously, as if saying yes.\nThe lucky cat kept her company in her car from that day, never ceasing the swinging of its arm even at night after the sun went to sleep. She found this a bit odd but chalked it up to the brilliance of Japanese innovation.\nHer one-dollar toy became a centerpiece for conversation when friends and family rode in her car. Her young nieces would chant, “Kitty arm moving! Kitty arm moving!” over and over as she drove them around town. She loved the way she could spot her boring white Honda Civic from a mile away among a sea of similar cars as the cat’s waving arm beckoned to her from behind the windshield.\nShe kept the lucky cat through college, graduate school, and a string of boyfriends, the latest of whom was named Scott. In fact, she was pretty sure she would marry Scott, even if he made fun of her cat. He tried to convince her to get rid of it.\n“It’s a distraction when you drive,” he fussed. “You’re not supposed to have things on your dash that block your view. Also, it looks stupid. Its face is grotesque.”\nShe listened quietly and stayed muted, a technique she often used when he was difficult. She knew he would forget about it after a while. After all, he rarely drove her car, and when they went places together, he usually insisted on driving his.\nScott proposed to her that fall, and she said yes. They would get married in six months.\nOne morning, a month before the wedding, she gets in her car and feels in her gut that something is wrong. Looking all around her, nothing seems out of place, so she shakes it off, looks over her shoulder, and begins to back out of her driveway.\nAs she turns back to maneuver the wheel, her hand accidentally brushes the lucky cat. Immediately, its head falls off. She stifles a scream and picks it up. Tears fill her eyes, and she brushes them off fiercely. She hadn’t realized how attached she had become to her cat.\nShe places the head carefully back on, but to no avail, the kitty arm no longer waves. Then her subconscious catches up with her, and she realizes what had felt so wrong when she entered the car a few minutes before:\nThe cat’s arm had been motionless before she broke its head off.\nThat evening, she casually mentions the incident to Scott. “You should be real happy now, honey, cuz my one-dollar cat you hate so much finally broke this morning.”\nHe looks at her, unfazed, and says, “Oh right, I broke it last night when I took your car to pick up dinner. I tried to stick its head back on.”\nShe stares at him, anger rising. “What? Why didn’t you say something about it?”\nHe rolls his eyes at her, “My arm accidentally knocked it down. What’s the big deal? It’s a stupid dollar toy.”\n“It was MY stupid dollar toy, and I loved it,” she snaps, tears rolling hotly down her cheeks again.\n“My god. Just buy another one already.”\nHe turns back to his football game.\nShe lets it go, knowing there’s no use; he’ll never get it.\nThat night, she carefully hot-glues the head back on the cat. It might no longer wave its arm, but it can still keep her company in her car.\nThe next day, she walks out to the driveway and spots the cat dangling by its neck from her rearview mirror. Rushing to it, she sees that someone has used the phone charging cable in her car to tie a noose around the cat’s neck as some sick joke.\nChoking back wrath, she calls Scott on his cellphone. “Did you hang my cat from a cord?”\nHe starts guffawing into the phone. “Hahaha. You saw it, huh?! Isn’t it hilarious?!”\n“No, it isn’t,” she says coldly.\nBut he’s laughing too hard to hear her.\nKnowing she’s not going to win this one, she hangs up, trying to convince herself that this is indeed just a one-dollar toy and not worth getting mad over. She carefully loosens the cat from its’ noose and places it firmly back in on her dashboard.\nIt isn’t even a week later when she gets the phone call. Scott has her car out on a beer run that evening. On the way home, he wraps her car around a tree.\nHis death is instant.\nIn the days to come, she finds no answers from the police about how the wreck happened. The best they can determine is that he somehow lost control of the car. The cause is a mystery.\nShe moves through the aftermath in a daze, devastated over Scott and wading through the necessary paperwork and legal details accompanying death.\nBut in her darkest hours, lying awake at night, she can’t deny that a tiny part of her is relieved the wedding isn’t happening.\nHer car is totaled. After three weeks, they call her to retrieve whatever personal belongings she can get out of it before it goes to the junkyard. It will be a tough day; she doesn’t want to see the vehicle that Scott had his final moments in.\nAs they lead her to the remains of the car, she sees the lucky cat from a distance glistening through bright sunlight in the windshield. Is it… can it be? She can’t believe it.\nThe cat’s arm is waving.\nShe runs over and pries it from the wreckage and holds it tight, sobbing. She cries for Scott, for his life and death, and she cries for the chance she now has to reclaim the part of herself that she allowed Scott to shove aside.\nShe sits in her new car at the parking lot of the dealership. It’s a beautiful, bright yellow Mini Cooper — her dream car. The salesman hands her the keys and congratulates her.\nTurning the key in the ignition, she reaches into her purse and carefully retrieves her lucky cat, its arm still mysteriously waving since the day she got it back.\nShe places the cat on her dashboard, in its rightful place.\nAs she drives off, she says to it, “Glad to have you back with me again, travel buddy. You’ll always keep me safe, won’t you?”\nIn response, the cat waves its arm up and down vigorously, as if saying yes." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: The Devil's Gift\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 2993\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character who’s had their future foretold from birth — but isn’t sure if they believe it." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "You've probably heard of the circle of African gods, right? No. Well, a week ago I would have said the same. I would have sworn to the heavens that I knew nothing but contrary to what we think, several gods exists and call it myth or fiction...it's left to you.\n\nLike you, I didn't believe in witches, monsters, angels and other mystic beings either...I knew one prophecy though. The same one burnt into my soul. Mom said the high priestess of the Malicar clan in Egypt read her fortune while she was pregnant with me and told her these words.\n\nOn a day, the moon will be red as blood,\nThe night dark and still,\nA soulless child will be born.\nSixteen cold winters shall pass,\nAnd when the child sees her true self,\nThe messenger of hell will come forth.\nDarkness shall consume the earth,\nUnless a dying wish is set.\n\nMom said she never asked what the prophesy meant, she just packed up and returned home. Months after, she went into labor but couldn't give birth. For some reason, I refused to be born.\n\nThe family were in Kenya with Dad on one of his research and because they were stuck in a small town on a shitty stormy day, a midwife had to take the delivery. I was born late Sunday night after days of labor, on a day the sky was red and the night was eerie and silent. I didn't cry after I was born and was cold blue so the midwife thought I was dead until she felt for a pulse.\n\nShe panicked then hit my butt continuously until I finally made a sound. As she handed me over to Mom, she cried,\n\n\"This child is not human and will live a short life.”\n\nMom spat back at her upset but her words reminded her of the prophecy. In fear, we moved from Mali to Botswana then Namibia.\n\nActually, we moved because Dad kept going on countless research around Africa. \n\n\n***\n\"Katie, I hope you studied for the test? There will be no makeup test this time.\" Ms. Hudson's words rang in my ears as I was about to take a Maths test that would determine 30% of my grade. I flashed her my usual awkward smile and she handed me my papers then left.\nI guess I haven't introduced myself yet...pardon me. \n\nMy name is Katherine Lawson and on my eighth birthday, I was told the prophecy about my death.\n\nI have always hated it and wanted to change it.\n\nWhen I was nine, I wanted to meet the sisters of fate and threaten them not to cut the thread. At ten, I wanted to meet the devil and struck a deal with him...I read many books but none had a way of summoning him. At twelve, I wanted to kidnap baby Jesus and ask for life as ransom. However, as I grew older, I stopped believing it.\nIt didn't say how but from Mom's interpretation, I was going to die after seeing my reflection, which was why I was never allowed to look directly into a mirror. Or go near a pool. Everyone seemed to have this fear that a demon would rise and kill me.\n\nI knew I was strange for three reasons...I didn't feel pain, survived an earthquake with just a scratch and sometimes had flashes of hell.\n\nWhen I was little, my parents were overprotective so I was homeschooled by Mom. She got a job so I attended a high school a stone throw from home. I never went out to visit friends because I had an inexistent social life.\n\nFortunately, Dad got a job in London and we moved here last spring. I was nervous but ready to make a friend who wasn't my big sister Ruby then Mom brought up the prophecy, again. She was nervous because I was clocking sixteen but Dad refuted her claim. He insisted I attended a normal high school like Ruby, which was how I ended up at Rosé high school taking a Maths quiz. \n\nLeast to say, hell let loose on my sixteenth birthday. \n\n***\nI was focused on my test so I didn't notice when the door flew open and someone entered the class. I heard whispers then looked up. A man was talking with Mrs Hudson at her desk but I couldn't see his face because he had his back turned to me. I noticed the girls were acting stranger than their bitchy selves but I didn't want the distraction so I went back to my test. A sudden giggling caught my interest immediately.\n\nMs. Hudson is laughing?\n\nMs. Hudson never laughs! I wondered and like everyone else, abandoned calculus and watched the drama instead. After all, our dear Ms. Hudson who had a permanent scowl and cold heart was blushing right in front of us. \n\n\"Katherine...your uncle is here for you. It's an emergency.\" She called out and I was so shocked when the stranger turned his back, I practically drooled. \n\nHe was tall, had a pale complexion and two cold eyes that seemed to suck in souls. His long hair was shiny black and neatly packed by a gold ribbon, which was the only odd colour in his total black outfit. When he smiled, his beautiful lips parted and he gave off the aura of a dangerous but sexy hypnotist. His ageless face made him look timeless. I was lost in his Egyptian accent I didn't realise he was calling me. At a tap though, I bolted from my daydream. \n\n\"Katie, I was sent to get you,\" he said and I didn't ask who or why, I just took my backpack and hurried after him, to the envy of the other girls.\n\n***\n\"Who are you? Who sent you?\" I demanded, snapping out of my trance. We were already out of the school and he seemed frantic. He kept looking sideways like he was expecting something to happen.\n\n\"Calm down, Katie. I was sent by.....\n\nSeveral loud grunts cut him off and before I could blink, two ugly creatures lunged at us with sharp pointed fingers. They had hairs all over their body and two small eyes that sank deep into their head.\n\nYeah, you read it right.\n\nThey were Siamese demon twins.\n\nI screamed in fear, immobile as a hand headed for me but in a swift, a sword appeared out of air and sliced it off. The demons shrilled in unison, saw the stranger with the sword and went for him instead. He fought them off for long then finally cut off their head. It fell off easily and turned into worms that crawled away quickly into the pipes. I threw up instantly.\n\n\"Katie, are you okay?\" He asked.\n\n\"W-what was that?!\"\n\n\"A Negrocer. They're twins who live in the first hell. The fact they're here means the gate of hell is open. We have to go now.\"\n\n\"Go where? I'm not taking a step until you tell me what the hell is going on here. I need answers.\"\n\nI needed answers and he gave them.\n\nHis name was Anubis and he was the guardian of the underworld. He was sent by the circle of gods to get me because apparently, Lucifer was coming back for his gift. \n\nSeventeen years ago, a woman said a prayer at a temple in Egypt and the devil answered. He saved her child and gave the child a gift. A fragment of hell and its powers. He didn't know this and when he did, he was already locked up in hell for messing with the wheel of life. That woman was my mom and the child was me. Anubis said that the circle believed that the devil wanted the powers and he would kill me to get it. They wanted to protect me in the temple of life, which was in the pyramids in Egypt, but we had to be there before midnight.\n\n\"We are in London, Anubis. Egypt is on the other side of the world. How do we get there in time?\" I panicked. I guess knowing the prophecy about me dying was true and Lucifer after me, made me desperate to live. \n\n\"The big Ben is a pathway to the pyramids. We can travel through the space to Egypt.\"\n\n\"Wait what!\" \n\nHe saw the befuddled look on my face and told me there were portals in all the famous features in the world that people with magic travel through. Witches, sorcerers, magicians, monsters etc. lived amongst humans but only those who still believe in magic can see them. the magic world exist behind the veil so few people ever see beyond it. I was only able to see him because I had the mark of death. \n\n***\nFor our trip to the big ben, we had to make plans. Since I knew nothing about how to get around London, he consulted the best guide...a map. I live on the other side across the river Thames so we took a boat. We ran to the nearest deck and arrived there, panting and out of breath.\n\nWell, I was. Anubis didn't looked like he ran a lap. He still looked composed and prim in his jetblack suit.\n\nWe rented a boat and he paid for it...actually I think he said something to the guy then they shared a handshake.\n\n“We should be safe now. Water is out of bounds,\" he said. \n\nBut when we were halfway across, heavy current slammed against the boat. I ran to him and before he even asked me to hold on, I was already clinging to his waist. As the waves continued to hit the boat with force, it rocked sideways and slammed us into each other. Anubis tried futilely to steer it but it was like a mere mortal fighting against the gods. We argued at first then agreed on jumping.\n\nGood news...we jumped before the boat capsized. Bad news...I couldn't swim. I was practically drowning when he noticed and had to swim to the shore with me. \n\n\"You said the water was out of bounds? Something almost killed us back there!\" I lashed out.\n\n“Yemoja has never sided with anyone before. She and Osun has always been neutral.\"\n\n“Well, Yemoja has taken a side now. We are staying out of the water. I don't intend to die by drowning.\"\n\nHe agreed then pondered how the goddess had seen me. I knew how but said nothing. Mom didn't tell me the prophecy initially instead she gave me a list of don't. \n\nDon't go near the water.\n\nDon't look in the mirror.\n\nDon't take off your cross.\n\nI learnt them by heart and followed them strictly but before Yemoja showed up, I was staring at my reflection in the water. That was probably how she saw me.\n\nAccording to whoever Mom learnt sorcery from, as long as I stayed away from waters and mirrors, no one would see me. It was just noon and I had already broken the first rule. Anubis suggested we shopped for clothes since we were soaked like wet dogs, I couldnt agree more. We picked out few items at a store and I was excited I got to choose my own wears for the first time. Mom never let me. I changed into a pair of jeans, shirt and sneakers while he came out in the same jet-black suit as before. \n\n“What!\" He asked sheepishly and I couldn't help but laugh. He brought out something from his pocket then gave me. It was a necklace with a dark rose pendant. He called it the rose of death and told me to wear it always for protection. Because I couldn't use a mirror, he wore it around my neck. The feeling of numbness in my legs was all I felt as his cold breath graced my ears. Im in love. I blushed. \n\n\n***\n“Oh geez, I forgot! Mom will be so freaked out. I need to call her.\" I suddenly remembered then sprang up to get my phone only to realise I left it in class.\n\n\"I called her already. You know, she really loves you, Katie.\"\n\n“Yeah. I'm alive because of her. Sometimes my family gets on my nerves when they are overprotective but I guess that's how families are.\nA, do you have a family?”\n\n“Not in human sense. I am a gatekeeper in the underworld. I guide dead souls to the afterlife. \n\n“You must feel lonely then. Alone in the dark just guiding souls across. I know how it feels. The prophecy ruined my childhood which is why I hope to change it.\"\n\n\"Fate can be denied but never changed. Humans have always believed they can fight their destinies...they think too highly of themselves. Get some rest, Katie.\"\n\nAlthough I wanted to argue that I was ready to fight even the twelve Olympians to change my fate or travel to Tartarus, I fell asleep instead. \n\n\"Katherine, wake up! Look around, child of darkness...it's time to claim your powers.\" I heard a strange beautiful voice and opened my eyes.\n\nI noticed I wasn't in the taxi but a garden filled with red roses. An ageless woman with a beauty only meant for goddesses smiled at me then repeated the words. I grumbled and asked for Anubis instead but she cackled menacingly. Wrinkles appeared on her face as she shrieked 'Liars' and chanted trancelike of the end of Lucifer. I stared at her confusedly and one minute she was there smiling and the next, a senile woman lunged at me with frail hands.\n\nI shrieked and when skeletons began to rise from the earth, I jolted up. I was back in the taxi with Anubis.\n\n“A crazy lady just tried to kill me.\" I told him and he didn't look surprised. He told me the closer we got to the portal the stronger the monsters would be able to sense me. I asked about the powers she mentioned and he said it was better I didn't mess with them because powers like that came at a deadly price. I knew he was right but I didn't believe him. Unknown to him, I could feel the dark energy in me increasing each minute.\n\n“Katherine, there is something you should know.\"\n\nIt turned out Anubis told me the story but hid two lines. The fact I was the gift from hell and there was a bounty on me which was why monsters were after us. \n\n\n***\nThe taxi abruptly stopped and when we stepped out, hundred ugly looking creatures with antennas, giant eyes and scorpion tails surrounded us. Anubis clutched his sword but he couldn't fight them all. They were stronger and hard to kill than the first. I noticed he was outnumbered and tried to help but a tail smacked me away. Please help me, I whispered. Then suddenly, I began to feel different as a surge of power flowed through me. I shrieked, and thousands of the undead rose from hell. They attacked the monsters and we escaped. Anubis forgot to add that I had the power to summon the dead but I somehow felt it.\n\n“We are out of time, Katie. Do you have enough energy left to summon something?\" He managed. He was bleeding and getting weaker by the moment.\n\n“Like the chariot of hell?\" I teased.\n\nThat was how I lent Hade's horses without permission and ended up on his bad side, not that he ever liked me anyway. We space travelled in a minute and arrived Egypt after sunset. I grumbled about why he never mentioned the chariot in the first place but quickly forgave him.\n\nWe finally made it to the temple but it was empty. Anubis had no reply to why the gods weren't there and I couldn't believe I missed school, almost drowned, travelled half the earth just to find them but they were missing. I may have lashed, pleaded and screamed for the gods for hours but nothing happened. \n\n\n***\nFinally, a man in a white robe appeared out of thin air but I wasn't stunned…I was already used to stranger things. The stranger looked devilishly handsome with his fiery white hair and playful grin. Something seemed familiar about him.\n\n“Nice to see you again. It's time you regain your memories.\" He said then snapped his fingers.\n\nI had flashes of first day in midschool when some bullies pushed me into the school pool and I drowned. I was losing consciousness when a hand pulled me out. I never saw the face of my hero but I could now. He had the same grin as the stranger in robe.\n\n“You saved me. But why?\" \n\n“You know why Katie. You've already experienced the power. I don't want you dead like the circle said. They lied to you.\"\n\nI never knew Lucifer was such a charmer until I met him. He talked big about how we could rule the world and claim all the powers and wealth together but I wasn't interested. I told him I only wanted to live. He promised me immortality, fame and power but I still turned him down. He stopped being nice and swapped his robe for a suit.\n\nI offered to trade the mark for a normal life but he was against it.\n\n“You will feel pains, grow old and even die.\" he argued.\n\n“I know. They are parts of being human.\"\n\n\"As you wish, child.\"\n\nFinally, we struck a deal. With a kiss to my forehead, he took his gift back, the same way he had given it. I bade Anubis goodbye and rode the chariot back to London. \n\n***\n“The prophecy was a hoax. I knew it! Ruby fumed when I didn't die at midnight. She nagged on with her questions so I wished she would stop talking. When she actually went dumb and couldn't speak...I grinned." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on 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 Story of a Minute, then a Quarter Hour\n\nGenre: asian-american\n\nWord Count: 2012\n\nPrompt:\n\nFrame your story as an adult recalling the events of their childhood." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "*Notice/Caution - I don’t want to seem like I am spoon-feeding anything, but I want to explain my tense and dialogue choice (in case my future self reads this and cringes at me for using bad technique). Please forgive me (and brace yourselves) for the confusing shifts between past and present tense that will occur. Everything is written from a retrospective perspective, but I just wanted to experiment with the contrasting effects the past and present tense can have on a story. When she remembers seeing and interacting with the character and having that epiphany, I wanted her to be so present in the past that the tense shifts. As for the reported speech: I cannot replicate Donna Tartt’s bone-chilling dialogue in the prologue of The Secret History, and what I wrote is far from perfect. But I wanted to highlight the subjectivity and unreliability involved in the retrospective narrator. So future me, take note and please don’t get mad.\n\nPlus, I welcome any feedback!\n\n—\n\nHe slumps on one foot while the other rocks back and forth like a pendulum, sending ripples through the fuzzy maroon rope which fenced up the paintings. I doubt that he is remotely aware that he is leaning dangerously close to the artwork, or that the security staff grimaces rhythmically at every forward swing of his foot, ready to pounce if he moves any closer. To his relief, the leg brushes against the fence one last time, steps away, and curls itself around an oak bench, a smoothed-out seat glistening from years of acquaintance with the rough, sandpaper texture of jeans. \n\nFrom my nearsighted eyes, it becomes all but a pointillist painting: the pixelated effect I imagine you’d arrive to if you take a transparent picture of the \nEarth from space, \nzoom in on this very art museum, \nground floor, \ngallery 3, \nand circle to the wall opposite the man-sized boy mannequin that gives me the creeps. Trace the last bend of the waves reverberating down the fence; catch the dull, mustard-colored frame of the painting; glimpse the rings of halos from the light above his head; and finally him, camouflaged in the mundanity of it all. The soft curve of his curls distort into mosaic tiles; a rosy flush smears across his cheeks from blurred out pimples; shadows pool into the nook of his collarbone. Him, elbows on knees, frozen in the act of leaning forward \n\nlike a trembling swimmer on the diving board seconds before exploding through the surface of the water. Looking into this blur, I feel an intolerable urge to sit by him and religiously echo his posture as he studies the painting. But with it follows the second wave of despair, dread, and terror from haunting clarity that even then, I might as well be hypnotised by the spin of a yo-yo and he rolling his eyes at a chemistry experiment. Nor is there any use following his thoughts—all the words in the world could not articulate the honesty of a silent stir in the mind.\n\n—\n\nHe stood up, and the momentary painting erupted into action. Time hurried to catch up with this accidental lapse as crowds swarmed around the paintings like flies around a rotting banana peel. Their headless movements interrupted my gaze, and he was engulfed by the humming wave of motion and crowds. It took me a while to find my footing—art museum, ground floor, gallery 3, behind that creepy statue. Absent-mindedly, I drifted over to the Landscape with the Fall of Icarus painting and glanced at the artist and description underneath. How could they still call an art theirs if it is reborn, repainted in a new mind every time an eye flickers upon them? If an artist knew all the meanings and interpretations their painting evoked in different people, they would probably be horrified enough to never pick up a paintbrush again, let alone hang it in a national gallery. I suppose Basil Howard had some sense hoarding his best art. The original meaning that he created behind it would not be watered down and diluted among the various interpretations of others. Only then, the artist can truly call an art their own, as it would exist in an universe where there is only one objective meaning behind the art, which is defined solely by the artist. Overwhelmed and slightly repulsed by this discovery, I stumbled through the entrance and sat on the top of the staircase.\n\nThe last mechanical cool of the AC radiating off the marble tiles left me. Stranded among the heat and the croaking cicadas, I began to debate whether to go inside or not. But I suppose I liked it out here, on the edge of the stairs, surrounded by blurred leather shoes and swinging handbags, people-watching. People are most beautiful when they are not looking at me, which is why I hate Instagram pictures, whoever’s in it. They always lock eyes with you through the screen, deliberate, aware, tight-up, on their tip-toes, with their fight-or-flight mode on or whatever. But looking through the tinted windows in a car, or an ignored corner in a room, or a busy street, there’s always the protection of invisibility, and then you start to overromancise the mundane. A matching two piece. Ashes falling off a cigarette from a flickering hand hanging outside the driver seat window. The curve of her calf muscles when she sits cross legged. A fading pedicure. This is what I feel like now, on the edge of the staircase, dissolving into oblivion.\n\n—\n\nA familiar voice pulls me back into existence—art gallery, top of the stairs. My heart throbs once, twice.\n\nCooling down after seeing that Icarus painting? he says. Tendrils of smoke from his cigarette cradles his jaw, disturbed by his sudden motion of sitting down beside me. \n\nHope you don’t mind it? he says, waving the tendrils of smoke that played with his hair away like an insect. I shake my head. The dull glow of his cigarette almost kisses his lips. A subdued grimace flashes across his face as he tries to bend his fractured finger to smudge the cigarette to ash. From my peripheral view, I became exceedingly aware that he was watching me. He had a pair of the most intense eyes, studded with a hot shimmer, like sunlight striking off the hood of a hearse. Dimmed by the soft curves of his eyelashes, the pupil often dissolved into the muddy darkness of the iris. Seeing my gaze fixed on the finger splint, he responds:\n\nParkour. Always end up trying too hard. It’s not like I can help it. \n\nNo. Didn’t think I would see you here, Dion.\n\nNeither did I, but I’ve already been surprised twice and it’s only late morning. Once by myself, and the other by seeing you. What brings you here?\n\nThe paintings, I shrug.\n\nDo you draw?\n\nNo, I say.\n\nGood.\n\nWhy, so then I could be as ignorant as you are?\n\nNo, so then you could be as privileged as I am. Never used to believe it, but this is where ignorance is bliss finally applies. Studying a painting from the perspective of an artist distracts you from seeking the truth of it. And when I say seeking, it’s not like there is an objective one. It’s something you have to create. When you draw, you analyse the techniques of the painting headfirst. The golden rule, parallelism, or whatever. And then get to the core, the emotional quality of it, or never even that part. By that time, you’ve already lost on the starting line. And as our parents say, never 输在起跑线上。So I say, we’re not bad art connoisseurs after all.\n\nI suppose so. The language of art is universal, because it is felt, not understood. You don’t get that much from STEM subjects. \n\nExactly, though I might be wrong, because I don’t paint. My dad does, so I’m only explaining his thought process. Anyway, no worries, it’s just that I think we’re fine, as non-artists. It doesn’t make our opinion any less valid than an artist or in fact the artist of the painting.\n\nYour dad’s an artist?\n\nYeah, I mean, I wouldn’t really say—but yeah, I guess. He sketches, paints, although it’s not very precise, like those ancient Greek statues. Right. Rather abstract. He follows a visual arts textbook and explains his paintings in technical terms, though he can’t really articulate the meaning behind them. I think he missed the whole point of creating art.\n\nCan’t articulate it, or doesn’t want to?\n\nWell, I-uh, you know…\n\n—\n\nAs he rambled on, he looked up to the sun, but did not actually see it, for his eyes were lost in remembrance and confusion. A cloud shifted, and his jet black eyes and hair were set alight the same way in the sun. To this day, I still remember that striking image of him, scorched to the back of my eyelids. It’s the kind you get when you stare at a bright object for too long in the dark and it imprints onto your retina and haunts your vision for a while, but this time it’s temporary, eternal, immortal amongst the erratic shifts of my memory. \n\n水急不流月。The still reflection of the moon upon the waters is undisturbed by the choppy waves. \n\nRemember when we gave the moon credit for its silky, ivory glow, when it was in fact only a reflection of the sun’s light? The composed countenance when he glanced towards the sun—no wrinkles rippling through his eyes, nor a hand shielding his face—probably succeeded to pull off the same illusion that the warm, gold sunlight radiated from him. It thrashed through his tumbling curls, swelling in the halo of the glow, and seeped into the dormant black eyes; the colors of amber and late autumn exploded like a volcano inside a snow globe.\n\n—\n\nBut I wished I could do something more than looking, like I was Nick Carraway or a writer of a biography: passive, distant, helplessly obsessed with a life I don’t lead. Somehow, this reminded me that we never really touched. I don’t mean in any sensual way—I curse my mind for even going there—, but the mere brush of a shoulder, an accidental step on a shoe, or my hair getting stuck on his coat buttons. I suppose it was one way to tear apart the shallow mirage I build for the people I think about excessively, and another way to be more involved in the lives of others. I looked down at his fingers, at the whites on his roughly clipped nails and hair sprouting out behind the silver ring. Then at his other hand, which stroked the accessory: the shadows they reflected, the pink spots on his open palm, and the three curves slicing through them. I traced the parabola of the longest one down to the copper green veins on his wrist—which disappeared into a darkened scar on his forearm, probably from some fall while playing sports.\n\nI remembered that I forgot what the first touch of anyone felt like, even my childhood crush. It was trivial, but why should it be? It suggested a new level of intimacy and comfort to be familiar with the touch of someone. The hard calluses on his fingers from playing guitar, the bounciness of his hair, the way my temple will probably line up with his collarbone when we hug and how comfortable or disagreeable that will be. He sat beside me but seemed so distant, and I couldn’t break the reserved, friendly, just-getting-to-know-you comfort that we slipped into, or risk putting ourselves in an awkward situation. In retrospect, I think it would surprise both of us if we touched, then. I would be surprised about how I managed to manifest any fantasy into action and reality, and both of us would be confused about why I did it. Even now, I don’t know why I had the sudden urge to do so then. But thankfully, I don’t act on my impulses." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: As Good As Dead\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 1498\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about two characters on the verge of a life-changing event, but one has rigged the outcome." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Brock pulled up to the hospital, wondering if he needed to admit himself to the ER. A puddle of blood had trickled onto his lap from the wound on his hand. The floor beneath his feet squished and crackled. Sweat, blood, and glass had accumulated on the mat from the blown windows and injuries sustained from his second-story-jump.\n He dialed Shuggs. “I’m out front.”\nWhen Shuggs opened the car door, he froze and stared at the splintered glass. “I thought I had it bad,” he said, brushing off his seat and getting into the car. “What in the hell happened to you today?”\n“You’ve seen me look worse.” Brock pulled away from the curb. He headed to the hotel, giving his friend a sideways glance. “You look like crap yourself. “What happened and where’ve you been for the last few hours?”\n “Bro, it’s complicated.” Shuggs stretched his neck muscles. “First, tell me why you look like hell warmed over.”\n“You missed the special agents assigned to interview us. They showed up at the hotel right after I dropped you off.”\nShuggs opened his cell phone and checked the screen. “Okay, so those must’ve been the calls I missed. I thought they were supposed to do that tomorrow at Dr. Harper’s office.”\n“You know how they like to operate. Show up when you least expect it,” Brock said. “Anyway, they were looking for you and ended up speaking with me in my room. Problem is, my room had been ransacked.”\n“They take anything?”\n“Nothing was missing. But, whoever broke in ripped my face out of that photograph I take with me everywhere.”\n“That’s strange,” Shuggs said. “Probably trying to send you a message.”\n“Yeah, that’s exactly what I think.” Brock frowned. “The special agents who met with me assigned security detail with an escort to another location. After they left, I went to your room and found a bloody handprint on your door and no one inside.”\n“Bro, I’m sorry. I was so upset about a personal situation that I punched a hole in the bathroom wall and busted up my hand.” Shuggs held up his bandaged hand. “Grabbed an Uber to the ER to get some stitches.”\n“Why didn’t you tell me?” Brock asked. “I could’ve driven you.”\n“I was embarrassed. Didn’t know how to tell you what a mess of things I’d made,” Shuggs said. “But go ahead and finish telling me what happened to you.”\n“I was about to leave with whom I thought was my security escort. “ Brock breathed deeply. “Then, I get a call from a special agent warning me that an imposter came to pick me up and to fend him off until back up arrived.”\n“No freaking way.”\nBrock wiped a bead of sweat from his brow. “I stall the guy and to escape through the window just as he broke down the door and started firing at me.”\nShuggs looked around at the inside of the vehicle. “He sure did a number on the car. Seemed like a close call.” \n“They told his name is Snake,” Brock said. “He’s got to be long gone by now. Besides, they sent people from the agency. You’ll need to be moved too. But for now, I’ve got to meet with the special agents again. They’re waiting for me to fill them in about Snake.”\n“I’ll pack up and return their calls,” Shuggs said. “See what they want me to do.”\n “What’s going on with you?” Brock rubbed his throbbing temples. “What personal situation has you punching holes in walls?”\nShuggs closed his eyes for a moment. “Bro, I’ve been living a nightmare.”\nBrock turned to Shuggs. “Are you okay, man?”\n“No. I’m not okay.”\n“What’s up?”\nHe rolled his shoulders back. “I’m being blackmailed,” Shuggs said.\n“Blackmailed? By who?”\nShuggs stuffed a piece of nicotine gum into his mouth. “My ex.” \n“Which one?”\n“The last one.”\n“So, your ex-wife, Cindy, the twins’ mother, is blackmailing you.”\nShuggs nodded. “She’s using stuff she knows to bribe me,” he said and sighed. “Threatened to take away my visitation rights. Turn my girls against me.”\n“How would she be able to do that?”\n“Cindy knows things.”\n“Like what?” Brock asked. \n“Personal things.”\n“I’m listening.”\nShuggs avoided Brock’s steady gaze and cradled his head. “Cindy knows I’ve been running my own intel on Patti—”\n“Patricia Pang?”\nShuggs nodded.\n“Okay, let’s figure this out.” Brock ran a hand across his jaw, his mind racing. “You could take the stance that you were a concerned friend,” he said. “Tell her you had suspicions and wanted to check out a few hunches. Maybe say you were working with OSINT (Open Source Intelligence). Nothing wrong with that.”\nShuggs shook his head. “It ain’t that simple, bro. When I went out of town, I allowed her to go to my house to pick up the twins’ ski equipment. She snooped around, found my recordings, pictures. You name it. Knows I used agency equipment to collect data on an American citizen without clearance. That’s a clear violation. You know that.”\nBrock took a few moments to process what he’d heard. This meant Cindy was aware of the threat Patti posed. She knew of Patti’s possible involvement with Black extremists. But what would she do with that info? She and Patti were still good friends. The hair on the back of his neck prickled. “Have you told anyone?”\n“No. You know me, bro. I ain’t afraid of much.” He hung his head. “But not only could Cindy sink my career to keep hers afloat,” Shuggs said. “She’ll take my kids away. Make them hate me. I can’t let that happen. Those girls are my everything.”\nBrock swallowed. He knew from bitter experience that even good people did the unthinkable when they were hurting. Shuggs and Cindy had been through a lot in their marriage, but he never knew her to be the blackmailing type. The timing for this couldn’t have been worse. After all, they were on the verge of being promoted to being special agents. Thank God I rigged the outcome. “What does she want? Money?”\nShuggs slowly shook his head.\n“Then what?”\n“She wants the story.”\n“I don’t understand.”\n“Cindy’s struggled as a reporter especially now that she’s aging out. Younger aspiring reporters are lining up, ready to take her job. She’d hoped to make anchor by now.” Shuggs ran a hand over his sweaty scalp.\nBrock’s eyes widened as he began to understand where Shuggs was going. “So, she wants to use the story to propel her career?”\n“Yes. She’s such a selfish bi—”\n“You said no, right?” Brock’s pulse quickened thinking of how this leak would affect them. “Please tell me you said no.”\n“I told her I wouldn’t do that,” Shuggs said, his voice filled with rage. “I begged her to drop it.”\n“But?”\n“You have to understand I was desperate, bro. I…I…asked someone to try to talk sense to her.”\nGripping the steering wheel, Brock turned into the hotel’s lot, which was now crawling with police. “What do you mean?”\n“I hired a “black” agent to reason with her.”\n“When you say “black,” do you mean illegal or the agent’s color?”\n“The guy happens to be African-American,” Shuggs said. “But I meant illegal. Someone off the grid the agency keeps on reserve when they don’t want any loose ends.”\nBrock shook his head. “We both know those type of “black” agents kill, they don’t talk.”\n“That’s what I paid him to do,” Shuggs said. “Just talk.”\nBrock parked at the farther point from the hotel but kept the engine idling. “You paid an illegal agent to talk to your ex-wife?”\n“I had no other choice.” He looked at his hands. “I was painted into a corner.”\n“Where’s Cindy now?”\n“I don’t know.”\n“My God,” Brock grimaced. “He didn’t kill her, did he?”\n“You know how those guys are.” Shuggs stared off into space. “I’m praying to God that she’s just frightened.”\n“Whatever this guy did to her, made her upset enough to disappear,” Brock said.\n“The girls haven’t been able to find her. She hasn’t been to work in two days.”\n“You’re going to have to tell Dr. Harper.”\n“Can’t do that. Not yet.” Shuggs threw his hands up. “I’m praying Cindy comes home. That way I can reason with her. Maybe, I’ll ask her to take me back, make things work. If that doesn’t pan out, I’ll offer her the house, money, anything to put this behind us.” He unbuckled his seatbelt and opened the door, his face ashen.\n“What’s your next move?” Brock asked, knowing Cindy was good as dead as far as he was concerned. The money he’d paid Snake was money well spent. Nothing’s getting between me and that promotion. I’ll pin the murder on Shuggs. It’ll be believable by the time I’m done with the details.\n“I must find Cindy,” Shuggs said. “And then, I have to convince her to kill the story.”" } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Hot cup of coffee!\n\nGenre: asian-american\n\nWord Count: 1018\n\nPrompt:\n\nFrame your story as an adult recalling the events of their childhood." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Hot cup of coffee\n When I was young, my mother worked all the time in the hospital as a doctor and I spent most of my time with my grandmother. \nMy grandmother had a small but very cozy apartment and I was particularly fascinated by the wallpaper covering all the walls in all the rooms; on which there were drawings of families outings in nature with the pets running here and there.\nThe families had lunch and snacks with a cup of hot tea or coffee. I would contemplate on these drawings for long periods of time and let my imagination run wild and a lot of daydreaming as you can imagine !\nAnd my grandmother always used to tell me: What do you like about this wallpaper? I can assure you it’s the same thing everyday and it will never change.\n My grandmother was drinking coffee, unusual for the Russian people who love tea, with some local pastries ( pirojkis), that have been passed down from generation to generation.\n And I wondered why my grandmother used to drink a big cup of hot coffee every day. And one day I decided to ask her to put an end to this mystery that differs from all the neighbors who only drink one drink as if nature did not produce anything else on the surface of the earth!\n One day I decided to ask my grandmother why she chose hot coffee instead of tea, and there was always only one answer to this question: Not now!\n One day, it was a Sunday and my mom didn't go to the hospital because it was a day off, so we decided to go out for a short walk and of course to do some Picnic, and go out for a relaxing day in nature.\n These were the happiest moments of my life when I could spend some quality time with my mom ; I used to ask her all the way about the names of trees and their fruits and plants and wild and non-wild flowers without tiring or getting bored. \nMy mother also answered me with enthusiasm and eagerness to make up for the long absences, she was feeling guilty without any doubt.\n The nature was beautiful and the weather at the end of August was great with no chance of rain.\nA lot of birds were singing around us; I was always curious about their names and where they came from, and why birds have always to travel to other exotic lands, and not happy to stay where they are , just like us: humans!\nI was also wondering where they were hiding during the cold season and who gave them this feather and who painted it in all these vivid colors! I was dreaming as well, in my daydreaming to have the chance to get similar colors; that much I loved artistic asp of the nature, without knowing it at that time.\nClouds seemed to be always amused to play the hide and seek game; I was looking at and following these clouds and I remember asking the adults around me: why clouds cry? Why hurt them and why, they never hurt anybody and they are always there when we need to talk to anybody. But they don’t find in return anybody when they need to cry, and everyone is just running away, is it fair? I don’t think so.\nOnce, one frog was hit by a car on the high way, though it was just playing and jumping. They say that in France they eat frogs’s hips, may be that’s why they jump all the time to spoil their meals eaten with a lot of spicy sauces and considered the best on the menu!\nI look to all these flowers around me, are they the reflections of the birds colors? Or may be they got painted when the clouds were crying. May be it’s the sacrifice clouds are doing by giving all these colors to the nature, and the flowers are getting all the compliments; life is not faire, even the sky knows that. Not all the flowers are lucky, some of them are massacred and their souls are hidden is bottles of all typa de sizes, do they keep them for the next life? Do flowers have reincarnation too?\nThe rainbow is a faithful friend, he never leaves the clouds when they are crying. Can we find a lot of rainbows in our life time, or it’s only one and has expiration date just like the honey in the jar? Please rainbow, dear rainbow, get cloned and I promise I’ll get you a true identity card.\nwhat do I suggest? I suggest that there will be a village for flowers and another one for birds and bees, and that there will be a huge beauty contest where the sky, the cloud and the sun would represent the jury! The criteria of Miss gardens is to be the least selfish by donating all the extra colors and spread it around, just like a magic dust that would turn into fruits and candy to feed everyone.\n If I knew later that these moments could not be repeated, I would have put them in a box and sealed it so that I could smell its perfume later when I walked on the rugged serpent road with deadly slopes. \nBut my innocence was showing me that these moments are certainly the beginning of more beautiful and beautiful moments.\n And then my mom said let's sit here and have lunch before sunset. After lunch, my mother brought out cups of tea for me and her, but she brought out one small cup for my grandmother for coffee. I said to my mother with enthusiasm: Mama, this cup looks like the one drawn on my grandmother's wallpaper! \nMy mother laughed and said to my grandmother: As far as I remember it was a gift from Jean-Pierre before he left back to France when the war was over, wasn't it?!\nNow, when I grew up, I realized that coffee love is also inherited!" } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: A Rose, by any other Name\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 1336\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character who smells something familiar and is instantly taken back to the first moment they smelled it." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "“Hello?”\n“Rose Alison Walker?”\n“Speaking, how may I help you?”\n“Hello Mrs. Walker, I’m Anthony Bannister, I work for NPR, and I was wondering if I could interview you about your memories of the events of May 31st and June 1st 1921.”\n“Are you a white man Mr. Bannister?”\n“Yes, Mrs. Walker, I am. But I’m proud to say that my parents marched with Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. and I want to let the world know what happened to you and your town.”\n“Well it’s about time young man. White folk always wanted to cover it up.”\n“I’m coming to Tulsa next week, may I visit you at your home?”\n“Yes, Mr. Bannister, you may. I was only 12 at the time, but I’ll be happy to tell you everything I remember.”\n“How about next Saturday afternoon, is that OK?”\n“That suits me fine. See you then.”\nOn Saturday I stop by at a local flower shop, “Rose’s Florist” to pick up a bouquet of a dozen red roses that I had ordered as a gift to the old lady I’m about to visit. “It seems appropriate, since her name is Rose, and the name of the Florist is too.\nWhen Mrs. Walker answers the door I present the sweet smelling bouquet with a smile, and she’s taken aback, recoiling with a look of shock on her face and gasping for breath.\n“The roses!” the words burst breathlessly from her lips as she starts to reel backwards.\nI understand immediately and throw them on the ground behind me, then I reach out to help her steady herself.\n“I’m so sorry Mrs. Walker, I had no idea you were allergic to roses.” I help her and we go to sit in her living room as she catches her breath. I wait patiently until she speaks.\n“You almost gave me a heart attack young man. But you couldn’t have known. Ever since June 1st 1921, I can’t stand to see or smell roses. They bring back all the memories so vividly it’s like I’m living that horrible day all over again. It’s been ages now that everyone I know calls me Alison or Ali. No one calls me Rose anymore.”\n“I’m truly sorry Mrs. Walker, may I call you Alison?”\n“You may young man. At least, now, for your interview, everything is just like it happened yesterday.”\n“May I record our conversation?”\n“At last someone wants to know what happened. Of course I agree, if you promise that everyone will learn about what happened to us.”\n“It won’t be a secret any longer, I promise Alison, the whole world will soon know about this tragedy.”\nI start recording. After staring into space for a few minutes she starts to tell her story.\n“May 31st was my twelfth birthday. My father had asked one of his white friends to go to DeHaven’s Flower Shop and buy a dozen red roses as a surprise for me. Fresh roses were rare, and very expensive, but DeHaven’s had them. They only let white people in the store though. Our family was well to do, my father was a physician and he was already 40 when WWI broke out, so he didn’t serve in the army. We had a large two-storey house on North Hartford Avenue in the Greenwood neighborhood filled with beautiful furniture and a large grand piano. I had started taking piano lessons when I was 6, and my heart was set on being a musician. That dream was shattered along with all the rest the next day.\nWhen he came home on the evening of my birthday, my father put the roses in a vase and placed it on the grand piano on a pink and red granny-square that I had crocheted. I had never smelled roses before that day, and these boasted a particularly fragrant perfume. My dad sat down at the piano and played “Happy Birthday” while my mom brought my birthday cake into the living room and the whole family sang. I was right in the middle, with two older sisters and two younger brothers. After I had made a wish and blown out the candles, my mother cut a piece for everyone. My father asked me to play something for the family. I chose a composition that I had only mastered recently; \"Les Roses D'Ispahan\" Opus 39, No. 4, by Gabriel Fauré. As I played, I could see from their smiles that my parents were both filled with pride and admiration.\nThe phone rang and my dad answered, and as he listened a worried look came over his face. As we were used to his being called for emergencies we all presumed that someone needed help. But it wasn’t the case this time. He didn’t take his doctor’s kit as he rushed out the door, but before leaving he told us all to come together for a big family hug, and he told us how much he loved us all. We were asleep when he came home, and I never learned where he went that night.\nEarly the next morning we were woken by the sound of gunfire and the smell of smoke, and we saw people running past the house; all black people from our neighborhood. Houses were burning all up the street from us. My dad went outside and we could hear him talking with some white men. They all had guns, and they ordered him to come with them. He begged them not to set the house on fire, but that’s what they did after he went with them. We tried to get out, but they had set all the doors on fire. All of us kids huddled together with our mom in the living room, terrified. They wanted to burn us alive! We heard a crash as a window shattered in the kitchen at the back of the house, then my dad rushed into the living room. He had succeeded in slipping away while the mobsters were busy dousing the house with kerosene. We all climbed through the broken window after my dad had smashed out all of the glass. As we ran down the street with all of the other black folk, an airplane overhead dropped burning balls and someone was also shooting from the plane. I saw an old man drop dead to the ground in front of us, but we had to keep running for our lives. Dad stopped to help a pregnant woman and he told us to keep running. We never saw him again. My mom and us kids were picked up and brought to the YWCA in downtown Tulsa, where they had prepared mattresses on the floor of the gym. We were put there with lots of other black folk, mostly women and children with a few old men.\nWhen all of the white folk had left our neighborhood we went back. There was nothing left but ashes and smoke. Anything that had not been burned had been destroyed. We had nothing, and no father to help us rebuild our life.\nNow, young man, perhaps you can see why I cannot stand the sight or the smell of roses, and why everyone calls me Alison now. I asked everyone I knew not to use my name.”\nI thank her for her time and her contribution, and iterate that many people want the truth to be known. As I leave her house I pick up the bouquet that I had thrown behind me. When I get home I hang it upside down to let it dry.\nNow the bouquet of dried roses sits in a vase on my piano (it’s an upright, not a grand) and I've recently learned how to play \"Les Roses D'Ispahan\".\n\nNote: this story is fiction based on a real event that occurred on the 31st of May and the 1st of June 1921 in the community of Greenwood in the city of Tulsa Oklahoma, USA, known as the Tulsa Race Massacre." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Memories\n\nGenre: asian-american\n\nWord Count: 1730\n\nPrompt:\n\nFrame your story as an adult recalling the events of their childhood." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Some memories are abandoned but a spark of light from seven years ago is something that I can never forget. A life lesson that always lingers around every day. \n That time, I stared at the same full moon as today. The cobalt plate hung up on top of my head a couple of years ago...\n\n “Mom,” my young self called that night. “Why is the moon blue today?” I was curious about everything and I would always make older kids and adults go crazy. However, my mother was never bothered by it. Instead, she seemed to like it.\n “The goddess in the sky was adorning the moon for the new year!” My mother explained as she taped ‘fu’ (fortune) symbols all over the house. \n “No,” my father wiped his glasses against his shirt and put them onto his nose. “Blue moons… are caused by smoke or other particles in the air. Also, what your mom said is wrong, the moon has no oxygen to support life so there can’t be-”\n “Really,” my mother rolled her eyes and had to interrupt. “Teaching your son science now? C'mon! Wear some clothes and let’s go outside to make a snowman!”\n With that, I wore a red-striped shirt over my plain sweater. Then, my mother placed a blue winter coat on me. Compared to the thick three-layered cloth I wore, my pants were less awkward. It was completely made out of fur that could sustain the coldness. The dazzling white stripes shone on my pants like a gem among rocks. Why do I walk like a penguin? My clothes were too snug so I didn’t have much room to move in. My mother single-kneed and tied my shoelace as I extended my arm to reach the handle.\n Woosh!*\n The second I opened the door, I felt a formidable force that completely overpowered and undermined my strength. Driven by the blow, the door slammed into the wall with a cacophonous sound. A magical path stretched in front of my minute but bright eyes. With the blades slashing at my cheeks, they turned scarlet but I didn’t notice the pain at all. I was astonished by the scene I viewed.\n The spiritual light from the heavens resembled the reflection of the silver world. I assumed that the gods were showing me how marvelous the world was. Everything was like being painted by a master. I narrowed my eyes to focus on a few snowflakes. Each had their own shape, unique was not enough to describe them. I took my first step. I felt a pity that such a perfect euphoria will be destroyed by me but I enjoyed it. I stretched out my tongue and the flakes that landed on it sublimed.\n Crack!*\n I looked down as I moved my feet from their original position, discovering a miniature branch that’s split into halves. The naked branch left a black trace in the thick and elegant coat of white as it moved lifelessly without any will. The starry endless sky whispered to me and the winter lady embraced me with her soft touch. I whirled around and found the source of water crashing against stones. The lake was posthaste descending downstream. Seeing this, I couldn’t help but ask my parents another question.\n “Mom, why is the water not freezing?”\n “Who knows, why don’t you try to find out?” \n My father inhaled and exhaled deeply in the air. “Your mom doesn’t know,” he began. “it’s because the water can contain the heat that it contains in the summer.”\n “Why can the water contain the heat?”\n “So…”\n I asked my father questions after questions and he proficiently answered every question until he noticed the sullen expression of my mother. \n “Let’s play, you can save those questions for later.”\n I twirled and rolled in the snow and when I finally reached down the slope, I was already a snow-’boy’ because they were all sticking on my clothes. I flopped my hands up and down, forming an angel on the white cover. My father held onto a handful of snow and rubbed them in his hands. The snow fell on piles and I saw my father closing his eyes and unfolded his arm.\n “What are you doing dad?”\n “Oh, I was just thinking about the memory of my youth. I remember that a long time ago, your dad once licked on a piece of metal in a park in the winter. When I tried to pull it off, I couldn’t, so I was stuck there struggling to move for a long time. Hahaha.” Great booming laughter billowed from his mouth. I like my father’s laugh, tears streaming down his face and his shoulders shaking. His laugh was like a morning-bird singing, like a bell ringing. It brought hope and light in the tranquility. I joined in as well. My mother commenced describing her old events too.\n After hearing the stories, I felt hesitant if I really knew my parents or not. They were both so wild, they climbed trees, ran on walls, and always trolled their brothers and friends. I wondered if one day I would tell my story to my kid. About a distinctive and lost world to them. \n I formed a city with my fire dragon winter gloves that I brought myself. I am the creator of all things! I soon constructed bases, temples, houses, mountains, and people. If another person was to see this, they would just see massive piles of snow gathering around me. However, my imagination was greater than the vision of my eyes. I made a nuke to destroy my city and had a war between soldiers. I led heroes to fight against evil elementals, to go against snow demons. I was eager to continue but I had to relinquish my project for World War because I was going to have some snowball fights with my neighbors. \n In my memory, someone short but bossy came out. I remembered that he was my friend and his surname was Bai. I forgot his first name. Then, another tall boy came out. He was one year older than me and could be considered handsome. His surname was Gao.\n “Bai, Brother Gao!” I hopped away from my creation to greet them. \n “Hello.”\n “Hi! Do you want to play some snowball fights?”\n The up curve on my mouth broadened and I instantly agreed. It was Bai and me going against Brother Gao. We built a barricade to guard ourselves. The snowballs were easy to form. I produced all the snowballs and Bai threw them at Brother Gao. To make the best snowball, I first gathered a mass of snow until I could dig up the yellow grass. Then I would slowly brush my fingers against the base to form a perfect and large sphere. Once in the game, I made a large one that Bai could barely hold. We managed to hit Brother Gao and he was defeated. Their parents called them home after a few more rounds of snowball fights. Only footsteps were left in the pure surface of drifted new snow. My parents approached me later and challenged me as well as taught me something.\n “Son, I want you to make the largest snowball possible. Not using your method, but to roll it from scratch. The snow is very good, so you should make one easy,” My mother announced and my father grinned peculiarly.\n What is the use of doing this? With a bit of procrastination, I finally gave in and started to make the oversized snowball. I had to go down all the way to roll it. I felt helpless because it felt like it would take forever, but quickly, the snowball reached my knees, then my waist -- until I had to use all my force to move it. The more I rolled, the more arduous it became. I sat beside the unfinished snowball.\n “This is the largest snowball I can make! What now?”\n “No, you can do better,” my father responded.\n I sighed and continued to push against the snowball with my entire body. I was embittered. How do I do this? Can it be that I need another way? I gazed toward my chin and rested my shoulders on the snowball. Another way… Ah! I was suddenly enlightened and I beamed.\n “Help me!” When I exclaimed, my parents shared an approving look and rolled the snowball with me. In the end, the finished product was even higher than mine! We produced a small ball to lay on top of the larger ball. My mother prepared some buttons, sticks, carrots, and an abandoned pan. We built a snowman!\n I stretched my body and I looked at my parents to seek further instructions. \n “As you can see, everything started with being a grain of rice. You have to be diligent to succeed. In the process of success, you also need help from friends and family to insert your full strength. There will be things that will try to stymie your efforts but a road is not meant to be walked alone. Promise me no matter what, remember what I said today. You will be the backbone of this family’s future. Son, be strong, have strength,” My father concluded as he hugged me. \n I tried to apprehend the sentences that my father just threw at me and I recognized what he mostly meant. “I will live up to your expectation and promise to remember what you said today!” I promised and I felt exultant.\n\n My parents sat down under the bright moon. It brought an entirely different view in the dark. I took a seat beside them, looking upon the sky. My father taught me his knowledge of the stars. I was interested but my mother just put her palm on her face. Sitting there, my family felt united. Layers and layers of snow fell on us overnight. This was a fantasy. There were no other moons, no other days like this. The World surrounded and orbited me. I glanced up with my parents. The blue moon faded in color but the lesson I learned never did.\n I longed for another winter like this.\nFIN\n\n*Note: This is a short story for a competition from last year and I decide to share this story because I find it fitting the topic. Please leave a like and comment!*" } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on 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 Memory of You\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 1093\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character discovering something new about their past that changes how they remember an important moment." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "The day was September 9th. My mother and I were in the car on the way to the cemetery, where we were going to visit my late father. She parked the car and we got out. We bought four carnations from the flower girl and walked to the grave. He was at the end of the cemetery, died seven years ago, strucked by blood cancer, also known as leukemia. His death was a shock to all of us, especially to my mother. I could never get close to him because he was always working and there was no time for me. That’s why I’m not very traumatized when I come here. I don’t have the memories that every child has with their father.\nHe worked as a policeman, always absent for missions and business trips. I was eight years old when he died. No one let me see his face before he was buried because I was small. I wished I could spend a day with him, I had a lot of questions. I wanted to know why this was happening and why I couldn’t have a father like any other child had.\nMother kept saying that no matter how difficult life is for you, you must always respond with strength and reason.\nAnd here we are, stopping in front of the tomb, on whose tombstone was written the name “Samuel Myers”, and below it was a detailed description and verses. The wind blew, carrying a few yellowed leaves in front of us. I bent down and placed the flowers in front of him and stared at the tombstone. My mother cried, as she does every year. I couldn’t, I didn’t feel the need to cry, not when I didn’t have it.\n“He always asked about you,” - she sobbed. - “Every night when you slept, he called to ask how you were and how your day went.”\n“Why didn’t he go home to ask me in person?” - I replied in a cold tone.\n“There was no way …” - my mother said. - “He was working.”\n“What kind of person puts his job in front of his family.”\n“Don’t talk about your father like that, Leo. He did everything for us. ”\n“What did he do so much that in eight years he never saw his son for more than a few hours?” - I shouted.\n“I will share with you a story you don’t know and you couldn’t have known as a child. Your father worked in two places at the same time so he could support us. The police at the time did not pay much, especially to us blacks. At night he was a company security guard, and in his spare time he went to clean houses. He rarely had the opportunity to go home, and at one point the disease drove him away. Only if you know how much I wanted to help make money, but they didn’t take black women anywhere, they called us monsters. All I could do was stay home and teach you a good upbringing and take care of you. When your father fell ill, I had no choice but to beg. After a while I managed to find a normal job, and look at me now - CEO of one of the most successful companies in the country. ” - she grinned. - “If Samuel were alive, he would be proud of me now, and even more so of you.”\nMy tears kept flowing as if they were burning my face. I couldn’t believe her words, but there was no way it could be a lie.\nMy mother hugged me and buried my face between her head and shoulder, crying even harder. At that moment, I regretted all those seven years that I had come here and not felt lost. I realized how difficult it was for my parents to raise me in these conditions, and their desire to have a family was inviolable. I turned to the tombstone once more and said, “I’m sorry, Dad!”\n“He didn’t want you to know about it. He wanted you to think I was the better parent. Samuel knew about his illness before you were born, and he knew he wouldn’t live to see you until now. And when you’re not as close to someone as you two weren’t, you don’t feel that way. And I remain, your loving mother. ”\nI leaned over and put my hand on the earth’s grave, closing my eyes.\n“I don’t hate you, Dad. I’m sorry I behaved like that and didn’t take you in your last days. I miss you, me and mom do. I have so much to tell, which means I will come here often to talk! ” - I smiled slightly.\nAs I withdrew my hand, I unwittingly dug some of the soil and a flower stalk stretched out from under it. I couldn’t tell exactly what it looked like, but I could think that was the way he answered me.\nLife brings us all good and bad moments. Some we cannot determine because we have no idea what is happening on the other side. Seeing only the bad side of a person does not mean that he is bad or terrible. It means that he is either not able to show his good, or he is afraid of it. Do not judge people by their actions in the past or present, everyone has a reason behind them. For example, I judged my father for never having time for me and preferring his job to being with his family. And I was wrong, I was wrong. Caring for someone is not just about hugs and kisses, which I almost didn’t have. This concern lies in what a person does for you and whether you know it or not. Respect your parents, whatever they are, no matter how much time they spend with you, they are out there and should always have a place in your heart. Even after thousands of business trips and night shifts, remember that they do it so that you can be well, nourished, clothed and satisfied with your needs.\nOver the months, our flower grew and grew, and more of it sprouted, covered the whole grave, it was a miracle, because flowers never sprouted here, only thorns. That was my father, I’m sure. That was his way of communicating with me.\nMother always said that no matter how difficult life is with you, you have to respond with strength and reason." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Resonating Reflections\n\nGenre: asian-american\n\nWord Count: 1717\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story that involves a reflection in a mirror." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "I was driving with zeal, on a not so zealous road. It was 10 long years since; I’d crossed this deserted cross road. I was off to meet the man who had made a significant and deep impact in my life; both personally and professionally. He has always been a true friend, an excellent mentor, a valuable guide, and above all an outstanding individual. A walking encyclopaedia, yet modest. The very first time I saw him was when I was a teenage school kid. I had kicked my football hard enough to break his big hard pot. My friend ran away in freight. While I stood there ready to confront my fate. For, this wasn’t a new episode in my life. Being a naughty brat, such unpleasant experiences were inevitable. Amongst his red ixora, stood this man. I anticipated an equally red face of his, as I scanned him from toe to head. But much to my amusement, he stood there with a sparkling smile on his face. He said calmly, “Come my child, take the ball. But be careful not to hurt others.” Well! Our relation started from there. Then on, I became a regular visitor to his garden. I’d love spending hours by his side on weekends. A complete new me evolved when I was with him. Uncle Amos was a star among the kids. But I sure did have a special place in his heart.\nUncle Amos lived with his wife Stella in our school premises. He taught us value education at school. He was the oldest staff at St. John’s School. He never wanted anyone to address him as “teacher, Sir, or by any other name. He always insisted to be called as uncle Amos”. He was a fit man in his mid-forties. All qualities that were attributed to a perfect human was seen in him. A man filled with passion to excel his own qualities. He loved to garden his plants, though he had a small garden. His house was a couple of kilometres walk from the main administrative building. Every morning he would walk briskly to the assembly hall. He led the choir, played the piano, directed the play, read the Bible story and of course the “Our father, who art in heaven…. - prayer “that he said would put me in a deep sense of tranquillity. His assembly was a key to a happy morning and an optimistic day ahead to everyone present there.\nUncle Amos didn’t have any children. His wife – Stella aunty, is his better half in every sense. An excellent cook, who would cook variety of exquisite cuisines. Italian, Japanese, or Asian; she was a flavour queen with the flavours spreading near and far. She owned a small cafeteria. She was as compassionate and caring as her husband. I’ve never seen them argue on anything. She would acknowledge every word of uncle Amos; the ones that were spoken and the ones that were said in absolute silence. An extremely simple life they led.\nUncle Amos was an open book, simple and predictable man. But one aspect of his life that was always inquisitive to me, was the fact that he never looked into the mirror. To the extent that there wasn’t a single mirror in their house. Whenever I did pick up this topic, he would walk away. The word mirror would make him red. This was the only incidence that I had seen him get fretful. Despite repeated questioning, he kept numb. Stella aunty would gesture, not to question. One day when I insisted, Aunty softly uttered in my ear “certain things are dark like the dark night. Let’s hope someday, this darkness would end and he’ll wake up into a new day”. Unable to understand the complex meaning hidden in her statement, I kept quiet. I knew, that there must be some very important matter.\nEven after graduation, I kept visiting Uncle Amos and Aunt Stella every weekend. Sometimes watering his garden or eating my heart out at her cafeteria. Until I had to fly off for my job. However, I would keep in touch via telecall and video chat. Last night, Aunty called. She was restless, “My dear child, is it possible for you to visit us? Your uncle needs you. The darkness has come face to face. He needs some strong shoulder to support during this emotional turmoil he’s going through”. Without any further question, I started off. I wonder what this darkness was? Is it something to do with his mirror phobia? Is it something from the past? He had migrated to this land 25 years ago and no one knew his past. As I headed towards the main gate of their house, my heart pounded fast and I felt my head would blast with opposing thoughts.\nUpon entering the house, I could sense a deafening silence. He sat there silent and lone. To my utter surprise, he held the mirror in his hand and kept starring right into it. His eyes on mirror, his eyes were as lifeless as that of a stone statue. Stella Aunty came in from the backyard. She hugged me and signalled to talk to uncle. With baby steps, I moved closer, placed my hand on his shoulder. He gently turned towards me. Stood straight, clasped my hand firmly, showed me the mirror. He pointed to his reflection and said “I’ve missed him for ages, he never accepted me. Today he is gone away, yet he reflects through my reflection.” Absolutely, clueless and utterly confused to the core, I reacted by raising my brows. He ran to the room, got his laptop, logged in and asked me to read his mail.\nCurious to find an answer to all those bombarding questions in my mind, I read on. It was from a certain man named Able Fernandez. Subject: My first and last mail to you. It read “My beloved brother Amos. It’s been twenty-five long years; we have seen each other. I never wanted to talk to you, I never wanted to see you. I have always been the bad guy in the family. I never respected you and always was ashamed to call you my twin brother. The fact that we both were identical, made me feel ashamed of you. I remember you being an obedient son, an intelligent student and a righteous man. I misused your name to get my work done. I fogged daddy’s signature for the property. I made millions of dollars. I betrayed Stella, to whom I was betrothed, in order to marry ruby for a big business deal. I plotted against all your plans, ensured you’d be a loser in life. I kept my children away from you, owing to the fact that they were so much attached to you. They would murmur your name “uncle Amos, uncle Amos” even in sleep. I have always taken advantage of the similarity in our looks, to trick people around. Your calm and composed nature were welcomed by all. I wanted to take away every penny from your pocket and make you as poor as a church mouse. I wanted to get rid of you. My men attacked you. Stella and you were lucky enough to escape, but your unborn child had to die even before stepping onto this world. I knew Stella wouldn’t be a mother again, I felt truly happy. I remember the day when you walked into my bungalow, with the rod in your hand. You were furious like a fire. The fire in you could burn every inch of me. Your words still linger in my ears “Able, you have played smart, but your deeds will one day will punish you.” The vengeance in your eyes shook the earth under my feet. My thighs trembled. “You hypocrite fellow. You showed your might on my innocent baby. You brutally killed him. My child. My child. My innocent little child. You deprived me of being a father. Stella is in coma. Stay happy. Be content, for you have already shattered me into piece. You have killed my soul. My existence is of no use. Though you never liked the identical face; I cherished the fact that we were alike. But today I hate this face I never want to see it again”. Saying so, you broke the mirror. Walking away, you knelt down hugged my children and said “you are spared today not as my brother but because you are a father. Try to be a good one, do justice to this role of yours.\" \nAll these years, I’ve seen reflection of myself. Images beautiful, images nasty, images clear, images blurred, images of oneness, images of solitude. I’ve seen all the varieties in this life of mine. From west to east having measured the earth. Partying with all good and bad. Sailing in the golden boat of life, I was the king of my land. No one to stop, no one to question, no restriction and no liabilities. But today everything seems a mere illusion. The reality stands tall. All I wish is to see your reflection. But….. Oh! brother Amos, today I lay on my deathbed all alone. My wife left me. Children no longer visit me. No friends and no company. Luxurious house. Millions of dollars. But I am lonely. God has punished me for all my sins with this unbearable pain and the curse of this disease.\nForgive me if you can. Please do pray for the peace of my soul. Very soon I'll depart.\nLove Able.\nUncle Amos cried like a lost child. He wept long until his store of tears exhausted. He held the mirror. Pointing to the reflection he said. \"That is a reflection. It not only reflects my face but it's a reflection of able too. His reflection was dark. The shadow of which made my reflections filthy. With repentance, he has washed away the darkness. Reflections show the self, but it reflects your character too.\nMy head bombarded, but the fog cleared off my foggy mind. All questions were answered. Why Uncle Amos and aunty Stella never had children of their own. Why they led a simple life. Why he wanted children to call him Uncle Amos and the darkness behind the mirror phobia." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Blast To The Past!\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 1169\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character who’s obsessed with an era they never lived through." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "A child was born on October 2nd, 1998. She was named Monay. She had a pretty good childhood, I must say. She loved to draw and she loved to play. She loved taking trips and sightseeing on beautiful days.\nIn her teens, Monay went to many places and saw many things. She had many childhood friends and good childhood memories. She kept in touch with her buddies for a while, but her interests began to drift. She wanted so much to live in the past, but the tables had started to shift. In Monay's eyes, her friends grew up too fast; they got married and had children, so the friendships didn’t last.\nMonay’s focus was always on the things from 1970’s time. She loved to rap, and she loved to rhyme. There were so many activities that Monay liked, but she mainly loved school, art and open-mic. Also, traveling, babysitting and taking hikes. She especially enjoyed chatting with the elderly, one to one. She found their stories from the ‘70s to be exhilarating and fun. She also loved to watch TV shows from the past, she would watch them for hours, and laugh and laugh.\nMonay loved listening to Bob Proctor’s motivational speeches, and talking one-to-one with her schoolteachers. She said they were wise. They opened her eyes and gave her a new perspective on life. She believed that her birth year must have been an error, because she related more to the 1970 year. She wanted to change her atmosphere, for a 1970’s feel.\nSo, one day Monay said to me, “Mom, I got an epiphany today!”\nI said to her, “Really?, so what are you going to do?” She said, “Mom, I'm gonna Feng Shui.”\nMonay went to the store before it got too late, and purchased items needed to redecorate. She put on some oldies-but-goodies songs, and she worked and sang, all day long. The elements of nature she wanted to enhance, so she placed flowers around the house as she sang and danced. She put vintage tiles onto the floors, and painted the walls, and she draped beaded curtains from the boarders over doors. She worked very hard from sun to sun; day after day, until the job was done. But, she wasn’t finished yet!\nShe looked at me a little confused and said, “Mom, where can I find some old-fashioned clothes and shoes?” I said, “Baby-girl, you can wear some if mine.” But Monay thought my style was too hip, and I told her she was right! Then she looked as if she had seen a light! A switch had gone off in her mind. She exclaimed, “I’ll buy the clothes used, and then I’ll redesign!”\nMonay went off to the thrift store and got some oversized clothes that were used; old grandfather shirts, and old grandma shoes. When she returned home, she took out her scissors and started cutting away. She got so excited, she yelled loud and hearty, “I'm ready to go to a 1970’s party!” She was all set, and ready to go, but then looked in the mirror and said, “Oh No! What will I do with my hair?”\nShe opened up my old photo album and searched for an old-fashioned hairdo. She saw updos, and wide-dos, Jheri curls and Shirley-Temple curls, flips, bangs and all kinds of stuff. She decided on a natural style, and to put her hair into two Afro-puffs. With a large fluffy puff on both sides of her head, she rushed into her overalls previously laid out on her bed. She slipped into her marshmallow shoes, and then asked, “Mom, do you have old-fashioned Jewelry that I can use?”\nI gave Monay my big, old, gold earrings shaped like bamboo. She put them on and practiced her dance moves. From the kitchen, she got a toothpick and put it in her mouth, and said, “Mom can you dig it? Now, do I look cool?” I chuckled and said, “No child, you look like a fool.” I took that toothpick out of her mouth, shook my head and said, “Baby girl, now you got swag.” She said, “Nah Mom, you need to chill, because I look ill.”\nThe two Afro-puffs she continued to pick while adding a ton of hair spray, making it stay nice and thick.\nMonay then asked, “Mom, do you have any bright-red lipstick that I can put on?” When I supplied her with a stick, she said, “Gee, thanks Mom! So, now, what do you think about my groovy attire?” I said, “Baby girl, you look the bomb, and that lipstick is fire!”\nMonay found a 1970’s party online, and chimed, “Don’t worry Mom, everything will be fine. I'll be back at the crib before it gets too late, but before I go, I must find a date!” She called an old friend who loved to dance, she told him, “Dig out an Afro-wig and bell bottomed pants!”\nThey both went to the party, and had a good time. They danced all night, they did the bus stop the bump, the hustle, and the wop, they danced and danced and danced non-stop. After nailing the funky chicken, their legs went to splitting. The robot and the twist ended their night in utter bliss.\nMonay finally returned home at 1 o’clock in the morning. I said, “Child, you look twisted, are you intoxicated?” She said, “No way, but my body does feels a bit wasted.”\n“So then, how was your Blast to the Past? Was it lit, king and popping?” Monay replied, “Mom, the party was def, dope, and hopping!”\nMonay took a shower, then went straight to bed, woke up in the morning, then came to me and said, “Please, what do you have for a pounding head?” I waved her over to come and cover in my comfy bed. I suggested rest, quiet and a glass of water. I kissed her forehead then went to make breakfast for my daughter.\nShe said she had the wildest dream, like a rocket- she took off! She had blasted to the past and felt very lost. She landed in a place called Dyn-na-Moe, where everything was grey, and dull, and slow. She was shocked that the past didn’t have any color. She said, “Mom, they had gigantic phones, with just one ringtone! It had a long curly cord; I thought I was in a psych-ward! There was no internet, no SUV’s, no downloads or CDs. Some kid was yelling, ‘get your newspaper here!’ and a man was yelling, ‘Out of site!’ Mom, I’m telling you it just wasn’t right.”\nMonay continued, “When I saw people walking around carrying jukeboxes on their shoulders, I woke up, and knew right away – I am in the correct era!”\n“Mom, I want you to know that I’m still fond of the past. But to want to be a teen in the 70’s, Nah, I change my mind. For sure, I prefer to stay in this present 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: Romance, Grey and Desperate\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 1246\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a post-apocalyptic romance." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "I can’t do this.\nWe’re only seventeen.\nI pull back the covers, swing my legs over the side of the cot, and stand up quietly. I grab my pistol from under my pillow and slip on a jacket from the hook at the door. I unbolt the door quietly, slip out of the bunker, and lock it behind me. I move slowly up the steps to the world’s surface.\nI look at the moon. It’s paper-thin and grey. Probably around four in the morning. I glance around.\nEverything, of course, is flat. Shattered remains of glass, concrete, wood, barbed wire, metal, bricks, and hope lay still, tumbled dustily over each other, stretching out as far as I can see. The sky is red, even this early. Small fumes of smoke drift up from broken piles of lumber. There’s the occasional twisted tree or bush or lamppost or wall from a building that survived, but mostly it’s just all flat.\nFlat.\nThere’s nothing to see, and even if there was, I couldn’t see it. It’s too dark, and foggy, always foggy, even at noon. Everything is grey.\nI sigh and begin wandering wearily throughout the land. My boots crunch over broken window remains. At one point, I pick up a brick from the ground and look at it, then let it fall once more.\nThere’s no point.\nWhat am I doing out here? It’s not like the air is fresh. Part of me says I want to enter the woods. But no, I’d never do that. Well, I have--we both have--but I’d never go far.\nNever to the center.\nI seat myself unsteadily on a burnt metal folding chair and lightly drop my weight into it, seeing if it will hold. It does. I sigh and lean back to look at the sky.\nThe stars aren’t silver anymore. Of course, stars weren’t really silver, to begin with; they were white, or sometimes blue. But they weren’t white, not really. At least, not the kind of white that they are now. The stars burn so blindingly bright that they look like maggots in the red sky, like maggots among the blood of their prey.\nI grimace and look away.\nI have nothing to do. It’s dangerous out here. Don’t I know never to go without Jordan? Wouldn’t he be worried and angry at me if something happened?\nI used to be religious, once. Before the bombs came.\nThe folding chair gives. I fall back onto the splintering pieces of metal, but my pants provide enough protection that I only feel a few mere pokes. I sit up and dust myself off.\nFar in the distance, I hear a sound.\nThey’re coming.\nI scramble to my feet and take off running for the bunker, dodging half-crumbling walls and scattered, twisted household items. I make it to the steps, run down, fumble my key to unlock the door, and yank it open. I dash through the doorway and slam into Jordan, hard, in the chest.\nI lose my breath and fall, gasping, to the ground on top of him. I roll over to the side and cough, knowing that we need to bolt the door, we need to bolt it.\nI can hear Jordan, no doubt just as winded as I am, stagger to his feet, pull the door shut, and turn all the twists and gears that lock it into place. He flicks on the light switch and falls to the floor, spluttering wetly, and we both try to regain our breaths. My chest hurts.\nAfter a minute, Jordan gets to his feet and offers a hand to help me up. I take it and get up. “Sorry,” I mutter offhandedly.\nHe glares at me. “What the hell, Harper?”\n“I said I’m sorry!”\n“As if one little word made it all better.” He crosses his arms. “Oh, so you want to die, now, and leave me alone in this freakish netherscape? As if I could survive without you!”\n“I bloody well could without you.”\nJordan sighs and crosses the room to his bunk. He sits down in it wearily, his head in his hands. “I know, Harper. I know you could. But I couldn’t, I really couldn’t. So please stop doing this, okay?”\n“Okay,” I say offhandedly, and, after a moment, sit down on the bed beside him.\nHe’s silent. I don’t know if he’s formulating a response or not, but while I wait, I look blearily around the room. Everything’s concrete--floor, walls, and ceiling. Our cots are each the bottom mattresses of two skinny metal-framed bunk beds, bolted into the walls eight feet across from each other. Our various possessions are hanging on hooks or scattered across the floor at our feet. In the corner to the right of Jordan’s bed is a crude metal sink that dispenses only slightly brown water, and in the corner opposite that, by the foot of my bunk, is a cracked porcelain toilet that sometimes flushes. Along the back wall, near the low ceiling, are a few moldy wooden cupboards for food storage. There’s one light overhead. The room is maybe twelve by twelve feet.\nJordan sighs again, and I turn to look at him. “What’s wrong?”\nThe light flickers, and he scowls. “You know well and good.” When I don’t respond, he adds, “It’s 4:30 AM and we’ve nothing to do. We’re fine on food and water, but if we go out, especially alone, especially at this time, we’ll probably die, one way or another. We have no phones--they blew up. No books--they’re all burnt. No family--they’re dead, and no friends, because they’re dead too. We’re the only people on the planet, or at least that we know of. And we’re miserable, and have nothing to do.” The whole time he’s saying this, he keeps his wrists crossed at his knees and his neck hanging down, his face speaking to the floor. “You know good and well what I’m talking about.”\nI do. I feel my face flush. “What would our parents say?”\n“Our parents are dead, Harper.” Finally Jordan turns and looks at me. “Our parents are dead, and I’ve loved you for so long. Longer than you could know.”\nI swallow. “And how long is that?”\n“From the first day I met you, idiot. It sounds cheesy, but it’s true. Monday, August 22, 2033. Homeroom with Mrs. Johnson. Don’t you remember?”\n“I only met you six months ago.”\n“How long ago,” Jordan murmurs. “How very remarkable.” He shoots me another glance. “You’re avoiding the question.”\nI breathe shakily.\nWe’re only seventeen.\nI can’t do this.\nWe stare into each other’s eyes, each the same shade, almost, of dark, dark brown. Our skin tones match; even our hair has the same curls. We could be related.\nWe’re not, though. That would be weird.\nMy breaths come short and heavy. I’m sweating, for sure. My brain is exploding, and my head is so, so hot. Jordan keeps swallowing. I’m sure I do, too.\nAnd slowly, slowly, our faces move towards each other until they touch, and we kiss.\nI don’t know how long it lasts. There’s no way of telling. But each second that we touch, it becomes harder and harder to turn away.\nJordan reaches for me, and I almost let him take me. I almost let myself give in.\nBut, inexplicably, I pause and turn my head. And there’s no going back.\nI can’t do this.\nWe’re only seventeen." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Somehow, she still follows me\n\nGenre: asian-american\n\nWord Count: 1076\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story that involves a reflection in a mirror." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Dakota stirred their tea, blankly staring out of the foggy, cold window, out at the soft snow falling and breezing by in a blur as the train flew across its tracks. A feeling of dissociation had fallen across them about half an hour ago, leaving them half dead to the world around them. \n The sound of a door opening and the rolling of a suitcase somehow snapped them out of their stupor, slowly blinking their eyes to examine the world around them. Their tea had gone cold, their blanket had slipped down to their lower torso, and their travel buddy, Clair, had left, probably to go to the bathroom, or, as Dakota suspected, the back of the train to see her boyfriend.\n Feeling a slight chill on their arms, feeling not quite cold, but not quite warm, they grasped the blankets, pulling them up over their shoulders, despite them already having a hoodie on. \n After huddling into the blankets a little more, shifting to get more comfortable, they glanced around the seats in their area. A man with bushy, red, curly hair, an equally bushy and curly mustache, a red plaid shirt, ripped jeans, and a beanie, was passed out on the first seat in the row of seats on the other side of the train, his head knocked back and mouth wide open, drool and small but noticeable snores coming from his mouth. Next to the man, there was a wide-eyed girl who looked to be about 12 with the same bushy red curls, deep, warm, brown eyes, freckles that basically ruled over her nose and cheeks, and similar clothes to who Dakota assumed was her father, fidgeting in her seat with a pencil in one hand, a large pad of paper in the other. She was mostly hidden behind her father, and somehow shrunk away even further when she saw Dakota observing her.\n They quickly glanced back at their tea, realizing how the girl must have felt. Somehow, the girl reminded them of how they used to be. How they used to be when they were someone else entirely. Unrecognizable.\n A burning in their chest started, followed by a sudden reminder that they couldn’t breathe too well, reminding them of the binder that they had kept on a bit longer than they should have. They slipped their hands into their shirt, loosening it until the burning stopped. They then looked back at the window, but instead of seeing the outside, they saw the inside, the reflection. They saw their reflection.\n Behind them, they saw the man, still sleeping, and the girl, now viciously scribbling at her paper with a determined look, now with a large black jacket draped over her back. They saw a skinny and tall teenager with an extremely oversized jacket and a turtleneck with a fitting pair of jeans walking down the aisle, a disturbed look on his face. In the back of their mind, they processed that this was Clair’s boyfriend, who they still kept hidden from her parents. They could see about everything. They could see everything but themself.\n Instead of themself, who was an unusually pale person with black hair in a low-fade, round Harry Potter glasses, a clean face, and normal Asian eyes, they saw a pretty teenage Asian girl. The pretty girl had long, straight, raven black hair, bangs that cut clean through her forehead, enough eyeliner and mascara to paint a single line from the moon and back with much more left, some eyeshadow, though not noticeable if the person looking isn’t looking for that exact shade, lots foundation and concealer, and an ulzzang’s glossy pink lips, also having on a black trench coat, a white crop-top with spaghetti straps, dark round sunglasses perched on the tip of her small button nose, and a black beret to top it all off.\n The girl’s expressions matched Dakota’s perfectly, and it took them a second to realize that this was them. This was how they used to be. \n Shock, fear, and repulsion, these were some of the emotions that both the Old Dakota and Present Dakota felt, the feeling mirroring on both of their faces.\n Quickly facing back towards the seat in front of them, Present Dakota takes off their glasses, putting them down on what they subconsciously hoped to be the tray-table, shoving their palms into their face, pushing in on their eyes. Little rainbows danced in the darkness, phantom pain from the burns that were now long-gone flaring up, and a nagging soreness from their eyes. After a minute or two, they rub their eyes, not quite bringing their hands down, and look up, the rainbows and static distorting everything for a second then clearing up. \n The burnt orange seats in the train; still the same. The cold black tea; still the same. Their glasses; unfortunately lens down on the retractable tray. Everything else but the window; still the same. \n After a minute or two, the panic had settled down, and they breathed down into their hands, which they hadn’t realized they had brought down to their mouth. \n A deep breath, a second one, and they looked into the aisle next to them. The girl was now the one staring at them, a concerned but scared look in her eyes. She shadow stopped drawing, and Dakota realized that, all this time, she had been studying them and trying to duplicate their look on the paper, and so far, it was pretty accurate.\n A third deep breath, a fourth, and they brought their hands down onto their lap, looking away from the girl and staring back down at the tray-table.\n A fifth deep breath, a sixth, and they turned their head towards the window, not quite looking, but not quite looking away.\n A seventh breath, an eighth, and they focused on the window-sill.\n After building up the courage to look back, fearing looking back, the dysphoria starting to creep in, they glanced up. They didn’t see her. Nothing was wrong with the reflection that they could notice in that split second. They then completely shifted their head back up and saw the exact same thing they had seen in the glance, except more detailed. Just an androgynous Asian person. They saw themselves.\n They looked back at the tray, at the depthless black tea, at their glasses. A sense of calm fell back over them, the dysphoria somehow leaving them alone.\n Huh, they thought, she’s back 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: Silence\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 1104\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about someone feeling powerless." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Goody-two shoes, geek, dork, I’ve heard them all. They never bothered me. I float through life on pure ambition for the future. I know exactly where I’m headed and how I want to get there, so it’s easy to turn down the volume of the world. \n\nNow though, now, I don’t hear those names anymore. No one even talks to me. They throw me looks of pity and sympathy, like they really know what I’ve been through. They could never understand, and I don’t want them to. And as that one group of brats makes a circle around me in this dream, closing in for a group hug, I have a flashback:\n\nI’m in the passenger seat hugging my sleeping bag to my chest. I had a stomach ache at my friends house, and Asher picked me up. The radio is on and a song that I don’t know hums. Asher taps to the beat with his pointer finger on the steering wheel. \n\n“I’m sorry.” I say, my voice barely above a whisper.\n\n“There’s nothing to be sorry for.” He turns to me and smiles. Even in the dark car, his smile lights up the entire space. \n\n“I shouldn’t have made you drop your date.”\n\nHe shakes his head and takes my left hand in his. “You’re my number one Lex. I’ll do anything for you.” \n\nAnd I know he will. He does way too much for me, and I always feel guilty. He turns down hanging with his friends all the time, just to spend time with his little sister. Most siblings can’t stand to even be in the same room together without fighting. Or they’re always talking about how much they hate one another. But it’s different with me and Asher. He'd risk his life for me without a second thought.\nHe drives in silence until we make it to a stop sign. The announcer on the radio asking for the 11th caller fills the quiet. Then rotating red and blue lights and a police siren overpower the noise. \n\nI freeze and try to remember everything I’ve been taught: Hands on the dashboard. No sudden movements. Only talk when spoken to. Be respectful. Don’t. Reach. For. Anything. \n\nAsher puts his hands on the dashboard calmly, and I follow suit, except my hands are shaking. \n\nAn aggressive knock at the window rattles me. Asher slowly brings his finger to the button that lowers the window. I glance and see that he’s trembling too. \n\n“License and registration.” The officer shines a flashlight at Asher’s face, and then mine. His voice sends a chill down my spine. It can’t end how it usually does. It can’t. It won’t. \n\n“They’re in my wallet, in my right pocket. I'm going to reach for them slowly with my left hand.” I can tell Asher’s trying to stay calm for me, but I can also hear the fear in his voice. \n\n“Who’s she?” The cop points the flashlight at my face again and I flinch.\n\n“My sister.” He answers way quicker than he needs to. He’s getting nervous.\n\n“Why you answer like that?” There’s a country twang in his voice. \n\n“No reason sir. Here’s my license and registration.” He speaks like he’s saying one word. \n\nI jump as someone knocks at my window. “Roll down the window.” \n\n“Step out of the vehicle.” I don’t like the way this is going.\n\nHe gets out calmly as the officer pats him down. The other cop is still at my window. “Open the door.”\n\n“Stay away from my sister.” I try to tell Asher to shut up through nonverbal communication, but he’s scared. So am I.\n\nI reach for the door, but the cop yanks it open and I tumble out of the car. “Lex!” \nI try to tell him to stay back, that I’m okay, he doesn’t need to save me this time. But I know he wouldn’t listen. I stand up slowly, leaving some skin on the cold road.\n\nThe other officer disappears, and my heart sinks as the air is pierced with an electrifying sound. I watch as Asher’s body ripples, a bullet the center of the wave. His figure hits the car with a tragic thump. The 11th caller on the radio screams in joy as she’s told her prize. My cry tangles with hers. Before I know it, I’m next to him, holding his head in my lap, ignoring all the threats the cops are making. Asher looks up at me, and smiles. ‘I love you angel.’ And then he went away, to go dance with the angels. \n\n*****\n\nPeople ask what silence sounds like, or what death feels like. I want to know why death chose not to be silent that night. Why did it choose my brother? My soul mate. My friend. The person I couldn’t go a day without seeing. Now I can’t go a day without crying. Why did it decide he was good enough? Why couldn’t it have been me? Each question I ask is equivalent to the number of tears that soak my pillow, tonight, and each night. Most likely for an eternity.\n\nWhen I was younger, I wrote stories. Whenever I was feeling a strong emotion; happy, sad, angry. Asher told me to never stop writing. To never stop speaking. To always know what is right. Nothing about this situation is right. I want him to knock on my door and tell me to turn down my stupid music. I want him to steal a spoonful of my cereal just to annoy me before school. I want him to write ‘hi’ in the corner of the paper I’m working on. I want him to throw a pillow at me when I’m having a sleepover with my friends. I want him. I don’t want to write anything anymore, because no amount of words, or syllables, or paragraphs, will begin to explain how much he meant to me. How much I loved him. How much I needed him. \n\nThere were protests, there were riots, there were hashtags, there was no justice. No justice? No peace. No justice? No Asher. Justice? Peace. Justice? No Asher. Every outcome is the same.\n\nSo I sit here, reliving the nightmare that’s haunted me forever and a day. I look over at my desk, and imagine him reading something over my shoulder. Asher said writing was my weapon. My superpower. But as I pull the covers back over my head and cry into my pillow, I know that I don’t have any more power. He was my power, and now he’s not here. Without him, I’m powerless." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Kin, Kin, Kin!\n\nGenre: asian-american\n\nWord Count: 1629\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a group of strangers — or people who know each other, but may as well be strangers — eating together." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Summer time in western countries was rainy season in Southeast Asia. For the residents of these countries, this meant relief from the intense daily heat, flourishing crops and vegetation, and excusing themselves from driving their motorbikes through the rain whenever possible. But for unexpected and not-so-prepared backpacking travelers, this could prove to be a derailment of plans. And such was the luck for backpackers Darryl and Sabrina Hoshkin. This young, adventurous couple had decided to go completely off the grid, to take in the beauty of Southeast Asia with zero technology. No phones, no GPS, no wifi. Just a paper map, backpacks, and their motorbikes.\nThey had been having a fabulous time moving through the mountains and the villages far outside of the cities at their own pace, undistracted by social media or low battery charges. As their motorbikes puttered along the dirt and rock roads, the Hoshkins played “I Spy” with the various beauties of the land, such as water buffalo and durian fruit. Clouds covered the sky, shielding their eyes from the sun's rays and their skin from horrendous sunburn. However, in their quest of exploring the mountainous area, they seemed to have lost where exactly they were on the map. And with no phones, Google Maps would prove to be even less helpful than usual.\nAs they puttered their motorbikes through the mountains, the clouds began to yield to the built-up rain upon the palm trees and fruit vines. The further they drove, the more the rain picked up as the sun began to set. Before they knew it, the sunlight was completely lost and the rain was pouring down onto the red dirt roads, transforming them into red mud roads. It became more and more difficult to steer the motorbikes without fear of driving off into a ditch or off a cliff.\n“I don't think this rain is going to let up any time soon. We've got to stop somewhere. We can't keep trying to drive through this!” Sabrina yelled over the thunderous downpour to Darryl.\n“Let's see if we can find a house or something up ahead!” Her husband called back. They continued their slow and careful drive for several minutes before coming up on some sort of small shack. It looked small and parts of it seemed to falling down, but it did look habitable. And it appeared that it was indeed inhabited judging by the small fire that was being shielded from the rain by random pieces of metal fashioned together in a crude yet ingenious way. “Let's see if maybe these people would let us wait out the rain in their house!” Darryl called out his suggestion.\n“So we're just going to go up to a complete stranger's house, in the night, in the middle of nowhere, knock on the door, and say 'Hey! Can we stay here for a while, even though you have no idea who we are and if we are here to kill or rob you?' and assume they would have no issue with that?” was Sabrina's hesitant response.\nDarryl pulled his bike to a stop and gestured to the surroundings. “Look around. Do you have any better ideas?”\nParking her bike next to his, Sabrina admitted defeat. “No. Let's just hope they know how to speak English. Otherwise, we're pretty much doomed,” she said as she hopped off her bike.\nTentatively, the couple approached the small house surrounded by brush and palm trees. They exchanged looks as Darryl knocked on the door. Sabrina gulped in nervousness as the door creaked open. A small woman who appeared to be in her 50s answered the door and said something in her native language which the Hoshkins didn't understand.\n“Uh, hello. Um, I'm Darryl and this,” gesturing to his wife, “is my wife Sabrina. We are travelers but we are lost and the rain is so bad we can't drive. We were wondering if we could wait here for a little bit for the rain to stop. Would that be alright?”\nThe little woman smiled big at the couple. “Oh, English! How are you? Did you eat?”\nThe Hoshkins were happy to hear English but a bit taken aback by her gusto in asking them about food. “Uh...we're good. We're fine, just a little wet. And no, we haven't eaten dinner yet, but we aren't super hungry right now. We just want to dry off a little,” Sabrina answered, assuming the lady would understand.\nBut apparently the woman did not understand completely. “Ah, sorry, no English, no English,” she replied. “You eat? You eat?” she continued to question.\nDarryl tried waving his hands in a symbolic manner. “No, no eat. That's ok. No eat.” But it did not stop the woman from pulling them both by the hand into the house and to their small table. The whole family looked wide-eyed at their new dinner guest: the woman's husband who had just brought in some smoked meat from the shielded fire outside, a boy and girl who were around 4 years-old who had been playing with some sticks, and a baby sitting in a hand-fashioned swing made with fabric strips attached to a chair to keep him upright. The mother began to quickly speak in their tongue and gesturing to the Hoshkins, who could only guess at what was being said about themselves. But it must have been all good things because every member of the family began to smile at the couple. As the parents became busy with finishing the food preparations, the Hoshkins had their own pow-wow in English.\n“I just remembered something that I read on one of those travel blogs about Southeast Asia language and culture,” Sabrina started to explain. “It said that while Westerns usually greet each other with 'Hello, how are you?,' in Asian cultures they usually greet each other with 'Hello, have you eaten yet?' It's their way of showing they care, by making sure you're fed and if you're not, they will probably try to feed you.”\nDarryl began to understand what was happening. “So because they care about us, total strangers who just showed up on their porch in the pouring rain, they're about to feed us dinner?”\n“I think that pretty much sums up what's going on. Although since I have no idea what they're saying, I can't tell you for sure.”\n“Google Translate would be great right now if we hadn't decided to not bring phones on this trip.”\nSabrina gave him a skeptical look. “Would it, though? Or would it just mistranslate things and get us a new pet dog instead of a hot dog again?”\n“I think you should let that one go. Martin turned out to be a good dog.”\nJust then the woman came and pulled them by the hand again to the table and gestured for them to sit down. As they did, she placed a number of small dishes on the table. Some were identifiable, such as steamed rice and bananas. Others the Hoshkins had no idea how to identify before consuming it. There were some meat and vegetables, and a dish of what appeared to be fried bugs.\n“Kin, kin, kin!” the woman said, putting her hand to her mouth. “Eat!”\nThe Hoshkins looked at each other, wondering what they should do. They really didn't want to eat the food as they didn't know how their stomachs would handle it, but they also didn't want to appear rude to their hosts. They also realized this might be all the food this family had, and there was hardly enough to go around. The couple mentally agreed to eat a little bit of what they could for their hosts.\nSabrina ate some rice and Darryl ate some bananas, hoping that would be enough to satisfy their hosts, but it wasn't. They kept pushing the different dishes towards them and gesturing to eat, “Kin, kin, kin!” Before they knew it, Sabrina was eating the unidentifiable meat and Darryl ate a small handful of fried bugs. They didn't taste quite as bad as the Hoshkins had thought they would, but the texture definitely would take some getting used to. The children even applauded them as they dutifully ate their food. Despite the strangeness of the new food, Darryl and Sabrina couldn't help but smile, not because of the food but because of the company.\nAfter dinner, the children wanted to play with their new friends, and their new friends could not say no. The kids didn't speak any English and the Hoshkins didn't speak their language, but that didn't stop them from having the time of their life. Eventually everyone became tired and fell asleep in random places on the floor. Even though there were no pillows or blankets and the floor was solid concrete, Darryl and Sabrina fell fast asleep surrounded by their new friends.\nMorning came quickly and they knew it was time to say goodbye. But the Hoshkins didn't want to leave. As they wiped the rain off their motorbikes, they felt truly sad to leave the family who had taken them in as if they were family also. They hugged them all goodbye and even though they didn't know how to say it with words they could understand, they told them thank you and how much they would miss them through whatever actions they could think of.\nAs they drove away, they pondered how someone can form such a relationship with a person when they can't speak the same language and how you can display such care for someone just by feeding them. Maybe it was something that their Western minds didn't understand yet, but it was one of the reasons they would hold Southeast Asia in their hearts for forever." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: The Feline Family\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 1191\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about someone breaking a long family tradition." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Lizzy knocked on the front door and pushed it open quietly. “Hello?”\n“Come in,” her mother called unenthusiastically.\nLizzy set down the carrying case she was holding, out of view in the foyer, hung up her jacket on the coat rack, and stepped into the living room, where everyone was sitting silently on couches, drinking tea.\nShe stopped for a moment and surveyed the room, deciding who to sit next to. \nHer mother and father were a no-go; they were the only two on their couch, but there was a space in between them, and only an amueter would be so dumb as to sit there.\nJohn, Hannah, and Alice, the cousins, were crammed onto a two-cushioned couch, all of them with a phone in hand. Hannah was holding a glistening Starbucks cup, balancing it on her leg, drops of condensation darkening her pants in a wet ring.\nThat left Rose and Damien, sitting next to each other across from the parents, and Jared, boredly biting his nail, curled up on the arm of their couch.\nLizzy, finding no satisfactory place to sit, dropped to the carpeted floor, easily twisting herself into a cross-legged position and leaning back on her hands. “Sorry to keep everyone waiting. Happy birthday, Rose.”\nRose nodded her head cordially and took a drink out of her mug of chai. One of the cats, Timothy, was rubbing his head against her foot. She petted him absentmindedly.\n“Well, it’s nice see you all,” Lizzy’s mother began stiffly. “We haven’t had all of us in one place since Christmas. I can’t believe it’s been that long.”\n“Many of you might have noticed the new addition, Charcoal,” her father added, indicating a black-haired, green-eyed cat in a circle on his lap. “We got her two weeks ago.”\nEveryone nodded solemnly.\n“But that’s about all our news,” her mother continued. “Before we get to presents, does anyone else have something to share?”\n“I’m dating someone,” Hannah said around a mouthful of frappuccino. “He’s majoring in business.”\n“That pays well,” said Lizzy’s father, scratching Charcoal behind the ears. “I’m happy for you.”\nAnd they left it at that.\n“I’m getting my license soon,” John offered, looking up from his phone. “I just need to pass the road test.”\n“I’m sure you’ll do fine,” her mother told him. She looked around. “Anyone else?”\nBefore anyone had a chance to respond, Lizzy interjected, “I’ve got something, actually.”\n“What is it, Elizabeth?” her mother asked.\nLizzy cleared her throat. “I left it in the foyer. I’ll go get it.” She stood up and walked behind the wall that concealed her from view of the living room.\nShe opened the creaky door to the carrying case and took something soft out of it. She walked back into the living room and set the ball of brown and white fur on the ground. “This is Oregano.”\nA moment of shocked silence, then a teacup shattered.\nEveryone started shouting.\nThe beagle cowered, confused, between Lizzy’s ankles. Lizzy picked him up and stroked his head, trying to decipher everyone’s screaming.\nIt went so fast she couldn’t.\n“A dog! What right does she have? Thinking she can bring a dog into this establishment? This house! The nerve of that girl! We ought to--”\n“I can’t believe this is happening. Elizabeth, my own daughter, the girl I raised--”\n“This is all your fault! If you hadn’t befriended that stupid dog-lover a year ago, none of this would ever have happened! You’re rubbing off on her! Get out of here, now!”\n“To be fair, it is kind of cute--”\n“Ohhh, so you’re on her side now! Get away from me, you filthy--”\n“I wasn’t saying that! I’m just saying, maybe it isn’t so big of a--”\n“What? A deal? That this cowardly, bubbly, friendly, and extroverted on top of all that, young woman brings a dog--a dog--into this house? Do you see her shirt? She’s wearing yellow! Yellow. In our presence. With a dog! What right does she think she has--”\nThe shouting continued, all of it about but none directed at her. Lizzy cradled Oregano and wondered if her eardrums would suffer permanent damage.\nAfter about two minutes, her mother stood up from the couch and stormed over to Lizzy. “Are you insane?” she screamed, tears streaming, shaking her finger in Lizzy’s face. “Where is Elizabeth? Elizabeth would never ruin this family’s reputation. Elizabeth would always consider the honor this house has forever held. Elizabeth wouldn’t wear yellow, and Elizabeth certainly would not have the nerve or possess the stupidity to own a dog!”\nLizzy shrugged. “I go by Lizzy now.”\nHer mother reeled, holding her hand to her forehead, faint with disbelief. “ELIZABETH!”\nLizzy’s father didn’t even move to help his wife. He was pacing around the room. He stopped in front of Lizzy and spoke menacingly. “You are never to speak of this night again. Every trace of this dog will be eliminated. You are to take a shower and we are to burn your clothes. I am to get my shotgun and end this dog’s life, quickly. We are to book a carpet cleaning service and repaint the room. You are to get rid of every hint of this dog’s existence and never, never think about it again. Do I make myself clear?”\nLizzy watched Rose out of the corner of her eye. She was sobbing into Damien’s shoulder. “And on my birthday--she made me look at a dog on my own birthday--”\nLIzzy looked back at her father. His face was a few inches from hers, his dark eyes dark with fury. He was shooting threatening looks at the dog buried in Lizzy’s sweater. She looked her father in the eyes and said, clearly, one simple word.\n“No.”\nHis face burned. “Have we not instilled in you tradition since the day you were born? Have we not taught you to ignore your cat allergies, which we were all reluctant to overcome but dismissed, and become one with felines? Have we not surrounded you with cats in your childhood and sent you away with cats when you moved out? Have we not done all these things, and more? What have we done to deserve this?”\nLizzy didn’t know how she knew, but someone, she knew her father was about to grab Oregano. She shifted back a bit, then bolted for the foyer.\nMore screams, and then pounding footsteps followed her. Lizzy ran out the door, leaving her coat, and made her way down the front walkway towards her car. Frantically, she unlocked the door, got in the car, and slammed the door shut. She threw Oregano into the passenger’s seat and jammed her key in the ignition.\nHer family ran towards her.\nLizzy jerked the car into reverse and swerved down the driveway, her headlights off, her seatbelt ignored. She made it out into the road, threw it into drive, and zoomed away.\nShe could hear her family’s cries behind her. “You’re disowned! You are a disgrace! I swear I will find that dog and--”\nLizzy kept her foot on the gas and drove away into the night." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Food for Thought by Lisa Reid\n\nGenre: asian-american\n\nWord Count: 1034\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a group of strangers — or people who know each other, but may as well be strangers — eating together." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Down the long driveway we went and there it was; a house. A house, what? Did we go to the wrong address? No, it was the right one and there was a sign. \"Courtney, it is a house! What if this is a snake dancing church, I will die!\" She laughed so hard she was about to pee on herself. \"Well she is our friend and we spent a long time in college with her\". We had been praying for her husband all those years, and he finally gave his heart to the Lord.\nGoing back to the week before; my friend Maraleigh called and asked me to come to their church anniversary service. She knew I would not come to her church because she was Muslim. She said it was her husband's church and they were Baptist. I didn't really like that idea either but at least we worshipped the same God.\nSo there it was; a church in a basement. It looked like a normal sanctuary inside. Now I remember my friend Barry had talked about remodeling this basement for a church. But I noticed that he was not going here. I wonder why because he gave his life to the Lord. Oh, this was not a good sign. But everyone here is so friendly and kind. I noticed it was all Asian women married to American men. They must have met in the military or I wondered if any were mailorder brides. Wow, this could be an exciting adventure learning of others' way of life.\nThe little man behind the pulpit called for the singers to come forward and they sang traditional hymns. No one ever sings these good old hymns anymore. There were only about twenty people there and they all knew each other. There was prayer and announcements next. Then the preacher got up and asked everyone to meet and greet.\nOh, this was a hugging bunch. I just quenched my shoulders and went along. I thought if my sister were here she would die. She was Miss untouchable. I liked that it was a friendly church. Maybe I would have a home now because I had become an introvert.\nThe preacher had a descent sermon and then closed with prayer. He told everyone to go to the garage to sit down and have a meal and to fellowship. It was nice to be fellowshipping once again.\nDown the drive came a truck and a man got out and greeted the pastor. He went to get something out back and he puts it on the table. I am about to shriek. It is a cooked pig with its head still on. They said they had cooked it for about 24 hours. I thought back to the time I was in Mexico and my friend told me not to offend anyone by not eating. Just take the food, eat a couple of bites and then swirl it around the plate. Pretend to like their food. Now here comes another shock; a plate with a long fish on it with fixings around it. As you guessed, the head was still on the fish. How will I ever get through this dinner? Lord, please help me get through this with no offensives.\nAfter putting the food on my plate, there were trying to give me chicken soup with whole eggs in it. They told me it was duck eggs. I just took a little in the bowl. Looked like egg drop soup to me. There was a dish that did catch my eye. It was sweet potato souffle'. Now you are talking my language. We have this every Thanksgiving. This I can relate to. There were some ribs and chicken wings that caught my eyes. Those ribs look like they would melt in your mouth. The chicken wings were Teriyaki. One thing I noticed; that it was all meat. Where were the veggies? No bread? It would have been great to have a salad and green beans with this meal.\nI finally got sat down and I ate the things I dreaded first. Two bites each and then I ate the things I liked. They were all talking in a language I never heard before but I couldn't understand their English either. They were all laughing and having a good time. I guess Courtney and I looked isolated when a woman came over and started talking to us. I found out that she was Japanese and she was a mail-order bride. She said she did not mind because he took good care of her and she got to hang out with her friends and come to church. She was so happy and bubbly. I really liked her.\nAfter I got through dinner, we ate celebration cake. I got to talk to the pastor for a while and then I knew I wanted to come back. It had been so long since I had been to church. Most were so dead and dry and the women were always in cliques. But this one; I felt as though I might fit in. Now it was time to leave and I already couldn't wait to come back.\nThe next Sunday, I came alone because Courtney already had a church. I decided to come to Sunday School. This was the best because they didn't go by anyone's programs. He let the Holy Spirit teach him and guide him. He knew all the things I had been studying for the past eleven years since I left the church.\nSo we went through the service and we were going to have dinner. It was someone's birthday this week They said they celebrated everyone's birthday. I was looking at the food to see what I really wanted to eat. There was this cabbage, noodle, and pork dish. This would be my all-time favorite.\nOne day, maybe I would get to go somewhere exciting. All my children moved to Florida. Time for a new adventure. One day, maybe I can travel to Europe and Asia. Maybe we could all take a trip together. It's only twenty people. I just know I love being here and I finally found a 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: Time Capsule\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 2275\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about high school sweethearts coming across one another after many, many years apart." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "I stared into the cloudy brown broth in my bowl, my own disinterested face reflecting back at me. I half-heartedly attempted to disturb the liquid with my spoon and some of the half liquefied vegetables floated momentarily before returning to the bottom of the dish, like debris back down to the seabed. I sighed and took a long swig of my beer instead. It had been so many years and I still hadn’t gotten used to the food. I still longed for food served by a woman with leathery charcoal coloured skin, sitting on a plastic chair by the side of the road. Food prepared in questionable conditions that swam with red oil. Food that brought tears to my eyes and burned all the way down.\n\nI should’ve known better, stopping at some shithole diner in the middle of nowhere. Usually, I didn’t stop for food on trips that took less than a day but having skipped breakfast I’d made an exception. Although why I’d decided to get hot soup on a sweltering day like today was a mystery not even I could solve.\n\nI leaned back against the diner chair, its leather surface squeaking beneath me. I scanned the room, the bright colours and checkered tiles stinging my sun-scorched eyes. This place truly was a time capsule from the fifties, something I might have appreciated if not for the lousy food. It was 3 o’clock on a Tuesday afternoon and it was fittingly empty, save for a few bikers and one old couple shuffling around next to the jukebox. Whenever I found myself in a place like this, my mind couldn’t help but try to piece together the details of these people’s lives. Was the old couple stopped here on their way to visit their grandchildren? Was that burly gentleman with the hair like wild grass here for a celebratory drink on his way to a friend’s wedding?\n\nIt intrigued me because no one simply stopped at a place like this for a quick bite. These kinds of places were always planted squarely in the middle of nowhere, with the dusty highway stretching endlessly in all directions. People stopped here on their way to somewhere far away, somewhere exciting. Somewhere I wished I could go too.\n\nI glanced down at the menu, debating the pros and cons of ordering something else. There had to be something better on the menu than the soup. I traced my worn copper hands over the words, half-registering the bell chiming over the door. I had narrowed down my choices to two entirely too complicated looking sandwiches.\n\nThen suddenly, a voice pierced through my consciousness and any thoughts that had previously inhabited my mind whooshed away faster than feathers in the wind.\n\nI was transported. Back somewhere that I hadn’t been in decades, but still remembered like it was yesterday. To red sand and trees whose leaves spread out like hand fans. To a sun which shone infinitely brighter than it did here. To hands intertwined as we walked under a pink evening sky. To promises whispered as we sat on the football field. To stealthy kisses under the ever glowing stars.\n\nMy head jerked up at the voice, and I turned back to look at the counter. I had to be imagining it right? What were the chances of seeing her for the first time in thirty-odd years, in a diner halfway across the world from where we’d met?\n\nAnd yet, against all sound logic, there Grace was, smiling and chatting with the waitress at the counter.\n\nI stared unabashedly, wondering if I was dreaming her up. There was no mistaking her thickly lashed doe eyes and slightly upturned eyebrows, as though she was always just a little confused. Time had carved lines that wove around her face like a river, telling a story I wish I knew. I was frozen, transfixed at the sight of her. A thousand thoughts flitted through my head, too fast for me to process any of them. Then she started walking towards the door, and that was enough to break me out of my reverie.\n\n“Grace?” I called out, my voice ringing out entirely too loud in the almost empty diner.\nShe turned to me and I faltered. What if she didn’t recognize me? My skin was darker and leatherier than when she’d known me, from all of the time I’d spent working under the sun. I was broader and more filled out, and the afro she was used was cropped almost to the skin and was thinning at the crown of my head. Or worse, what if she didn’t recognize me at all? To be fair, my memory was like a sieve when it came to most of my former classmates. But not her. What if I wasn’t as important to her as she was to me?\n\nBut after a half-second, her honey-coloured eyes lit up with recognition. “Ibrahim?” she beamed, immediately walking over to me. Absentmindedly, I wondered what greeting was appropriate. A handshake was too impersonal for someone I’d been in love with for five years (arguably longer) but a hug was too intimate for someone I hadn’t seen in thirty years. I elected to do nothing, and she slid into the seat across from me in the booth.\n\n“How long has it been?” she asked, leaning over the table, looking at me like I was the single most important person on the planet.\n\n“Thirty-five years,” I answered, unable to stop myself from smiling. “You look great. What are you doing here?” There were so many other questions ricocheting off the sides of my skull, but I had to pace myself. There was still thirty years of conversation to be had.\n\n“I should ask you the same thing,” she replied playfully, her smile making her eyes crinkle. “I’ve lived in the US since college. Remember my parents wanted me to go to Brown?”\n\nI remembered all right. It had been just one of the many things we’d had going against us. Grace’s family wanted her to be the first of them to school abroad. There were better opportunities and better living conditions. She was extremely lucky because most families wouldn’t have educated a girl past primary school, talk less of higher education in America. I knew this now and I’d known it at eighteen. It hadn’t made it hurt any less.\n\n“Of course. And then medical school, right?” I asked, although I knew that part had never been something she wanted. She’d wanted to be a musician. She’d tell me, when we’d snuck off from study hall and wandered through the empty hallways. She’d sing me fuji music or rock and roll or highlife songs. No matter what she sang, her voice was always deep and sweet like a river of honey.\n\nShe’d spin me tales of us travelling as a duo, with her as the lead singer and me playing the talking drum.\n\nBut I can’t play the talking drum, I’d argue, as we sat in the shade of a mango tree, wasting time like we had a lot to spare.\n\nShe’d look up at me, her dark eyes glinting with mischief and barely held in laughter. That doesn’t matter, she’d say, so matter-of-factly that I almost believed her.\nHow I’d wanted to believe her.\n\n“Of course.” Was it my imagination or did the ever-present glow in her eyes dim a little? “And what about you? I’d have never thought you’d come to America.” Her voice didn’t follow the same musical rhythm it used to. Years in America had smoothened her tone to a molasses-like drawl.\n\n“Me neither,” I said, because truthfully this hadn’t been part of the plan at all.\nMy parents hadn’t thought university was at all necessary. They weren’t even literate and they’d made a wonderful life for themselves in Lagos. And so, they’d ignored my constant protesting and sent me to work for my uncle in the trades.\n\nAll the money is in the trades, my father would say, raising his bushy eyebrows knowingly as though he’d made some kind of groundbreaking statement.\n\nPeople go to university and lose all of their home training, my mother would chide, stone-faced at all of my teary pleas.\n\n I learned how to make shoes. Then I worked at my uncle’s corner store, day after day, stacking spices and sardines with my mind far away. Then I owned a few of my own corner stores, after working at it for years. And then, my uncle convinced me to come to the US with him for some magical business opportunity.\n\nThe streets are paved with gold, he’d cackled, his yellow frog eyes bulging out of his head. Isn’t this what you wanted?\n\nHe was right. This is what Grace and I had been fighting for for so long. But Grace was long gone. Was there even any point?\n\nImmediately we’d gotten to America, my uncle had promptly skipped town. Rather than going home to face my family, I decided to try and get some of these magical American opportunities that everyone was always talking about. Except, big surprise, there weren’t exactly many opportunities for a middle-aged uneducated black man in America. I managed to get a job as a delivery truck driver to tide me over.\n\nThat was nine years ago.\n\nI didn’t know how to put all of that into a short, polite answer, so instead I replied, “I’ve been here for nine years. I live in Georgia, but I spend most of my time on the road.”\n\nWe kept talking for a while, trading anecdotes and musing about what it had been like living so far away from home. She told me of how hard she’d had to work to be taken seriously as a black female doctor. I told her about how my white boss seemed to be trying his hardest to mispronounce my name at all times. My soup got colder and colder, and the stories got longer and longer. There was so much to catch up on, it felt like a dam had broken and we wouldn’t be able to stop until it was empty.\n\n But it felt wrong. No matter what we said, we never went past the very surface. There was a thirty-year wall between us, and it made it impossible to see each other. I was stuck in a weird position, where I still felt like I knew her better than anyone in the world, but I’d missed most of her life. I wanted to talk to her about anything and everything. About my resentment for my parents, my failed business attempt, the profound loneliness I’d felt for the first two years of living here when no one could understand what I was saying. But the lines on both our faces showed how little we truly knew about each other.\n\nWe didn’t talk about the hopes and dreams we’d shared. We didn’t talk about anything hard that had happened to us. We didn’t mention how the last day we’d seen each other we’d screamed at each other until our voices were raw.\n\nI want you to stay, I’d said, earnestly and foolishly, my then slender fingers clamped down tightly on hers. I won’t be able to go on without you.\n\nShe’d dragged her hand out of my grasp with enough force to scratch me and draw blood. Are you mad? Why would you say something like that? Do you expect me to give up my dreams for you? She’d stared up at me defiantly, her eyes alight with a fire I’d never seen.\n\nThose aren’t your dreams.\n\nShe’d walked away and never looked back.\n\nWe were from different tribes, different religions, different paths. I’d known going into it that my silly high school romance wasn’t going to last forever. But along the way, I’d begun to hope it would.\n\nTalking to her still felt amazing though. Her gap-toothed smile, the way she laughed like bells chiming, the way she fidgeted as though her veins ran with some kind of invisible bolt of energy. She still felt like home to me.\n\nShe jolted suddenly, like she’d been shocked, in the middle of me telling an anecdote about a missed deadline. She smiled apologetically and looked at the red chrome clock that hung above the counter. “Oh, I completely lost track of the time. My husband is waiting for me in the car, I was just supposed to get directions and leave.”\n\nI tried not to show any emotion. “Yeah, and I need to get back on the road.” Of course. She had to get back to her life. Even though this diner was stuck in the fifties, time still flowed along beyond the door.\n\nWe both stood up, looking uncertainly at each other for a second. Then I pulled her in for a hug that I hoped conveyed all of the feelings I couldn’t say. She hugged me back, her arms frailer than they used to be but just as warm.\n\nShe picked up her bag, gave me one last smile and walked out of the door as I came forcefully back down to earth. I waved the waitress over to give me the check, all the while thinking about all the questions that I’d carried with me like a bag filled with lead for the past thirty years. Questions that I would never know the answer to.\n\nDid you chase your dreams?\n\nAre you happy?\n\nDo you have any regrets?\n\nIf you had a chance to do it all over again, would you change anything?\n\nWould you change our time together?" } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Unbroken traditions\n\nGenre: asian-american\n\nWord Count: 1028\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story where a meal or dinner goes horribly wrong." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "I ran, breathlessly, to take the best seat at the decrepit dinner table before my brother could get to it.\n“Afshaneh, let the men eat first,” my mother briskly sneered at me, aggressively nodding her head, and I dejectedly made my way into the kitchen.\nFriday dinners at my uncle’s house was the happening hotspot for heated debates and political discussions. Differing opinions would be thrown from one end of the table to another while simultaneously stuffing a handful of Basmati rice soaked in Korma daal hurryingly in their mouths. But it was always the men at the table, always the men of the family in discourse while the women were at the stove, in the stuffy kitchen flipping one piquant golden Bolani after another to ensure they were served piping hot to the hot-headed disputants. It was the unspoken rule. An unbroken tradition. I was the server. Bringing the dishes from the kitchen and placing them in front of my uncles, I listened in on their conversations.\nThat argument is not based on any factual evidence. The statistics show otherwise. It was clearly a case of vindictive litigation so it isn’t even worth discussing. That is the politically incorrect way of saying it. Uncle’s wrong again. I would think to myself. But I always kept my opinions to myself. Always. We weren’t expected to participate in their deliberation. Until that day.\nMy uncle was jokingly rating his wife’s cooked dishes and I blurted out, “how can you be the judge when you don’t even know how to cook?” to receive frightened and hidden yet simpering smiles from my aunts and a visibly perplexed or rather ambivalent look from my uncle.\n“What did you say?” the awakened menace in his voice prevailed over the unwavering throatiness of it this time.\nHe seemed startled by my out-of-place input; angry and maybe mortified too.\nDare I repeat myself? I wondered for what seemed like an eon while the others watched in silence, none touching their plates anymore. No one wanted to make a sound in the terror of the deafening silence that hung in the air while my uncle stared piercingly at me. He had never been challenged like this before- the eldest of all his siblings, the sole breadwinner of his house - his say was the first and last.\nThe crispy Copan kababs were getting cold and limp as no hands flew to grab them before they were gone unlike usual, the stove was left on, unlike the usual rush to turn it off at the earliest to save gas, as none of my aunts moved a muscle; everyone was petrified for me. I had done the unthinkable. Questioned the question-maker. Challenged the undefeated. Disputed the uncontended. \n“I just asked how can you judge something you are not an expert at?”\nMy uncle blinked his heavy-lidded, umber brown eyes twice, slightly twisting his head toward his left shoulder, in disbelief.\n“Aren’t you getting a little too smart for your age, little girl?”\n“So, you’re saying I’m smart?” I replied almost instantaneously and regretted almost instantaneously after.\nAghast gasps echoed throughout the damp, cramped dining room, one exclamation louder than the other. \nAnswering back to your elders was almost as sinister as going out after dark for girls in our locality. If you did either, you were immoral, disobedient and shunned by everyone and their mother. My mother quietly but hurriedly grabbed my arm and pulled me away, whispering hasty, muffled words into my ear but I knew what they were. The usual. The rudimentary. How rude I had been. How much I had shamed her. How I had no manners and how I wouldn’t be allowed to go to the bazar with Razeda later that afternoon. No sooner had my mother rushed me into the kitchen through the huddled hush hush of the other spectators, my younger cousin informed us of my uncle urgently summoning me back into the common room. By this point, a sudden, gnawing dread started weighing me down as I made my way back with the same stony stares insistent on being affixed on my every move. Had I really crossed a line? What if he was furious and never lets me have dinner with the family again? Maybe I shouldn’t have said that. Innumerable thoughts engulfed my mind and none were solutions to the unnerving state of affairs I was about to find myself in.\n“Come here, smart girl, have I got some questions for you.”\nHe didn’t sound entirely angry but you could never tell with him. So inscrutable; one instance he could be serenely phlegmatic and the next, hair-raisingly petrifying. Who was he going to be this time?\n“Tell me, now, what do you think of the new driving law that was passed in Saudi?”\n“Huh?”\n“Give me your opinion, child.”\n“I - I think it’s a great law and every girl should be able to do what every boy is able to do everywhere in the world.”\n“Do you now?\" he averted his glance to his left. \"Hashar, move over.” He gently ushered my elder brother up from his seat, whose face was painted with a shade of discernible dubiety.\nMy uncle sedately signaled me to take his place instead to which I shared my brother’s perplexity but did as I was told.\n“Now, I don’t think it’s a good law so, debate with me why you think otherwise.”\nAs vastly flummoxed as I was, I iterated my points as I had often done with my friends at school. Debating came natural to me. My uncle was unflinchingly composed and listening to every word I said as if he were watching the 9 pm political talk show on Shamshad TV. I couldn’t understand what was happening and visibly, no one else in the room could either. A communal confusion was shared by the family and the debate continued back and forth.\n After a few rounds of humorous contention yet no reasonable resolution reached, the unspoken words were spoken and the unbroken tradition was broken.\nI became a regular in the following debates and my opinions were heard loud and clear." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Bailing\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 1340\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about someone looking to make amends for a mistake." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Bailing\nA short accompaniment to This Darkness is Mine\nBy Mackenzie Littledale\n8/7/2020\nMichelle downed the last of her Chianti and paced Joe’s living room. “It’s time for me to apologize to your friend and his wife,” she said, racked with guilt.\nJoe put down his highball of whiskey on the wood and glass coffee table. “I was wondering when you’d come around to that,” he said, rolling his ‘R’ in his heavy Cuban accent.\nShe let out a heavy breath, wishing for more alcohol, but it was almost bedtime, time to take her medication. “I couldn’t help it. I was uncomfortable when she said she cut herself. I feel so ashamed now. I had no idea...no idea you were close to her and her husband.”\n“No shame necessary, mi amor. You couldn’t have known. It’s just ironic that you’d be at a support group and not be able to offer support, no?”\n“Yeah, I needed more support than I could offer then,” said Michelle. “I’ve come a long way.”\n“You have.”\n“I’d like to start going back to the support group, but I can’t with this hanging over my head.” Michelle took her glass to the kitchen to put it in the dishwasher.\n“No, it wouldn’t be good. The support group has to be a safe environment for all the members. With that kind of tension? It’s not a good idea for you to go back unless you take care of this and clear the air. It would be awful for this to blow up into tira y jala.”\nShe returned to him. “A what?”\n“Tira y jala is a back and forth argument.”\n“Ah, no, I don’t want that. It’s still hard to stomach what I don’t understand, but at least I’ve gained some empathy along the way,” Michelle took Joe’s hand and tugged on him to follow her upstairs to his bedroom. “I think the best way for me to go about it is to write down what I want to say. I don’t know if it’ll go as planned, but I think having some kind of guideline will help.”\n“I like this idea.”\n“This is so fucking hard,” she said. “I feel bad about bailing on the meeting.”\n“Write it out.” He tossed a T-shirt to her to wear for the night.\n“How long has she been in intensive care?”\n“Charity was in intensive care for three weeks,” said Joe, removing his shirt.\n“Jesus.” Michelle slipped out of her clothes and put on the T-shirt.\n“The last time I saw Ron, he told me she’s in a regular room now, but they’re keeping a close eye on her.”\nShe sat in his bed with her laptop, and froze. “I don’t know where to start.”\n“Start with ‘Dear Charity,’” Joe suggested.\nShe smiled. “Yeah. Okay, I can do this.” With a lot of stopping and staring, typing and backspacing, Michelle wrote out a heartfelt apology. “Can I read it to you?”\nSprawled out like a cat on its back, Joe was fast asleep. Michelle glanced at the clock. She’d been working on her one-page letter for three hours.\n“I think it’s perfect,” she said to herself, tucking the laptop away and cuddling up to Joe’s warm body.\nThursday after Joe got off work, Michelle asked him to take her to Aventura hospital so she could give her letter to Charity in person. “It’ll be a nice lay-up to the weekend. We can go dancing or something guilt-free.”\n“Let’s see how this goes,” said Joe, as they walked through the visitor parking lot.\n“You don’t think I can pull off an apology?” Michelle play-smacked his arm.\n“I believe you can. Let’s see if you will.”\nOnce they arrived at Charity’s room, Joe took Michelle’s hand and they entered together. Ron sat at Charity’s side, holding her hand to his cheek. \n“Hola Ron,” said Joe. “How is she?”\n“She’s--” Ron glared at Michelle. “What the hell is she doing here?”\nMichelle stammered, not expecting such strong revulsion at her presence. “Good pitching the other night, Ron. You did a great job.”\n“What the hell?”\nMichelle cleared her throat and glanced around the room. “I’m sorry, forget the game, forget I brought it up.” Michelle rubbed her brows. “I-I came to apologize to her. And to you. To both of you.”\n“You shouldn’t be here while she’s recovering,” said Ron. “It’s not like you’re any kind of friend.”\n“Ron,” said Joe. “Michelle isn’t responsible for Charity hurting herself. She wants to apologize.”\n“Hey, it’s not like I even knew her. Please just hear me out,” said Michelle, scrambling for her note, but she couldn’t find it. She cursed to herself, realizing she’d have to speak from her heart on the fly. “Please.”\nRon crossed his arms. “Go ahead. What do you have to say for yourself.”\nMichelle noticed a solitary small bouquet of fuchsia and yellow flowers and two greeting cards on the bedside table. “I showed up to the bipolar support group in need of support, but I had preconceived notions about what it would be like. It wasn’t like what I expected, and I was starting to feel comfortable. But Charity’s...challenges...with depression went beyond what I could handle. I shouldn’t have bolted out of the room when she was sharing her weekly challenge.”\n“That’s your apology?” Ron asked, snorting. “You’re ‘sorry, but?’”\n“I am sorry,” said Michelle, taking two steps closer to the edge of Charity’s bed. The hospital disinfectant smell overwhelmed her. She hated the about-to-die smell of hospitals. “There shouldn’t be a ‘but’. I wasn’t capable of being supportive then. I was needier than I wanted to admit and stubborn. I’m stronger now, and I feel terrible about bailing on the group. It’s hard to process what demons she’s dealing with that talk her into hurting herself.” She looked to Joe, who moved to lean against the wall, observing. He gestured for her to carry on. She stared into his green eyes long enough to draw the strength she needed to withstand the jellyfish sensation in her gut from contrition. \nAfter a nod to Joe, she looked back to Ron. The ball was in his court.\nRon remained seated. He laid Charity’s hand at her side. “I love you, baby.” Then he stood, his glare shooting missiles at Michelle. His face swelled, turning red, and his eyes bulged, an attempt to hold back tears. “She thinks she’s broken.” His sobs broke through his barriers. “How...how do I convince her she’s perfect?”\n“You don’t need to convince her of that,” said Michelle, taking another step closer. “Nobody is perfect. You just need to love her through it and help her find ways to combat the demons. Demons are sneaky. They’ll say anything to destroy us.”\n“How can she escape the voices that tell her she’s not good enough to be alive?”\n“There’s no escaping voices inside our own heads. We have to amplify the other voices cheering us on.”\nRon continued heaving and sobbing. “I think she’s perfect. She’s the most amazing woman I’ve ever known.”\n“That’s all that matters,” said Michelle, moving closer still. She put her hand on Ron’s shoulder and squeezed. “I wish I could promise that she’ll be okay, but I can’t even guarantee that for myself. Don’t give up the fight for her.”\n“When she gets out and you’re both ready, I’d like to invite you both for dinner at my house,” said Joe.\n“That’s a great idea,” said Michelle. “That’s just what she needs, support and friends, social activities with people who want her to make it.”\n“I can’t commit to that,” said Ron, looking at Charity’s face. “It sounds nice, but I don’t know.”\n“You don’t need to commit right now,” said Michelle. “You’ll both know when you’re ready. But I’m all for it. It’ll be a quiet dinner.”\nJoe came up to stand behind Michelle. “Do you forgive her?”\n“Yeah,” said Ron. “We’re good.”\nMichelle’s stomach unknotted and her shoulders loosened. “Thank you, Ron. I appreciate the second chance.”" } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on 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 Father's Love\n\nGenre: asian-american\n\nWord Count: 1737\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character preparing a meal for somebody else." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "The rice cooker clicks off, wheezing like an old man and breaking the silent hum filling the kitchen.\nFaolan spares it a glance, body momentarily pausing in mid-action, before he resumes chopping the last batch of carrots. The movement calms him down, and for good measure, for he’s been feeling jittery all morning. “Like a bird,” his wife used to say whenever she spotted his figure scurrying around in search of something to calm the restlessness sitting heavy in his stomach. He can't help it, Faolan is nervous by nature and though he’s grown out of that awkward adolescent fear, there are moments that he still feels like a child. \nIt’s been a while since he’s felt this way. After his beloved had died, there hadn’t been anything worth being excited about, apart from the one strand of hope that came in the form of his daughter. Faolan had made sure to give her everything, to raise her the way his wife would’ve wanted him to. He likes to believe he did a good job, and looking at Meilyn now always brings a flush of nostalgia and pride at the young woman whom she’s blossomed into. \nShe’s grown, he tells his wife silently. He hopes she can hear him. Faolan slides the carrots off his chopping board and into a bowl before moving on to the chicken, skimming over the array of clean baby corn, freshly washed bok choy and glistening mushrooms that envelope the promise of a good meal. \nNothing can go wrong today. Faolan will not ruin this for Meilyn. It’s been long -- too long -- since he’s laid eyes on his daughter’s face. And he’s adamant to make this dinner the best they’ve had in a while. \nGrabbing his meat board and placing the chicken strips methodically in a line, Faolan whips out a knife from his wall and proceeds to slice them evenly as the marinade oozes out with a promised saltiness of soy sauce and oyster. Out of impulse, he glances at the clock resting on the far wall of the turquoise-walled kitchen. Six-fifteen. Beside it, a stream of sunset light bathes the wooden countertops in gold. \n“I’ll be here at seven. Seven-thirty at the latest if the train is slow,” she’d told him over the phone last night. \n“Be careful.” \n“Oh dad,” he’d pictured her face filled with exasperation, “I will.” \nGrowing up without a mother had proved difficult for both father and daughter. Meilyn was a rebellious child by nature just as fiery as her mother had been, and taming her had been a challenge that had caused Faolan to tear his hair out multiple times a week. They disagreed on nearly everything; from the way Meilyn sat, to the way she dressed, to the manners she’d display towards her aunts and cousins. She wasn’t rude per say, but Faolan remembers getting reprimanded by his mother-in-law multiple times because “the girl is just not being raised as a proper Chinese woman, and something should be done about that.” \nOh, they’d tried doing something alright, except it hadn’t worked. At this point, Meilyn had already grown into habits that were hard to break, already adapted to life as she deemed fit. \nFinishing up with the chicken, Faolan then hobbles towards the stove, tugging on his wok -- a gift from his family on their wedding day -- on the way before dropping it with the clumsiness only possessed by an old man. It resonates with a twang, causing him to wince slightly as he fishes out a match and bends over to light the fire, turning the gas switch in the process. \nThere. Now that’s done, he douses the wok with a rain of cooking oil. The good kind, not the cheap one that his mother-in-law would buy from the street vendor. He keeps his gaze on the fire licking the sides of the wok. That’s the tricky bit. Faolan has never been a patient man, which explains why he finds cooking to be a martyr most of the time. \nBut all that is erased the moment he sees the satisfied glow lighting up his daughter’s face. \nThe memory of Meilyn's ten-year-old face springs up through the back of his eyelids. It hadn't been his first attempt at cooking, but it had been his first successful attempt.\n“Pa,” she'd beamed at him from across the table and it had taken all of his self-restraint to stop himself from reaching over to hug her tight against his chest, “it’s really good. It tastes like Mama’s.” \nShe’d looked at him as if he was a hero brought to life, as though everything seemed perfect in that little pocket of time. Faolan wanted to keep it, cherish it in his cupped palms forever. That night, he’d silently thanked his wife’s photo by his bedside for the recipe book -- her recipe book -- that he’d found tucked in a stack of books hidden in the back of their storage closet.\nHe’d knelt, index finger skimming over the messy scrawl of his wife’s handwriting while a lump grew hot and heavy in his throat. \n“Am I doing good?” he’d murmured in the muffled silence, imagining her sitting at the kitchen table in her red dress patterned with white daisies as she scribbled down the words, the pot simmering under her watchful eye. Faolan stroked the yellow-stained page, “I don’t know what I’m doing half the time.” \nHe’d never gotten an answer. He doesn’t expect to. \nAnother glance at the clock reveals that it is now six forty. He’s got another twenty minutes, enough time to whip everything into shape and Faolan wants to pat himself on the back for his good timing. See that? He tells himself in hopes that his wife can hear, I’ve come a long way from cooking instant noodles. \nThe oil’s pretty hot by now, and without hesitation he tosses the chopped onions and garlic, followed by the sliced chicken. The wok sings in delight as Faolan lets it cook for a while, stirring every now and then until the pink slithers turn into a lighter brown. That is when he pours in the rest of the ingredients; the corn, the bok choy, the carrots, the mushrooms, and last but not least the oyster sauce before turning down the heat. \nThe fragrance wafts through the air, causing Faolan’s stomach to grumble in anticipation. Reaching down to the cupboard to grab the bag of cornstarch -- he practically lives on this stuff. It makes everything rich and delectable -- he sprinkles a handful of it over the mixture. Then, he pours a half cup of water and watches in growing satisfaction the way the runny sauce turns thick and gooey, just the way he likes it.\nJust the way Meilyn likes it.\nWhen Faolan is assured that the curry is to perfection, he scoops up spoonful after spoonful into one of those blue and white jade bowls before placing it on the rounded wooden table that bends at the corners. A car honks in the distance as he hobbles over to spoon the rice into another matching jade bowl. He deposits it next to the curry and, realizing that he hasn’t pulled out the cutlery needed for this occasion, he makes a grab for one of the stray stools lingering against the counter before shakily lifting himself up towards the top cupboards. It’s not stable, and though Faolan is aware of his age -- god, where have all the years gone? -- his stubbornness makes him reach out despite the shakiness of his unstable support. \nHe manages to get a hold of the bowls -- what a joy to find jade spoons with the exact same pattern and colour! -- and slowly crouches back down. With his cutlery-free hand, he grips tight onto the chair and slowly, very slowly, deposits one frail foot after the other, his grip so tight until he’s certain his feet are safely pressed to the ground.\nAs if on cue, the clock chimes. Seven. Outside, the sky has darkened into the colour of a bruise. Faolan makes his way back to the dinner table, sets down the two bowls in their respective places, and sits down before crossing his arms. \nHe waits. \nIn the silent hum filling his flat, he hears the distant cackle of birds calling for each other as the day comes to an end, the faint sound of traffic echoing through his walls as car lights dance across his walls. \nSeven ten. \nThe smell of his freshly cooked dish fills the air and Faolan makes a note that he should attend to his now-dirty wok before tomorrow comes along. \nHe hears a faint shout. Someone else responds in recognition. He shifts slightly in his seat, eyes finding the clock.\nSeven fifteen. \nHe lets out a sigh. Of course Meilyn would be late. She’s always late after all, he think to himself with a slight prickle of irritation.\nSeven twenty. \nSeven thirty. \nWhere is she?\nTick. Tock.\nSeven fourty-five. \nFaolan is so lost in his thoughts that he almost jumps out of his skin when his landline rings. \nHe’s quick to reach for it, grabbing it with a little too much enthusiasm as he says, “hello?” \n“Pa, it’s me.” \n“Meilyn,” relief floods through him, “where are you? You’re late!” \n“Pa I’m sorry! I completely forgot we were supposed to have dinner. See, my friend called me last night and they wanted to go out to the city so I took the train to meet her there because it's her birthday.” \nA rock suddenly lodges itself in the middle of his chest. \n“So,” Faolan purses his lips, “you’re not coming? To dinner?” \n“No. I’m sorry,” she says apologetically. He hears the hum of traffic behind her, the bustle of city life, “I’ll come next week! I promise.” \nHe bids her goodbye, tells her to take care and out of impulse, says that he loves her. \nShe says it back like an afterthought, and when he places the phone back into the receiver, the world goes silent. \nSilent and lonely. \nFaolan stares at the bowl of food before him, at the curry now growing cold, and shivers.\nSwallowing hard and trying not to let the water gathering in his eyes to spill over, he shakily goes to pick up his chopsticks before he starts to eat." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Trial by Fire\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 1028\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about a teenager spending their final days at home before going away to college." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Fire.\nSmoke.\nAshes.\nThey neared the Great Divide, each step heavier than the last. The notion that maybe they had left too late, and that they would never step foot through the gateway swam around in his mind, but Andrei pushed it away, struggling to keep hope alive through the damp washcloth draped over his nose and mouth. The sounds of an active war zone surrounding him and his heavily pregnant wife, Oleksandra, jolted the rocks underneath their feet as the bombs rained from the sky. He and Olek had come to the West about five semigens ago to escape the Fall of the East. Neither had dreamt that they would ever return.\nBut there they were.\nOlek's breath came harsh through her cracked lips; her arms, red from the sizzling ash that fluttered from the smoke clouded sky like rain, clutched her protruding belly. Hanging her head and following in her loyal husband's footsteps, the square heel of her rugged, golden bronze boots caught against a rock jutting out from the cluttered ground. Throwing her to her knees, an immense pain consumed her, wrenching her insides and bringing stinging tears to her eyes.\nAndrei turned at the sound of his wife's body colliding with the leaf-covered forest floor, and for a split second, snippets of his life before the Fall flashed before his eyes. In the back of his mind, he knew Olek wouldn't make it. Although the pathway to their new life seemed dark, they could not turn back. All they could do now is run. Pulling her to her feet, Andrei and Olek stumbled on.\nAnd then the light met his eyes.\nThe last standing gateway.\nThe only way out.\nThe glowing, scarlet embers of the swirling portal gave Andrei the spark, pushing him to summon everything inside the bloody mess that he called himself could find. His entire body was coordinated to one sole cause, to undo the wrong he had done to himself and his wife.\nAs Andrei was running with all his strength and might, Oleksandra slowed, leaving long, snake-like trails in the dirt behind them. Going back for her was wasting crucial time, time that they didn’t have, time that was the difference between life – and death.\n ‘Run, Olek!’ Andrei cried. ‘Run!’\n Moaning in pain, Olek stretched her arm and leaned on a tree, beads of sweat breaking out on her forehead, running down her face, pooling on the pit of her collarbone.\n The baby was coming.\n The expressions of inconceivable pain from Oleksandra graduated from moans to cries and to screams of what felt like endless torture. Andrei's mind raced, searching for how to help her, but something inside told him what he already knew. He could do nothing but watch his agonized wife. Nothing but watch the gateway to the east burn down, the vibrancy draining out like an unclogged drain in a sad and somber style.\n Olek slumped to the floor like a withered tree. She could hardly be heard as the tumult of the surrounding noise drowned out her voice. Andrei held tight to the clenched fist of his wife and with a whisper that could hardly be heard, she spoke her last words. “ Mikhail, ” she gasped. “If he survives, call him Mikhail.” In great agony, she gave one last, deep push.\nThe sound of a crying baby brought a joyous glow to Andrei’s eyes. He cradled the baby and chipped off a sharp piece of tree bark to sever the umbilical cord. “He's a boy, Olek,\" Andrei whispered into the silence. He paused and turned, watching her chest, waiting for it to rise and fall, just the way it always did when he watched her sleep. He rushed to her, the baby still in his hands. \"No.\" Tears came to his eyes. Her chest stayed put, blank, glassy eyes staring into the sky. \"He's a boy, Olek, \" He whispered to her motionless dead body. \"He's a boy.\"\n- - - - -\n19 Years Later... \nMikhail woke up and groggily checked the time. Three in the morning. Three hours before daybreak. Maybe I should work on the boat, he thought, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and fitting them into his tight clogs. Slowly, he eases open the heavy steel door, slipping through the small crack and hopping off the ledge into the garage turned workshop.\nHe stopped by the workbench cluttered with tools and dinner plates from too many nights spent eating outside and grabbed a few nuts, bolts, and screws, then quietly walked to their project, the one he and his father Andrei had started on his birthday, 3 years ago. He climbed over the rim, sat on the moss-covered wooden planks that they used for seats, and placed his hands on the grips of the paddles. \n“My 19th birthday,” he muttered to himself, holding in his hands the acceptance letter to the U of W, the University of the West that he had left in the bottom of the boat the other day. “I’m going to college in a few weeks.” It had never been a celebration day. Besides the tale of his birthday, there was much more of a story to be told. It was 19 years since the mother he never met gave birth to him in the scattering of ashes that littered the forest floor. A single tear ran down his cheek as he remembered the grand stories his father told of the woman he never knew. His father longed for her, longed for his wife. \nQuietly, he stepped out of the boat and started back towards his room, pausing outside the rotted wooden door to his father’s room. It hung from a hinge, but in recent times, his father didn’t have the energy to fix it. \nMikhail didn't have to enter the room to know that his father was lying on the bed, sobs racking his aged body. Mikhail continued on and entered his room, shutting the door quietly. This is how it was every year. Because today, 19 years ago, his father gained him. But he also lost so much more…" } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on 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 Breakfast\n\nGenre: asian-american\n\nWord Count: 1791\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart or end your story with two characters sitting down for a meal." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "My dead wife appeared in the dream.\nWe started dating in college and got married when we were 24.\nShe appeared in high school uniform,looked young.I had never seen her of that age before.I don't remember the details or what she said in the dream. But it was a dream that can make me feel warm and happy.\nI woke up in the morning and did my usual stretching exercises. The lumbago has been getting worse recently. If you refuse to give in to old age everywhere, you will be laughed at by your colleagues.\nI want to get out of my pajamas and put on a suit, but I can't find the gray suit I'm going to wear for today's important meeting when I scan my wardrobe.\nI don't remember sending it to the laundry, because of my meticulous personality, even if I drink too much at night, I will hang my pants on the coat rack neatly before I go to bed.So it's kind of weird that I can't find it right now.\nHeadache. Where did it go? I folded my arms and thought about it, but I still can't figure it out.\nMaybe it's because I drank really too much last night.My memory is all mixed up, and I can't turn over a decent fragment at all.Think about the past,we used to drink until morning and go straight to work,so sad.\nI have a bad habit of ignoring all other projects until I tackle the things that matter most to me at the moment, but I'm not in the mood to rumble through my closet at home before going to work,I already aware of the growing amnesia. But, to be honest, I was shocked when I couldn't remember where I put my suit.\nMaybe it was in another room. I forced myself to compromise.\nThe morning breaks early in this summer. Even though it was not yet 6 o 'clock, the sun had already made a path of light through the gap in the curtains on the bed.\nI've been getting up remarkably early lately. Is this getting old? I grabbed the thinning hair on my head and grinned bitterly.\nIt takes a full hour to get to the office. Usually I read the newspaper before going out. Today I'll read it in the subway. Anyway, I'll look for the suit first.\nI open the door and leave the bedroom. The cold air in the room kept my skin dry, but as soon as I get to the hallway, the heat and moisture wrap me up.\n I noticed something strange.\nThere was some movement in the house.\nThe noise came from the dining room.A thief?\nI walked gingerly down the corridor towards the smell of human life. Was a home of an ordinary office worker and a widower worth burgling?\nAccording to an old woman nearby, there seems to be an increase in burglaries in this area recently. What should I do? Is there something I can grab to pretect myself?\nNo,even a broom or a mop, I wish I had one in my bedroom.\nWhile thinking wildly,finding no countermeasure, I timidly push the door of the dining room.\n\"Good morning. You get up early.\"\nHuh? I stared blankly across.\nIt's a young girl. Not nearly as good as I expected. She is frying eggs in the kitchen.\nWith a closer look, she is wearing a high school uniform and an aprone.\nWait, what's going on here? Early in the morning, a female high school student was cooking in the house of a middle-aged man who’s over 50.\nThe headline story of the web page comes to my mind.\nShocked!! The status quo of a girl who runs away from home: She dedicated her body just for food and lodging.\nWait a minute, I did have a drink yesterday, but I can't remember where I picked up a high school girl like this one.But I can't even remember where I put my suit, I feel my memory can't be relied on.\nNo, no, that's impossible. I wouldn't do that no matter how much I drank. Take a high school girl home? Nonsense.\nIs it not a crime? Abduction of an underage girl. Fixed-term imprisonment of not less than five years but not more than 10 years. I suddenly pictured myself entering the cell alone, with my head in my hands.\n“Don't stand idly by the door, sit down and wait for breakfast.”\nA girl with an innocent smile,cute smile.She looked exactly like my dead wife.The same face,the same eyes. No, no, no. She's a high school girl. She's a kid.I warn myself that in the face of this situation, you have to be an adult with judgment before you can be a man who can't understand the situation, right?\nThe girl took the curry powder out of the fridge and put it into the pot. The aroma of curry was palpable.\n\"Look at you, a huge body standing in that way. It's too much of a nuisance.\"\nThe girl's tone is completely free of tension, but also quite intimate. My heart feels tight, is such a kid and I have done something wrong?\nNo, I don't think so...\nDid I? I have no memory at all, and I can't answer it myself. I hate myself like this.\nThe girl pushed me to the table.\n\"Well, wear you gray suit today. I put it on a clothes hanger in the washing table. Remember to put your pajamas in the laundry basket when you take them off.\"\n\"Oh, thank you.\" I had to go with the flow.\n\"They'll pick you up at seven-thirty, so get ready by then.\"\nPick me up? Who?Why? Am I going anywhere with this high school girl? From the moment I opened my eyes, I was full of inexplicable things.\nWait a minute. I had a dream last night about my wife.\nI don't remember what she said, but she's still the way she was in high school.\nA foolish imagination began in my head. Had she returned?\nThere should be no such thing. I'm an atheist. I don't believe in ghosts. Furthermore, even if my wife appears as a ghost, I can't understand why she is a female high school student. In addition, can the ghost make curry fried eggs?\nI plucked up the courage to ask, \"Sorry, who are you ?\"\nThe girl froze. She accidentally folds the fried egg in the pan in half.\nWith a bang, the spatula in her hand fell into the pot.\nI was taken aback.\n\"Do you really still don't recognize me?\"\nShe looked at me with a strange expression,in amazement or dismay.\n\"Sorry, I don't remember what happened yesterday at all. Where is your home? It's better to contact your parents before you go back.\"\nThe girl looked at me with lonely eyes, and began to cook again without saying anything. She put the thawed sausage into the pan.\n\"Are you listening? No, what are you thinking about? If you have any trouble, you can talk to me. But you have to go home eventually. Your parents might be worrying about you.\"\nThe curry is stronger. The sausages were squeaking in the pan.\n\"Well, when have you been here? I'm really sorry, my memory is vague. It feels like waiting for a stranger to cook for you in her house.\"\n\"All the time...\"\nThe girl muttered.\n\"Eh?\"\n\"I've been in this house all the time...\"\nWhat is she talking about?\nI feel a little uncomfortable.\nI don't know such a girl.\nI research the memory, still no clue.\nIs it really the soul of my wife?\nShe came to pick me up? So I'm going to die, or am I already dead? Is this another world?My wife in our most familiar place, with the most moving appearance to greet me.\nI suddenly thought of the plot in Keigo Higashino's novel The Secret: the protagonist’s wife and daughter had an accident during a trip. The wife failed to survive, and the daughter miraculously woke up after being seriously injured and unconscious. Then he finds that the wife's personality and memories are loaded into the body of the recovered daughter.\nIn other words.the protagonist lost his wife's body and daughter's soul by accident, and the remaining two became one. A bewildered man live with a woman who has a daughter's body and a wife's soul secretly and wonderfully under the same roof.\nIs there a sadder story for a middle-aged man?\nThis young girl, who is so similar to my wife, may be carrying my wife's soul in her body.\nIf so, how did the girl's body show up? No matter where she comes from, she must be familiar with the house, she's very familiar with what she's doing.\n\"All the time... What does it mean?\"\n\"Please sit down while I get breakfast ready.\"\n\"No, it's obvious that a kid girl I don't know cooking in my own kitchen. How can I keep silent?\" I can't help it.\n\"You sit down!\"\nSaid the girl loudly.\nI lost in momentum and became silent.\nThe sausages on the pan are burning.\nI sat uneasily in my seat.\nShe doesn't seem to be a bad girl, and knows me well.\nBut what does \"all the time\" really mean?\nThe girl brought in the breakfast she had prepared.\nI ate in silence.\nI do not know why, it is a nostalgic taste.\n\"Is it tasty?\"\n\"Mmm, it's delicious.\"\n\"Thank you.\"\nWe exchanged glances.\n\"Well, who are you? What did you mean by 'all the time'?\"\nIn response to my question, she still looked down and said nothing.\nJust when I couldn't bear the silence, she spoke.\n \"Dad, you... were a little tired after mom died. You have already quit your job, but you wear a suit to go out every day, and you punch and kick the nanny aunt. I have contacted all the nearby housekeeping companies, and once they heard that it was you, none of them were willing to take the job.\nHowever, I can't rest assured of you, so I try my best to do it. I also dropped out of college and decided to start looking for a job. In fact, I have always wanted to take care of you,daddy. But I have to participate in the recruitment. I have discussed it several times with the doctor and you. From today on, you're moving to a nursing home,remember? \"\nCan't remember.\n \"So this is the last meal to eat together... Every morning you forgets me, and every time I see an upset dad, it is so painful...\"\n The girl cried.\n I can't remember.\n This girl’s business, my business...\n Anything……" } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on 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: african-american\n\nWord Count: 1028\n\nPrompt:\n\nYou thought he was dead, but there he is, right in front of you on the street, smiling at you." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "we seek for hope.\nbut it died \nlong \nlong \nago.\nso we know\nthat it hasn’t just disappeared\nof its own accord\nno\nwe killed it.\nmurdered it in cold blood\ndragged its lifeless body\nout of our lives\nand buried it under the mound of dirt\nthat we call life.\nbut for some reason\nwe still search for it. \nwe still mount the podiums \nand tell the people who follow us\nthat there is a hope.\nright?\nas if\nwe hadn’t killed it years ago.\nso now we run in circles.\ntry to jump over the hurdles\nthat were placed in our way\nby the lies we told ourselves.\nattempt to hide \nfrom the past that we’ve tried so hard \nto leave behind\nbut the past will always haunt us\nthe present will always disappoint us\nand the future will always taunt us with what could be\ncan be\nwould be\nshould be.\neven though sometime soon\nyour future will become your present\nand your present will soon become your past.\nnothing is ever concrete\nexcept what you put your hope in\nbut hope is dead\nso what do we do \nnow?\nwe lie to ourselves. \ncreate a false hope\nto stand in place of the one\nthat we unreasonably killed.\nwe give excuses for why\nwe are\nwhere we are\nbut there is no excuse for murder\nso why are there so many killers\non the street\nroaming free?\nbecause we don’t prosecute \nwithout evidence\nand there’s no evidence\nof the death\nof something you buried\nso far under.\nso when they pat you down\nand find no weapon\nwhen they search your house\nand find no body\nthey smile\nshake your hand\nholster their gun\nand walk away\nbecause \nsince they can’t find it \nit must not be there \nright?\nwe pray\nthat things get better\nnot bitter\nand that good things\nwill always stay together \neven though it makes no sense \nto pray for something to stay together\nwhen it’s already fallen apart\nand it makes no sense \nto pray for something to get better\nwhen we’re the ones who made it bitter\nin the first place.\noh\nthe irony.\nbut the thing is\nthat whenever anything \nis in high demand\nand low supply\nit is too commonly stolen.\ntaken by force\nfrom the ones \nwho haven’t thrown theirs away.\nso once again\nwe become criminals.\nwe steal hope \nfrom the lucky few\nthat had the sense\nnot to murder theirs.\nwe steal hope\nfrom the young\nand from the old.\nbut stolen hope\ndoesn’t nourish the soul\nthe way real hope does.\nit’s just a morphine drip \nfor your conscience\nbut a constant drip\nwill empty itself \nrather quickly\nand leave you more empty\nthan you were before.\nleave you begging for more\nof the sweetness and relief\nthat it brings.\nso you find another\ninnocent soul to rob.\nin the end\nyou ruin the lives of so many\ntake from them so much\nonly to obtain so little\nof something \nthat will \nnever\never\never \nlast\nso many things\ncan take us down the \nroad \nthat winds\ndown \ndown\ndown\nbut never leaves anywhere\nwe travel down\nbut since it’s not a very steep descent\nwe don’t notice \nuntil it’s far too late\nfor redemption\nuntil the spiral’s walls come down \njust enough \nfor us to look over the edge \nand realize that we’re in \na whole new dimension \nwith no one to speak to \nno one to steal from.\nfor once \nin this miserable life\nyou’re completely\none hundred percent\nalone.\nit comes as no surprise\nbut when whatever numbness you brought in is gone\nthe throbbing pain \nand the crippling ache\nwill take over\nand when it does\nyour fake hope will fall through\nand you will cry\nyou will mourn the loss \nof your real\noriginal\nhope.\nyou will think back and ask yourself\nif it was worth it.\nyou will wonder\nwhy\nand soon it will dawn on you\nthat there is no way out.\nthat the pit you’ve unconsciously \ndug for yourself\nis too deep for you to climb\nthen\nwhat will you do?\nthere’s no point\nin working so hard\nfor so long\nall for something\nthat will evaporate\nin a second\nbefore your very eyes.\nthere's no point\nin putting sweat and blood\ninto seeking for something \nthat is gone.\nit’s a pity\nthat this world\nwill die out\nso soon.\nthe potential among us\ngone \npoof\njust like that\nbecause our sustenance\nour hope\ndied\nlong \nlong ago.\nbut is it possible\nfor us to open the garage\nsort through the dusty boxes \npull out the shovel\nand dig up the grave?\nis it possible \nfor our hope\nto rise from the dead\nand restore us\nonce again?\nyes.\nbecause hope will never really die.\nthere will always be a fire\nraging in the heart of one.\nthere will always be a spark\nignited in the hearts of few.\nthere will always be an ember\nsmoldering in the hearts of many.\nand \nat the very least\nthere will always be the ashes\nlying in the hearts of all.\nhope will never die\nthe human race may misplace their priorities\nbut the most important things \nalways find their places\neven if it takes a while\nto set out its name tag.\nsoon we will begin to see \nthe shovels in our hands\nthe graves in our lives\nand we will begin to dig\ndig until the first glimmers show\ndig until we can touch it\nfeel it\nwrap our arms and our minds around it.\nit doesn’t take much\nfor a whole generation\nto find their hope.\none by one\nlike a disease\nit spreads\nand once it starts\nyou can’t stop it\nit just goes on and on.\nit’s a revolution that we must lead.\njoin together to prove wrong those who say \nwe are a shattered people.\nprove to them \nthat there is something much\nmuch better\nwaiting for us\non the horizon.\nlet us show the world\nthat\nthough our hope\nmay have died \nlong\nlong \nago\nwe\nwill\nnot\nbe \nbroken" } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Brunch with Grandma\n\nGenre: asian-american\n\nWord Count: 1452\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a group of strangers — or people who know each other, but may as well be strangers — eating together." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "This piece dives into a conversation surrounding Asian American racism\n I am driving to brunch with Grandma and Grandpa today. I am determined to fulfill my role as the household scheduler and get to know them better. The wedding band on my left finger still feels foreign. It’s November which means that it’s cold and grey out, but the hope of the holidays fills the air. As the old time carol says, “even stop lights blink a bright red and green.” My husband is in the passenger seat changing the radio stations absentmindedly searching for anything other than holiday carols. I’m excited; we haven’t seen them in a while. The pandemic has cut down our time with our loved ones. Both my husband and I have tested negative in the last few days so we’re driving over on a Sunday. We knock and Grandma answers. I compliment her on her red sweatshirt dotted with maple leaves over the shoulder. She welcomes us in with a hug. My husband and Grandpa scurry to the basement. I follow Grandma into the warm kitchen. Anxiously, my eyes search the room for a good spot to place my jacket and I decide to hang it on the wooden back of one of the chairs. “Oh, Darling, that’s where I usually sit,” she says. I blush and whisper an apology, but she pinches a few pills between her polished fingernails. Grandma delicately places them on another plate with a smile. \n After setting out orange juice and fruit salad, Grandma walks over to the banister and calls down the stairs for the boys to come up. The rain outside is transforming into a sleet. We all tuck into our meal very quickly and the usual topics of conversation come up: work, my side of the family, and hunting. Grandma asks the polite questions you ask the newest member of the family. I dig my heels in and politely decline their invitations to Thanksgiving and Christmas on my parents’ behalf. The fear that they have felt doesn’t seem to touch my grandparents in law. The conversation drifts into shark infested waters: politics. My husband is the one in our marriage who has kept up on the news and focused on all of the news from the pandemic. It’s been eight months since lockdown and quarantine, since we have settled into our new way of living. Grandma looks up, “Do you know what is just outrageous? They are saying that the orientals are experiencing racism in our country. Let me ask you, Amanda, have you ever faced any racism in our country?”\n She’s asking me because I am the Chinese wife of her White grandson. She’s asking me because I’m one of the three people of color in her family. She’s asking me because she made “slant eyes” while discussing her new neighbors. She’s asking me because she has spent the majority of her adult life nestled in “Vanilla Valley”. I look up and take a sip of juice. I ask her, very delicately, and in a voice softer than a mouse, “Well, do you really wanna know?” She nods furiously and my husband glances at me. I know she doesn’t. I know exactly what she wants me to say; she wants me to assure her that I haven’t. It’s much easier to assume the slant eyed men and women on the news are just being outrageous. My words are slow, measured, “Then, yes. Yes, I have experienced racism in this country.” She asks me to elaborate. The men cast uneasy glances at one another. \n I start with a question, “Did you know that a moment after meeting me, everyone asks if I speak Chinese? If I’m in a good mood, I’ll tell them that I speak French, and if I’m in a bad mood, I demand to know if they were fluent in English at 13 months because that’s how old I was when I was adopted by my English only speaking parents.Then, they want to know if I have ever met my ‘real parents,’ because my adopted parents aren’t real, a fact the world kindly clues me in on.” Grandma doesn’t say anything and her husband is busy counting how many little black dots cover the Polish pottery plate. I hear the clatter of her metal fork on her plate. “Grandma,” I take a softer tone, “ In my junior year, I was close to failing out of math, but too embarrassed to ask for help, when my friend coaxed me into after school tutoring, ‘Just go to tutoring and I promise I will get to the classroom first. It’ll be just us working on your homework, I promise,’ he vowed. So I went, I went tutoring because I was practically failing math.” I take a breath. Her green eyes bore softly into mine. I wonder if she can see the pain that I have masked from her from the moment we met. In some sense, I am liberated. It’s as if she has finally removed the dam holding back my experience from their White, suburban existence. My husband squeezes my hand. \n I continue, “So I get to the classroom and the first student who sees me asks if I am here to tutor. I shake my head and sit alone until my friend arrives. But the insults don’t end there because the kid running the tutoring wants to know why I’m there so I tell him, with as much courage as possible, ‘I am here to get tutored.’ And this kid gets this face like I’ve just told him I'm here for open heart surgery; he squints his eyes at me and goes, ‘But you’re Asian.’ And now I am humiliated. But the reality of the situation is I needed help badly.” \n Grandma interrupts me, “But you’re a smart girl. I’m sure that’s what he meant.” She stabs a bite of egg. She’s comfortable again. The flood had diminished in her mind. But not in mine.\n “No, Grandma,” I swallow the lump in my throat, “He meant that Asians are supposed to be good at math and science and I. Was. Failing. The last three tests I got Ds on and I didn’t bother to turn in half my homework. The teacher barely acknowledged that I was having a hard time because I sat up front and I have dark hair.” I take a shaky breath and wonder if I should just shut up. My souffle is cold and my pancake has soaked up all the juice from the fruit. “I went home and I cried.”\n Grandma looks confused for a moment, “But that’s good racism,” she insists. “Being smart is a great stereotype. Why wouldn’t you want the world to see you as smart?”\n “Because,” I’m yelling now, “I was failing.” My husband looks at me, trying to calm me down from this soap box. She is just a little old woman with a hint of curiosity. “I was terrified to get help. I was terrified that I was failing and I needed someone to rescue me.” I take a bite of fruit. I am calmer now. “Asian racism is still racism. There was a guy at the office, just last week, who adjusted his mask and took a step back from me when I cleared my throat. He was afraid. He thinks my physical appearance means I am a danger to him. He had just heard the news of the ‘China virus,’ afterall.” I had bit my lip. I had bit my tongue. My trembling fingers found the correct buttons on the keyboard and I finished the admin side of the checkout process of his dental appointment. My husband clears his throat and takes another serving of hash brown casserole. The metal spoon rings like a church bell against the serving dish. \n “Grandma,” my voice is breaking now, “I’ll have to explain to our daughters,” I pause and meet her gaze, a burst of courage fueled by anger, “Your great granddaughters that a boy might ask her on a date to fulfill a fantasy. Not because he loves her, but because he wants her in a school girl outfit…” I trail off. The breakfast table is silent. My heart is torn; I am relieved to not shove this part of my journey down, but I can tell my words have hurt them. She won’t ask if she has ever been racist to me and I know she may never understand nor want to understand. I finish my orange juice and excuse myself. In the bathroom, I wipe away tears and clear my throat. I hear my husband ask Grandpa what he’ll be hunting this season." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on 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 Homecoming\n\nGenre: asian-american\n\nWord Count: 1773\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story where a meal or dinner goes horribly wrong." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "\"Mutya, how many foreign friends are you travelling with?\" my now 58-year-old Filipino mother said.\nI understand her concerns; this will be my first trip home for Christmas with my friends and boyfriend (whom they've never met). I've never looked back on my motherland since earning a scholarship to one of the most renowned universities in the United Kingdom. It’ll be weird since my younger sister's spouse was my ex-boyfriend. \n“4 persons, including myself,” I said as my phone hung around my neck as I quickly packed, praying we wouldn't miss our flight. A part of me doesn't want to interact with my family and relatives because they appear to be always curious about your life and it's overwhelming, and you feel pressured to live up to their expectations. \n“All right, Mutya, have a safe flight. I'll prepare all of your favourite Filipino meals, and Makisig, your brother, should be able to set up the Christmas tree and other decorations before you arrive.” I can hear the sizzling foreseeing all of the kitchen utensils being utilized. Bang! Clang! Oh, my God! It's not like a queen is coming to town or something. \nShe immediately hung up the phone before I could say anything to my mother. I groaned and sat down on the bed, which was piled high with clothing that needed to be packed for a month-long trip to the Philippines. “What gives you that exhausted face, my love?” Apollo, my Italian boyfriend for two years, cuddled up against me. Ah, Apollo— I'll never forget how we met. It's in the library, and we both chose the same book. We wouldn't want to put up a fight and give it up quietly for each other to take, so we ended up with a book club where we were the only members.\n“Mom is overjoyed about this homecoming, even though she always facetime me every day. Let's just say she's looking forward to seeing you rather than me, her daughter.” Apollo kissed my temples as I massaged them. “Well, it's your fault; you enticed me into your lair, and now you're mine,” he chuckled.\nWe meet our friend Jackie and her girlfriend, Lea, after several hours of packing and sealing all of the luggage. “Are you really going to live in the Philippines for good? Why do you have so much luggage and a carry-on for the two of you?” Lea teasingly inquired? My boyfriend looks at me, waiting for my response. \n“It's for my family and relatives. It's their pasalubong. It should have been sent from a balikbayan box, but I've been so busy lately that I have forgotten to send it to the courier.” My boyfriend clasped my hands as if I were doing fantastically well. It's great to have confidence in what we do. I'm worried I'll come to rely on him a lot in the future.\n“All right, lovebirds, let's travel to Manila!” Jackie and Lea, the other pair, are sprinting ahead of us. They're insane, yet I enjoy their company.\nMy entire family is shamefully putting up ‘Mutya De Silva' placards in each corner of the arrivals area as we get to the airport. “I suppose we didn't have to look for your relatives, Mutya.” Lea, the pale blue-haired girl, was the first to wave at them. \n“Oh my goodness! Wow! Mutya, you have a lot of attractive friends here, don't you?” Makisig introduced himself as her brother. Oh, Makisig, if you only knew how much they adore one other. “Makisig, don't hit on them, these girls are safe from your playboy antics,” their mother reprimanded. Then she turned to face me and said, \"Mutya, could you perhaps tell your friends to hand their suitcases to Makisig while we wait for Gideon, who is driving our van today?\"\nI was frozen to my stature by the sound of his name. Malaya, my sister couldn't possibly be okay with this situation. I warned them a long time ago not to bother me with their presence. A gentle nudge on my shoulder. It's Apollo, the love of my life. I'm sure I can handle it. However, a month's vacation is probably not necessary.\nNothing seemed to have changed when we arrived at our ancestral home. There are five bedrooms in the house: one for my parents, three for us; their children, and one for storage and guests. It all depends on the situation. My companions appear to be perplexed by the antique yet well-preserved Filipino architecture. It's light and airy while being cozy. \nOne of the most noticeable characteristics of Filipinos is their hospitality. Because we don't wear our inner shoes within the house, my mother promptly offered my friends and boyfriend house slippers. “Ay! Are you experiencing jet lag? I'm going to accompany you to your rooms,” my anxious mother replied. \n“Mrs De Silva, thank you very much for the kind greeting, and yes, please, I would also want to wash up,” Jackie stretched. My mother took Jackie and Lea to the guest room, which is surprisingly tidy and well-maintained. \nWe’re all refreshed and assembled around the dining table in the afternoon, which seats around 12 people. We seldom utilized it because we are a small family and most of us eat in the breakfast nook near the patio. My only sibling with children is my sister, Malaya, who has two children, Maya and Maximo. “Do we have a pasalubong, Auntie Mu, like the one I told you about?” “How about me, Auntie? I want my own bed because Maxi wets the bed all the time.”\nI messed around with the twins' hair. They're already so grown that I recall everything as if it occurred yesterday. Gideon is cheating on me with my sister, my sister being pregnant, and me being the aunt that lavishes them with gifts. \n“Ate Mutya, Gideon, and I are studying this parenting approach of not spending a lot of money on them and instead of saving it in their bank accounts. So, I hope you don't take it negatively. We appreciate everything you've done to earn their love.” Malaya muttered as she fiddled with her fingers. \nEveryone has arrived at the dining table and is eager to eat whatever meal has been served. This is just like fiesta; there’s Chicken Inasal, Pork Adobo, Kinilaw (Raw Marinated Fish), Sisig, Crispy Pata, Taba ng Talangka Fried Rice (Crab Fat Fried Rice), Pancit Palabok (Rice Noodles with Shrimp), Sinigang, Inihaw na Panga ng Tuna (Grilled Tuna Jaw), Garlic Butter Crab, Halo-Halo (for dessert). \nThe night is still young, but my niece and nephew need to sleep because it is past their bedtime. They've liked every gadget and toy I've brought back from the UK, garnering an eye roll from my sister. Our parents also said their goodbyes since they were tired, leaving us outside with the jet lag squad and my older brother, Makisig, sister, Malaya, and brother-in-law, Gideon. \n“Shall we play truth or dare?” Makisig commented to the group, grinning and gazing at Jackie. Lea notices it and yawns, as if she is exhausted and needs to sleep, which is unusual for her. She's generally the life of the party. Makisig, who is now sitting near the flames, is laughingly chatting with Jackie.\nEveryone seemed to be on board, even my now-drunk boyfriend, Apollo. He rolled a bottle of beer on the table after finishing it. My anxiety level skyrocketed as he rolled the bottle. I don't believe it's pleasant to play this sort of game in your 30s. I closed my eyes and saw where the bottle's head was.\nJackie. \nMy brother, who was seated next to me, had a huge grin on his face. He likes Jackie, but Jackie isn't fond of boys or men.\n“So, Jackie, truth or dare?” my brother teased, puffing in her ear. “Dare,” she said. Jackie is not like her girlfriend, Lea. She is brunette, more conservative, and has an innocent expression in her eyes, whereas Lea, her lover, has blue hair, tattoos, and piercings. \n“Alright, 5-second kiss to the person you find attractive?” my sneaky brother asks.\nI saw Jackie rise to her feet, the wind and waves dancing with her skirt, where she had last worn it at her mother's funeral. Jackie kissed Lea on the lips and tongue without warning. The makeout session lasted long, and my brother is now tomato red with embarrassment at me for not informing him that they are on the same side. \n“This is a lot of fun; you roll it for me, baby.” Lea trailed along and rolled the bottle. Then it came to a halt at Gideon. Why is he still present? Isn't he even deserving of respect? “I have a question!” My sister looked to be drowsy before abruptly waking up and coming to.“Did you even care about me? Is it still my sister? You've simply come to see my sister and her new boyfriend, who I assume has more money and assets than you, so why are you still in love with her, Gideon?”\nI'm completely shaken. It doesn't seem like anything I should be concerned about. What, after all, does Malaya expect from me? She's already attached to Gideon, so why do I feel like I'm always interfering with their relationship? \nGideon rose from his picnic blanket and said something to my sister. “We'll go inside. Simply knock on the third bedroom on the second floor if you require anything. That is where we will be staying for a week.” \nJackie and Lea are in the guest room, while Apollo and I are in my childhood bedroom. Not much has changed. I left the country the next day after receiving my scholarship award. Also, I was really devastated at the time. But I sincerely hope that Gideon and Malaya have a wonderful life together.\n“You really need to keep track of your alcohol consumption, you know?” I mocked my boyfriend, whose face was down and exhausted on the bed. The double bed where I used to sleep appears to be too tiny for him, but this will not be our first time sleeping together. We live together in London for months after dating. We discovered that living with someone allows us to learn a lot about them. \n\"What happened back there, love?\" “Why does your sister appear to have ill will against her husband?” I simply sighed as his breathing became more steady.\n“It's a lengthy tale, and it all happened a long time ago. “What matters is that we are together,” I spoke in hushed tones to my boyfriend, who was sleeping at the 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: Separate Neighborhoods\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 1172\n\nPrompt:\n\nYou thought he was dead, but there he is, right in front of you on the street, smiling at you." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "August 15th, Wednesday\n9:45 PM\n1923\n\nYou lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. Your mind flashes back to Bakari, as the burly white men drag him down the dark road. Tears slide down your pale cheeks, remembering how he cried out your name in his husky voice. \n*****\n“Are you sure nobody will see us here?” You asked Bakari after you had walked up to him. He didn’t respond. \nFor days, both of you had met up in the same place: a graveyard. The stones on the graves looked like they would tip over at any moment if a gentle breeze came by. This was the cemetery for black people, as one of the signs said. Since the government allowed segregation, the white and black people weren't even buried in the same place. You shook your head and sighed. The cold breeze made your arms feel chilly, and you rubbed them in hopes that you would be warmer.\n\"Are you absolutely sure nobody will find us meeting up here?\" You asked and glanced at Bakari.\nHe shrugged and said, \"I dunno. I heard from the other slaves that guards never come here.\"\n\"Hopefully not.\"\n\"Miss Cruz, I don't wanna put you in danger,\" Bakari said, avoiding your eyes. You knew he called you that because that was what he was used to, but you had told him that he didn't need to say that.\n\"Bakari, shush. I don’t care if I get into trouble,” you told him, your arms crossed “and stop with the Miss Cruz stuff.”\n\"If you say so.\"\n\"You know what, I do say so.\"\nSuddenly, the ruffling of the leaves sounded very unnatural, and you knew somebody was there.\n\"Show yourself!\" Bakari yelled, turning around and holding you behind him.\nTwo white men came out from behind the bushes around the cemetery and race towards Bakari, grabbed his arms, and held him to the ground. One of the men turned to you.\n\"Ma'am, this is your first warning. If you are caught near a black person again, we will confiscate all of your belongings.\" One of the men said, sounding like a robot with their politeness. You knew that they were only speaking that way because of your family's high status. \n\"Let him go,\" you told them in a warning tone, snarling at the men. The men stared at you in what looked like confusion, Bakari still in their arms. \"Let him go!\" You screamed again after a while.\n\"Sorry, Miss Cruz. We can't do that. He's black, and he can't be with you.\" one of the men apologized, his cold blue eyes glaring at you. You slap him in the face, your teeth bared.\n\"This is a cemetery for blacks! He can be here, he’s black.\" You declared, pointing to the sign. \nThe man you slapped felt the place where you hit him, and his mouth curved into a frown. \"You ungrateful, rich bi-\"\n\"Carson, shut up! We aren't supposed to disrespect them, remember?” The other man yelled, blocking you from Carson. \n“Ugh! Fine,” Carson grumbled, flipping you off. You stuck out your tongue, grabbed Bakari’s arm, and tried to pull him away from those stupid men.\n\"Would you like one of us to escort you to your home?\" The other guy asked, smiling fakely. “Just to be safe,” he said, pausing. “A black person might get you.” \nYou shook your head, glared at the men, and crossed your arms. \"I can get home by myself.\" \n*****\n\"Esperance, why don't you get a bit of fresh air? Forget about that stupid boy. What's his name... Bahari... whatever. Just forget about the stupid black boy!\" Your mother yells. \"We live in separate neighborhoods for a reason.\" \nYou roll your eyes, wiping the tears off of your face. \"Fine, I'm going out for a walk.\"\n\"Not yet, missy. I'm not done talking!\" Your mom exclaims, grabbing your arm as you pass by her in the kitchen. She leans against the plain, gray door frame of the kitchen. \"You should be more like your sister. She doesn't go to where the poor black kids are.\"\n\"Enough, Mom!\" You yell, biting your lip.\n\"You're lucky you aren't a slave, or I would give you a proper beating!\" Your mom says, shaking her fist at you.\n\"Okay, see ya later!\"\nYou grab your favorite burgundy coat and leave the house. When you stuff your hands inside the pockets of your coat, you discover a white scarf. Your eyes water as you hold it in your hands. You remember how, although she was poor, Bakari's mother bought supplies to make you a scarf because she thought you were a very sweet girl. Every day during the process of making the scarf you pleaded with her to let you subsidize and provide them with money and food. \nAs a prosperous and affluent white family living inside of the yellow lining, your family's reputation is important. If anyone else ever saw you giving to Bakari, everything of yours and your family's would be gone. \n\nThe people of the government have no mercy on people inside the redlining. \n\nYou think, shaking your head as images of Bakari's beautiful, big brown eyes pleaded with you. He was definitely an equitable man, but he was prejudiced when the topic switched to black rights.\n\"I don't understand why they treat us so wrongly.\" he would grumble, his arms crossed. \"we're people too.\" \nYou agreed with him on that. Although you had been taught that whites were dominant and blacks... just weren't, you didn't believe that. You had secretly hung out with the black kids when you were a teen, even acted like one. \n\n But now that he was with the government they were probably hurting and torturing him. \n\nYou clench your scarf more tightly. \n\nOr maybe... just maybe... he's already dead. \n\nYou shake the thought away, knowing that Bakari wouldn't let that happen. He might've let the men drag him away, but he wouldn't let them kill him.\n\nBut in Levittown, you never know what might happen. \n\nYou see, someone standing many feet ahead of you, and lift your hand, which has the long black oil lamp your mother gave you. You thought he was dead, but there he is, right in the middle of the dark street, smiling urbanely at you. \n\"Bakari?!\" You exclaim, squinting at the figure. \"Bakari, is that you?\" You call, running towards him. \nAs the figure comes into view, you see Bakari's bulky frame. On his body are welts and bruises. \nAn image comes to mind. Bakari coming out from a bright room with beautiful designs. His body was covered in bruises and slaps, but his wide smile shone through all of that. He winced in pain, but his smile was genuine.\n\"I missed you so much,\" you exclaim, running into Bakari's arms.\n\nI don't care if anyone finds out!\n\n\"I know you did.\" Bakari teases, grinning.\n\"Oh, shut up, and let me hug you,\" you tell him, shaking your head and grinning." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Searching for Independence Day\n\nGenre: asian-american\n\nWord Count: 1702\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about somebody reminiscing on an event that happened many summers ago." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "At noon on the last July 4th of his life, Mohan sat in his seat at the kitchen table, staring through the window at the lawn he used to tend, now out of his reach. “Asha beti, we just want to wish you a happy birthday” said his wife, Rani, seated at the telephone desk behind him.\n“When will she be here?” Mohan asked expectantly.\n“Darling, I told you, she is not coming,” Rani said in a voice tired from its continued burden, omitting the reminder that their daughter who lived a continent away in California had chosen not to spend her birthday in this home ever since it became her choice to make.\nAn hour later, the absent daughter was seated in her armchair in Los Angeles, ice packs numbing her aching knees after a family hike. The cellphone cooling down next to her held photos of this morning’s golden moments, the bright summer sun hiding any shadows from Asha, her husband Dan, and their twin eleven-year- old daughters, Allie and Avani. In the stillness of the den, Dan harvesting tomatoes from the garden for a salad and the girls at a friend’s pool for the afternoon, Asha searched for memories to frame these pictures with gratitude, buffering her guilt for once again purposefully creating a day in sharp contrast with the birthdays her parents had overseen.\nSharing her birthday with America had wrapped her child-sized birthday dreams in red, white, and blue, even if those colors did not appear on the kitchen table. The bakery where her mother was cheerfully greeted by name would bake Asha a cake to her mother’s order – chocolate with buttercream frosting and “Happy Birthday Asha” in chocolate icing. After her parents both earned tenure, the family moved from the crowded, bustling street bordering Syracuse University to a manicured suburb, and the bakery was replaced by a supermarket counter with seasonal baked goods. Asha’s birthday cake became a white-frosted vanilla sheet cake featuring a cardboard American flag on a matchstick planted in its center, available in the display case for Independence Day celebrations. Attempts to edit the blue-frosted “Happy Birthday America” to read “Happy Birthday Asha” usually resulted in the two names mushed together; the country would ultimately reclaim its frosted property as the leftover cake continued to be cut and served at teatime, with the flag still there, giving proof.\nWhen Bob Kowalski, a chubby boy with long bangs who unfortunately was in Asha’s fifth-grade class told her to “go back where you came from”, she defiantly started to defend her old neighborhood that she wished her parents had never left. The taunt’s meaning then settled on Asha: she was being told to “go back” to a country she had never visited, the country her parents had left behind. “I was born here, on the Fourth of July! Asha sputtered. “I am more American than you are!” she muttered over her shoulder as she walked away, fumbling with her cafeteria tray as she joined in his game of exclusion. Asha hoped this bully wouldn’t find out that she didn’t celebrate the holiday her birthday shared.\nBy the time she was a teenager, Asha no longer had to be told to decline friends’ invitations to join their star-spangled holiday fun; she was expected to stay home with her own family. Wimbledon blared from the kitchen’s television over her birthday breakfast while town parades and picnic grounds in the Central New York town remained out of sight, separating Asha’s home from the American celebration, and edging her out further still.\nAfter tennis stars like Bjorn Borg and Jimmy Connors paused to bow to English royalty at Centre Court, and while families like the Kowalskis lined the bedecked Fourth of July parade route two miles away, Asha wandered to a corner by a window. Armed with a spiral notebook and pen, she boiled down her dreams mixed with her parents’ admonitions, leaving a list of necessary steps to gain her independence cloaked with her parents’ confidence and trust. Tennis volleys on television and the drumbeats of invisible marching bands became the sounds of lonely longing, echoing still.\nIn the bookcase next to Asha’s armchair, The Hemingway Reader sat within her reach. Knowing what she would find there, Asha pulled the book down and turned to its inscription: “Happy 13th Birthday Asha, with love from Mom & Dad.” A firm red line sliced the bottom edge, a permanent reminder of the reduced value once placed on this book that was destined to become inscribed, unwrapped, and saved. \nAsha started flipping through the heavy paperback’s pages, expecting to find more well-worn memories of forlorn, listless birthdays spent indoors as a country celebrated outside. In the first few pages, Asha recognized the beginning of a Nick Adams story, and remembered. Still stinging from her parents’ recriminations over her report card a week earlier that had been waved about as if to cast a dark spell on my future, Asha had unwrapped The Hemingway Reader. The thick book with its stark title and small type was taken as a silent nod from her parents, telling her that she was up to the task of reading Hemingway. Hoping to be seen, Asha had set about to prove them right, positioning herself in her room as dusk fell, trying to absorb words while an evening breeze through her window told her about the crowd awaiting fireworks on a nearby field dotted with picnic blankets.\nNow, with decades and distance, Asha glanced at the same pages that had felt that breeze, hoping to help the girl she had been; the words did not yield, though. As Asha closed the book, it weighed in curiously; she felt hope in her hand.\nInstinctively, Asha reached for her cellphone and tapped on “Mom and Dad” under “missed calls,” not knowing that this would be her last chance to speak with both her parents on her birthday. After letting the phone ring an unrealistic number of times, she hung up.\nLeaning on his cane in Asha’s old room at that moment, Mohan wished the phone would stop ringing. He was trying to remember, and he was already tired from the trip upstairs. The question he had wanted to ask his daughter had slipped away again.\n“Did we see the fireworks?” Mohan grabbed onto the question as it resurfaced without realizing he had uttered it aloud. A memory seemed to be hiding from him behind the teenaged daughter he saw in this room, a book in her hand.\n“Who are you talking to?” His wife’s response meant that he had been caught once again in a place that no longer existed. The present moment did not seem to want him around anymore, so he was hesitant to return. With damp eyes and stiffened limbs, Mohan started the journey to the room’s door, his cane tapping the floor, shaking the hunted memories from their hiding places in time for him to capture them. \nMohan had paused at the doorway as Asha sat in her bean bag chair, asked her what she was reading, then switched on her desk lamp as the muffled cannons of fireworks hung outside, a gesture that made Asha smile. Although he hadn’t seen his daughter open her gifts following tea with birthday cake, he had watched his wife wrap the book hastily that morning as she explained that she had bought it for herself at the university bookstore’s sale after she submitted final grades, but just realized that she had not gotten enough gifts for today.\nOn her first evening as a teenager on this American holiday, his daughter sat reading a book once assigned in a college classroom, a gift not really intended for her. \nIf they leave now, he had thought, they could get to the top of the hill at least, perhaps be able to see the town fireworks from the car. She was smiling though, seeming to enjoy her new book safely in her room. They would have to rush and then just as quickly turn around, wary of drunk drivers coming back from a long day of outdoor reverie. Worse, they may need to drive closer to the field, perhaps having to park and join the fray, his daughter running toward a classmate she spied.\nHe had let the plan go, wishing he could at least explain to his daughter the fear that kept them home on this holiday. However, that would require him to reveal the sidelong glances he silently absorbed as they walked into a store or the occasional restaurant, the malevolent stares he had deftly blocked from the children’s view at the Route 20 ice cream stand where they had stopped on a rare Sunday drive. Sharing these secrets would betray the hope that had brought them to this house, the hope this country proudly displayed on its Independence Day, the hope which he wanted his daughter to hold without question.\nLike most of her birthdays as a wife and mother, Asha’s birthday would end at a reserved table on a Malibu restaurant patio, with a waiter serving a piece of cake that was lit with a single candle and surrounded by a chocolate-drizzled ”Happy Birthday” garnish. Fireworks would crackle in full view from the family’s comfortable seats, but after making a wish, Asha would hold her eyes closed for a moment longer. Avani would point to the houses lit up on the other side of the Pacific Coast Highway and say how lucky they were to be able to watch the fireworks from home. \nA memory lost in the hoard of her hurt and disappointment that nested under her parents’ roof would fly back to Asha. Grass tickling her ankles, a book still in her hand, standing on the slope of the backyard’s border between her parents. Her mother had told her to come quickly to the backyard. Sparkles of fireworks from an unknown source glistened just above the treetops. She had closed her eyes to make another wish then. Now, she made a plan. She would call her parents again in the morning and ask if she, Dan, and the girls could visit home in August." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on 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 Killer Behind the Door\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 2540\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about someone who's haunted by their past." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "The sweet smell of morning dew rushes into my lungs as I gather a deep breath of the cool air surrounding me. Conner’s friends live here, I think to myself. Conner lives here. As I perch on the top step of his front porch, my legs ache from pumping on the pedals of my bike, the sounds of his mother’s cooking filling my head. Behind me, the screen door creaks open, and Conner joins me on the porch. He does nothing for a while, nothing but stare up into the cloudless sky, crouching with his arms resting on his slightly grass-stained knees. His eyes fall to meet mine, inclining his head toward the porch swing. My head bobs up and down to form a nod. On the porch swing, I reach my arm over Conner’s lap to touch the window behind me, and his warm hand drops onto mine, giving me a sense of reassurance, telling me things would be ok. “Conner,” I whisper. A crisp breeze tilts the flowers in their box, and the morning is slow to leave. They’re his mother’s flowers. Knowing Connor, the ones he grows are in the back. “About Friday,” I say, my voice still lowered, knowing his mother was in the kitchen, her straggling mind not realizing he was out of bed. I part my lips to form words that might never be said; his warm hand slides off my arm, and he looks at me, his silver eyes seeming to bore a hole in my already worn-out heart.\n “We good?” Conner mumbles back, questioning years of friendship. \n“Yeah”, my lips bunch up on one side of my mouth, and I feel my eyes sink to the ground, studying the cracks in the pavement, watching a bird hop down the street in front of us. The sound of the door opening never reached my ears, but the slap of his mother's hand against the door frame jolts me back to reality. Conner lets his neck fall, studying the sidewalk, mulling over the spot I was before. Blood reddens his cheeks.\n “What you doing out in morning?” His mother’s disconnected speech calms me, reminding me of warm summer mornings when we were eight. When I was still taller than Conner, coming home covered in mud and dirt, grins wide. I sigh, wishing I could go back. Because then, Conner’s mom didn't have Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis (ALS), a disease that warps her speech and makes her sound crazy. To other people. But to me, that voice is home. The weight on the other end of the swing eases up, and I jerk my head up to see Conner grinning at the ground, his mother staring at him, the soft crinkles around her eyes drooping. “Come inside”, she utters softly. “I’ll be gone soon.” Shuffling to the porch door, the smell of fresh tortillas slowly wafts through the screen door, and Conner cranes his neck and looks my feet, cursing almost inaudibly beneath his breath. We share the pain; neither of us expected to stay this long, and we had plans to meet Alexander and Robin at the beach. My phone weighs down in my back pocket, and the corners of my lips turn down. I’ve never been to Conner's place, even after 10 years of friendship. Slumping onto the couch, Conner collapses next to me, sighing. \n“Wait,” he flys out of his seat, grinning. “You have to see this, it's amazing how fast it grew.” Conner races to the sliding door and yanks it open, racing for the garden. Since the 4th grade, Conner’s loved plants, and his mom had already loved them, so he had it coming for him. \nHis mom calls back as she leaves the house - “I’m leaving, tell Conner I’m gone when he comes back.” \n“Yeah,” I mutter as I grasp the remote in my hands. From outside a gurgling sound travels through the door. It's probably just Conner running the hose, I say to myself. He’ll be back soon.\n***\nAfter an hour of flipping through T.V. shows, my brain wakes up. Conner. Slowly, I move to the sliding door and step out, allowing my eyes to wander around the garden. He’s not here. He’s not here. My brain is paralyzed, and my body is frozen. On the back of my neck, the hairs stand on end. As one entity, I go stiff. Everything goes stiff. All the city sounds begin to fade away. Somebody is watching. Somebody is watching me. Now I go slower, think before I do. The spot by the hose is wet, and my shoulders relax slightly. It makes sense. But I can still feel eyes piercing holes in my back. I bend down and dig my fingers into the wet soil and draw them out. My fingernails are caked with dirt. And my fingers are caked with blood.\n***\nMy heart races. I stagger back, and the realization hits me. Where’s……. Conner? No. Tears well up in my eyes, but in my heart is a different feeling. Hate, yes. But more importantly, something else. Something built into human nature. Survival. I back away from the scene, from the holes in the ground, from the dripping hose that wasn't dripping. Twisting my body around, I stretch a hand out to the door handle. Wait. In the corner of my eye, there was a flash. A blur. Somewhere in my head, I know what it is. Who it is. Nevertheless, I'm not going to wait to find out. Sliding the door open, I rush inside. As I slip the door closed, I can almost swear I see the blur again.\n***\nMy breath is heavy against the glass door, and I turn away. Doors. I need to lock all the doors. Bolting for the door to the garage, I twist the lock with one swift move. Done. Slower this time, my worry disappearing, I strut to the next, the one Conner and I came in through this morning. Together. He’ll never come through there again. Blinking away tears, something catches my eye as I near the door. The handle is turning.\n I throw myself against the door and grab the handle, my blood running faster, my breath warm against my lips. On the other side of the handle, the pressure doesn’t release. It comes harder. And so do I. My hands shake and the grip on the other side forces my hands down, and to leverage it I have to get down on my wobbly knees, praying for the pressure to stop, praying for a miracle. After minutes of doing this, my hands are sweaty, and tears roll down my cheeks. The handle is barely inches away from clicking, inches away from opening. Inches away from my death. Death. That idea sends a rush of adrenaline through my veins, and on a wing and a prayer, I give one final heave. That’s all I need. Without hesitation, my left-hand flys up to the lock, and with a flick of my wrist, the lock clicks. A shaky breath escapes from my throat, which brings on a sob. Adrenaline is sucked from my body, and the moment is over. Exhaustion comes pouring in, collapsing me onto the hardwood floor, dropping my eyelids, making them heavier and heavier.\n Grabbing a blanket, I stretch out on the couch. I sigh, a weighted breath. Closing my eyes, I’m about to drift off to sleep. Thump. Within seconds I’m on my feet, ready to strike, ready to flee. Something appears on the other end of the sliding door. The sun is setting; orange, red, and pink, streaking across the sky. Regardless of the colors, it's still dark, and I have to squint my eyes to see. It’s a body. \nDarting across the living room, I rush to the wall adjacent to the sliding door. Creeping along the wall, I press my hand to it as if to remind myself it's there. As I reach the covered end of the door, I come to a halt. The clothes. I recognize the clothes. Inching closer to the door, I stop when it becomes dangerous. When I could be seen. Isn’t that what my sister wore this morn…… This time the sob comes from inside me, racking my insides, wrenching my guts. Staring at the ground, my eyes go out of focus, then back, then out again. Thump. Without a sound, my eyes drift up to the door, the blood from my sister’s headless body smeared to shape words on the glass:\nNEED I SAY MORE?\nI can’t fight it anymore. The tears stream down my face, blurring my vision. No. This killer is taking everything. Everything. This killer is killing everyone I care about, everyone that matters to me. Out of nowhere, a rattle shakes the house. It’s coming from the door. My sister’s body is gone, the words her blood had formed smeared to say nothing, now just blood smeared on a door. Another rattle. An inch closer. \nHeart pounding, I take a step in the other direction, away from the door. Too fearful to find the sound, I turn away from the door. From behind me, a chuckle escapes from someone’s lips, cut short by fear. I whirl around, face to face with him. Face to face with a killer.\n I stumble back, stunned by what I see. A memory clicks inside my head, but I can’t see it, can't reach it. For a split second shock registers on his face, but in his eyes, the shock is taken over by bloodlust. This man remembers me. In some distant part of my memory, I remember him. Slowly but surely, his pointer finger faintly touches his lips, and his hand ropes around his back to produce a knife. It’s dripping blood.\nBoom. Like an explosion in my mind, the memories come flooding back, nights spent laughing at my house, me as a 4-year-old girl giggling as he pushed me on the swing, me yelling for him to push me higher, him telling me to fly for the stars. Evenings that he tucked me in when my parents weren't home. Not him. No. My brain searches for an answer, for a reason. What was his name? If I don’t know why I want to know who. Need to know who. \nMy brain runs through a path that holds memories that I’ve spent years trying to forget. He steps forward, his lightweight running shoes barely making a sound on the frigid tile floor. I back up, tripping on my shoelace. And then he takes a strike. \nThomas. First, he moves for my wrists, reaching the knife closer and closer. Barely resting on the inside of my right wrist, I wriggle free of his grip and scramble to my feet, determination flooding my senses. Determination to live. \n“Thomas.” On my tongue, his name falls flat, the emotion intended in my voice lost somewhere in between the journey from my brain to my mouth. \n“Yes?” he answers blankly, like it doesn't matter, like all the memories that we made together didn’t matter, like they never happened. But I know they do. \n“Why?” I can feel my throat closing, the last sound strained, cracking. Nothing. No response, just him rising to his feet, and without hesitation, he charges at me. Diving to the left, he spins on his heels and charges once again, the impact knocking me to the ground, this time going for my throat. The pain is sharp this time, the veins in my neck bulging.\n Not yet, Thomas. Not yet. I jerk my knee up to his stomach, and the sound is what hits me first. No time to think - not anymore. Flipping over the couch, I make a break for the staircase, his hand reaching out for my ankle, barely skimming my heel. Stumbling forward, the air rushes around me, my sights lined up with the staircase railings. Faster. Underneath me, my feet fly and I breeze up the staircase and into Connor’s room. Behind me, the weight of Thomas’ body on the stairs makes my heart beat faster. Numb fingers fumble for the lock to the window, and in the back of my head, I can hear him coming closer.\n Closer. It’s so hard to focus. So hard. Faster. He’s getting closer. No. The window pushes up and the chilly air hits my face, whipping my hair around. His steps are strong, his strides confident. Intimidating me, daring me to try him, daring me to escape. Rearing back the knife, a grin breaking out on his blood-covered lips. Without a second thought, I climb out of the window and onto the roof, stumbling around with the wind at my side. At the window is Thomas’ face, searching, and when he sets his eyes on me, a smile darkly illuminates his face. A whisper parts his lips, and It’s like I can feel his warm breath on my neck. “Die.” A killer is behind me, reaching, longing, and before I can breathe, I’m on the edge. \nA breeze is all it takes. All it takes to send me down, off the roof, plummeting to the ground. It comes in sections, the pain, and it torments me, my eyes wandering as if it would make it stop. As my eyes drift across the grass, memories flash before my eyes, reminders of life, life as we know it. Life as I know it. And my eyes fall on a secret door Connor and I had created years ago when we would stay there for ages trying to see how long we could go before something booted us out. Hunger, thirst, whatever came first. Bones shattered, I belly crawl to the door and wriggle in through the narrow doorway.\nEven in the pitch-black room, I know my way around, but it's not the same. Never will be the same. Connor will never be here to tease me about how I’m too tall for the roof and I’ll never be able to remind him that he’s the taller one. Fumbling for the key and my consciousness, I put the key between my bloody, split lips and shakily raise it to the keyhole in the lock. With all the energy I have left I turn the key in the keyhole and barely hear the click before my eyes slide closed, and the crushing pain fades….\n***\nMy eyes adjust to the darkness once again, and soon I’m able to make out shadows. One attempt to reach for the flashlight I know is across the room reminds me of my broken bones and the jump that I made yesterday. If anything, I know that I’m relieved not to be on the run, looking back with every step. But I ran. Knowing the consequences, knowing the truth, I ran. I’m battered. I’m bloody. But I whisper to myself, or no one in particular, “He may hurt me. He may shatter me. But I will not give in, because I cannot be broken.” Until I hear on the other side of the door - the killer’s ragged breathing. Then it hits me. I’ve locked him out. But I’ve locked myself in..." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: The Sad Adventure\n\nGenre: asian-american\n\nWord Count: 1093\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart your story with a character having a premonition, but no one believes them." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "It was a hot summer day; everything was going on normal for Ratha. He was taking a warm shower bath, and then suddenly something strange happened. He accidentally drank a little bit of soap mixed with an old traditional bottle of oil that he had bought from an Ayurveda shop. Chemical reactions started happening instantly. He kept thinking what is going on, due to the weird taste in his mouth. He was afraid of the side-effects but when nothing seemed to be working, he decided to forget about it and take a nap.\n He was getting notifications of big and big sad events. HE WAS GETTING TO KNOW THE FUTURE. When he visited his Ma and Pa he did not want to tell his parents he got powers because he was not that happy to try them and was speechless. Because he got a notification on his head that his Ma is going to die from the car accident. He cried in his mama’s room secretly. His Pa walked in and he got a goosebumps and tried to wipe ALL his tears he had. His pa said what happened? He didn’t want to say it. When he got home he cried more loudly with a tissue paper. His Pa called again… He was very emotional so he picked up and said the issue. His Pa said\nRatha: I had a notification that my Ma is going to die. I also know the whole future!\nPa: Don’t worry son! Look the notifications is just your imagination!\nRatha didn’t know that it came from that shampoo taste on his tongue.\nWhen he was at office he got late. He looked tired. Then when sir said, “You are late you brat! Ratha: Sorry!! OKAY? \nSir: Hmm ok fine *below the word Bacha means kid\n Everybody looked at his tongue, it was weird. Ratha was wondering “WHY did they look at me that way?” When he got home his Wife knocked (she was from shopping.) He got a notification that she is going to get extremely fat. The wife was sad and never talked to him. He was lonely and had a normal business so he visited his Pa. They both had a glass of Rum. He felt a little good. His mama came and asked, “Want to watch the movie, “Wake up Sid” for a little?” He said, “No” and went back. When his wife and he went for dinner he got a notification on his head that now she is going to sign a divorce. Ratha wanted to live a little so he also signed it. He was feeling okay and then decided to browse it and then quickly forget about it and watches some R rated movie. When he browsed it nothing popped up. When his Mama messaged him, “I’m going to come to your house and have tea.” He said “Can you please walk?” His Ma replied, “13 miles?!?! I am old, *Bacha\nRatha: NO! You don’t understand… Ratha’s Ma ignored him and came… Then… SHjhdsijhkjsncus slam BOOM kssssshh jjjjjjjjjj DEAD! She passed away L\nAll Ratha’s family except the mom because she is no more now came and felt sad. And prayed. Ratha just wanted to chill in his house. Again He went to office as usual. One time there was a party in the office because the office hit 20 Million Members and 10K subscribers on YouTube. Then He wanted to go to Goa after the office gave everyone the 3 weeks holiday break. He forgets about everything and gets a notification that he is going to get a new girlfriend!!! When they move into their hotel they try lots of stuff in Goa! Then with an expose a man said “She is a fake girlfriend.” He ignored the boy… Then he gets a notification she is going to cheat on him. He runs away fast because he is having a lot of trouble in his life. He heads to his real home and starts praying for god that god would remove the power and sad things of his life. (It was not only the power there is also sad things and they automatically came.) When he prayed for god a lot of times… STILL he was very sad because the god didn’t listen to him this time and he noticed it because he got a notification that he got a heart attack………… He slowly woke up his eyes.. He woke up in the hospital. No one was there he was thinking about all his future… He thought about 7 years back his girlfriend (which is his ex-wife now) played and had a lot of fun… He even thought about his team winning in college and his girlfriend and he got his first date. He thought about more events like this in his deathbed he was not breathing!!! Dying alone…. Still! Now he was thinking about an event when He had his first date… Ratha: Oh no why is my girl not here yet!? Ratha’s Girl: HII! Ratha: OMG There you are! What kind of drink will you like? Ratha’s Girl: Just a glass of… AH Idea maybe a glass off… what was that name?? OOH yes the Winston Cocktail. But its $12790 a shot… Ratha: Anything for you baby…. *Ratha buys drink* *they both sit on table* Yummy! They taste amazing! Said both at the same time. (They were drinking from the same glass*….. He thought of that a lot of times at the hospital. He was very happy but sad… Finally with a big surprise his Pa came and told their story of how they had to stay in a hospital too when they were young… Pa: If I could survive that then you could…\nRatha was still in tears because of his pain… He met his wife!! The wife was also here!!! He talked a little… than he blinked… than for 5 minutes what he could see was black stuff... then he finally woke up. Then he felt something very bright… his wife waking him up!!! From his real bed!! All of the things were just a long dream since he went to a small nap! His Ex-wife which his is wife now is very angry because the Ratha promised to do the dishes. Ratha said, “It was just a long dream I am so sorry”. Finally in real the wife breaks up with him… then finally he finds a new girlfriend!!! Then slowly gets married. That was the story of the sad adventure. HOPE YOU LIKED IT!" } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: What We Used to Be\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 1111\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about a summer afternoon spent in a treehouse." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "I climb up the ladder nailed to the old tree in my parents’ backyard. The nails hang out of the wood and I give them a worried glance, wondering if they will give way or hold my weight. I’ve put on quite a few pounds since I was last here. The golden treehouse - that we built as a family years ago - towers over me, blocking the sun from stinging my eyes. As I scale the few rungs that it takes to reach the top, the memories of bounding up this same ladder as a 7-year-old girl with pigtails and striped bows flash before me. It brings a smile to my face, remembering those days.\nThe treehouse is damp and carries the smell of soaked wood. Moss grows in the corners and caterpillars fill their stomachs with the leaves that drift in through the open window. I bend over and cup a caterpillar in my hands, studying it as it investigates the creases of my palms. One by one, I pick up the bugs and set them on a branch poking into the small hideout. \nIt’s been so long since I’ve been here. The last time I touched this ladder was my final day of high school some 10 years ago. As I grab the broom in the corner and sweep up the fallen leaves, I run my fingers over the names and flowers carved into the bark. A small word by the door grasps my attention and I rest the broom against the wall to take a closer look. \nIgnite. I stop by it and wonder where it came from. I can’t remember creating this. Not here. Reaching my hand out to touch it, something whizzes in from the window and almost nicks my ear. A chunk of my hair falls to the floor beside my foot and I stare at it, confusion clouding my expression. \nAgain, something flies toward me, and I slam my body to the ground to avoid being hit. Raising my head up just enough to sneak a glance at the projectile before me. An arrow. Two arrows. That’s no mistake. Another barrage of arrows strikes the ground around me, and I’m certain one will find me. But in a moment the arrows stop flying, and a woman swings in through the window, gripping the top of the window frame and landing in the center of the treehouse, feet first. \nFrightened, I whimper and curl up in the corner, my eyes running over her figure. She stands tall and has her hair tied up in a ponytail. Her wide, sea-blue eyes comfort me in a way I’ve somehow felt before, and she extends a hand to me. “Kaitlyn?” she asks, though she already seems sure of herself.\nFrozen in fear, I don’t answer. Instead, I stare blankly as she smiles and plants both her hands on her hips. “Don’t you recognize me?”\nThe question sets me off on a spree to confirm if I really don’t know her. She certainly knows me.\nSlowly, she raises an eyebrow and tilts her head up. “You don’t remember what we were?” Hurt plays out in her eyes and I can’t bear to watch as disappointment shadows her spirit. Something about the arrows and her swooping in through the window tickles my memory, but I can’t put a finger on it, so I look down and say nothing. \nDropping her hands to her sides, she plasters a weak smile on her face. “It’s Annabel. Annabel Li. I've wanted to talk to you, but I couldn't track you down.” \nThe name rings various bells in my head, and the gates holding back the memories break open. She was my best friend, just before we lost each other after my first year at Yale. I think back to why it took so long for me to place her.\nI was skating on that Sunday morning with a few girls from my soccer team, not far from campus. We rounded a corner and the car came out of nowhere. Slammed into my legs. Knocked me to the ground. My head hit the road first and bled onto the scorching pavement until the ambulance arrived, sirens wailing. The throbbing pain at the back of my head was unbearable. I passed out.\nBy the time I came to, I was lying in an ICU bed with a drip in my arm and a heart rate monitor beeping beside me. A nurse appeared by my side and told me that I had Traumatic Brain Injury and needed surgery. \nI couldn’t wrap my head around it. TBI? Surgery? The nurse’s voice was fuzzy as she pushed clipboards and pens towards me to sign. Absentmindedly, I took the pen and signed right above the indicated blank line.\nSoon they wheeled me into a separate room, one with blue walls and surgeons wearing scrubs and gloves of the same color. A different nurse walked up to me, tapping the side of a needle. She pushes it into my arm and the room spins around me. Slowly, I black out again.\nAfter a few more days of stale crackers and tasteless gravy, I was discharged from the hospital. My mom told me that a friend from high school came to visit. She never elaborated. I never asked. I didn’t have many friends in high school, though. It must have been Annabel.\nWhen we were younger, we used to roast marshmallows in her backyard firepit. The arrows were the signal that she was dropping into the treehouse. Most times it was just to say hi or discuss test results, but every now and then she would come down and explore my yard. \nIn a quiet, nostalgic whisper, I answer her. “I remember now.”\nShe grins and offers me her hand again. This time, I take it and drag her down to the corner where I’ve now stretched out my legs and relaxed.\n\"I've gotten better at swinging in here, you know. They taught me,\" she says proudly, puffing out her chest. I don't understand what she's talking about.\n\"Who?\" I ask, but she just smiles, as if she has a secret I don't know.\nI pull her into my lap, and she giggles, just the same way she did in kindergarten when we agreed to be best friends forever. She’s always fit right in my lap. Like the younger sister I never had but always needed. \n“I remember us, Annabel,” I say, clutching her to my chest. Now, I’m certain I will always remember this treehouse. I will always remember my best friend.\n“I remember what we used to be.”" } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Confidence\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 1026\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about a person experiencing pre-performance jitters." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "The crowd's cheer was deafening.\nSo was Zanaya's heartbeat.\nShe really couldn't help it.\nHer curly chocolate hair was neatly placed as a bun on top of her head. Her purple dress was gripped by her trembling ebony hands. Her feet shaking inside her silver sandals. Her palms sweating more than it should.\nWas she nervous?\nAnother cheer erupted from the other side of the large red curtain.\nA shiver ran up her spine.\nSo, it seems like she's nervous.\nShe hears the rush of footsteps of the make-up artists rushing towards their clients.\nZanaya gulped.\nVery nervous, so it seems.\nShe looked up to see the other competitors warming up.\nCompetitor nine, Suzanne Miles, A blonde girl with blue eyes, is down a split and twisting her back to the other side.\nCompetitor ten, Clarice Gordon, a tall brunette, has her leg up against the wall and hands on the floor.\nCompetitor eleven, Elena Forrest, a very well known dancer in her region. She has a petite figure. Her black hair is complimented by her blue eyes. She has both her legs up two seats and is making an oversplit.\nAnother shiver ran through Zanaya's body. This is not healthy for her and her heart. She stared at the other competitors, as they laughed with no care nor hesitance at all.\nZanaya is this close to run back to the van.\nShe was gonna lose.\nShe was gonna lose.\nShe was gonna LOS-\nA hand patted her head, cutting her thoughts off. She turned around to see her mother, smiling down at her. Zanaya felt herself smile nervously back.\nThey both share their curly brown hair, which Zanaya always ties and her mom show off. Their ebony skin which Zanaya always covered with long sleeves and jeans whereas her mom is proud of it.\nThough their eyes are an exception for Zanaya.\nHer green eyes are like forest green, Illuminating her whole face.\nZanaya held up her hand which her mother readily held and squeezed. That seemed to soothe a few of her nerves, not all, but some.\nThe host popped his head in and called for Suzanne Miles, who confidently strutted towards the stage. The crowd cheering and clapping as she smiled at them.\nZanaya really didn't want to compete now.\nShe was a bit lanky while so others were either slender or petite. She also just started to dance whereas the others practiced for years! She should've just stayed inside the van, safe and sound, but no. She had to walk out and face the audience of sharks, ready to criticize her every movement.\nShe's basically walking in a very thin line of rope.\nHer mother laughed, meaning she saw Zanaya's anxiety getting the best of her. She placed her hands on Zanaya's shoulders and faced her daughter with a bright grin.\n\"You're amazing, Zanaya. Never forget that.\"\nHer words made Zanaya feel good for herself, just a little. And so, she started to stretch and warm-up for her dance. Her mother just by the corner, for moral support.\nThen Clarice was called to the stage. There were no cheers but a very loud round of applause.\nWhile Zanaya lowered herself to touch her toes, a series of giggles made her conscious. She was surprised to see her mother quickly beside her and ushered her towards the toilet.\nAs they walk past Elena and her friends, they sneered and giggled, making Zanaya duck in shame.\nThey had to change her dress as the back part had a rip. Zanaya felt tears in the corner of her eyes. This was fate telling her to quit. She should have not joined this competition in the first place. It was too early for her.\nWhen they came out, Elena was still there, smiling too sweetly in Zanaya's comfort. Even though the backstage was a hot place, Zanaya felt a cold shiver. She looked to meet Elena's confident smug face. She ducked her head fast.\nShe is definitely gonna lose.\nNot with Elena being so good at this.\nShe's nothing.\nZanaya snapped back to reality when a hug was given to her. Her mother's warm embrace and soothing words finally let the dam in her eyes overflow.\nStill crying, she saw Elena leap gracefully in the stage and the audience just loved it and erupted into a loud round of cheers and claps.\nShe can't be like that.\nShe's not Elena after all.\nShe's just-\nA squeak took her attention faster than she could think.\nShe knew that squeak.\nShe pulled away from her mom and stared at her uncle Ben and a grinning Robert.\nNot even looking at Uncle Ben, she stared agape at Robert.\nHe was handsome today, just as always. His black hair swept back and his smile was dazzling. His brown eyes twinkled in the dimly lit room. His white skin contrasted with his black hoodie and jersey shorts. His wheelchair was as shiny as ever.\nHe opened his arms and Zanaya reflexively went to take it.\nWhile hugging Robert, she asked herself.\nWhy did she start dancing?\n\"Whoa! I want to move like that! Zanaya, do you think I can?\"\n\"Of course silly! If not, I'll dance for you!\"\n\"Promise?\"\n\"Promise.\"\nAnd their pinkies intertwined.\nA promise was made.\nZanaya blinked and pulled away just as the host called for her. She turned to see a sweaty and grinning Elena.\nFor some reason, she didn't look as scary as she did before.\nShe looked back to her mother, Uncle Ben, and Robert, who gave her a thumbs up.\nWalking towards the center stage, she inhaled deeply and closed her eyes.\nWhen she arrived at the center, everything is silent. She exhaled and opened her eyes, staring at the hundred faces who were watching her every move.\nShould she run?\n\"Please cheer for the new debut! Zanaya!\"\nShe closed her eyes and posed, as the music slowly started to play.\n\"You're amazing, Zanaya. Never forget that.\"\nAnd their pinkies intertwined.\nAnd a promise was made.\nHer green eyes looked directly at the judges, betraying no emotion.\nAnd she danced,\nand smiled\nwith confidence." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Backward Day\n\nGenre: asian-american\n\nWord Count: 2005\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a family with a long-standing tradition, whose members all have conflicting origin stories for it." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "A young twenty-something man was waving at people gawking at him in the parking lot while loading several pounds of burgers, loaves of bread, and cartons of beer into the trunk of our car. My boyfriend Tony was a sight to behold in any crowd, with his blonde hair and muscular build. But today, what was catching the crowd’s attention was his inside-out shirt, pants, and canvas hat. \n\nI’m not too worried about people reporting my eccentrically clad hunny-bunny to the police. Rambling, crazy locals were normal for the day before the Superbowl when every adult in our town was on shopping duty. The crazier you looked, the less likely anyone would disturb you while you were taking all the beer. Only, today wasn’t a normal one for my crazy family, who we’re visiting for the Superbowl weekend. \n\nIt’s Backward Day, a tradition that our family kept going for as long as I could remember. Despite its name, it was not just one day, but rather two whole days of exhausting psychological warfare against our family members, forcing them to break the rules of the game.\n\nThe major rule was to dress and speak backwards to each other, except for the one you’re sharing a room with. Easy enough? Wrong! It was so difficult that each participant prepares for it for a few months at least. Since my white boyfriend was joining us for the first time this year, I planned our practice a year in advance, although we’d only been seriously practicing for the last month. I sincerely hoped he would still want to be with me after this weekend.\n\nOur grandfather and grand uncles started it along with their cousins, and the most recent generations had upped the ante dramatically by adding a “penalty jar” where we were supposed to deposit money whenever we break the rules. The host family assigned marshals, also known as Snitches Extraordinaire, to report who had been speaking in the normal way.\n\n“Olleh!” Two burly Filipino-American males in inside-out clothing approached our car carrying their own load of food and drink. My twin brothers. They playfully messed with my boyfriend for a while before turning their attention to me.\n\n“Why are you hiding in the car, little sister? Ashamed of us or something?” Jigs, who was older than my other brother Jhun by ten minutes, poked my head through the passenger window. I sat huddled in my seat, trying to look inconspicuous as curious passers-by ogled the boys.\n\n“I don’t want people to know we’re related. Can you blame me?” I poked back. Hard. Jigs yelled “Kcuf!” probably to show off rather than in real pain. My brothers had obviously been practicing, too. Jhun got in the backseat as Jigs went back to help Tony.\n\n“Did your white guy learn all there is to learn in time, you think? It’s Uncle Sammy’s plan to invite him and then milk him of every dollar on him through the penalty jar, you know,” Jigs whispered conspiratorially. \n\n“Well, Uncle Sammy's in for the shock of his life, then,” I whispered back. “Tony can even speak some Filipino words backwards.”\n\n“Hey now, we’re all scheming allies in this, right? What’s with the whispering?” Jigs said, as he and Tony entered the car.\n\n “Vul” Tony said, leaning down to kiss me, regardless of my brothers’ catcalls. We agreed to call each other by our common endearment “Luv” for the weekend instead of our names. My name, Juliana , is particularly difficult to pronounce backward.\n\nWe drove to a diner on the way to our uncle’s farm to eat brunch, strategize, and enjoy a few minutes of peaceful normalcy before the chaos started.\n\n “Hand signals are allowed, and they’re still straightforward in terms of meaning. In fact, you should use them if you’re not sure what to say. Thumbs up still means ‘yes’ and thumbs down means ‘no’. Dad turned mute and used hand signals exclusively last year, “ Jhun was coaching Tony when their order arrived. My boyfriend had his notebook out and taking notes rapidly like a madman. “They will ply you with beer and food, so be vigilant of the uncles and cousins around the barbecue pit. That’s how they get you. If you have to swear or exclaim something, use ‘A-ha’ because it’s pronounced the same backward or forward.”\n\n“You can also opt to use the Filipino word for yes, ‘O-o,’ which is a good answer for just about any question,” I quipped, earning a stink eye from Jhun for the interruption. \n\nThe table was quiet for a few minutes while Jhun ate. Jigs and I were sharing a big milk shake, like always. He didn’t feel like eating, he said. He was nervously muttering the backward version of the prayer before meals in between slurps. It was his turn to be prayer leader for the family dinner.\n\nTony was still scribbling furiously, barely touching his food. Finally, he plunked down his pen and rubbed his temples. “Is there any rhyme or reason for doing this? I mean, you’ve got to give me a backstory of sorts. I’ve been thinking more about this than the freakin’ Superbowl!”\n\nMy siblings exchanged an amused look, then looked at me expectantly. I shook my head to confirm that I didn’t explain anything to my boyfriend beforehand.\n\n “I’ll do it,” Jhun said, smacking his lips. “The ‘why’ of it is simple enough. It’s like a fund raiser. We’re using the collected penalty money to fund our family vacation to the Philippines in December. The bigger the collection, the better the accommodations. Sure, we could simply pass the hat around and ask each family to contribute, but where’s the fun in that? We’re a competitive bunch.”\n\nJhun paused to chew on his breakfast steak and glanced at his twin. Jigs took the hint and continued the story.\n\n“The backstory of the backward tradition is a bit crazier than the reason for it. It has something to do with the hadas -- the fairies or old folk as westerners know them. Our great, great grandfather supposedly encountered a dwarf on his way back home from the fields and it tried to lead him astray or bring him to their world or something. Lolo Tasyo began to confuse the roads and the trails, and soon enough, he was lost.\n\n“That’s when he remembered what his grandfather told him. By turning his clothes inside-out and speaking words backwards, he can confuse these supernatural beings in turn, and if they're confused enough, they will leave you alone. See, they want whole, mentally stable humans to bring to their lands as their companions or they're playthings in their world underground. Not lunatics. Or so gramps said. So, Lolo Tasyo did all this while trying to find the correct path, and he finally did! The next generation of our family did this regularly to ward off the elves or dwarves who may be lurking around.”\n\nJhun, who had finished all his food and half of Tony’s while his twin was speaking, snorted in disbelief.\n\n“You forget, bro, that Lolo Tasyo always had a flask of lambanog on his person and would drink all of it before he even reached home. That probably had a lot to do with his confusion. No, no – the real backstory of the Backward Day tradition was more ancient than Lolo Tasyo’s generation. It started in the sixteenth century with our forefather Inkyong Dako, who was the youngest son of a tribe leader in a small island named Mactan, where our family was originally from.” \n\nJhun looked up to see the three of us leaning forward. He plunged on excitedly when he realized he had a captive audience.\n\n“So, twelve-year-old Inkyong and other young children encountered colonizers -- Spaniards -- by the sea. The Spaniards were armed to the teeth and had several natives among them. These natives were probably traitors who translated for the colonizers. Inkyong and his band of followers decided to divert the colonizer’s attention by behaving oddly, while one among them ran back to the tribe to alert the elders.\n\n“Inkyong and the rest turned their clothes inside out. They danced around and shouted epithets backward. Even the traitorous natives who were with the Spaniards couldn’t understand them and probably assumed they’re a little-known or yet undiscovered tribe speaking another language. Or they’ve landed on looney island. The children just kept speaking backward, which sounded like gibberish even to them, when asked to speak or prompted with questions. Anyway, the diversion worked. The tribe sent all its warriors and massacred the colonizers right there on the sand.” \n\nBy this time, the other patrons in the diner were looking at my brothers’ tabletop reenactment of what looked like a battle involving throwing pen at each other like spears. I could barely breathe from laughing too much.\n\n“July, honey, are you OK?” Tony was acting the concerned boyfriend while aiming a straw at Jhun.\n\n“Oh stop that! It’s no wonder you believed all those stories told by our uncles. Gullibility does run in the family after all.”\n\n“What are you talking about?” Jigs asked.\n\n“The backstory of the Backward tradition was more recent than my brothers would have you believe,” I said, speaking to Tony. “It started when dad and two of our uncles concocted a scheme to scam our miserly grand uncle Ruding of his money.”\n\n“Wait, are you referring our scrooge-y grand uncle, Lolo Ruding, who used gift us only with the freebie pens and notepads he got his pharma conventions for Christmas? He only attended family functions if someone picked him up from his home, so he wouldn’t have to pay for gas or spend money for the bus ride. And dad and the uncles were able to scam him?” Jhun was aghast.\n\n“Yeah, by inventing Backward Day,” I answered triumphantly. “One summer, Lolo Ruding invited the uncles and dad over to help him clean his overgrown yard so he didn’t have to pay a professional landscaper. He refused to even buy proper equipment, which were very expensive, he said. He finally busted his back while tugging on weeds and couldn’t walk or drive for nearly two weeks.\n\nDad and the uncles had to do his banking and errands for him, which was when they discovered how absolutely loaded with cash Lolo Ruding was, even if he always claimed to be poor. I mean, it makes sense that he’s supposed to be uber rich, because he’s single and worked as a pharma sales rep for decades!” \n\nMy companions were silent, as was the entire diner. Everyone was riveted by the story of Lolo Ruding’s downfall.\n\n“So, the next family reunion, dad and all his siblings dared Lolo Ruding into playing the backward game with penalties. Everyone was penalized, of course, but by then all their cousins were in on the scam.\n\nEveryone else got their money back, but Lolo Ruding was bled dry. The tradition continued year after year, and that was how Lolo Ruding unwittingly and unknowingly funded all our vacation trips to the Philippines for many years until he passed.”\n\nJhun, Jigs, and Tony were looking at each other, smiling. I didn’t know whether they believed me or not, but they’re definitely amused. \n\n“Nah! I like the colonizer story. It has more ring of truth to it, not to mention the drama. That’s the story I’m telling our kids,” Tony said to me, with finality. My jaw dropped.\n\n“What?!?” I was incredulous. The backstory I just told him was clearly the most credible one.\n\n“I’m sticking with the faerie story,” said Jigs, clearly tickled by my reaction. “I’ll add even more details to it for the next generation to enjoy.” \n\n“You can start with the next generation now, bro,” Jhun said, glancing outside. There were two big vans in the parking lot, and sunbaked cousins of all ages, shapes, and sizes were spilling out from both vehicles. Our relatives from Hawaii have arrived.\n\nLet the Backward Day games begin!" } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on 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 Heart of the Phoenix\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 2643\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about waiting — but don't reveal what's being waited for until the very end." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "September 1st, 2048\n\nIt’s raining. I can see the droplets from my cell window, watch them fall from the sky. Whenever it rains, I press my hand to the window, believing that if I push hard enough, the glass will break, and I’ll be free. It never happens. But it’s at least comforting to know that someone is crying with me.\nIt’s been so long since I’ve felt the drip of rain on my skin. Since the chilly wisps of wind have stroked my face. Since the scent of warm cheese pizza has tickled my nostrils. The only smell here is the smell of dead rats and spoiled milk. And the smell of me.\nI’ve been locked up here for a few months. Maybe more. From the whispers I hear through the crack underneath the door, the world has changed. Before I was thrown into the Prison for the Undefined, the government had told us that our world was deteriorating and that they held the power to help us. To save us. I never believed that.\nWhen children were dying of hunger and our houses were falling apart, the government never cared. They sent mail telling us that there wasn’t enough money to start projects in the area. That’s what they said to everybody.\nTwo sharp knocks on the door signal that somebody needs to see me. I clutch my legs to my chest and bury my face in my knees. Nothing good ever comes out of my visits.\nThe door swings open and bright candles illuminate my cell. The walls throw back the echo of someone’s footsteps. I don’t dare to look. The sound stops directly in front of me and my heartbeat gets faster. They never come this close to me. None of them have ever come this close to me.\nThe black boots of the person are visible through my legs. The right one nudges my calf and I don’t move.\n“Is she still sane?” The question comes from the individual before me, and by the voice, I can tell that they are male. The guard in front of my door answers. “Yes, sir. She gets up and walks around sometimes. And all our subjects are carefully watched, sir. No signs of insanity have been shown, sir.”\nHints of annoyance color his voice. “You told me to wait, I waited. And now I’m done waiting.”\nI’m suddenly grabbed fiercely by the arm and my skin begins to turn red. “Let go of me,” I whisper, struggling to subdue the rage bubbling inside of me. Slowly, I raise my head, looking into his eyes. He’s young, with hazel eyes and chocolate brown hair, the same color as the long hair that flows over my shoulders. He reminds me of my brother.\n“Please,” I beg, a forbidden energy flowing through my veins. I know what happens when this power comes alive.\nHe only smiles, holding on tighter. “But I don’t. I want to know. Show me.”\nI gasp quietly. He’s a reader. We were told that all the readers were killed. But the government has a history of lying.\nI feel my body overheat, feel my eyes flash a deep red. My reflection is clear in his eyes, and I bathe in the glory. It’s been so long since I’ve unleashed my power. My fury. I shut my eyes tight and when I open them again, all I see are targets.\nMy legs move faster than wind, and my arms tangle around something. It thuds beside me and the sound ignites a spark inside me. “Oh. It’s been too long.”\nI flex my fingers, study the red flush that swims over my skin. There a minute. Gone the next. Looking away from my hands, I scan the area around me, hungry. There are no more humans in sight.\nA voice in my head whispers seek and destroy but I don’t know what to destroy. The unsure feeling is eating me up and I ache to send it away. To fight. But there’s nothing to fight. So I punch the doorframe, throwing my fist as hard and fast as I can.\nIt pummels through the door frame and halfway through the wall joined to it. I pull my fist out of the wall and examine my knuckles. Not a scratch. Slowly, I walk back into the cell, turning in circles. The window catches my eye and I gaze out at the new, unknown world, at the rain that has started to fly sideways.\nI hate it when rain flies sideways.\nFuming, I open my mouth to say something when the man lays a hand on my shoulder. \n“Seek and Destroy.” The words from his mouth force the power in me, shoving it back down into the pit that it hides in.\n“No,” I say quietly, whimpering.\n“Mission over.”\nI collapse against the wall, sinking to the ground. My strength is gone. I’m normal again.\n“Lillian Trenton.”\nI can barely breathe, my bones weak and tired.\n“You’re perfect.”\n\nSeptember 2nd, 2048\nI must have passed out. I find myself in a cozy room, lying on a brown, leather couch. The man from the cell sits a few feet from me in a soft-looking, black swivel chair. His fingers fly over the keyboard so fast that I’m amazed. But then I remember that he was the one who unleashed the thing inside me. I know how many times I’ve hurt people with it.\nI’ll never forget their names. Every time I kill someone, I figure out everything about them. I don’t know why. It just feels like a bit of an apology, or at least all the apology I can give. Sometimes, if I can find an address, I write a letter to their family.\nSuddenly, the guard at my dungeon door along with all the favors he did for me comes into my head. All the extra chicken and half pieces of gum sneaked in with my lunch. Lunch was the only meal I ever had.\nA silent tear rolls down my cheek and I don’t try to brush it away. This only happens when I’ve killed someone. I must have killed him. I press my lips together to stop myself from sobbing. I can’t let this man know I’m awake. But how did I not see him in the cell? I couldn’t even sense his presence. The cell was empty. And he startled me. That’s not supposed to happen. I’m supposed to be able to sense everything when I’m like that.\n“It’s difficult to explain, Lillian. I’m not sure why, exactly, but they think I’m invisible to you. I needed to be sure.”\nHow can he read my mind without touching me? “How do you-”\n“It’s called projecting. And it’s something I’m going to teach you,” he interrupts. I stand up, shoving the light blanket off my legs. It’s only then that I realize that I’m dressed in fresh clothes, not the ones that I’ve worn for months. “You changed my clothes?” I say, suddenly angry.\nHe looks at me, one eyebrow raised. “Does that bother you?”\nI run a hand through my hair and steel my jaw. “Gee, I don’t know.” My voice gets louder and drips with sarcasm. “Does it? Let me sleep on it.” I glare at him, waiting for a response.\nHe seems genuinely scared, backing towards the door. “Lillian, I didn’t change your clothes, okay? You don’t have to get upset.”\nThe anger in me clears and I furrow my brow. “Then who did?” I don’t believe him. Nobody can touch my skin. I kill people.\n“But you don’t have to. That’s what I want you to understand.”\nI step back and the back of my legs bump against the couch. “I don’t want to learn anything from you.” I’m not sure of what to say at first, but it starts to come to me and I’m immediately confident. “I don’t want to learn anything from the man who took away months of my life. I don’t know you and I don’t want to.”\nA different look of fear shadows his face. “No, no, no, Lillian, don’t say that. It’s okay.”\nI scoff, purely annoyed. “Right.” I search for the energy buried inside me and it seems to greet me, offering a burst of life. I didn’t know I could summon it.\n“Lillian, don’t do it. I can offer you something.”\nIn his eyes, something seems sincere, so I stop moving away and walk toward him for a change. “Like what?”\nHe smiles weakly, holding out a hand. A gloved hand. “Come out, Liam.”\nMy eyes widen at the sound of the name. Liam is my brother’s name. A door I didn’t notice behind me slides away and a man steps out. Gasping, I cover my mouth with the back of my hand. “I-I-Liam? Is that you?”\nHe looks just like I remember him-tall and stocky, with broad shoulders and a smile that could make the news. His eyes light up at the sight of me and he rushes to me, scooping me up in his arms. “Lily. You’re alright.”\nI wrap my arms around him, careful to keep my exposed hands away from his skin. He sets me down gently onto the couch that I was laying on earlier, and he stoops next to it as I stretch out on my side to see him. “I thought everyone in the Army was dead. How-” I don’t finish, reaching out my hand to his face in wonder before catching myself. Quickly, I pull my hand back, cradling it in the crook of my arm.\nHe smiles sadly and lifts his arm to where I can see it. Tattooed on his wrist is an orange rimmed hand.\n“What is that?” I ask, and he looks at me as if it should have been an explanation.\n“You don’t know about the markings yet?” He turns to the man who was in my holding cell. “You haven’t told her about the markings, Jaxton? We can’t keep waiting. Someone will notice.”\nHe scoffs, shaking his head. “She was upset that her clothes were changed. We didn’t quite get past that.”\nLiam chuckles and turns to me. “There are girls in this place, you know.”\nI look down, embarrassed, and blushing. “That doesn’t matter, Liam. How are you still alive? What markings are you talking about?”\nJaxton sits on the armrest farther from me and nods to Liam, giving him permission to speak.\n“When the government discovered the first Undefined, they threw them in an insane asylum and forgot about the whole ordeal. Soon enough, there was a whole army worth of Undefineds living among society.”\nJaxton finishes for him. “They gathered us up and trained us to be their army. And since we were so much better than Normals, they killed the Normal army. Liam offered to become an experiment. He had heard that they were trying to figure out if they could turn Normals to Undefines.”\nI turn my own arm over and find, beautifully tattooed into my right wrist, a crimson outlined phoenix bursting with flames. “Whoa,” I whisper to myself.\nLiam smiles, his eyes lighting up. “You’re a Phoenix. Top of the chart. I’m next.” He holds out his arm again for me to see. “Orange. Mind control.”\nI look to Jaxton, awe in my eyes. “What does the chart look like?”\nHe pushes himself off the armrest and pulls over an easel with a large piece of paper on it. Grabbing a Sharpie from his desk, he begins to draw.\n“It works as a pyramid and goes in rainbow order, red being the most dangerous and purple being about harmless. You,” he points at me, “are a ‘code red’ to Normals, but among the Undefined, you will be referred to as a Phoenix.” He writes the information in the top triangle and moves on.\n“Liam is an orange. Like he said, they are mind controllers and are called Hands. Their insignia is a hand, hence the name. Yellows have the ability to bend and create light and heat. They have golden streaks on their wrists, and they’re dubbed as a Sun.”\nI nod and look at Liam. “Does everybody know this?”\nHe laughs and tousles my hair. “Yeah. Most of us have lived here for years, so you catch on pretty quickly.”\nMost people have been imprisoned here for years. Most people haven’t seen their friends or families for years.\n“But your imprisonment was severe since you’re a Phoenix. The rest of us ate together and had monitored social time. But you’re,” he pauses with caution, not sure whether or not to say it, “the only Phoenix out there, Lillian.”\nOh.\n“Anyway,” Liam breaks the silence, “the rest of the chart goes like this.” He snatches the marker out of Jaxton’s hand and starts to write on the chart. “Next up are Greens. They’ve got dark green trees for their crest and we call them Roots. They can do just about anything regarding natural elements except for water. Those are the Blues. They control water, have an emblem of bright aquamarine waves, and are simply called Blues.”\nAfter writing all that down, he goes on to finish. “At the bottom of the list are Purples. They’re the mind readers and have the tattoo of a purple amoeba. We call them Readers, as you already know.”\n“Yeah,” I say, surprised, turning to Jaxton. “Aren’t you a Reader?”\nHe scowls and crosses his arms, hiding his crest. “So?”\nI smile. “What now?”\nAt that, Liam stands and takes a deep breath, instantly serious. “We’re going to escape.”\n\nSeptember 3rd, 2048\nLiam, Jaxton, and I walk into the public lunchroom, me keeping my head down and my wrist covered. Things are different here. There are lines for the people to get their food and tables for them to sit at. Together. Nobody is worried that someone might turn them into a super-soldier.\nThe minute we step in, a group of Undefineds stand up from a table in a corner not far from us. They walk over to the door and shrug packs that Jaxton hands them over their shoulders. Speaking in hushed voices, we pretend to head towards the barracks, but instead take a turn to the left a few doors down.\n“Is she the red?” One of them asks, glancing at me.\nLiam nods, sliding a fake key card through a slot. “Yes. And she’s my sister. So watch it.”\nAt that, they shut up.\nA girl in our group melts the thick lock on the door leading outside. After a short moment of silence, I push open the door. As we troop out, Liam controls the exterior guards to shoot themselves and Jaxton tells him where to focus his power.\nOne of the boys whose name is Thomas uproots a few trees and pushes them in the way of the door we came from, blocking anyone from following us. We reach the coast in a few minutes and stop for the group to introduce themselves to me.\n“I’m Kendall,” says one of the girls. She holds up her wrist to show me her symbol. Yellow. Another calls herself Emmerson and does a water show for me. After I know everyone, Thomas and Kendall work on putting together a boat for us to leave. Bullets emerge from behind us. As soon as the shooters advance into sight, I look at them and they all fall. Dead.\nThe others only glance at me before going back to their work. “Done,” Thomas announces, picking up the finished product and setting it on the water. Emmerson helps to prevent splashing. “Let’s go,” Liam calls to me, and we all pile into the boat. We’re leaving. We’ve waited for so long.\nWe’re finally free." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on 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 Lotus Princess\n\nGenre: asian-american\n\nWord Count: 2497\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a family with a long-standing tradition, whose members all have conflicting origin stories for it." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "I was bemoaning the coming terrors of nightfall, all tragic and Shakespearian, when my phone, blasting the somber, violin-strung songs narrating my pity party, died. I groaned and plucked the headphones out of my ears, hoisted myself up, and rubbed bleariness out of my eyes as they focused on the imposing houses our car was speeding by. \n\n“Glad to see you back from the dead.” I had more than a couple photos of my mom’s teenage years that proved she had spent a good chunk of her high school career emulating the dead, and I didn’t appreciate the hypocrisy. \n\nMy dad chuckled - he always liked her “wit”, which made sense since his humor was just as uninspired than hers. But I’m being mean. An engineer and a pharmacist, my parents were both extremely smart, but very much lacking in the comedy (and in general, the creative) department. Which explains why when I begged them to let me miss the family’s annual cake-making hullabaloo so that I could find inspiration for my final project (due next week!), they hardly cared. \n\n“Aren’t you always saying that inspiration is everywhere?” My dad had said, enjoying using my words to stab me in the back. \n\nAnd of course that was technically true. But when the inspiration you’re looking for will determine a solid 40% of your grade and will be presented in a city-wide showcase, it’s best to go somewhere where the inspiration flows easily, not somewhere where your little cousins are coating every surface with flour and where your aunts and uncles are constantly asking why you’re not more interested in science. My family was the most intellectual bunch of people you could meet, and although they dabbled in certain artistic pursuits like patronizing world-renowned art galleries and watching operas, they were more to solidify their brainpower than anything. \n\nSo no, I was not feeling very optimistic about my grade or my project as I dragged myself up the steps to my aunt’s house. She was a accountant with a knack for the housing market, and she bought and sold properties like they were nothing. The three-story wonder had some of the prettiest designs I had ever seen, resplendent with Grecian-style columns and elegantly arched windows, but when I asked her about it she said she merely bought the house since the asking price was a steal. I drifted off into a reverie about making my project about Greek gods and goddesses, but was shot back into reality by my relatives’ booming laughter. \n\n“Sorry, what?” I asked when I realized all eyes were on me.\n\n“We were just saying - your head is always in the clouds!” Aunt Jill smiled, throwing an arm around me as she guided me into the kitchen.\n\n“I, I was just thinking about my project. Your house reminded me of the Greek pantheon -“ I stammered. Many people would have long resented their family for not knowing anything about art, and I had many friends who were, but my family went to every showcase, bought me endless supplies, and took me to all sorts of art exhibits, even if they couldn’t help asking if I would consider channeling my “creative energy” into the sciences. Once, my uncle tried to explain that painting was not unlike biomedical engineering, but by the time the poorly-presented analogy was over, I was more convinced than ever that I would not ever consider the sciences again.\n\n“Ai, you think too much about the Greeks, Artemis this and Aphrodite that. Nothing wrong with that, but you need to learn more about our own culture. We have stories too, you know.”\n\nI was still a little shocked that the goddesses’ names had stuck in the head of my aunt, who had once asked me three times on a single museum trip who this “Zeus character” (pronounced Zee - us) was. \n\n“What are the stories?” I asked. Maybe I’d get something out of tonight after all. \n\nAunt Jill tossed me an apron and tied up my hair. “Well, the cakes we’re making tonight have their roots in ancient mythology.”\n\n“Yes, I know. The Lotus Princess.” I snagged a berry from the bowl on the counter. “I never really liked her.”\n\n“What, you don’t like the Lotus Princess?” Aunt Jill exclaimed. “But her story is so inspiring!” She handed me a whisk and a carton of eggs. \n\n“Aunt Jill, you think that wasting away in a pond because her boyfriend died is inspiring?” I asked incredulously, cracking the eggs and flicking the shells into the trash.\n\n“Oh, Lily. That’s not the end of the story.” Aunt Jill smiled, cleaning the berries and dumping them in the blender.\n\n“The princess used her tears to water the land around her. Once she saw what she had done, she shared her home and knowledge of the land with her people and brought wealth and prosperity to the kingdom! And every year, we remember her graciousness and resilience by making the recipes she passed down and sharing warmth with our families.”\n\nA laugh shattered the glowingly warm feelings in the kitchen as I imagined the pretty princess passing out the decadent cakes my family made every year next to a lantern-lit lake. \n\nIt was my cousin, Anya, freshly out of college and snatched up by one of the country’s top research centers. “The Lotus Princess wasn’t a humanitarian. She’s just some old wives’ tale meant to explain why lotuses bloom at night. Apparently, when the moon catches her tears, they sprout the blossoms. And a bunch of nonsense.” \n\nShe launched into a long tirade on why lotuses are night-blooming flowers that I immediately tuned out, focusing instead on mixing the eggs into the flour. Despite Anya’s boring realism, she painted a beautiful picture - I could just imagine the silvery glow surrounding the magical seed of the lotus and how it unfolded in the moon’s milky light. My name brought me back to reality - and to Aunt Jill scolding Anya. \n\n“Lily’s just getting interested in our culture, why do you have to ruin it with some botany lesson?”\n\nAnya scoffed, tossing her long braided hair over her shoulder as she folded sugar into the batter. “You don’t need to romanticize the story to make her appreciate her culture. And I thought your entire generation of the family thought Lily should be pursuing a field like botany anyway?” \n\nAunt Jill was evidently trying to rebuff Anya’s points, but settled instead on shaking her head. “You’re just like my brother. No room for fantasy. And at least mine had a good, inspirational role model.” \n\nNo room for fantasy described most of my family, even you, Aunt Jill, I thought silently. \n\n“Stephen! Cora! Come and tell Lily about the Lotus Princess.”\n\nAnya was calling her older brother and his wife over. Cora and Stephen Liu were doctors, and although I had always been slightly intimidated by my elder cousin, I loved his wife more than anything. She was the only family member that was a kindred spirit and I always looked forward to seeing her. She was beautiful, she loved everything about romance, music, and theatre, /and/ she was smart enough to impress my uncle - a renowned cardiologist who studied East Asian linguistics in his free time - with her wit and intelligence. \n\nCora grinned and looked up at her husband, whose steely mask always melted whenever she was near. Brushing stray locks of her inky hair back, she settled onto a kitchen stool and, with cake mold in hand, began weaving her own tale. \n\n“The lotus princess was the daughter of the emperor and fell in love with a shepherd she met when she was out exploring a lake near the palace. She fell in love with him but was terrified that her father would be mad. Indeed, when her father’s guards caught them, the emperor ruled that he be exiled for his crimes. Turns out, the shepherd was actually a prince who was scouting out the kingdom because his father wanted to see if they could form an alliance. The prince’s father, was outraged to hear of his son’s treatment and forbade him from ever stepping foot into the princess’s kingdom ever again.”\n\nCora paused and glanced over at Stephen, who was lining up her freshly-molded cakes onto the baking sheet. \n\n“The lotus princess, however, decided she wanted to live no life without him and ran from the kingdom. She managed to escape the heavily fortified castle in the middle of the night with nothing but her wits a little bundle of treasures. When her father went to look for her, he found two lotus flowers on her bed, a message that she was staring a new life. Despite his anger, he couldn’t help but admire her nerve. It is said that when the young lovers’ wedding was announced, he sent the couple a thousand cakes to celebrate, a beautiful gown of silver thread embroidered with lotus flowers for the bride, and an array of treasures for the prince and his parents. Impressed by the princess’s boldness and love, the prince’s parents accepted the lavish gift and offered to form an alliance. The princess saved her kingdom that day, and she also won her true love.”\n\n“That’s my favorite version.” I declared, sliding Cora and Stephen’s perfect cakes into the oven. \n\nAnya was less impressed, rolling her eyes, and Aunt Jill exclaimed: “Why you kids always have to draw so much romance into it?”\n\n“Stephen, that’s not how mom and dad told us!” Anya stared at her brother, who shrugged and told her if that’s the way Cora told it, that was the way he was going with. \n\nAnya sighed. “Ah, never mind then, Lily, it’s just an old story. So many people have told so many different versions.” \n\nCora winked at me behind Anya’s back and mouthed: “Mine’s the best.”\n\nI flashed her a smile and nodded. “Well, Stephen, what was the version that your mom told you?” \n\nStephen looked at his wife. “Mine’s - ah - not as nice as yours. Um, the princess fell in love with a guy-“\n\n“A god.” Anya interrupted.\n\n“Sure. And then when he had to leave her for heaven, she was so sad that she wasted away crying. And the god couldn’t bear it, and so he sent her cakes and tea on big lily pads. When she died eventually, he turned her body into lotus flowers that would adorn the lake so he could admire her beauty forever. The end.”\n\nThere was an awkward silence. \n\n“That was kinda weird.” Cora said. “Why couldn’t the god stay with her until she got old and died?”\n\n“I don’t know, honey, it’s just some old story my parents used to justify eating these things every year!” Stephen shrugged and shook his head.\n\nCora laughed and Anya protested that that wasn’t the right version, and they argued about it all the way to the family room, where we served the cakes with steaming cups of green tea. I leaned over to my grandfather as he beckoned me over to refill his cup. He was a retired surgeon who, ironically, had hand tremors.\n\n“Gramps, who’s right?” I whispered as I glanced over at Anya, who was fuming silently. \n\n“About the lotus princess?” Gramps smiled sadly. “They’re all wrong. Only your grandmother knew the right story and I’m sorry they’ve all forgotten it so soon. The lotus princess fell sick one day as a child and was nursed back to health with tea made from the lotus blossom. One day, she married a prince of a faraway land. Years later, she fell sick again and because that land had no lotuses, she was unable to recover even though her husband tried to import them as soon as possible. Devastated, he spent mountains of gold to craft the most beautiful lotus garden outside the palace in her memory. Every year on the anniversary of their marriage, he would go and bring cakes to the garden and leave her beautiful things in tribute. He was found dead there, one day, lying peacefully among the beautiful flowers that once saved his wife.” \n\nHe excused himself shortly after and went to the garden to sit under my grandmother’s magnolia tree like he did every night. On the way back home, I asked my parents about the princess and they both a wonderfully jumbled version filled with inconsistencies. We laughed all the way home as they corrected each other constantly and spun off into wild tangents.\n\nI never did figure out the \"real\" version and while I didn't think it mattered at all after what the story had told me about my family and the very nature of mythology, my professor told me my painting of the princess, while beautiful, was not \"properly rooted in documented mythology.\" I didn't really remember anything else about that lecture or even who won the showcase.\n\nAll I remember is how my family came to support me and cheered when they saw my painting. How Aunt Jill beamed when I told her I was inspired by her hospitality and kindness to paint warmth into the princess's eyes. How I proudly presented my perfectly rendered lotus blossoms that I had ground into beautiful realism just for Anya (she approved). How Cora lit up when she realized her wedding gown had inspired the flowing, silvery robes I had draped onto the princess. How Stephen laughed when he discovered that there was a little lily pad with cakes and tea piled onto it. How my grandfather admired the lotus garden I placed the princess with, and how he burst into a smile when he noticed the magnolia tree tucked in the corner. How my mom laughed when my dad told me \"I told you you could find inspiration anywhere.\"\n\nMy family stopped pushing me into science after that, and I stopped assuming that just because they loved the scientific world that they lacked wonder and creativity. Years later, I surprised them all by discovering a new lotus hybrid, driven to study them by a mythical princess. They came out to support me all the same, although with more than a few \"I-told-you-so\" comments and grins.\n\nBy then, I had spent just as many hours studying the blossoms as I did painting them. My art had started selling, and although I had painted over a dozen other renditions of the lotus princess, I never did part with the original. The new ones had finer technique, lusher colors, nicer composition, but they lacked the heart that my family inspired. Decades later, when I finally put my brushes down, that painting still hung in my foyer: the little princess that won no awards and had been brought to life one unexpected night was my prized possession and the center of attention. And when curious guests asked about it, I simply replied that she reminded me of my family." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on 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 World Experiment #2,613,937\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 1292\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about solidarity." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "“Hey, can I see your world? Mine is a bit… hard to look at right now.”\nAfter years of studying civilization and creating new universes, it baffles me how we’ve gotten nowhere. I doubt my research looks any different than my coworker’s, but I allow him to have a look anyways.\n“Eek. That’s what’s been happening in mine. I don’t get it. No matter what we do, how many challenges and gifts we give to our experiments, they always end like this. Why?”\nI peer through my glass screen again, watching the small people in New World Experiment #2,487,519 run out into the streets screaming. The New World Research Facility was created to study life forms and their patterns of civilization, but all of the projects end like this. Rebelling against each other and bringing their world to an end. I’ve terminated 17 projects myself, all with different variables yet the same results. It’s easy to create a world; difficult to keep it running peacefully.\n“Why do you think people do this? I mean, discriminate others based on simple things like skin color, hair color, eye color, basic appearance? It’s… horrifying. It makes me glad to live in a different place.”\nI turn to my coworker, a man of dark skin which contrasts my own. Here skin color doesn’t matter, gender doesn’t matter, nothing matters. We’re all equals because here everyone knows that humans are complicated and no one has created a perfect human yet. Those who think otherwise are terminated. It’s as easy as that. Some might call it savagery, but we call it utopia. Creating new experimental worlds has been a practice of ours for many years; the people in our research community are fascinated by humans and their complexity. We’ve started many projects and used different variables to see how humans would react. We’ve created all white worlds, all black worlds, worlds filled with one skin color, race, and gender. All of them have either ended in human extinction or rebellion against those discriminating people based on silly things. \n“Humans are such horrendous beings. There’s something inside of them that tells them, ‘Hate. Hate. Hate,’ instead of, ‘Love. Love. Love.’ I suppose we must keep studying them and changing them until we can identify the source of the problem.”\nMy coworker nods.\n“I agree. Finding the problem and eliminating it will surely create a perfect human.”\nI look back into my project world, where people are killing and being killed. This one is a definite failure, worse than some of my others. I created the world with an exciting variable; everyone has plenty of money and the same economic status throughout. No poor people to discriminate against. No homelessness, no overwhelming wealth. Money does not exist in this project world, yet people still found reasons to hate each other. I can’t help but feel disappointed as I slowly press down on the Terminate button, watching the people of New World Experiment #2,418,519 scream in confusion as everything turns to black. Now a white screen pops up where the world view just was; plain blue words read, “Press the yellow CREATE button next to the red TERMINATE button to begin new experiment.”\nI grab my coat, quickly writing a few notes down before getting out of my seat and approaching my coworker. He is still peering through his glass screen. No emotion shows on his face.\n“Still working? I had to terminate mine. It wasn’t going anywhere.”\n“Yes. I think I may have to do the same, though. Silly humans, I believe an important variable to consider may be their tendency to become emotionally attached quickly. What they call friends, we call acquaintances. What they call family, we call relatives. If only they would treat humans as fellow humans and not as chairs to sit on or walls to lean against.”\n“That’s very true. Do you think some of their hate is fueled by love? Silly to imagine, as the two are opposites and should not be associated with each other.”\nMy coworker looks away from his screen to write a few notes down.\n“It’s silly indeed. All of these years of research and the closest thing anyone has gotten to where hate comes from is love. If I were to hate a human because they hated someone I loved… that makes absolutely no sense. It doesn’t solve why people hate because of physical factors.”\nI sigh, slipping on my coat and grabbing my bag.\n“I think it’s safe to say that hate doesn’t spring immediately from anything physical. It has to be mental, emotional, et cetera…”\n“It must be pride. Humans are such disgustingly prideful creatures. Would I hate a person to feel greater than them? Heavens no, but I am a New Human. Perhaps a lack of pride would make all the humans in our experiments realize they are nothing but another creature among millions roaming the planet. They are insignificant and are only part of a greater plan.”\nThinking about it, my coworker may be right. All of us working for the New World Research Facility are New Humans. We have no pride, and we do not fight or hate each other. We are the closest to perfect humans we can get until we discover the secret to banishing all imperfections from ourselves.\n“So you say we should create an experiment and remove an inner part of humans?”\n“Yes. We should make the humans more like us and see what happens. It might be like spectating our own world, but it might be surprising as well. Maybe we’ll finally know the answer.’\n“Finding the answer by studying ones like ourselves. I like it.”\nMy coworker doesn’t hesitate to terminate his current experiment, leaving his white screen flashing as he grabs his own things.\n“I really believe we’ve gotten somewhere today. I’ll propose the experiment tomorrow. Would you like it to be a group project?”\nA small smile forms on my lips.\n“Of course. Let’s find the answer together.”\nHe waves goodbye as he exits the office, leaving me alone in between our desks. Some other coworkers have already left for the day; others will stay awhile, perhaps overnight, to finish up and gather more information. I plan to leave, however. I walk over to the elevator and tap in my ID number, stepping inside as it begins to rise to the station where I’ll get picked up and brought home.\nTo be honest, I am very excited to start a new experiment with my coworker. The research facility is based on teamwork; all experiment notes and results are compiled into one hypothesis which changes constantly as new possible solutions form. No one person can create a perfect human on their own, and no human can be perfect on their own. Love and hate aside, humans are social beings and are meant to survive with one another. Experiments have proven time and time again that strong attachment to a person can be dangerous; New Humans have found efficient and foolproof ways to maintain working harmony without creating lasting or tight friendships like the humans do in our experiments.\nOur facility is committed to finding the cause of hate and violence and preventing it in future generations. We haven’t found one answer yet; humans are complicated and different from one another. We believe a basic, tentative solution is cooperation. Those who don’t cooperate force consequences onto themselves.\nHate is not embedded into people, it’s something taught or caused by something else. This we know. Don’t hate a person because of simple things like color, gender, or self identity. Respect every person no matter what. Although our experiments always end in flames, doesn’t mean the real world has to. \n\n--" } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Harbinger of Death\n\nGenre: asian-american\n\nWord Count: 1283\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart your story with a character having a premonition, but no one believes them." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Waking up in cold sweat, Lia panted as she pushed aside her blanket and got up from her bed, putting on her house slippers. As she opened the window, she took a deep breath and sighed, glancing at the bright, pearly moon above the star-encrusted sky. It's just a nightmare, she told herself, rubbing her forearms. It's not real, it was just another dream, that's all.\nFor months, she was plagued with nightmarish dreams every single night, to the point that she dreaded falling asleep. Her mother told her that she needed to pray more, which Lia did. Convincing her to therapy was a bad idea, for it always ends in a bitter argument between them. Deciding to grab her journal from her desk, she recorded every single detail that she remembered in her nightmare, and what it could possibly mean.\nThe next morning, as the whole family gathered at the dining table, Lia yawned as she chewed on her kaya toast with heavy eyelids. Her mother, who was seated in front of her, noticed her eyebags, and proceeded to clear her throat to get her attention. \"So, what was the nightmare all about this time?\" she asked.\n\"It was my best friend, Mina,\" Lia answered, shifting her focus towards her mother. \"I found her lying in a ditch, with blood all over the place.\"\n\"Sounds like the same old dream you've been having for the last few weeks,\" she sighed, as she slurped on her bowl of soft-boiled eggs. \"Why don't you just take my advice and pray to Allah instead of just locking yourself in the room and drawing those creepy drawings of yours?\"\n\"But I've been praying on time,\" Lia snapped, knocking her fist on the table. \"And yet, these nightmares kept on persisting.\"\n\"Well, maybe you should try harder then. There's no reason why you've been having these nightmarish occurrences unless of course, you've been slacking in your religious duty.\"\n\"But what if those nightmares come true?\" she pointed out. \"Then what?\"\n\"Lia, dear, there is no way you are able to see what lies in the future. Besides, you're just making excuses about your irresponsibility.\"\n\"But mother-\"\n\"Just go to your room and recite the Quran,\" her mother shouted, pointing at the stairs. \"You'll feel better after this.\"\nCrossing her arms, Lia glared at her mother as she grabbed her coat and stepped outside the cabin, much to her mother's protest. But she didn't care about that, for she wanted to calm herself down before she could explode in front of her face.\nWhat does she care, anyways? she thought, as she paced through the forest, only to find her friend, Mina, sitting underneath a tree. Waving at her, her friend smiled at her as she sat beside her, placing her arms around her shoulders.\n\"Hey Mina,\" Lia smiled. \"How are you doing?\"\n\"I'm doing great, Lia,\" Mina replied, as she continued to flip the pages of her book, much to the former's curiosity.\n\"So, what are you reading?\"\n\"Oh, I'm just reading Aphrodite means Death. It's a really good book.\"\n\"That's cool. Where did you get it?\"\n\"Down the street,\" Mina shrugged. \"But this is the only copy I found, unfortunately.\"\nHer eyes widened. \"Seriously? That's the only book you found at the store?\"\n\"Yeah, unfortunately, this book is super rare. I was lucky to get a hand on this, you know.\"\n\"Well, in that case, can I borrow them once you're finished reading them? I really want to read them too.\"\n\"Of course you can borrow them, Lia,\" Mina chuckled. \"Just make sure you don't damage the spine, alright?\"\n\"Don't worry about it, Mina,\" Lia assured her. \"Your book will be in good hands, I promise you.\"\nHer lips curved upwards as she closed her book and got up, offering her hand to Lia. \"Do you wanna get some coffee or something?\"\nBobbing her head, she grabbed her friend's hand and strolled along the woods, vivaciously talking with each other. As they continued to walk along their designated path, they noticed a large ditch in front of them, prompting them to halt.\n\"That looks dangerous,\" Mina gasped, looking down. \"Let's just take another way to town. It's much safer anyways.\"\nLia shook her head as she held onto a rope that was tied to a tree branch. \"The other way is too slow. This way is much faster to reach town.\"\n\"But Lia-\"\n\"Don't worry about it,\" she shrugged it off. \"I won't let you fall. Besides, we've done this so many times anyway.\"\nMina reluctantly nodded as she climbed onto Lia's back, clinging to her shoulders. Taking a deep breath, Lia swung towards the other side of the ditch with ease, letting go of the rope. \"See, that wasn't so bad, isn't it?\" she chuckled, only to realize that her friend wasn't responding to her.\nShe turned around and rushed towards the ditch, and found her friend there, lying in a pool of blood. Lia's eyes widened as she slid towards her friend, placing her hand on her pulse. Oh no, she panted, taking a few steps backwards. My nightmare came true.\nNot knowing what to do, Lia snatched Mina's book from her hands and rushed back home, with tears streaming from her eyes. For the whole day, she locked herself inside her room, hiding underneath her blanket. My vision was real, she cried, glancing at Mina's book. I can't believe it came true.\nHugging her pillow, she closed her eyes and held onto her friend's novel, dozing off to sleep. As hours passed, Lia jolted out of her bed, trying to catch her breath. Her mother entered her room with a candle in her hand, noticing her daughter was acting out of character. \"Did you have another bad dream again?\"\nLia hummed in approval. \"It was our house, mom. It was on fire and you were trapped in it.\"\n\"I'm sure your nightmare will pass eventually,\" she stroked the back of her daughter's hair. \"Besides, it's just the Devil playing tricks on you after all.\"\n\"No!\" exclaimed Lia, her fist clenched. \"It was real. I saw it for myself.\"\n\"Oh, that's just nonsense. There's no way you can see the future.\"\n\"You're wrong, mom,\" Lia barked. \"I can predict the future. I dreamed that Mina died in the ditch and I found her dead in the ditch today.\"\n\"Oh, honey, I'm sure it's just a coincidence.\"\nShe groaned in frustration, yanking her hair. \"Why can't you just believe me just for once? Why do you always have to dismiss what I have to say to you?\"\n\"Because I have more experience than you,\" her mother fought back. \"I tasted hardship and pain when I was your age. You should be grateful that you have it easier than I did back then.\"\n\"You always compared my life to yours. You always invalidated my struggles. Heck, you always make everything about yourself when I talk to you. It's always about you, you, and you. You never even listened to what I had to say to you.\"\nHer mother frowned and slapped Lia across her cheek, baring her teeth. The young girl's eyes turned narrow as she yelped and pushed her mother towards the wooden floor, causing the candle to drop from her hand, lighting the house on fire, just as she had envisioned.\nHearing her mother begging for her life, Lia grabbed Mina's novel and her journal as she ran away from the burning cabin, unscathed. Unlike what happened to her best friend, Lia wasn't afraid of her own vision anymore. Instead, she began to embrace her destiny as a visionary, and a harbinger of death." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Sparks will Ignite\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 1090\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about change." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "I was once part of the norm. Part of the people that just go with how the wind blows. I don’t really care about the current affairs in my community.\nAll I care about is myself.\nIn the past, when I was still in my university days, there was a time that we were assigned to gather information about the slums in Detroit. While doing my study, I began noticing how wretched other people are. I realized that I am part of a messed up society. I realized how other people are treated unequally. Because of that incident, I became fully aware of my capabilities in helping these people. I realized that I can be the voice of the people unheard. I can be part of the people that seek justice for the maltreated.\nEver since being aware of the society that I live in, I began changing — changing for the better. I signed up for petitions; I joined protests; I began advocating. I made sure that what I’m doing will send a spark to the unaware and ignite their feelings to join the fight.\nLately, I joined a protest in seeking justice for the maltreated people in the Black community. Just thinking about the hate and mistreatment that they receive from other people, especially the ‘white racists’ puts a tear in my eye. I can no longer tolerate the racism that surrounds me. I convinced people to join the protest, especially the youth. I want the youngsters to be aware of their surroundings and their behaviour. Despite the weather, I gave out brochures on the streets, be it a scorching hot day that can burn my skin off; freezingly cold nights that sends a chill down my spine; or stormy days that can wash me off of my feet. I never gave it a thought. I can bear everything as long as I can share my advocacy.\nOne sunny morning, I received a message in my email which must be from someone who received a brochure that I gave out. I checked it out and as I read the message, I felt butterflies in my stomach as I squealed with delight.\n\n\nGood day, Ms. Jordans!\n\nI am a university student and I read your advocacy about seeking justice for the rights and freedom of the Black community. I also agree with your opinions and beliefs regarding the said matter. I plan to join you next week in the upcoming protest in front of the White House and I assure you that I’ll be there to support. I will also try to share this with my friends and convince them to join the fight. This is not just about the Black community but also for every race out there that still suffers from racism.\n\nKindly update me on more information about the movement. Thank you and God Bless!\n\n\nThat message.\nThat one short message made me feel strong. It gave me a sign. A sign that I clearly conveyed the message that I want to share. It reached their hearts and gave them the courage to stand up and speak out. It gave me the strength to continue what I started.\nBeing all motivated, I went out again, full of energy, and ready to face another day advocating my stand. I traveled miles and miles just to reach the suburbs, villages, and countrysides to gain more support from the people out there.\nDays passed and the time has come. It is already the concerted day of the protest. As I set myself up, I felt my stomach hurl.\nWhat if no one came?\nWhat if no one cared?\nWhat should I do?\nI fell into my knees as my feet can no longer support my weight. I felt the weight of all the lives that I carry. The weight of all the people that clings to the thread of hope that I myself don’t know if I can still continue to hold on. \nI just sat at the corner of my bed, not sure if I can lead the protest.\nFive whole minutes.\nI just sat there in silence for five whole minutes while staring into the void, lost in my thoughts. A high-pitched sound then broke that very silence and brought me back to reality. That sound was the notification tone of my computer.\nI walked towards my computer and saw the pink pinned note on the upper right of the screen.\n\n\nSCHEDULED REMINDER\n06.12.20XX\n15:00\nProtest in front of the White House to seek justice against racism.\n\n\nWhile reading the reminder, I remembered the message that was sent to me by the university student.\n\n\nI plan to join you next week in the upcoming protest in front of the White House and I assure you that I’ll be there to support.\n\n\n I realized how similar we are to each other. We were both so young when we discovered the filth in this world and we chose to be the ones who will speak up for it. I remember having felt the courage and joy while reading his message, realizing that I am not alone — I already inspired others to join me. This is not the time to falter. This is the time to move forward and mark my statement.\nChinned-up with chest out and clear eyes, I set out, ready to lead the protest.\nYou can see it on me: Confident, Proud, Determined.\nWhen I arrived at the rendezvous, my eyes widened and my mouth was left hanging open. I didn’t expect many people to come. Different faces; different races; different ages; different religions; but same reason. We’re gathered here in this place for ONE. SAME. REASON. I didn’t know that I’ve inspired this many people to join.\nThis protest may not shake the grounds of those above, but it certainly offers a helping hand to those below and opens the eyes of the people that are blind to reality. This protest will serve as an assurance to the people in need. This tells them that they are not alone. They will be found. They will find comrades for their justice-seeking battles.\nI am glad that I got to break out of the norm and fight injustice and inequality. I’m glad that I got to change for the betterment of the majority in our society. I’m glad that I instigated the urge of others to change. I’m glad for sending signals and sparks that ignited others to advance and make their stand.\nI’m glad I changed." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Sushi on Christmas Eve\n\nGenre: asian-american\n\nWord Count: 1001\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a family with a long-standing tradition, whose members all have conflicting origin stories for it." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Sushi take-away on Christmas Eve. It was the last minute manouevre of a desperate housewife in possession of a credit card, trying to give some happy spin to the bleakness of her new life. I swear. That was what it was.\nMy family back home--Americans—we had always had such a rich tradition at Christmastime. For the whole of Advent, we kids would do ‘good deeds’ every day, and with each one we’d win a piece of straw to soften the bed for Baby Jesus in his manger. By December 25th the little Nativity Scene was piled high. Of course, on Christmas Day there was Santa Claus and stockings, and turkey, stuffing, pumpkin pie and mulled wine. The night before, Christmas Eve, we’d all gather at Gamma’s to read St Luke’s Infancy Narrative. I wasn’t hypocritical enough to pull the religion routine on my lot. After the Reading, we’d go out caroling to raise money for the Blind Children. My sister and I composed descants for all the favourites. At midnight we’d finish up at someone’s house for eggnog around a blazing fire and sing more descants. Even if I’d known any of my neighbours to ask about local caroling, I wasn’t going to pull that one on them, either. ‘It’s freezing, Mommy,’ I could just hear. My husband—Japanese--wouldn’t know any of the words, and he’d either be asking me constantly for translation or just stand there looking socially awkward. My daughter would probably have an asthma attack. I’d have to carry the baby.\nI left my job in Japan, my friends, my dream of scholarship and grad school, to chase his dream of empty affluence. And do you know what? We never even discussed it. I was a wife. That’s what wives want, don’t they? He got the nod, and the next day, he was on a plane, leaving me to pack, apply for visas and arrange everything.\nWe arrived in London on the afternoon of December 24th. The baby had screamed the whole way on the airplane; Junko was asthmatic. My husband had gone to work, just like any other day, and I was all by myself in a foreign country with a sick toddler and a screaming baby. He brings home a bakery-bought cake. ‘Look, a Christmas Cake’, he says, as if he’s just upheld some seasonal tradition. That’s what Westerners eat, don’t they?\nChristmas was a time of cheer, and it was up to me. So, I took my daughter’s crayons, and we drew a Christmas Tree on our packing boxes. I didn’t know where the stockings were packed. We left out cookies for the reindeer in the middle of a roll of duct tape.\n‘Sushi?’ my daughter Junko said, ‘It’s supposed to be turkey.’ That’s for tomorrow, honey, I explained. We were going to Papa’s boss’s for Christmas dinner on the morrow; they lived nearby. ‘It might not be turkey, though,’ I warned her. ‘That might not be the custom in their family.’ ‘Is sushi the custom in Papa’s family?’ she asked. ‘It’s the custom in our family,’ I said. ‘Sushi take-away on Christmas Eve, that’s the custom in our family.’\nIt got dark at 3.30pm. It rained every day. I fell into the deepest depression of my life. We lived in Highgate, and as I drove here and there trying to set up our new home, all by myself, with baby fussing behind in the carseat, I passed under Suicide Bridge several times a day, asking myself, ‘Do I? Would I?’ I took my credit card and I filled our big house with Western-style furniture, but it remained empty. I mixed the American traditions, the Japanese and the English, but the one custom that was missing was my happiness. I hid it from the children, but once they were in bed, I’d cry and cry into the night.\nWe upheld the tradition, and in subsequent years it was easy for my husband to pick up the sushi on his way home from work. He’d also pick up a Christmas Cake; why shouldn’t he invent new traditions, too? But every Christmas Eve, I remembered that first one. As I grasped the first piece of sushi with my chopsticks, the image of Suicide Bridge would pop into my head.\nI tried diligently to teach Junko Japanese. Endless afternoons I’d sit with the other Japanese wives, wives of his work colleagues, to give her a chance to play with little friends, to give us both a chance to practice our Japanese. Goodness knows, we rarely got a chance with Papa. Whenever he was at home, he was asleep. Trying to hold up my end of another tedious conversation about where we buy our tea, what brand of coffee we prefer, I overheard her saying to little Mayumi-chan, ‘In Japan, they eat sushi every day, but Mommy only lets us have it on Christmas Eve.’\nThe baby—Hiro--grew up, having heard only that Christmas Eve was time for sushi. The American cousins came one year and were scandalised by the lack of religion in our house and the complete absence of Baby Jesus. Our tradition was expensive that year, with nine people around the table for sushi. Missing the carols and the eggnog, even missing the church, I tried to be of good cheer, talking to my sister about the ‘customs in Japan’ and the ‘customs in our family’. I heard Hiro say to his younger cousin Jimmy, ‘We moved to London because Mommy wanted to talk English with her friends.’ Sushi, he explained, ‘that’s the custom in Papa’s country.’\nMy Japanese husband, sadly, died, and on his deathbed, he phoned to say goodbye. ‘You remember that Christmas Eve when you first arrived in London, Suji? I brought home a Christmas Cake. You and Junko drew a Christmas Tree in crayon on the packing boxes. You ordered sushi take-away. You said it was a new family tradition. Do you know what? That was one of the happiest days of my life.’" } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Reach for the Stars\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 1203\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story that begins and ends with someone looking up at the stars." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Hundreds, thousands, millions more. Billions upon billions of lights line the shore. All so far, but to reach out and touch just one, maybe two? Impossible! Inconceivable! That’s what they say. But I know I will reach the moon and count them all someday. Someday.\n“Will you come in here already? It’s freezing out, and you’re not wearing a jacket.” A father’s voice rang heavy and low to his sweet little daughter. She put her pencil down and looked back up at the sky, counting. Counting? She, so young yet so intelligent, she knows she couldn’t reach a finite number. But how could she count them all? She sat under the lighthouse’s watchful eye, gleaming as its light filled the seaside.\nThe phone rang far off inside the house. Her father, Argus, lifted the noisy little box to his ear.\n “Hello?”\n “Argus, it’s me again,” a hoarse voice whispered. “When are you going to send me my little girl? I miss my baby girl, Argus.” Desperation lined every word she spoke.\n “You will never see her again unless it’s in court, Mary.” Anger seethed through his teeth.\n “You can’t keep a girl away from her mother,” Mary said. “It’s not right. She needs me.”\n “Is watching her mother shoot up for the seventeenth time in a day what she needs? Is watching her mother get beat by a man who she doesn’t know what she needs? You haven’t gotten the slightest idea what she needs. She needs someone sober and kind, someone who will stay by her side for recitals and children’s plays. Not somebody that abandons her at the playground for three hours, sad and alone. Goodbye, Mary. Do not call here again.” He slammed the phone on the receiver, as he had done hundreds of times before. \nHis heart ached for his daughter. How could he ever tell her that her own mother would rather drown herself in heroin than take her home from school? He walked over to the window and watched her write while occasionally looking back up to the sky and the lighthouse. Rusted metal and creeping vines lined the walls of the tall structure. A cliff was twenty-two feet away, leading to a short but steep drop to the Pacific Ocean. His face read like the happiest father alive. The pain in his heart stated otherwise. Another ache rose in his arm. That’s odd, he thought to himself. He walked towards the medicine cabinet in the bathroom, sneaking glances back at the small figure under the lighthouse. He opened the mirror and grabbed a small bottle with his name on the prescription label. Opening it, he realized only one pill was left. Damn, he thought, I’ll have to go to the pharmacy tomorrow while she’s at school. He took the pill in his hand and quickly headed to the kitchen for water. Swallowed, the pill worked its magic in ten minutes. Thank you, Universe, for modern medicine. The father walked back to the window, watching his daughter once more. He went to the entryway and picked out a little green jacket and matching scarf. He opened the door and stepped into the light breeze. Walking towards the little figure, he passed under the same trees as always. Two Maple, one Laurel, one Myrtle, three Pine, and a weeping Willow. However, none held a candle compared to the lighthouse, though. Every panel of wood, pane of metal, block of cement was attached to create a masterpiece he had adored for so long. Argus wrapped the green jacket around his daughter, and carefully laced the scarf around her neck.\n “Here,” he said, “so you don’t get cold.”\n “Thank you, daddy.” He looked at her dark skin’s glow in the starlight.\n “What are you writing there?” The little girl snatched her paper close to her chest.\n “You can’t read it yet! I’m not done!” She yelled with an innocent look of panic on her face.\n “Okay, okay,” Argus said, holding his hands up. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. Do I get to read it later?”\n “Hmm,” she pondered, “maybe. If you’re good. But Mrs. Pickles has to read it first.”\n “Who is Mrs. Pickles,” he asked.\n “Mrs. Pickles,” she said as she pointed up to the lighthouse.\n “Ah, I see.” Argus looked up at the night sky with his daughter. “Maybe you and Mrs. Pickles would like to hear a song, hm?”\n “Are you gonna play us a song on the piano, daddy?”\n “What would you like to hear?”\n “‘For River’ please!”\n “As you wish, baby girl.” Argus walked towards the lighthouse door. It opened with a loud creak from the metal hinges. He flipped the switch next to the opening and looked at the old piano. You wouldn’t think to look at something so old and believe that it played as beautifully as it did when it was just built. Argus re-tuned it every year.\nHe sat on the small bench in front of the instrument. Placing his hands carefully, he began to play. The sound lifted and echoed through the entire lighthouse, a complete mess of sounds perfectly amplified to create the masterpiece. Argus finished and heard the echoes of little hands banging together for him.\n “That was so good, daddy! I finished my story for you and Mrs. Pickles. You can read it now.” The little girl hopped over and proudly presented her piece of paper to Argus. He began to read out loud, loud enough for Mrs. Pickles to hear:\n “Hundreds, thousands, millions more. Billions upon billions of lights line the shore. All so far, but to reach out and touch just one, maybe two? Impossible! Inconceivable! That’s what they say. But I know I will reach the moon and count them all someday. Someday. I will make my bed in the early hours, when the stars say, “good morning” and show me shapes of flowers. I will run down to breakfast every day and watch my dad make pancakes and waffles, all gourmet. My goal is to touch every star as I work hard in my life; I will become my own lighthouse and shine my own light. I will reach the moon soon. Not today? Not tomorrow? Don’t tell me no. I will reach the moon and count all the stars in the sky. And I will do it for my father, because he is a great guy. Goodbye, lighthouse. I’ll see you from the moon. And I will shine my own light back at you.”\n “That was beautiful, sweetheart,” he said when he finished. “Are you going to become an astronaut when you grow up?”\n “Yup. I’ll be the best astronaut, and I’ll write a book about all the stars I talk to when I’m on the moon. You can come visit me, too.”\n “I sure will, baby girl.” The two walked out of the lighthouse, hand in hand.\n “Good night, Mrs. Pickles,” she shouted as they walked away. \nArgus tucked her in bed and read her a few chapters of a Hemingway book. Time for bed, he left and went to his own room. His daughter looked at the night sky.\n “Good night, Emagine,” the stars said to her.\n “Good night. See you soon.”" } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: When the true fool gathers luck...\n\nGenre: asian-american\n\nWord Count: 1427\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about someone who’s desperately trying to change their luck." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "The Way of Lin…\nAlways something new. Always something else. Always the way of her life. Cause Lin searched for this way, this very Dao, of being happy. And she came across a book called I Ching.\nShe fell in love with the book. It was no perveted feeling at all. But the language was English and it dragged out her mind to the way of herself. The Dao that had the good luck written down as a sort of remedy in each chapter. To search for the correct number meant that mathematical spheres crossed bows and then – luck could begin!\nBut hard work it was, striving to search the valley, the water, the well, the yin of something so silly as the abyss. However she fell into this abyss many a times, as it was the depth of her Female side that had to go her way. Her Dao. So search for it she did. And?\nAt work she tried to follow an old boy from Stockholm. He was witty and had charm. Lin asked questions about him in her I Ching. But however it came to be the book that answered nothing. She thought then that the Stockholm old chap had all the wise pits of mind to fall into. That pit would turn her lucky – a well of wonder. And she began having plans. Just one thing only. He was not that sort of Swedish person who would like to play games upon the book he had not himself. Although he had a clever way to sneak into her syllables and words and whatever there was.\nThe way he qickly and bravely got into her made her fall in love with his wit. But his wit saw nothing as he just chased down her face into the gutter. In her he dared not touch the pit. Or the abyss rather. As he thought that if a dame has it deep she needs several men to fill her up. With luck? Luckily he strolled down the streets of Växjö and began boasting about – an abyss! How deep it was. Its dimension and how it could be measured. Rarely did he understand that she got all the words of worlds from the I Ching….And this meant?\nA woman has a depth that men in ancient China pondered hard upon. How could they touch the well if the air was dry and the dale was to fail. And the sun had its flares. And if all had to be love in a truest ceremonial ways. Her abyss had been to Stockholm, really!\nThe boy of Stockholm was a Polarstar. He stood out so small but more brilliantly shining than all the rest. He spread luck with him wherever he went. And all this luck was to be plucked from the gardens of all. He had no true Viking hall, but was of the thralls own people way back in history. Only a queen could turn him back to be an Emperor, but no such thing he was. The abyss of his wit went too far and too broad and too huge. As a ceremony could make him go through rooms as he was slender and that type sneak in, but never down the deepest abyss of a woman. Rather he had several other ways to escape...His charm brought him luck and luck could not gain one single more of the faith Lin had in him.\nOh but a charm promises so much. But sometimes charms takes onto itself what it has and gives not its luck to other people. Such big faith charm can have. And such big hope for the rest when charm can pass the sin of the Devil and get away with the crime. That is luck for some, but oh how a horror came creeping through the veins of Lin. She saw the Devil himself, but worst more was that the luck she had felt with Mr Charm all turned out to be – charm only! And then!\nAnd over and again Mr Charm had to try to come to the core of any issue to gather his luck. And Lin tried her luck by following Mr Wit´s conversation. He had this way of wanting her, but at the same time thought that her pit did not fit his wit. He wanted to be lucky. She on the other hand was lucky every time she saw him and desperately tried to change his mood to cure his feelings of whatever there was within him. She tried so hard to turn him over to fall down her core of heart, as he made her pulses run high. But the higher they rose the more desperate this two couple became. Need and weed. Seed and sow in wind. Get the plough in a storm and you collect rational thoughts but thoughts only. And wind does not serve luck. Fire serve no luck. Earth has no luck before hard work for the farmers. But water in the abyss curbs the stone that once was dry. The ocean has to admit it. In emotions there she is – the lucky one to reach for the inside and not turning the fates of other. Luck is gathered when one does not try to change others, but only change the order of his/her own faith. A thief of a lucky face – who out there?\nShe had tried so very hard to gather luck. But chasing after it is the destiny of Jupiter only: it means that luck comes your way if you sit and wait. Wait for wind. Wait for fire. Wait for water. And only the luck of soil and mud is hard work. Lin had not much earth in her destiny. She felt not the roots of the ground. Rather she flew with her mind from subject to subject – just to sow her luck. Just to search for words only. But words might go slack if used too much. And at that point the boy from Stockholm felt lycky each time he had her go round to his issue of thought. She had once thought this was his true love. But came a day – and?\nShe felt that despair of wanting help. She came to work and explained her severe problems to the Stockholmian chap. And there and then her luck turned into shame. Her luck fell into the abyss they have been building together. With jokes upon jokes until the star of Jupiter got tired and went off to another sun-sign.\nThe boy from Stockholm was now amused. He had been serving her – what he thought – words of wisdom from a Stockholm place. And as Lin grew up in Växjö she saw no reason to doubt a man´s wit. Oh how witty he was. And his wit had been his crime, fooling her into the spheres of his unknown realm. His witty abyss, his pit alone. His something of something.\nShe went home that afternoon. And took a descision. She was to leave Sweden. And now the candy man is been and gone. The candy man can´t bring more sweets for a lady of the true harsh.\nBitter and narrow is the road that leads to true happiness. Broad is the path that leads you to the pits of mind. Anytime, sir!\nBut the narrow pathways is stony and got a fence. Before you climb over it you must look East, where the sun rise again and again.I Ching had taught her that those who search the answers might get them in proper time. The book had finally taught her its wisdom – but too late. In that book she searched in a foreign garden and the foreign garden refused to show her anything. That is how deep its wisdom was. Luck may not always take us to the core of our best hearts.\nAs a matter of fact Lin´s Viking spirit flew West and came back with an eagle of faith. But does an eagle bring luck? Well, if fortune comes our way it is the destiny that has a rule not for human beings to understand. As the I Ching said: ”Just go with the flow, it is true destiny. And if your destiny want you to be happy, well it gives you a stony road, leading – god knows where! Leading its flow with the wind...and the wind cries ´Mary.`….The wind cries out its abyss of thoughts. Mary marry me in the name of Christ!!!”" } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Twice, Seliece Thornton\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 2098\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story set in a salon or barbershop." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "The barbershop is no place for a woman. Especially a woman with as many curves as Seliece Thornton. Many reverse mohawks were birthed in the wake of her savage strut. The moment she walked onto the floor haircuts were known to be ruined by an impulsive turn of the head. The hypnotic way she swayed her hips was an incantation to all who dared to look. \n\nPer the Unwritten Bylaws of Noah Washington’s Barbershop, a subtle glance is allowed. Maybe even an extended leer, but anything more would be counted as blasphemous and you would be shunned from its halls indefinitely. Of course, none of us really knew this or even said it, but it was just understood: no one goes after Noah Washington’s Girlfriend. The six-foot-four former tight end did not just demand this respect because of his imposing frame (though it didn’t hurt) but because he was genuinely a nice guy. \n\nThe best demonstration of his niceness was Jenisa Lane, dubbed “the village crackhead”, who would constantly come in begging for food. With an easy demeanor Noah would always direct her to the refrigerator in the back he bought for just the occasion. One would not even call him a gentle giant because he had this way of making you feel like he was just your size. Even a five foot four computer nerd like me.\n\nThe delicate way he handled the clippers against my head made me think he had the ginger hands of a ballerina. But don’t be mistaken, his frame was imposing and even as that frame loomed over me, I devised subtle ways of checking out Seliece’s body. The way her heels accentuated her legs and the perfect curvature of her ass blooming out from a microscopic waist line. It was like watching art.\n\n“What do you think, Lionel?”\n\n“Huh?”\n\nI thank god for such ambiguous words as “huh”. The more on the nose “sorry, I was too busy admiring your girlfriend’s ass” probably would have created a little more controversy, but not for the reasons one would think.\n\n“What do you think? Was it wrong for Lebron to up and go to Miami?”\n\n“Don’t answer it, Lionel,” Mack interjected. “Old Noah is just alley-ooping to himself so he can slam dunk it.”\n\n“I’m interested in the young man’s opinion. Was it some vile betrayal for him to leave Cleveland -- essentially his hometown. For the big bright lights of Miami?”\n\nI thought about a little bit as he turned me around in the chair -- because I took his questions seriously. It was like being asked a question in class for your favorite teacher and I didn’t want to disappoint. \n\n“I mean, he didn’t murder anybody. I think people should do what they wanna do,” he turned me once again and my gaze accidentally landed on the one person I was avoiding. Clumsily, I added, “be what they wanna be.”\n\n“I told you this young buck was smart.”\n\n“By smart, you mean he agrees with you,” Mack joked.\n\nMack was Noah’s personal contrarian. If Noah said the sky was blue, Mack would call bullshit and say it’s yellow. I figured that’s why Noah liked the guy so much. He liked to be intellectually challenged. But of course it was that keen intellect of Noah’s that constantly kept on guard, for I was hiding a secret that he could find out about.\n\n“Young buck is takin’ a deconstructionist view of the world -- just like Lebron was,'' he went on to explain. Noah always liked to inject philosophical concepts into conversation. “The NBA said you don’t leave your hometown. Not like that. But who says we gotta do what the NBA elite says do? Mother fuckin’ Charles Barkley with his no ring havin’ self?”\n\n“And in fact,” I added. “Cleveland wasn’t even Lebron’s hometown. He was from Akron.”\n\n“Exactly, if you break things down and look at it through a set of fresh eyes, confining that poor boy to fight 9 more years to get a championship makes no damned sense. That’s Derrida right there. You ever read Derrida, Mack.”\n\n“I read yo’ momma’s back tattoo when I was hitting her from behind last night.”\n\nLike clockwork, Mack broke us away from deep philosophical quandaries to inject the perfunctory I-fucked-your-momma-last-night joke. At least one is required per visit or it doesn’t count.\n\nI got things back on track, “Derrida was the father of deconstructionism. He broke down binaries and got us to see the merit in both halves by eliminating all societal biases for one side or the other: high class versus low class, reason versus passion, masculinity versus…” there was a slight pause, not detectable by the human ear as my peripheral zoomed in on her looming figure. “...femininity.”\n\nSeliece had this nasty habit of bringing extra clothes to the shop and leaving it around where she couldn’t find it. It was like she was playing hide and seek with herself. Some thought it made her ditsy, but I knew better. To have a mind that can keep up with Noah takes a lot and her mind was always racing with the next poem she was going to create. She was more of the poetic type -- exploring deep racial issues through the flow of free verse. It kind of hurt my heart how they were a perfect yin and yang.\n\nAs she revealed what she was looking for, everything froze, “Have you seen my pearl earrings?”\n\nI don’t know why. Sweat began to gather on my brow. There was no way Noah could have known -- but still. I feared his Sherlock level of deductive reasoning. Would he be able to deduce the truth -- that her pearl earrings were at my house, in my bedroom, sitting on my nightstand.\n\nThere wasn’t an ounce of scolding in his voice. It was totally playful as he said it, “Girl I told you not to be leaving your stuff all over my barbershop. The sign on the front says barbershop. Not Seliece’s Boutique.”\n\n“Well, what’s the point of having a boyfriend with a barbershop if you can’t leave your shit around now and again?”\n\n I was closing my eyes tightly, straining, as if I had superpowers that could shut her up. As she rambled on, I did the next best thing and asked about one of her poems. She actually recited one about being a woman and having to deal with patriarchal norms. It was beautiful and I said as much.\n\n“Yeah,” Noah commented. “My baby’s talented. Ya’ll should come to one of her poetry readings.”\n\nThen, right on cue, Mack shot back, “If there’s a poetry reading at yo’ momma’s house, I’ll be there.”\n\n“Hold up. Order in the court! You have exceeded your momma joke limit,” Noah proclaimed. “I rebuke you in the name of Jesus.” \n\nThat got a laugh from the room, and sure enough Noah smoothly transitioned into the next topic. Something I know he’d been thinking about. “But speaking of mommas,” he went on as the haircut was nearing the end, “Your moms told me you have the pick of the litter for colleges. Duke, Yale, Harvard. It’s like you Tyra Banks and they a bunch of niggas on the stoop. You got an idea of which you’re gonna choose.”\n\nMy response took the air out the room.\n\n“I was thinking about staying here.”\n\nEvery razor stopped buzzing. Every eye turned. The barbershop equivalent of a record skipping.\n\n“If you look at all of the world’s Nobel Prize winners 90 percent of them didn’t go to a prestigious college.”\n\n“Well, they sure as hell didn’t go no damned Wilcreek. Lionel, we don’t even have a damned football team.” \n\n“I don’t care about a football team. I want to be here with my family. My friends. With --”\n\nI did not say the pronoun that I reached for and definitely not with the passion and intensity hanging on the edge of my tongue. Saying that single word in that singularly tone would have broken all protocol. \n\nPlaying off my silence, Noah diagnosed my ailment, “You’re scared.”\n\nBut his diagnosis was not perfect. For indeed I was scared, but fear comes in multiple dimensions -- multiple forms, pulling you from differing angles. There’s fear of staying. Fear of leaving. Fear of admitting the truth. Fear of judgment. Fear of loss. The alternate endings to your reality play before you a dizzying mess until you’re frozen, not knowing what to do.\n\nFinally, I managed the courage to respond. “I’m not scared. I’m taking a deconstructionist view. Society is telling me I have to go to a certain college to follow my dream.”\n\nWhat I said next had such a deep double meaning, “But what if my dream is right here?”\n\nHe smiled that infamous pearly white grin that belonged on the cover of a magazine, and replied, “My man. You’re right.”\n\nHe of course added, “But think about it. Deeply. It’s the biggest philosophical quandary you’ll ever encounter in life. Husserl spent entire lectures examining the essence of a cup of coffee. This is your life, little man.”\n\nI appreciated both the advice and the warmth coming from his voice. He finished up my edge and all was going well until Seliece sauntered back into the room. \n\n“Honey, this is getting weird,” she said with an ominous voice. “I can’t find my heels. I can’t find my earrings. I can’t find anything. Multiple things are missing.”\n\n“What are you getting at?” Noah commented surveying his girlfriend from the corner of his eye.\n\n“Look, I really hate to say this, but I think that crackhead you let in here has been stealing my stuff.”\n\n“Hey, hey, hey. Her name’s Jenisa, baby.”\n\n“Well, this Jenisa has been stealing, and maybe you should stop inviting her over.”\n\nAnd in that moment, I saw a hint of something I had barely seen before: Noah was getting irritated.\n\n“You don’t know that!” he snapped.\n\nEvery eye in the barbershop grew wide. All the men, like me, were probably in the back of their mind thinking maybe this was their chance. Maybe Noah and Seliece would break up and someone would be able to swoop in and pick up the pieces. Someone who already had a close bond formed.\n\n“I’m just sayin’. It’s OK to be nice to people,” Seliece pled her case, “but sometimes you’re too nice.”\n\n“So you think I’m too stupid to know when someone is takin’ advantage of me?”\n\n“I didn’t say that.”\n\n“Then what are you sayin --”\n\n“Stop,” I interrupted. The forcefulness of my voice was enough to cause a silence in the room, because I’m barely forceful.\n\nTaking a deep breath, I confessed, “I have them. I have her earrings, her shoes, her clothes.”\n\nNoah was confused but a little accusatory too. He turned to me cautiously, “You have them. Well, why?”\n\nI turned to Seliece and looked her right in the face and said, “To teach her a lesson about leaving her shit everywhere.”\n\nThere was a brief silence as the room began to process my response. And then there was laughter.\n\n“That’s damned straight,” Mack said, leading everyone in praising me for my prank.\n\nIn truth, it was an awful excuse, but homophobia and transphobia does that to men. They would rather believe some half-assed fable than the truth. That I stood in front of a mirror so many nights trying to look like her -- like Noah’s type. So I could be with him and talk Socrates, Wittgenstien, Satr. I spent hours, trying to mimic her walk. Her pouty lips. Squeezing my near non-existent chest muscles together to reproduce her cleavage. Like her clothing was some magic amulet that transformed me into an amazonian princess of some sort.\n\nBut what was there to think about? What hallucination was causing me to think that with enough time I could get him to love me like he loved her? I guess a part of me thought maybe if I put on her earrings, walked in her shoes, became well read as her, I could become her and replace her. But when the haircut was finished and I turned to look at myself in the mirror, I saw what the whole world saw: a man. A man with stubble and a misshapen chin, rough chapped lips, and short hair.\n\n“So what do you think?” Noah asked, putting the mirror to my face.\n\nI had to turn toward his beautiful complexion to give a half honest answer. \n\n“I love it.”" } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Have You Seen Me, Elijah Blue\n\nGenre: african-american\n\nWord Count: 1242\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about the moment a child (of any age) first comes to view a parent as a three-dimensional human being, and not just a parental figure." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Momma took the hot water from the stove and poured it into the tub. My naked backside got splashed, and I tried to shield myself from Momma’s bad aim and evil eye.\n “Ouch…That’s too hot.”\n “Boy hush!” she said.\n It really wasn’t that hot. I was cranky because she’d waken me up earlier than usual. She was in a foul mood this morning and grumbled about Mr. Hall and his trifling ways. \n “Paying rent on time and I gotta deal with this bullshit.”\nI was hardly affected by her bad words, distracted by make believe goblins in the bathwater. Momma washed her fancy outfits with Woolite by hand in this tub. This morning, she washed me. I felt special, and I kicked at the rising circle of bubbles that threatened to suffocate me.\n “Momma, is Mr. Hall gonna fix the hot water today?” I wondered aloud. \nI’d learned not to question Momma about such things, but the words just slipped out. I braced for her reply. She didn’t like Mr. Hall. She’d called him an old gray fossil, and when I asked her what a fossil was, she pinched my ear and told me to stay out of grown folks’ business. She was liable to do anything this time as I stood naked and helpless in the tub.\n “You just worry about getting yo butt ready for school” she said. Her eyes were jagged little slits and she dried me off with my favorite towel. \nCloaked in blue terry cloth, I was a superhero, and I flew away from Momma’s dire mood. The sight of my school uniform, laid out and ironed on the bed, snapped me out of make believe. \n I put on my school clothes and rushed back to Momma. I burst through the bathroom door to show her what I had done.\n “Hold up little man,” she said. She spun around and her eyelids fluttered like butterflies. She fanned the air between us and stuffed a glass wand in the pocket of her robe. Her reflection was contorted, and I could see phantoms in the cloudy white smoke between us.\n “Will you zip me up, baby?” She asked.\n I was a good boy and happy to be Momma’s helper.\n “Go get my black boots...”, she said. Her bedroom was a mystical place, and her approval to go and explore there sent me running. I almost fell headfirst in all the clutter.\n I could barely see anything beyond the heavy purple drapes that barricaded the room. I smelt heavy traces of Momma in there, maybe from the wardrobe of clothes that covered the floor. I found her black boots and saw gray shadows that covered Momma’s linen like spider webs. \n Had the lump under the sheets moved?\n “Boy, what you looking at?”\n Momma stood in the doorway. Her skimpy dancer clothes made her look like my big sister. She snatched the boots. A sudden whack upside the head dropped me to the floor.\n I wanted to say I couldn’t find them, but I rubbed the growing welt on the side of my head instead. I choked back a floodgate of tears.\n Momma navigated the ride to school in silence. She drove so fast that our neighborhood whirled by the car in dingy shades of gray. Shadows waved at me as we sped past. I wished for a chance to stay at home with Momma and never let go.\n “Be good,” she said and covered my cheek with luscious kisses. I rubbed the wetness from my face and waved goodbye to Momma as she sped away.\n*****\n I sulked across the playground to the swings beneath the school’s windows. Only a few children were here, and the school yard was quiet. Without the laughter of children and the eyes of chaperons, I wondered why I deserved to be there alone. I felt the tender spot on my head that Momma made. \n “You want to fly like Superman?”\n The monkey bars across from me were abandoned now. A man had been sitting there when Momma dropped me off. I had tried not to feel him watching me from behind his dark glasses. Now he was in the swing next to me. His shadow was like a grave on the ground.\n “I got a cape that can make me fly,” he said, and I remembered my bath that morning when I ran through the house in my blue terry cloth towel.\n “For real? I wondered aloud\n “Will you show me how?”\n When he grabbed my arm as if to say yes, his hands were cold, and he had a twisted little grin.\n ****** \n I heard Momma, her voice weak and listless like someone else’s.\n “Officer, please call me,”\n The closing door canceled her longing. Momma stood for a moment before she slid to the floor in a heap. She was crumpled, like a shattered doll, thrown against the ground. Softly I tiptoed to the windows beside her and watched the detective leave our building. He walked to his squad car and the trail of smoke and taillights disappeared like bloody footprints into the night. Momma paced from room to room and I felt helpless to sooth her. She already knew I was gone. \n Her heavy purple drapes were open, and the room welcomed the twilight. Lamp light shimmered on sparkling new clothes that covered her bed. Toys and games lay in bags, unopened and waiting for my return to her. \nShe lingered in the mirror, her mind a million miles away and I watched her, trapped by her beautiful reflection.\n “I love you, Elijah,” she said. My eyes locked on hers. When she smiled, I crept out of the shadows. Her love for me was the bond that kept my spirit near. \n “Who they looking for Momma,” I asked. I was transfixed by the beautiful delicate things on her bed.\n Her face betrayed a hint of fear as she waved away my voice in her head. \n “Where my baby at?” she muttered to herself, over and over. \n I sprung up to dance with the frilly tags and tissue paper that fell as she dressed and redressed in all the new outfits she had bought. She was the prettiest dancer I had ever seen.\n****\n The clammy basement under Momma’s apartment where Mr. Hall slept until noon smelled musty and dank. It stank of decaying fossils and dead things. The antiquated water heater still bellowed and moaned. It made awful noises that disturbed Momma and the dreams she had of me. She seldom had a restful sleep, disturbed by the guilt over her shortcomings. \n I knew Momma’s restlessness would bring her downstairs.\n She searched the clammy basement walls for a light switch, and fumbled in the darkness, as I stood right there watching her. She had a flashlight, but the sliver of light didn’t help much. Her face was streaked with salty tears and she was determined to find the source of the wailing. The low pitch grumble had ebbed and flowed and woke her up.\n She froze when she saw what I had hidden. She hadn’t seen it, or me since that morning in the iron tub. But I was still with her. Her little man would never leave. \n Pristine among the cobwebs and the filth was my favorite blue terry cloth towel. I folded it the way she taught me and spread the smell of bubble bath within the soft cotton fibers." } ]