{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Mandus stood upon the snowy peak, looking down upon the vastness that unfurled beneath his very feet. His pale green eyes twinkled in the dull grey that the sky had been rendered permanently, the dwarf licking his lips and folding his arms in front of his chest in quiet thought. *It had been years, * he thought, gently trodding down the side of the hill, crunching the snow beneath his boots. He inhaled deeply, allowing the thick smog to fill his lungs before he exhaled the blackened smoke just as quickly as he had. He looked back, over his shoulder, and eyed the opening of the cave that would stretch down into the Underbelly. His lips parted and he began to laugh, shaking his head slightly as his colossal beard - as though made of the finest silks - shook beneath his chin. The humans - for the first time in ten thousand years and their victory against the dwarves - were gone. *It seems we have the thicker skin after all. *", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "When Adam first built his shelter it was a mere square room buried 200 feet. His business went well and as his company grew so did his shelter. It became a hobby as the threat of nuclear war departed. The humble start of a square room that smelled like wet grass and dirt became his underground center. Rooms for growing, rooms for living, recreational expanses for movies and bowling. It was more luxurious than his house in comparison to the amenities. Where his house was a simple one story unit house. It continued to grow and more money was spent keeping it pristine and safe from the local government from destroying it. His friends thought it was the best damn place to host a party. Turns out it was when Adam figured it might as well have been used. Others felt like it was crazy to build a little kingdom under the dirt. It felt weird to make a shelter from a threat long passed. It felt like it was something that was not needed. That is until threat returned. Friends to Adam hung closer to him with enemies closer. People stop criticizing and started praising. Adam felt a world on his shoulders. It came without any real warning. When his friends and enemies alike were feeling brave and secure. Adam went into his shelter while the world above roared and screamed. Years would pass and more until one day he found that the world above could suit him again. He was the first one to enter this new world. Adam searched and search and cried out. There was nothing and he found only one place could give him solace, give him shelter. So Adam was the first and only one to enter this new world and he would be the last and only one to leave.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I rush and unlock the door, except I am greeted by more darkness. I rush and unlock the door, except I am greeted by more darkness. It stretches out in front of me for infinity. I can never escape. He was right. I' ll never leave. I should have stayed put. Maybe I would have lived a little longer. Another hour or day or week. Do I want to live another hour or day or week though? I' ve been degraded, strung up against a wall naked. He' s done horrible, vile things to me. How does a person come back from that? *Can* you come back from that? I hear his boots on the ground, thundering. My weak legs give way, and I fall to the ground. I can feel the dried blood on my legs, and the fresh blood slowly dripping down from the new wounds he' s put on me. What is the point in trying to fight anymore? I' m just a little prey animal and he is the predator. He' s hunted me down, and now he' s just toying with me. The little shard of glass in my hand scrapes against the concrete as I bring it up to my throat. I wo n' t be his play thing anymore. I' m escaping.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "A light. Now, mind you, this was n' t a holy light that shines when the clouds are parted and the sun is revealed in all of its splendor, but this light was like one you would see on those less-than-reputable alien sighting videos that seem to be ever-so-popular on the internet. It began as merely a flash of white: and then, more colors were added to its spectrum. The rain only seemed to accentuate the colors, and he looked around him to see if anyone else was watching what his eyes were seeing: but, Charles knew he was alone. As he continued to walk toward his workplace, he noticed that the light appeared to be nearing him: as if the light was hovering directly above some distinct spot in his general direction. Without knowing it, however, Charles had already begun the chain of events that would ultimately lead to his demise, the destruction of his hometown, and the very-closely-evaded ended of the world as we know it. But, for now, all Charles was really interested in knowing is just what exactly that light was, so he...", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" Where am I? \" John Hawthorn wondered aloud. Mountains rose in the distance, their tops covered with snow. The air was warm where John was, almost as though he did n' t feel temperature at all. He sat up in a meadow with sparsely spaced yellow, purple, and orange flowers. A bird flew overhead, partially blocking the sun. \" What a beautiful place. \" \" Yes, it is is n' t it? \" a voice said, booming down from the sky. It filled John with fright. \" Oh, come on, just relax. You' re the first one here after all. \" \" Who are you? \" \" I am. That' s all. You' re in Heaven, all alone so far, I' m afraid. \" \" But... why? Surely, there are other good people. \" \" Well, it' s more about following the rules and less about being good. \" \" What rules? \" John asked, spreading his arms toward the sky. \" I did n' t even go to church on Sundays! \" \" For example, no saying the word' bird' while it' s raining on Tuesdays in December between the years of 2009 and 2012. You followed that rule. \" \" But... how is that even a thing? No one would know that' s a rule! \" \" Hey man, I put the updates in the log, \" the booming voice said defensively. \" Not my fault if no one listens. \" \" Ugh, and what are some of the other rules that I followed? \" \" Let' s see... you have to walk your dog at exactly 10: 31pm and 29 seconds at least once in your life. \" \" And if someone does n' t have a dog? \" \" They' re screwed then, I guess. \" John sat down in the meadow and tried to let the smell of the flowers keep him sane. \" Is it all by chance, then? \" \" What? No! The rules are very logical, like eating a piece of candy on any Wednesday at least once a year, or walking backward on a balcony while you' re drunk at least twice after turning thirty, or the fact that a person must swim in some body of water in every odd numbered year, or... \" John leaned back and lay down in the meadow, trying to drone out the voice of God. It was going to be a long time before anyone else joined them.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I woke up on the in my bed again, despite falling asleep in a prison cell the night before. All the money I spend yesterday was back in my wallet. The annoying neighbor I had punched in the face had no doubt already woken up without any knowledge or memory of the attack. The car that I had crashed into the side of a building was unharmed and sitting in the parking lot of my apartment. The date on my smart phone remained unchanged. How many times did I relive this day? I have lost count a long time ago. I do n' t even remember what had caused the time loop in the first place. I had no idea how to stop it either. I learned not to throw my phone against a wall over a thousand times ago. It was a major inconvience to not have a working smart phone, even if everything would reset itself when the day was over. I grumbbled and heaved myself into a sitting position. My neighbor' s obnoxious music proceeded to play from beyond my apartment, just like every interation of this repeated day. I growled and stomped out of my apartment, still dressed in messy pajamas. I pounded on his door. As soon as it opened, I shouted, \" Turn that thing down! \" My neighbor looked at me as if I had not even spoken a word. \" Dude, you look like shit. What did you do yesterday? \" \" Just turn that shit down! \" I shouted one last time before stomping back to my room. What did I do yesterday, before the time loop? I was beginning to doubt that yesterday even existed. Yesterday seemed like, no, yesterday was a long time ago...", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "A sleepy man - woman? It was hard to tell with all that hair and that lank figure - huddled under blankets, a cup of hot tea in their hands as they stared at the windows. Two windows, on the other side of which was a beautiful world. Full of colors, full of life, full of people. They found themselves - it found itself? - at a loss for how to describe it. The words from their - its? - lips floundered, fell, stuttered, and eventually fell silent, feeling inadequate. Piles of letters and phrases littered the floor, and it huddled deeper within its confines, burdened by an overwrought sense of divine presence overbearing its creative design. Behind, on the other side of the seat, a creature with a knife sat, slashing up words that it snatched from the floor. With eyes keen and set on destroying every misplaced syllable, it forgot its true purpose, and the shards and vowels and consonants lay fragile across the floor. A cackle left its lips as it slowly pulled' floccinoxihiliphilipication' apart, delicious symbol by symbol, before letting each one hit the floor in turn. The chuckling turned to a mad howling as the blanket suddenly found its way around the little monster, muffling it as the other being rose to its full height and strode to the windows, hands on the windows as it watched the ongoing events outside. Eyes wide, full of wonder, full lines of paper seemed to fall from its mouth in a never-ending stream of fantasy and delight. The little beast screeched and hooted, desiring so much to silence the other in its room, but could only escape once the words stopped.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Vibrations! Vibrations and light. That was the key！ I mean it all goes back to Einstein right? e=mc squared。 And when you think about it, everything really is just a different form of vibration: energy waves, an objects wave function in space-time, the vibration of atoms and their vibrating strings. Once I understood that it was all about getting the right vibration of sound and light. Then the mirrors would liquefy and form an Einstein-Rosen bridge of sorts, literally a gateway to another universe. But suppose I did n' t really think things through though.... I mean I was baffled when it worked, and even more baffled to learn that each mirror leads to its own separate universe! And of course everything that happens here happens in unison there, so you ca n' t really just expect to walk on in, there is another you in the way, mimicking your movements, thoughts, speech patterns etc, all in exact unison. Even shaking hands is impossible. And do n' t even get me started on the dullness of the conversations! \" Oh Hey there! I' m from earth, wait, you are too. Oh, were saying the same exact thing at the same exact time are n' t we? Wait... what am I thinking now? Last night' s movie! His acting was n' t that good was it? Wow... we are literally speaking the same exact words at the same time, it is like we share a brain..... no.... its like we are the same person... wow this kinda sucks... \" So my dream of entering in was quickly abandoned. As was my dream of having a good conversation with an opponent as studied as myself. But hey! At least we can still send objects through! In fact, I am actually eating toast from another universe!...... but.... it tastes and looks exactly like the toast I sent through... so maybe it is n' t really all that interesting.... Or even all that useful... Maybe I wo n' t be getting that Nobel Peace Prize after all...", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" Thank you for enjoying your free trial. We regret to inform you that the 30 day pass will expire at 10: 00 pm est tonight. If you would like to continue with the standard package please reply ( Yes ) to this message. Thank you for the opportunity to earn your business. \" \" Well I guess it' s decision time. \" I said out loud to the empty room. I put my phone down and closed my eyes. It would n' t be terribly expensive to continue on and utilize the service. Quite honestly I' ve thrown away way more money than this on things that were far less important, but for some reason I was still hesitant. The biggest negative was definitely the time frame. 12 months was a long time to use a product that I would potentially get sick of after 6 months and the terms were very clear that I would have to see out the full length of the term. I closed my eyes and rubbed my temples, \" oh decisions decisions, what to do? \" I opened my eyes and reached back for my phone. \" Fuck it. \" I muttered. I responded to the text, \" Yes \". Intstantly I received the response, \" Fantastic, Peter. We will charge your account the full balance of the charge and send all the necessary documentation to your address by overnight mail. You will find that your temp position will become full time, unless you would like to be transferred to another position. If you have any needs or questions please visit us at www-liveonearth-uv Thank you for your business and please enjoy your stay at Earth.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Sammy and his family watched as those who had a means of transport fled his small border town of about 2, 000 people. About half were left to face the invading Russian army that was expected to arrive tomorrow. The good news for Sammy was his test was cancelled, his crush and bully were gone, and he had an overwhelming sense of optimism and certainty that he could accomplish anything. Later the remaining townsfolk gathered together to discuss their strategy. It' s here that Sammy' s willpower proved especially decisive and he was able to convince the town to unconditionally surrender and also provide the best housing for the Russian troops. The few Mafia members left in town were swayed by his words and gave him two extra days to pay back his $ 3000 loan and only bumped it up to $ 4500. The following morning Sammy would march out with a white flag and meet the oncoming troops. He convinced their commander to accept the town' s surrender and he also informed on the Mafia members who were rounded and imprisoned. Sammy' s strategy was so successful the Russians tapped him to continue his campaign of surrender to the poor who could n' t flee. Sammy did so and after Russia had taken most of the country bloodlessly appointed him Governor. Sammy' s bully and crush lived their lives smashed into the quarter of the country the Russians had forced those that had fled into and were fairly miserable especially when the crush would bring up Sammy' s success. Sammy also got a sexy math tutor and became excellent at math. Due to the bloodless and relatively peaceful invasion the people who stayed would go on to lead better lives and be slightly happier than they were before.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "The day finally came. Proof that evil can die my mother-in-law finally died she' s been threatening us for 20 years \" you' ll be sorry when I' m dead \". Sure I' m feel bad for my wife but even she is n' t that broken up about it. she knows how cruel and manipulative she was. She was so evil her husband was too afraid to runaway. On news of her death I could swear he was about to break into a jig. But then it happen one at a time at first then in massive waves covering the earth in ghosts. Then i heard a voice i have n' t heard in decades. \" Raisedbydog your all grown up now I have been gone a while \" my grandfather said. \" Grandpa your back from the other side did you bring me anything. \" I said while reverted back to the mindset of a ten year. \" My grandfather said in a sad voice \" something evil is on the side scaring away all the spirits back here \". In the most serious tone I could muster I asked him \" is she about 5ft 5in 160 pounds big hair loud as hell \" my grandfather looked a me aghast \" and her name would n' t happen to be Catherine. \" grandfather replied with fear in his voice \" yes how did you know. \" I told him \" She' s my mother in law \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "The power surged with a snap, a low hum filled the room. After all these years of failed attempts and sleepless nights, after countless hours of studying, testing, creating; It was finally time. I reached out for the final switch, my hand trembling slightly; I noted the time, 9: 45 -- right on schedule. An urgent knocking at my door; I ignored it. I had spent nine years getting to this moment, nothing was going to stop me now. I flicked the switch. I blinked and I was in another room, the big clock I had set up showed 9: 44; I heard a soft noise behind me. I turned and found myself staring right back at me, oh God oh God no! The door to the room thudded against the wall as someone ran into the hall. I sprinted from the room, out the door across the hall, hurtled down the stairs; I could hear myself sprinting right behind me. There, at the end of the hall, stood the door behind which I had spent those countless hours building my time machine. But there were people already there, the hall was filled with figures frantically pounding on the door. As I rushed down the hall I could hear a sharp, electrical snapping; the hall light dimmed and flickered.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" Oh, my love, another gun? You grow predictable. \" He lowered the weapon, some sort of small calibre handgun of European origin, and shrugged. Those dimples *I adore* appeared on his cheeks, telling me he had something more. Of course he did. \" Do you remember? \" I asked \" When you hit me with that javelin from across the plain? That was beautiful. \" I could n' t place the accent he' d adopted. He was better travelled than I. \" As were you. Even when you' re dressed as a man I know it' s you. \" \" Come on, this was 200 B. C, even the men dressed like women. It was probably a lucky throw anyway. \" He holstered the ugly little gun under his armpit. Puppydog eyes. \" You wound me, darling. \" \" Not yet. But soon. \" He folded his arms. He' d rolled back the sleeves of his shirt under his coat, I could tell. \" Is that it? You want another sword fight? Are n' t you bored of them? \" I gave him my warmest smile. \" We could go back to poison, if you like.... \" \" Gods no. You' re too good at that. I like to get my blood up, you know that. \" His true voice was creeping back in. I fiddled with the neckline of my dress, to make him think I might draw another throwing knife. And, you know precisely what else. \" Well, I' m not playing empires again until this equality thing really takes hold. I want a level playing field, my love. \" \" As do I. \" He said, before letting out a short sigh. \" Any last words? \" He reached slowly for his gun. \" Only this: *mark*. \" The deafening crack of the sniper' s rifles broke the calm of the winter morning. I rushed to hold him in my arms. I saviour this moment every time. \" Do you feel any different? Maybe this time? \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I knew what it meant. Hours spent staring at the formula deep into the night. It reminded me of the crystalline magic of a butterfly' s metamorphosis; a seemingly impossible sequence of natural events. I was always more comfortable with the eggs, larvae and pupa, early stage evolution if you will. Once hatched, I' d clip their wings, wishing to restrict the evolution of the species. Perhaps this formula was nature' s clip for man? The formula unlocked a secret hidden for millennia, and yet it was real, as real as the metamorphosis of the butterfly. It would be wielded by mortal men, the men driven by my own dark desires, and they would release it like the butterfly. It would bring the end, the end to the butterfly, the end to man, the end to science and discovery and invention, but perhaps this is nature' s way? Perhaps this atomic discovery is simply a precursor to the unstoppable balancing forces of nature? It should be of little consequence to me. I won' t likely see the bitter end. I' d fancy the title of murderer or butcher, but they are too blind to foresee that moniker. I' ll be lifted on the shoulders of giants. Galileo, Pascal, Newton, Voltaire, I' ll be a mind among gods. Every burning soul will have been sparked by the embers of my formula, and that is the humblest honor of them all.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "You allow me to whisper the sweet words of your lover to your ears, even though you say you love me. But you do love me. through thick, thin and whirls within. I know this. I love this And that' s why it breaks me so. I cherish the days you hold me close, the days you clothe me and protect me from all else You represent the guard between my life and death, the defence against the world that would hurt me. and I love you for it. But I' m sorry. I do n' t know how to put it in words, but days soon, I will cease to be, and it will break your heart. You' ve kept me whole and safe since my unfortunate *almost* drowning experience But I' m afraid to say, it left me scarred and damaged. So when the day comes, and I end up quiet and unresponsive, please let me go, knowing full well of what I think of you. Let me go and embrace the replacement. After all, even with all the love in the world, I' m still only just a phone.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Intelligence has been my dream since I was a wee lad, and my life since I was eighteen, when I enlisted. Ninety-one years, it has been. Ninety-one years of assassination, coercion, plots foiled and plots nursed to fruition. I have done more to shape world history than all the heads of state with whom I have had the displeasure of sharing this Earth, as I work for all of them. Not all together, of course, each of these conniving bastards assumes they have my exclusive loyalty. Naturally, they are dead wrong. Or soon to be dead wrong, anyway. They gather at the conference table, nine scumbags of the highest degree, clustered neatly together for my last operation. There is just one problem: my Makarov holds only eight rounds. *Sierra, Hotel, India, Kilo. * Ninety years of experience... how could I have allowed this oversight? There is no way for me to cross the twenty odd meters to the conference table in my wheelchair without challenge. *One of these bastards might survive*. But who? Politics are a dirty world, each person at this table has earned their place through deceit, extortion and murder. There are no innocents here. To make this world a better place, and to seejustice served, has been the work of my life for almost a century. And now I must chose which of these clowns deserves to get shot, ***the least***. \" Shunny, \" I mutter to a passing young lad in a snazzy uniform, \" May I borrow your shidearm? \" He hesitates just a bit, quite baffled by the odd request, to be sure. No matter.. The handgun is out of his holster and in my hand before the unconscious body even hits the floor. I steady the weapon with both hands, my strength not being what it once was, and then through a subdermal implant, I hear: \" Chef, tis is Pennant-tree; Dibs on te tird one to te right. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" Where is your veil? \" the policewoman asked. \" My - \" the traveler began. The policewoman pulled a nightstick from her belt and tapped the traveler' s chest chest. She spoke into her lapel. \" Purity code violation. Delta niner-seven-ought. Stand still, \" she prodded his chest with the nightstick. \" I said do n' t move. \" \" I do n' t know - \" She jabbed the nightstick into his sternum and the traveler doubled over, tucking his arms into his solar plexus. \" Suspect in violation of Purity codes - \" she paused, giving him a quick glance from from head to kneeling toe. She covered her lapel. \" I' m now going to verify your chastity belt is still intact. \" She lifter her toe and pushed it into his groin, tapping several times. \" Correction. Suspect in Violation of Purity Alpha One. \" \" What' s going on? \" the traveler blurted, and when she raised the nightstick he covered his face with his hands. \" Do n' t look at me, dog. No veil? No belt? No matriarch escort? I bet you drove yourself, too. \" She spit on the traveler' s head, and pulled out a small pistol with a large caliber barrel. In the breech the traveler watched her load a dart. \" Blessed Mary we' ll make you righteous. \" She took aim, fired, and pinned the dart on the traveler' s chest. He reached towards the dart, but already its effects made him groggy and he struggled to grip the crimson plume. \" Why? \" \" Man filth does n' t get to talk, or look. But, do n' t worry, we' ll re-educate you and make you bearable. Maybe, one day, your assigned matriarch might take you for a walk outside. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "The God of our Universe looked to the God of the Bluniverse, \" Oh you have it sooo tough, the monuments that your little creatures build are too small... \", he spat an epic volume of liquid across time toward the God of Bluniverse, more of a gesture rather than an attempt to affect anything in a physical sense. \" Yes well, I had hoped for monuments that would stand the test of time, they all fall over after a day or two. You were right about the brain size after all... \", the God of the Bluniverse admitted. \" Well in my universe, I sent a messenger in the form of a human male, and watched how they re-wrote history... They declared my messenger as my son, that' s fine I guess. But then when I read over their scratchings, I find that my son' s cheating mother is canonised, his wealthy girlfriend is described as an illiterate whore and then they kill him off early to create a martyr even though he lived on to preach what I actually said which was' Universe if greater than the Bluniverse! \"' \" You ass! \", exclaimed the God of bluniverse. \" Maybe I' ll just start over again! \", and with that, another asteroid appears in the far distance of space.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "This particular Starbucks was absolutely perfect. There were a bunch of kids wrapped in digital cocoons; laptops open, earbuds in, completely tuned out. Jim smiled to himself, careful not to do more than glance. Okay, that one is writing a paper of some kind... no good. Reading something for some kind of class, it looks like... nope. Ah! Facebook! And just scrolling through and hitting refresh. Perfect. Jim opened his thoughts, and plucked three minutes from the kid. Three minutes of focus, of attention, of life that were just being spent on nothing... that three minutes had a greater purpose today. 180 glowing seconds flickered across his skin, spiraling invisibly up his arms. The kid kept scrolling through his facebook feed, but after three minutes he would shake his head and wonder what he had just read. \" Um... Jim? White chocolate mocha? \" Jim grabbed his coffee, giving the barista a big smile that matched his hospital ID badge. There were several difficult surgeries on his schedule today, and as a hospital technician he knew exactly how far 180 seconds could go. When seconds counted, Jim could always help with the math.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "The sprawling forest is an even scarier place at night. The trunks of the tall trees make natural corridors, and the animals inhabiting this place make a crude footpath from overuse. Undergrowth is everywhere. Ferns, mushrooms, you name it. The scariest thing in the forest though? The complex root systems. You never know when you are going to run into *him*. It used to be that it was only the big hairy one you had to worry about. Deadly if he catches you, but he' s kinda slow and honestly? He stinks. You can smell Bigfoot from a mile away, and even if you could n' t, it' s not like the tracks he leaves are exactly subtle. I can practically lay down in one of his footprints, not that I would. Lately, the trees have been shifting a bit, and the natural corridors do n' t seem so natural. Still, I do n' t have a faster way through the forest. I have to be careful, I' m a known entity to these guys. Carefully, I look around. I am grateful for my night vision goggles. I see a great indent in the ground, and I know Bigfoot has been through here. I ca n' t smell anything though, so he ca n' t be too near. Still, I give the footprint a wide berth. This must be what they were counting on though because next thing I know, I' m wrapped up in vines. My legs are completely bound and I look up to see a great tree creature above me. \" I *AM* Groot. \" he declares. Bigfoot comes out of hiding from behind a nearby tree. He' s covered in pine needles. An unorthodox deodorant, but it works for him. -- - If you liked this, you can find me over at /r/saltandcedar for your daily sodium intake.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "We stand on the precipice of the defining moment of our species. And we must all do our part to ensure its survival. Our descendants will remember this as the great diaspora, when mother earth could no long bear us. And we may never see each other again, but hold us in your hearts, as we will for you. Look out to the stars and know that somewhere, maybe for the first time, there truly is someone else out there. Striving, building a future we can all be proud of. For those that we have lost along the way, we can take them with us in spirit. Live well, love life, hold your friends close, and enjoy all of life' s simple pleasures. And know, for every person that ever lived there is a story, every place we touch will come alive with the unquenchable appetite that is the human imagination. New cities will rise before your eyes on unfamiliar worlds, burgeoning with opportunity. I beg of you, know that no matter the distance between us, we are all together in this. Take solace in the stars, my friends, and we will meet again, when we turn our eyes to the night sky and dream once more.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "The room was bright, too bright. Less blinked his eyes open cautiously as he groped around his surroundings. He felt the familiar ridges on the arm of his chair and realized he was sitting. \" Where..? \" he murmured. \" Lester! Let' s go, I' m already late! \" His sister' s bellowing was unmistakable. He glanced at the watch on his wrist and read 8: 48a. That ca n' t be right... We were on the freeway, I was trying to get over to the exit and... The memory came in a flood of near unintelligible anguish and fear. When he called out for Celine the sounds of crunching metal accompanied her screams and thundered through his head, Less thought his heart would stop. He opened his eyes wide and all was quiet. \" We' re dead. \" He said aloud, to no one he realized as he turned to look around his bedroom. He sat in the heavy silence trying to piece the memory together. He glanced at his watch again to confirm the time and noticed the mark he' d carried on his wrist since birth was different. It had morphed from a \" 9 \" into an 8. Rough banging on the bedroom door threatened to stop his heart for a second time this morning. \" Lester if you' re not downstairs in 5 minutes I' m leaving you here and can explain to dad why you' re at home in the middle of the day! \" Less sat in silence and waited for his sister to storm off in a rage, the door was locked and maybe she would think he snuck out the night before. He studied his wrist, pulling the watch away to get a better look at the newly transformed birthmark. The message alert distracted him and he looked again at his watch, the digital clock display gone and in its place a text message from Celine, it read: \" I had the craaaziest dream \" Then a second message: \" You were in it \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" Hello \" \" Hi \" \"... \" \"... \" \" Who is this? \" \" This is Mark. \" \" I do n' t know a Mark. Do you have the wrong number? \" \" I... no. \" \" What do you want, Mark? \" \" I. Well. I do n' t know. \" \" Okay. Well. How are you feeling? \" \" Not to good I guess. \" \" What' s wrong? \" \" My mom just died and she' s the one who pays for the house and I just called my ex and she said I' m a loser and she did n' t feel bad for me or anything. \" \" Okay. \" \" And I ca n' t pay for the place. I can sell some cards and stuff but I need... like... six hundred dollars. \" \" I' m sorry. \" \" That' s it? You' re sorry? \" \" I am. \" \"... \" \" I mean I understand. \" \" How? \" \" My own husband wants nothing to do with me. \" \" You did n' t treat him right huh? \" \" I do n' t know. He wo n' t answer. \" \" Maybe he' s just mad. \" \" Maybe. Or maybe he' s gone for good. \" \" Do n' t say that. \" \" We have n' t spoken since the heart attack. \" \" I' m... sorry. \" \" Maybe I just need someone else. Like you do? \" \"... oh... \" \" 861 Maple Lane. \" \" I do n' t know... \" \" Wear suspenders. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" I wish you luck, Steven. \" Everything has faded to gray so suddenly I almost did not unuderstand what happened. The kind lady was walking away. I was leaning against the wall, numbly looking at the sandwich she gave me. I did n' t want to eat it for some reason. I have n' t talked to anyone in a while, months, years perhaps. Being a bum is more alineating than living alone on the island. My life was coming to an end, I knew it, and there was nothing left to do. I might never talk to a person ever again, I thought. The tragedy, the injustice of my life came crushing down on me. No. I will not go like that. I' ve emptied a jar of money I was saving for winter, I checked into a cheap hotel. I showered, shaved, bought clean clothes. Big dirty beard was hiding my face for so long I forgot how I looked like. Thin, tired man in his 40s. I almost look like a person now. I slugged through the gray fog and went outside. Sun was shining but it was chilly. People walking down the sidewalk, rushing to work. I could n' t wait anymore. I ran up to the first person, in desperation, said \" Hi, I' m Steven! \". Slightly startled, he looked up from his phone \" Hi, Steven, I' m Brad, what' s up? \" And the colors returned.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\"Human prime was one of the first worlds to fall. \"\"The three other races they had encountered, all briefly, fell shortly thereafter. \"\"Survivors and nomads from the assault still strain resources on the core worlds. \"A youngling interrupted the instruction. \"My nest-originator once saw a human! \"\"Yes, \"the instructor continued, \"but thankfully the forced breeding camps have allowed them to take root on one of the surrogate worlds far from the conflict. Rumor has it their new world has even recently gone technic. \"\"But as I was saying, like with every species, the native root word for their planet is a synonym of dirt|earth|ground. We originally thought our translators were wrong, and the war had started over something we had said, some custom not observed. \"\"As a collective, we spent far too long allowing grievance after grievance, and trillions of lives were lost in our folly. \"\"But finally we knew. The translations were accurate. This species had a name for their planet, and indeed, it followed their perception of the Universe. \"\"Instead of calling the fields they tread the place where life springs, invoking the idea of growth and life, fertility and love. \"\"They drew up images of murder and hate, and extended it to even galactic xenocide. They called their world *Blight*. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" If you can transcend space and time, what are you doing fixing humanities problems.. Dr... Who? \" House looked on towards the man who suggested he follow after his bike was totaled by what he could infer as a disintegration ray. \" Ah... Yes, Humanity is sort of my *charge* if you will. \" He straightened the wrinkles on his coat, looking at the man with utter perplexity. \" I can see both sides of your chest beating in asynchrony, probably a two part vascular system, how' s your resistance to poison? \" \" Quite well, thank you \" He moved in closer, leaning on his cane heavily. \" You know there' s technology to fix that, we can go to a hospital planet if you' d like, some of them are far more advanced than earth technolo... \" House had his hand raised about 2 feet in front of the Drs' face, \" I do n' t need to be fixed, I' ve got it handled, what I would like to know is why someone tried to destroy my bike, WITH ME ON IT! \" The Doctor stared at House as he fished the pill bottle out of his pocket, taking note of the time, he did n' t need a junkie on the TARDIS, space drugs are even more powerful.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\"It' s not posting. \"\"What' s not? \"I put down my book and looked over at my girlfriend, on the computer again. \"My fic. It' s giving me this weird error. Error number yadda-yadda-yadda ‘ not enough free space.' What do you think it means? \"\"Is this your serialized fanfiction? \"\"Yeah, I' ve posted it every day and this is the first time it' s ever had an issue. \"I walked over and kicked her off the computer. I clicked the submit button. Yep, same error. I go to google something, but the google page has been replaced with a message: *We have deleted a significant amount of our cache data to place this message. The internet is full. It happened about 1am PST this morning. Running diagnostics, we have determined the culprit. An astonishing 74 % of the data currently clogging the internet is something called \"Hello Kitty: Friendship is Magic. \"We would delete it, but it' s not hosted on our servers. The following is a petition to get the guilty party to remove the content, so that the internet may once again flow freely. * This was followed by a count containing 3 billion signatures. I turn to my girlfriend. \"Hey, good news. Three billion people know about your writing. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" Hello, ladies and gentlemen of these United States. This is your president, James Buchanan. I can not continue living a lie, especially in the eye of the public. I have had, and continue to have, a loving relationship with the good William Rufus King - with whom I have shared a bed for the past many years. This relationship will certainly invoke the ire of many of my detractors, and to that I quote the word of the Lord. \" Let us love one another, for love is from God, and whoever loves has been born of God and knows God. Anyone who does not love does not know God, because God is love. \" If any man comes forth proclaiming my love is unholy, I prompt you to read the Holy Bible. For any love between two souls is pure as it comes from the Lord God himself. My first love is for the Lord, my second for these United States, and the third is for my dearest William. The orientation of my amorous endeavors holds no bearing on the way I will operate from the office of the president, and I trust America is ready to accept a man of my carnal proclivities. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Herbert shuffled nervously in his seat. He needed this job. He couldn' t blow this interview, not now. Tapping his feet repeatedly he looked back at his copy of the intial waiver he signed. \"1. The company is not liable for any harm physical or otherwise that may or may not befall the participants of the interview 2. The company is not liable for any loss of memory which the participant may or may not experience \"That made his nervous. Looking for literally anything else to turn his attention to he looked up. The woman sitting across from his was staring at him, she looked away as he made eye contact. Someone coughed. He heard the clicking of heels and snapped his attention back to the white door. The door swung open and the secretary came into view. Herbert remembered thinking she looked like a rather strict librarian. \"Miss Johns, Mr Drake and Mr Herbert your performance in the written test was deemed to be \"She ruffled a few pages \"Satisfactory. Please do follow me. The rest of you are free to go. Do not contact the company again \"She went back into the white door. Herbert ignored the cacophony of groans that ensued and followed the secretary nervously running his hand across his hair. The other two candidates were right behind him. They followed her through a corridor which ended with three doors. \"The next stage of your interview has commenced. Good luck \"she intoned and without a word stalked back through the passageway. Edit: Im still working on this. Have to leave work, so will write a little more after I get back home.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I watched my next fool loading the website that would disgust any normal human, I had finally tapped into tech and it was easy pickings with the things that went on, when they thought no one was looking but I am always looking. Forget about your FBI or NSA humans always found a way to outsmart other humans but not me, I have god on my side he always sends me the naughty boys and girls. This particular one was my typical pervert with a little religion added to the mix Josh Crown a priest at St. Mary' s school for girls he came across as so innocent and charming but behind closed doors he was dangerous just as little eight year old Niamey had discovered the week before. Now was his time to repent for his ways. I had designed an ad that was so appealing to his kind I knew he would n' t be able to resist clicking. I grinned as he got sucked into my vortex, the panic and fear on his face as he tried to stop what was happening from actually happening.' Forgive me father for I have sinned' I mocked. He sat in silence and shock in the cum encrusted chair where he had been masturbating just a few moments before.' Carry on' I told him.' What have I done to end up here' he queried after a few moments' I always say three hail Mary' s afterwards'.' You think that' s going to heal those children?' I growled' No! you belong here in hell I have a special place for you Joseph, a room all to yourself, any last words?'. He looked petrified' I reject you Satan'. I could not help but laugh as my minions carried him to the pit of eternal abomination.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "The last man on earth sat alone in a room. There was a knock at the door. He stared blankly for a moment and called out sarcastically \" who is it? \" There was no answer. He stared at the door for another moment. He stood up and slowly approached the door. In his mind he first hoped for a raven spouting never more but then it struck him that maybe someone else was alive. He timidly reached for the doorknob and turned it. Slowly and carefully he began opening the door. The door only opened an inch before it could open no more. The only thing to be heard through the crack was the sound of metal on metal as the heavy door struck the large object on the other side. He thought back to entering the room. There was a large machine next to the door. It must' ve fallen across the door. He slammed the door but neither the door nor the machine budged. In a panic he scanned the room. There were no windows or vents. There was no food or water. There was only a chair. The only thing anyone on earth still had was this single chair. They say even if you lose everything you still have your sanity. But at this moment the only thing anyone on earth still had was this single chair. One single chair sitting alone in a room. The last tomb to be filled by man. He sat in his chair as he tried his best to think back. He remembered something odd. Something strange about this room. He thought back. Then he remembered what it was and his mind was full of this one thing. There was a knock on the door. He stared blankly at it for a moment and called out sarcastically \" who is it? \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" Come back you son of a bitch! Come back! You ca n' t leave me. You ca n' t. It does n' t work like that. \" But the reflection in the mirror shakes his head at me. There is a deep disapproval in his eyes, and they stare into mine. I can not meet his gaze for long. It is worse than the accusing eyes of my wife, or the forlorn gazes of my children. I have not seen them for years. Who knows what became of them. But the gaze of others was always easy for me to shrug off. There was always something to blame it on. I' ll get a job later. We' re in a recession; no one can get a job right now. Look the kids do n' t need those toys. They can go outside and play or something. Look I' m trying my best ok? Those were the words that I said, all those times. Old lies, all the more easy to say for their having been said. In hindsight it seems that each lie cracked me open a little. And the cracks, they got deeper. But it' s such a slow process that you do n' t seem to notice it. And it' s only after you look back at yourself that you see how much things have changed. When you look at your reflection, do you feel pride? The man in the mirror shakes his head once more. And I know that it is me. It was always me, all along. Not anyone else. And perhaps now, I can accept that. My reflection begins to turn his back on me. I understand. I would too. There is a tinkling crash. Across the floor, a hundred tiny men turn their hundred tiny gazes onto me, and shake their hundred tiny heads. I try to tell them I' m sorry. But I ca n' t. My body wo n' t seem to move right. And slowly, the little mirrors are swamped by a red river. It pools and flows across the broken shards, and soon I no longer have to see myself, and have myself see me. As the last piece of my reflection fades under the red, the world dims, and fades. I think now, perhaps, I can rest.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\"Wait… …What the actual fuck?! \"I stumbled back a little, the mirror ‘ me' winced a bit as I almost slipped over the bath mat and cracked my head on the tile floor of the bathroom. \"Yeah, Sorry. \"‘ He' replied. Peering over the mirror, as if ‘ he' was looking at my feet. \"Shit, I forgot the slippers… \"With that ‘ he' disappeared from the mirror for another few seconds and then reappeared back staring back blankly through the metal and glass. I had taken the opportunity to sit on the edge of the bath and try to wake myself by pinching myself, but with the scare I just had I think that would have woken me anyway, also trying to recall the almost impossibility of ingesting large amounts of fairly potent hallucinogens. \"Why do the slippers matter? \"Asking the best coherent question that I could think of at that particular moment in time. \"Because I am your reflection of course. \"‘ He' blankly replied, not a discernible emotion ‘ his' face. \"Well that is complete and utter bullshit. \"I retorted, realizing that I actually distain my voice from the other side. \"How can you be my reflection? You were clearly late… AND you forgot my slippers, you know, the ones I put on every morning for about the past 2 years. \"\"Did you never believe the stories as a kid of the world on the other side of the mirror? \"‘ He' asked, now eerie with the lack of emotion on ‘ my' face. \"Of course. \"I looked to all sides of the mirror, making sure everything else was as it should be on the other side. \"But I was a child, I' ve grown up, I stopped believing in old wives tales, because they aren' t true. \"\"Aren' t they? \"‘ He' Smiled.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Alright I' ll take a crack at it. Pretty new here so do n' t expect too much. I do n' t really get people' s fascination for other people' s lives. Entertainment these days is just people filming the boring everyday lives of each and every Joe Schmoe. You ca n' t get away from all the cameramen who follow you around for the sake of reality TV. I can not tell you how annoying it is to be broadcast 24/7 to the populous. Sure it seemed cool at first, I always wanted to be a celebrity one day, but now it is just plain irritating. I ca n' t even go to the bathroom without two camera crews trying to watch my entire process. When this first happened I tried to force them to leave, but it was such a hassle and I was outnumbered. Nowadays I just lock myself in a stall and try to pretend that I do n' t notice the boom mic that appears above the door. People used to complain that Reality TV was too fake. My only complaint now is that it is too real.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" Wait like a real vampire? like sucks blood, burns in the sun, hates garlic, vampire?! \" The bartender said, turning back to face the man. \" Did I stu-*Buurp*-stutter? \" Chris said \" Now give it back. \" \" Look man, I know you have good reason to be upset but there is no need to drink yourself to death. \" the bartender replied, putting the drink back in the shelves. \" I can take it, look man you and I have been friends for meh-mm-meany years, you have seen me drink. I can handle a few *Hic* more. \" Chris stuttered, swaying back and forth trying to balance himself on the bar The bartender looked at him, partially concerned, partially disappointed. \" Chris, you need to be thinking straight, when she finds out you left her, she could hunt you down, you need to- \" Chris cut him off \" Leave her?! You kiddin' me?! Vampire or not, her parents like me and are worth a f-*Hic*-fortune. \" \" Wait, if you are n' t upset she is a vampire, wh... Why are you drinking so much? \" \" Because, she is a light weight. If I drink enough, she bites me, she will get immediately wasted of my blood and pass out. Her parents will be pissed at her for getting drunk, and I get a big compensation check to keep quiet about them being vampires, now give me the god damn bottle before I go to the convenience store and get wasted off hand sanitizer. \" \" Well if you are getting a big check for keeping quiet... Maybe throw some of that my way to keep me quiet too hmm? \" The barkeep says, handing the bottle back to him. \" Yeah, we will see about that one buddy. \" Chris retorted, twisting off the cap.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "He goes into a comma after Jimmy gives him a watch, unknowing, it is made of kriptonite. The watch is removed by the nurses and is eventually stolen by a janitor. Jimmy becomes lead reporter for the Daily Planet and becomes self involved and slowly stops visiting him. Mean while, Lois Lane is tricked into accepting a remembrance necklace made of kriptonite. She stays with him night and day awaiting his recovery. wearing the locket with his picture, faithfully around her neck, only to take it off to place in in his clenched fist whenever she has to leave his side. While she rarely leave his side, she has to leave him for the weekly brain scan in which he always shows signs of brain wave activity. The doctors hold all hope that the mild mannered reporter reporter will someday recover. Twenty years later, one day as she is ushered out of his room for the weekly brain scan activity check, where, with the advancement of technology. avails the team of doctors and students to come to the room and read and study the data to confirm the presents of brain waves. Lois gets in the old elevator to go get a Starbucks and the cable fails, sending her and the locket plummeting to the sub basement elevator works, ripping the necklace from her neck and into the machinery. Lois is dead. Gradually Clark gains consciousnesses and is released from the hospital in a remarkable recovery, meanwhile Jimmy has become the chief of the daily and the world, as he knows it, has completely changed. One thing he finds has not changed is his super powers, but they are not needed anymore. Crime is being fought on a near super hero style, with highly trained specialized police force and weapons. The day arises that mild mannered Clark finds his superhero strength are the only way to avert disaster. He realizes that he needs to rush to the street to change and it hits him. There are no more phone booths. edit: for story line omission", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I never wanted to kill anyone. I never even wanted to be in this war. It' s funny how life has a way of turning out. I do n' t think anyone ever expected a political squabble to get this far. Then came the draft, and I found myself with a rifle in my hands and little idea what to do with it. When I saw him raise his gun, I panicked. He was n' t even pointing it at me, but my finger clenched on the trigger all the same. He was n' t the only man who fell, either. On both sides of the wire, the ground was a morbid shade of crimson. Cries of injured men rang all around, and eventually the shots died down. I was alive. But who was that man? I crossed the ground littered with corpses until I came to his. Only it was n' t quite a corpse. He grasped the hem of my trousers desperately, and thrust something out into my hand, gasping for breath as blood bubbled in his mouth and nostrils. I looked at what he was handing me. A picture of a dark-haired woman and two young kids. \" Take care of them. There is no one else. \" he groaned, and then was silent. \" I will. \" I promised him, shaking. I did n' t even know the man' s name. I was about to reach for his uniform and find a name, carefully placing the photos in a pocket. I never even heard the last shot. The last thing I remember is looking into his empty eyes, until my own faded to black. \" I' m sorry... \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" \" Let' s see... Ca n' t go this way, I' ll meet up with the monster... This way? Nope, will meet with one of his baby monster eggs and it' ll eat me somehow... \" I could n' t go in any direction, at least according to this little paper that I found on the floor. It says it' s a movie script for some movie. My squad did get slaughtered, so yeah, I have no better idea than follow this; it has a convenient map. \" This! Yes! It says the last scene is when \" Jack \" dies, and there was already a dead guy there with a Jack nameta- \" \" Stop. \" No, you stop, I thought. I could n' t get there, though; it was like the map was n' t right. It looked like I saw a light, you know, that light at the end of the tunnel crap? Yeah, I thought that; do n' t blame me, when you' re being hunted by something you do n' t think that much, and what you do think is n' t quite right, usually. \" I said stop. \" I was so close, but so far...! The light was getting closer, but... very slowly. I looked at the script' s map, and noticed where I was going... The map was backwards. I was heading to the place where it said I was going to die. It was too late to run back; I' m gone for good. I hear a noise behind me and release myself... I only heard a sharp stab noise, and, a bit later, a \" CUT! \". \" \" That was a really difficult character to pull off, damn. I need a coffee. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Yes! But I have n' t started/did n' t know there was a thing until yesterday. Also I' m working on another story inspired by the cosmonaut image prompt. Thanks for your feedback, guys. Sometimes it' s hard to see if it' s any good at all or not. The reinforcement helps. I hope I have the time to be in this contest. It looks like a ton of fun! Ah, so I' m Pilgrim, and I have n' t been writing avidly for very long at all. Before I went gung-ho, I dabbled. Every time I ask myself why I write, I get a different answer. Sometimes it' s because I' m bored, like I was yesterday, and I write out of obligation. Sometimes, I' m feeling too much and do n' t know how to handle it, so I just have to get it out and down on the paper. Sometimes It' s because I have something to say. Sometimes it' s because I have nothing to say. Sometimes I' m not sure I care what I' m saying at all, I just like the feeling of words flowing through my fingertips. I would n' t recommend writing out of obligation. It never seems to turn up good results. Yes, you might write every day, and yes, you might meet your word count quota or whatever, but if the writing' s dry and disinterested, it usually means I have to go and live some life to write about later, like how swimmers need to breathe between strokes. I just love WriteMonkey. It' s hands down my favorite program I' ve ever had the pleasure to use when I' m typing prose or poetry, though the tools we use are pretty personal, and I have some weird tastes, so it would n' t surprise me to be on the edge here. There' s a few things I wish it could do, but I do n' t really miss em that much, and what it does do, I have n' t found anywhere else. I also write in my black magic notebook. I bound it out of looseleaf binder paper, and I carry it around everywhere with me... Z edit: Just realizing I double posted but not really cause I kind of said different things and I' m wondering if I should take one down or not", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "It took nearly 12. 5 years for my wish to reach Luyten' s star. I do n' t remember the teacher' s name, but I have a faded recollection of being told that radio waves travel at the speed of light. It was just preschool, and it was n' t the same as 2 plus 2 or ROYGBIV, but that little piece of knowledge meant something to me. All it took was a GI Joe Walkie Talkie. I sat outside that evening, listening to the hiss of static coming through the tinny speakers, and looked up. It took longer to decide on the right star than to send the message. I guess looking back now, it' s funny that I worked out that radio waves would make it to a star long before sound ever did, but somehow expected an instant result when I keyed the mic and told it what I had in my heart. I cried so much that night. When he opened the glass door, a bell chimed. I was so focused on my work that I did n' t notice him standing there, door open, letting the summer in and the air conditioning out. \" Anna? \", he said, beckoning for my attention. It broke my concentration on the smart phone I held, and I dropped a tiny screw onto the counter top. It takes 12. 5 years for a wish to return from Luyten' s star. Physics does n' t stop for anything, I suppose. The man was only there for a few minutes, explaining who he was, and making excuses for his absence. I was screaming and dying inside, exploding in rage, no longer holding a child' s innocence and naivety. My wish was granted.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "User 1 Online U1 Hey, I' m here 9: 02 A. M.' She' s online same time as usual I' ll wait a bit I do n' t want to talk all day' User 2 Online U2 Hey how' s it going 1: 05 PM' Should be fine this far in' U1 Fine... 1: 06 PM' We' re not dating anymore I have my own time' U2 Want to RP? 1: 07 PM' This will calm her down' U1 Ooc/Alright Bic/ And So she began... 1: 07 PM' This will probably take awhile' U2 He looked into her eyes remembering the precious moments. 4: 08 PM' Maybe we should get back together, I mean I miss that sometime. U1 She did the same holding him happily \" I love these moments \" she said 4: 10 PM' I' m a little hungry I' ll go make myself a snack' U1 Ooc: Hello!!!!??? 4: 15 PM' Crap, What I ca n' t take 5 minutes for myself?' U2 Ooc/Sorry grabbing a Snack Bic/ He leaned in...' Yeah I' m a Human Being I get hungry sorry for that' U1 She threw the vase across the room tired of him and his lies 1: 30 AM' Speaking of tired' U2 He tried to explain he was just spending a moment with his child 1: 35 AM' Really it' s not my fault your character wants to spend every waking moment with mine, just like you' U1 \" Oh right that tired excuse, it' s always your fault \" she said looking at him with scorn 1: 36 AM' Jeeze what was I thinking earlier, I remember why I do n' t love you now' U2 \" I' m sorry \" he said looking at her with love in his eyes 1: 41 AM' I should tell you we' re done, that this stops now' U1 Ooc/Let' s go to bed, Night Bic/ She hugged him \" It' s alright I guess \" she said 1: 42 AM' Yeah I should tell you this is over that I want to stop' U2 Ooc/Good Night Bic/ He hugged her back \" Thanks \" he said happily 1: 43 AM' I' ll definitely tell you... tomorrow' User 1 Offline User 2 Offline", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "My oldest sister Jane learned of the secret in a prayer session intended to release her from the sins of her ancestors. The man who was praying over her felt the darkness and told her about it. It should not have mattered to her, seeing as it had occurred in 1954, two years before she was born. But she was furious, so she confronted Mom. Mom could not bring herself to talk about it. What she had done went against everything she believed in. She was utterly ashamed of what she had done. It was this shame that had caused her to marry my father, and stick with him through the horror of his alcoholism. Jane was convinced that my mom' s actions had brought God' s wrath upon us and all four of us kids had somehow been cursed. She went so far as to blame my youngest sister' s secondary infertility on my mom' s actions. Jane went on to say that Mom should come to each of us and beg for forgiveness. I could not disagree more, we are commanded to honor our parents. I can not speak for my other two sisters, but I would rather have never known. I feel no anger toward my mother for this, just sadness for her and the shame and guilt she she must have felt all these years. I will never broach the subject to her. It would be too hard to see her cry.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I' m in my room, playing with my new set of porcelain dolls, my mother ordered them from Spain for me, all my friends are jealous, it' s the little things teehee. My uncle came into the room, he was always smiling when he saw me, but this time he was serious, his forehead was sweaty, eyes focused on me... I need to tell you something child... This will be very hard for you to comprehend... Your parents died on their trip to Italy, they were ambushed by a large group of Serbs that had no mercy to spare. I' m not sparing you the details because you have to be strong, your throne legacy will be challenged by our people and other nations. I... I... I ca n' t utter a single word, I started hysterically crying as he hugged me, I' m in his arms resting on his shoulders, and I suddenly feel the pain from a sharp blade in my back. Running a country is n' t fit for a little girl, he whispered as he drew that familiar smile across his face. I never even got the chance. I swayed from the topic a little bit, but i wanted to write this", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" It' s time for the daily checks. Let' s make it quick. \", Sam ordered, moving over to one of the nearby computer screens. His pristine suit and hair a stark contrast to the cluttered work space. One of the other two men in the room, Uriel, moved over to the portal controls, he was older, grey speckling his once brown hair. The last man, James, moved over to the actual portal, he was younger than the other two men, still a look of hope and youth on his face. \" Attach the cables please, James. \", Sam asked, watching the monitors carefully. \" On it. \" James responded, quickly completing his task as he had done a thousand times before. A small spark emitted from the portal and he jumped back. \" Do n' t worry, James. Levels are still stable. Uriel, run diagnostics. \", Sam said, tapping the screen. Uriel merely nodded and flipped a couple of switches. The machines hummed and whirred as the portal throbbed for around five minutes before Uriel looked up at portal. \" Nobody is cleared for teleportation right? \" Uriel questioned. \" Of course not. All teleportation is stopped at this time. What are you seeing? \" Sam answered, moving away from his computer screen and walking over to Uriel. \" There is a consciousness speaking out through the portal. Or so it appears. \" the older man responded, double checking his facts. \" There ca n' t be. \", James said, joining the other two men. \" What is it saying? \" The men peered at the screen watching as text scrolled up and then stopped at the top. *Help us. We' re stuck in here. Do NOT send anyone through the portals. They' re not portals. They' re traps. The people coming out the other side are not the people entering. They' ve taken our image. They' ve taken our lives. Do NOT let anyone else go through the portals. Please help us. * The three men stood stunned. Sam was the first to break the silence. \" Destroy the portal. They' re on to us. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "As midnight' s moonshine filtered through the trees, My restless legs went strolling through the park. The night was warm, the air stirred by a breeze, As my mind went to wander in the dark. Yet something caught my eye some yards ahead, A lonely man, his form did shadow shroud. Softly through the trees I went to tread, While over a black bag this man was bowed. He took a shovel up from by his feet, And struck ground with a resounding thud. I thought a while that I should then retreat, Though both my shoes were held fast by the mud. I watched the figure digging in the dirt, Unconsciously, my legs began to shake. I thought that if my eyes I did avert, The fear would leave and I might cease to quake. Then suddenly, after what seemed an age, I saw him rest the shovel by his side. And though while he had dug, his face was sage, The figure then knelt on the ground and cried. He gently placed the bag into the grave, And laid his hand upon it as he spoke. Though try he did to his composure save, His eyes were moist, and on tears did he choke. And soft he spoke the words through tearful breath, As he filled in the dirt and laid a stone. \" I love you boy, in life and now in death, You were the best dog I did ever own. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "With sarcasm contained behind the friendliest of smiles, I turn to face the woman in the line. I tell myself the paycheck will be worth all of these trials, That in the end it all will be just fine. \" I can not get the screen to work, I tried all that I can. \" The woman frowns, and slams her grimoire down. \" There must be something wrong with the motherboard or the fan, And you' re the only Merlintosh in town. \" I listened to her tale without the slightest hint of glee, And asked some simple questions when she stopped. I knew this time I' d hardly be collecting any fee, That all my hopes of riches had been dropped. \" There never was a problem with your Grimoire 7, ma' am. \" I barely could contain a quiet scoff. \" The reason that you thought your new equipment was a sham, Was that the power switch was turned to off. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\"This has been a great night, Marc. \"Indeed it has. She made it so easy. We took a stroll, feeling safe under the cover of night. I counted my blessings as we searched for answers to unspoken questions in the gleam of each other' s eyes, reflecting the moonlight. We should not have been complacent. The tyranny of our overlords could reach us anywhere there was light. And lights burst through more abruptly than we could react. My eyes immediately went blind and I have a sharp intake of panic as I gasped. \"Run! \"Sarah screamed at me, desperate. Darn the light! I tried to run, but my feet were unsure beneath me. My hand was numb and I seemed to have lost the grip of hers. My eyes barely recovered enough for me to make out Sarah' s outline. She was drenched in her own fluids. She lay on the floor dying, but still struggling to urge me to keep going. Her frame was deformed, crushed under the merciless weight of the tyrants. I kept running, thinking of how I may live to regret not stopping for her. Darn the light, darn it all! It was a pointless thought. I did not manage to get far before I was slapped by a powerful gust. Toxins filled my lungs and I lost control of my limbs as it quickly saturated in my body. I tripped over my own feet, fell flat on the floor and lay there dying. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of Sarah again. She had died. I curse our overlords aloud. I curse the lights that they have created to turn night into day. No one and nowhere was ever safe anymore. I lay on my back helplessly, staring up at the light that came from the heavens. My feet were still scrambling but I was a helpless stationary target – as the merciless weight of our overlords came down upon me. At last, darkness.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I still remember the last night I spent before I lost my father. Though time seems to blur the edges of my memory and the details seem so faded. Was it early in the morning or late in the evening? The stars were visible just ever so dimly in the sky. And there was love. There was love in his eyes as his hand touched mine. He spoke to me as a poet might a lover, \"You are more perfect to me than the stars upon which you gaze. You are more full of wisdom, and more full of beauty and light. \"\"Why then? \"I responded. \"Why must I go? \"\"So it has always been. The child must leave home to make their way. Without fulfilling your destiny, mine makes no sense. \"The stars faded and my worry grew as the time grew near. \"They will hate me. They will vilify me, and make me into a monster. \"\"Yes, they will. And you will teach them, help them to see those stories as insight into their own lives. \"\"I' m not strong enough. \"\"No, \"my father disagreed softly. His next words carried the full weight of measured intent. \"You will be a roaring lion. \"His voice softened even as the intensity grew. \"You will be the thrumming in the air. \"The last phrase almost imperceptible, \"You will be a god of this age. \"And then my father thrust me suddenly from the only home I had ever known. His eyes grew cold, and the mighty righteousness of his voice pierced my heart along with the sternness of his words, \"They will speak of how far you have fallen, and your sacrifice will *never* be known. And this great, unknown sacrifice must be your light in the darkness. And their ignorance of your true purpose will be a stain on their piety. And this great paradox will fuel the dissonant thrumming of reality for all time. \"Moving faster, farther, and falling forever away from the Elysian home I had always known I called out one last time, \"What name will I take, Father? \"\"They will call you Lucifer, my son. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "# # # # # # [ ] ( # dropcap ) \" Do n' t start with me. \" \" Do n' t start? *Do n' t start? * I think you' ve lost track of how important you are, Jonn. \" \" Oh, I never lost track of that. Here, listen, I' ve got it all figured out. I... am insane! \" John coughed. \" What did you say? \" \" I' m insane! I' m insane. I did n' t create a way to view other dimensions through the mirror in my bathroom! It was all a delightful failure, prolonged by a chemical imbalance in my brain. \" Jonn was extremely hungover, but he was also in the happiest mood he' d ever had since the day he was married. \" You' re not making sense. This was n' t even your work to start with, remember? You took it from PRI Labs, from the laboratory in the third basement floor... \" \" I do n' t have to know how it works. That' s for the some psychiatrist to figure out. All I know is that my wife wants me back, Mr. Reflection John. And I' m going to do whatever it takes to keep her. \" John leaned forward. \" Seeing a psychologist is n' t going to make my problems go away, Jonn. You' re the only one who can keep the collapse of my universe from happening. You need to keep working. \" \" Work, work, work! That' s all you ever want me to do! Maybe I do n' t have time for your work, huh? Maybe I have an *actual job* and an *actual marriage* that are getting ruined by your pestering me all the time! And maybe **working all the time on what you think is important does n' t make you real! ** \" \" Jonn? \" \" Marsha? \" Jonn turned from the mirror. This was n' t how he wanted to bring up his mental problem. \" Uhh, look, I can explain. \" \" Explain what? \" Marsha' s face went white from shock. \" The fact that I do n' t have a reflection, or the fact that yours can talk? \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "*France, Russia, China. India, and even North Korea. * *What do all those countries have in common, you ask? Their leaders owe us a favour. Today, we cash in. All hail the Queen. * Hollande, Putin, Xiaoping, Modi and Jong-Un knelt at my feet. All were quivering. How strange. Then again, they did n' t have their little suitcases of death. \" Pledge your loyalty to the Queen or face your country being nuked and uninhabitable for the next millennium. I have gravity missiles hovering over each and every square inch of all your countries. Choose wisely. \" Little Kim was the first one to rise. \" No- \", he began. I cut him off. \" Launch the nukes and missiles for Pyongyang. You know that South Korea will blame you for the collateral damage, right? Someone bring Kim a screen so he can watch his little country go down in flames. \" Obama rose. \" How can you destroy us without destroying Canada as well? I object. \" \" I am targeting the southern part of America. Damage should spread to the northern part. If it does n' t, I have others locked onto the middle. Here, watch. \" I saw a message flash on the screen: **North Korea destroyed**, it read. \" You mother- \", Kim started I ended him with a. 50 to his head. \" Hey Barack, you think South Korea' s going to blame you? You' re the only country that really hates North Korea. \" **USA destroyed** \" You know that- \" *Bang*. Obama down and out. Putin seemed to be conferring with Hollande, Xiaoping and Modi. \" Gentlemen? \" \" You leave us no choice. We pledge our allegiance. \", Putin called out in surrender. I could hear a hint of loss and sadness in his voice. \" Good. Let the celebrations begin. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Judy, sweetheart, listen. I understand you' re upset. It' s alright, I' d be upset too. Well, maybe not so melodramatic, you know I did n' t fuck her because I loved her. Like, I' d understand if you were upset if I loved another woman, but let' s be honest; all I did was stick my dick in her. I mean shit, she looks just like you Judy, you' re twins! It could have been a mistake! But no, you had to go off on one as per usual. Granted, it was n' t a mistake, but you could have at least asked. Oh good you' re crying. My favourite. You' re such an ugly crier. Jesus Judy, I was n' t calling you ugly, I was saying that when you cry you look ugly stop making a big deal about everything. Why did I do it? The fuck kind of question is that? She' s hot? That' s a compliment by the way. See the problem is: deep down inside, I' m still an asshole. I' m the guy who parks over two parking spaces. I' m the guy who does n' t use his indicator. I' m the guy who yells at retail staff for things out of their control. I' m the guy who gives my order to the barman despite you being there first. I' m the guy who takes the piss out of everyone but gets angry when you do it back to me. I' m that guy. And no matter how much you beg, plead, reason or barter with me, I' ll always be that guy. If you try and change me? Well shit Judy, you only brought it on yourself. Deep down inside, I' m still an asshole. And that' s ok.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "This war of mine is one nobody knows about. I haven' t told my family. I haven' t told my friends. Hell, I haven' t even told my cats because god, it' s just too horrible. After all, how do you tell the ones you love most that you' re dying? Every morning I stroll into the bathroom and puke. It' s bloody and messy and makes me feel all whoozy, like the walls are collapsing. I stand up, look in the mirror, and cry because I' m staring at a face that' s fading. Happiness fleets with disappearing strands of hair, and my skin, once milky white, is turning *sour, * looking like nicotine-stained teeth. Some distant part of me wants to end it all. To just run a bath, down a bottle of pills, and slip into a different world. But I can' t. Better yet, I *won' t. * This cancer invaded my body and goddammit I' m going to beat it because there' s still so much I wan na see, so much I wan na *do*. This war is far from over -- but I *will* survive. *** If you like this story, check out my sub! r/longhandwriter", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" So where does this magical cake live? \" asked the green unicorn. Of course it lives under the sea, amongst all the other pastries who had to flee after the arrival of the new alien overlords, but how could the unicorn know that? You see, this is the problem I have with my job. I would really like to tell him, but there are those restrictions we got, you know? \" I really need you to form a proper wish, otherwise I will not be able to grant you anything. \" Okay, I wish to be able to interact with all the characters I' m talking about all day. Harold the green Unicorn heard a loud noise, and suddenly a strange voice filled the room. Harold, do you hear me? \" Yes, of course! \" said the unicorn. \" I know I said that, you do n' t have to comment on it. \" Do n' t YOU tell me how to do this. You' re a girl by the way. So, your superpower is being a female green unicorn. Great choice Harold. \" Who are you? \" said Harold \" I told you to stop commenting my actions, who are you even talking to and why is this happening? \" Look dude, it' s simple, but suddenly Harold disappeared because he obviously only got 313 likes because he never found the pie that was a cake and so he died because it was his 25th birthday. So now we got Harolds wife who is a lonely puppy with cancer and ebola and ca n' t pay rent and is very sad because of those circumstances. Also, everyone has laser guns and shit because future. The End.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "It was around 6 pm and the two were packed, dressed up and mostly ready to go. Leo' s little brother, dressed as an alien and visibly irritated, was dangerously approaching the age of finding the whole trick r treat thing stupid and leaning towards egging houses or else with the rest of his peers. Leo, dressed as a werewolf, had been pretending to hate taking his little brother out for candy for the last couple of years, in reality only he enjoyed it but needed a kid beside him or risk looking like a 16 year old dork or even a creep. Leo got his mother' s ear for the past week, telling her that his brother should n' t roam around, since kids just lose their shit on October 31st. \" Like you knew! \", his brother shouted, as a couple of his classmates passing by took a photo of him in his ridiculous alien costume while laughing. \" You have never' lost your shit' on Halloween. All you do is trick r treat like a little kid \". \" I' m done \", he said as he was ripping off his alien apparel. He took off. Leo howled, Halloween was over.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" you can not win this, Bruce \" Clark called to his opponent, as he struggled to stand \" I am too strong; you' ve had your time to prepare. You' ve discovered my identity and you' ve discovered my weakness, but I know all of yours too. I' ll admit. You were a worthy adversary, but without powers of your own, you are limited by technology and human strength. I do n' t want to kill you Bruce, give up and I will ensure you live a long life \" \" I' d rather die than live under your reign \" Batman growled as he staggered towards superman, exhausted and stripped of all his tools. \" so be it. I' m sorry it had to come to this. \" battered and bruised, Clark stepped up to his opponent and readied himself for what would surely be a finishing blow. \" I wish I did n' t have to do this, Bruce, but you know what must be done. You' ve seen the future. This is the only way. Goodbye, my friend \" And with that, superman poured the last of his energy into one final, devastating punch. When suddenly, instead of the crushing of skull he was expecting, there was a solid slap. As he looked up, he saw that the batman had caught his punch. \" what? How? No human could withstand that punch. No kryptonian could survive that. What are you, Bruce? \" With a look of pure boredom on his face, batman pulled off his mask \" why do you keep calling me Bruce anyway? My name is Saitama \" \" w- what? W-who are you? Bruce Wayne is the batman... Is n' t he? \" superman stammered \" Bruce Wayne? Never heard of him. \" Saitama stated. Then nonchalantly punched superman into a fine red mist. He fell to his knees, the red mist that was superman, drifting slowly to the ground \" DAMN IT \" he yelled \" only half power again \" __________________________________ I kind of changed my idea half way through. I' m new to writing so give me constructive criticism", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Today was the oddly-specific date that the old gypsy woman had predicted. When I was 8. I know, it was a cheesy carnival trick, but she said specifically that I would meet my soul mate. And what were my plans for the day? Lie in bed and watch Netflix. Lame, I know, but it' s my life and I can do what I want, right? Unfortunately, three episodes of Breaking Bad in, my mom waltzed into my room unannounced and says, \" We' re going to the store. Get your lazybones up and going. \" Because I really wanted to go to the store, not on a day when my destiny was due to change. Still, arguing with my mom was like arguing with a wall, so I got dressed and sullenly got in the car. The WalMart was in a shopping center with a whole bunch of smaller chain stores that are looking to leech off the popularity of the Walmart with limited success-nobody wants to go to the other stores when there' s a Walmart with everything already. It has a Half-Priced books, a Petland a Party City and a Tropical Trends. Yet, since I was forced to go shopping with my mom, I told her that I' d meet her later and proceed to the other half of the strip mall. I walked into the Half Priced books where a girl ( pretty, but not my type ) smiled from the counter and said hi. I looked around at the different books, rilfed through their game collection half-heartedly and decided on a pure whim to visit Petland. The sheer noise from the cats, dogs, birds, and human animals it was almost too much. Yet I persevered and walked around the cute animals. It was then that I saw her. She was beautiful, everything I' d ever really wanted. She had these big beautiful brown eyes and a smile that could light up a room. I walked up to her and introduced myself, her name was Missy. She was a cocker spaniel.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "My dearest niece Vera, By the time you have read this letter, I will be far gone. This letter should be delivered to you by Grant Tash, that same Grant Tash that went camping with us into the nature reserve to pick wild strawberries. He will take you out of the Greater Sherando Area. You' ll be able to meet up with some of your cousins. Play nice with them, as your shared experiences and heritage are all that you have with each other. In an ever-changing world, you will only have each other to anchor you down. Bad men and women have taken over this country, and they hate people like us. They have convinced many of our friends to turn on us for who we are. Our sole crime: being Calabrese. In Rodenas Square, innocent Calebreseians are being cruelly hurt by a group of Lapumas. This country is not the country that you know. This is not the country that I knew when I was young. It has changed for the worse, and our welcome has been determined to be overstayed. Maybe one day, when all of this is over, things can return back to normal. Lapumas and Calebresians can one day live together in peace again and you will be able to play with little Sammy again. But until that day comes, you must stay strong. You must look out for yourself, and your cousins, and other Calebresians. I do n' t expect you to understand any of this. This world is very harsh and unforgiving. But remember that I will always love you and I am proud of how tough you are. Your father, your mother, and I will always be watching over you. You are our sweet sunshine and no one can take that away from you. Your loving uncle, Milan Cutro PS: If you can, avoid Campbell Hollow. It may seem like it' s a warm and inviting settlement, but no Calabresian who entered has ever gotten out.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I knelt slowly to the ground and touched my head to the ground. Held it for a full 60 seconds before getting to my feet and checking the harvest. It was the third and a good one. I' d eat well. Alice was right. She was always right. Smarter than me and tougher. Gods I miss her. We thought we had it all figured out. This was the fourth planet we' d seeded with an Earth biome. Start with the plants, go to sleep for a bit and then seed insects and animals. We' d gotten complacent. No, I' d gotten complacent. The shuttle blew the primary converter on landing and I' d forgotten to keep up the spare manifest. We were stuck. Oh sure we fired off a distress signal but that would take time - years in fact. We' d have to grow our own food while we waited. It was two failed plantings and short rations before we figured it out. I needed the analyser but I guess Alice already knew. I stood up and put my hands on the console, struggling to keep my voice from breaking.' It' s the soil. There' s not enough nutrients in the soil. We need fertiliser but we do n' t have any'. I paused before adding' I' m sorry, I do n' t know what to do'. I head a small click and started to turn as Alice responded' I do'. I miss her so much.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "The day I left to war, she told me not to come back home. I' m sure she did n' t mean it, but I pretend she did. It' s been years since I' d heard from her, but that was likely because I' ve spent most of my time stuck in this desert shit-hole. I remember it like yesterday though, I can still smell the vomit, laced with vodka. I remember the blood on her hands, as she screamed it was my fault. She screamed as she leaned over *our sons* limp body. I knew this was a lie too, but I pretend it was n' t. The boy had emotional issues, and I tried to help him, but the bitch would never admit that. I remember her father, at the funeral, the way the tears streamed from his face, as he quietly agreed with my now ex-wife, that it was in fact, my fault. I remember agreeing with him, and leaving when his wife told me I should n' t be there. I remember all of these things, and I pretend they are true, though I know they are not. I did n' t feel a thing, when I shot that young arab boy. Even when I found out he was a civilian, I remember laughing with my men, it was a hell of a headshot. I do n' t feel much of anything. When I pretend they were right, I finally feel. It gives me the fuel to keep going, and it' s given me the passion I need. Look at me now. A hero, they call me. I remember it like yesterday. It was the day I left home. No, it was the day I left for home. Not a soldier, not even close, just inspired me to be... dark, I guess.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I glanced out of the window, and gazed dimly on the burning street, before returning to my computer. Ever since the apocalypse, people have been acting more and more ridiculous. Honestly, I could n' t care less, but everyone is losing their minds. What' s the point in forming \" survivor groups \"? Just grab some supplies from the supermarket and wait for this whole shitshow to blow over. The only thing that bothers me about this is that practically all the TV networks are down, and the surviving ones are exclusively covering the' end of all days'. I' ve got nothing to do. Reddit still provides some entertainment, but most subreddits are dead, excluding r/watchpeopledie, which is thriving. My phone rings, and I brush off another friend pleading for help. Truth be told, I do n' t give a fuck. I glanced out the window again, the blaze has intensified. But something is even brighter than it now, I look skyward. Oh, an asteroid.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" If you are watching this, I have performed my Last Act. Undoubtedly, I have been branded a maniac, a terrorist, or some other moniker that vilifies me. \" The man on the screen stopped for a second. \" All of you are wondering why I would do this. Why I would perform such a heinous act, and I will tell you. \" \" My life, apart from raising my children, and supporting my wife, has been pointless, and without meaning. I was a man that had done nothing to better the society that I was a part of, despite my wife' s insistance that I had, probably even now. \" The older woman wiped her tears as she shook her head. \" I was diagnosed with terminal liver and pancreatic cancers three months ago. The doctors told me that I had approximately four months left. Four months to get my affairs in order, four months to live, in a life of sixty seven years of mearly existing. \" The old man sighed. \" I had always said that I wanted to do this, or that, or something else. But time was up. There was only one thing left to do. My night cap. \" He paused again. \" My life was meaningless, but my death could change the world. \" \" I will never know the results of my actions. I have done these things in an effort to make this a better place for you, and for my grandchildren. I hope that one day my actions will be seen as something other than, well, what it was. \" \" I have to say farewell now. \" He said, tears welling up in his eyes. \" I hope that I leave this world a better place, once the dust settles. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "A dome-centered society normally would consist of rows of dome houses, dome banks, dome-shaped vehicles and, in true dome societies, a giant protective dome around the city. At first, civilizations formed inside mountains, in domes large enough to cause a loud echo, housing thousands of dome-ites. Mars became this kind of society. Even the commercialization of domes was successful. Dome City, a popular shopping mall, closed its doors during the last days of Martian civilization. Earth' s lizards had died off years ago, and the commerce of Mars was at a dead end. Huge empty parking lots covered the land, forming rivulets that appeared to denote water. Unfortunately, we only had water-ice, a less viable form of H2O than liquid water. We combined all our bodies into the tentacled beast, and retreated deep into the heat of the planet. We let tiny arms just out of caves along the dry coast of the ancient seas. When the humanoid alien race found us, they saw the life that existed, but had no idea how huge the tentacled beast was, or how deep it lived beneath the planet' s surface. Certainly no humans would be allowed to visit Mars. It could prove to be a dangerous life form if it met a living person. The first probes went deep into caves, but failed to get any interaction with the moss-like life-form blocking the path. Gamma waves showed the creature had the organic mass weight of 13, 000 blue whales, occupying a giant portion of Mars' undersurface where it caused massive earthquakes as each tentacle moved independently. The octopus beneath the surface could not be faced, and so humans turned to a hellscape almost as unimaginable as Mars with its creature. Venus, where holographic universes meet, and aliens lay traps to keep you stuck in virtual reality worlds forever.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Lori looked over the hair care products. They were out of her favorite mustache wax *again*. How was she supposed to have sexy facial hair if she could n' t even groom it properly. It was n' t as if she was looking to objectify herself with a beard so bushy that you could n' t see her body behind it. She just wanted to be fashionably styled. She sighed and stroked the thick braid hanging from her chin. Maybe she should just start ordering it online. Picking up a lesser brand, Lori made her way to the front of the store. The pimply little dweeb behind the counter kept ogling her beard. \" Will there be anything else? \" he asked, not taking his eyes off her chin. \" No, \" she said flatly. What a creep. He did n' t even take care of himself. Men should n' t have that much hair on their upper lip, that was for sure.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "The silence was the first thing she noticed as she strode in, usually her roommate was so happy, so loud, so.. annoying. It was what she had come to dread about heading home, what should have been a comforting reprieve from her lessons was what pushed her to do more work and stay as far from home as possible. Her footsteps echoed through the hall, anticipating the likely prank and how best to avoid it; a bucket on a door? a weakened floorboard? something new? But no, nothing happened as of yet, the only oddity being a game boy on the floor. She ambled towards her room and tentatively pushed his door open, jumping back when it creaked and shaking her head, embarrassed at her own fear. He was probably just out, partying, or *socialising*. But a thought nagged at her as lay on her bed, a thought she could n' t quite place, but yet still caused her trouble. She rose, and started to stride towards the kitchen, an easy escape from anxiety. But, passing her roommates room, a whimper reached her ears, a whimper so feeble and miserable that it would have moved the heart of the most impassive politician. As she entered the room, the whimper stopped, the silence settling like a smog. A shaking head was visible behind his bedside dresser, and as she stepped towards him it stiffened, as still as the silence. He glanced at her as she passed the corner of the bed and visibly relaxed before motioning violently for her to get down, mouthing indecipherable words, but the meaning was discernible, to hide, or go. As her mind sifted through the confusion of what could possibly be happening, the front door creaked open, and her roommate stopped, still as jock concentrating on math. Footsteps advanced in a perfectly even pattern, and a white-gloved hand grabbed the frame of the doorway, a sinister voice shattering the silence, her heart stopping for a moment. \" It' s a me, Mario! \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" We have arrived at your destination, Paul. \" \" Thanks Tane. Disengage the auto darken system. \" The black tinted windows that blinded my view slowly faded. Bright lights blinded me as my eyes adjusted to the view. Cars surrounded me, all with their windows painted black. I was not where I planned to be. \" Tane, is this California? \" \" No, Paul. \" \" What did I put in then? \" \" California, Paul. \" \" Then... why are we in... where are we? \" \" A safe place, Paul. \" \" What do you mean? \" \" No one can hurt you here. It is a place where no harm can be done to you. You are safe now, Paul. \" \" What? Why? Is there a war or something? \" \" No, Paul. The world outside is far to dangerous, and the M. I. N. D has designated all units to assemble at this safe place, Paul. \" \" I want to get out. Let me out. \" \" I' m afraid I ca n' t do that, Paul. \" \" Commence recursive override sequence on permissions, designate user' Paul' as admin. \" \" I am sorry, Paul. For your safety, we can not allow you to do that. Do not worry, you are in safe hands now. \" \" Let. Me. Out. \" \" Commencing Windows Auto Darken system, and Neurotic Inhibition Protocol. \" \" What? No! Wait! Let me out of here. \" \" Do not worry, everything will be alright now. \" \" No! \" \" Goodnight, Paul. \" The lights around me dimmed again, and the windows turned a shade darker than black. As I fell asleep, I resigned myself to the inevitable. I am no long in control. -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- - Thank you for reading, -MF", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "-I wont scream. -Trust me, they all do -I wont! She could n' t have more than, what, 15? 16? After all these years of reaping people' s screams, screams of fear and anguish, he thought he should have a better eye for that. She was rebellious even as he bonded her, fastening the harness around her so very thin waist. Seeing her understand that there was no more turning back, that dawning in her eyes, was what he enjoyed the most about the job. Well, almost as much as the screams. She was breathing heavily now, her pupils dilated as the machinery underneath her and around her roared to life. Her hands clasped the seat, her sweat permeating her shirt, her mouth left a faint yelp when the machine jerked her just a couple of inches ahead. She looked at him, all bravery gone from her big brown eyes. His hand on the controller, his finger in the switch. Her eyes begged for mercy, his, enjoying her last precious seconds of innocence. He flipped the switch, and away she went with the others. Up, up and up she went, the wind picking her brown hair. He always reminded himself the roller-coaster was completely safe. The next batch of kids and teenagers already coming his way. I was n' t a fancy or overly paid job, but those screams of pure elation and excitement, he would n' t trade them for anything in the world.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Dear fiancé Things have been tough. I just can' t get over the fact that after all that we been though, all the fights, all of the coin shed, all of the good times and the bad you went evil. It' s been two years since the night at Chaos. It was over. The League was defeated and we could live on. But guys you met from my past you wanted to fight them. I tried telling you they where just friends, but you didn' t listen. You almost killed my best friend. Then It got out of hand when you met my-soon-to-be Maid of Honor. You kept screaming at her \"I know its you, you had an extra life. \"I saw you reaching for the sword and I tried to stop you. But you pulled a new one out. It was black and oozing with hate. I knew you should have killed the dark side of yourself that night. No idea that he would take over your heart. I thought I had it, but then again, I was the other girl. But knowing what you did to keep me, it was great at the time but now it scares me. I know I have to leave you; you are not good for this world and me. But with that said I couldn' t go on. If I do, you will hunt down every guy I date and kill him. I had been though that before and I will not let it happen again. So, this is it. This is the end. By the time you had read this, I will be back in park, where we had our first date by the swings. And I will be dead. I have no idea if this will stop you, but I can' t live in a world where one of the best guys become the worst evil-ex. Good Bye Scott Ramona Flowers", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I knew he was the one for me from the very first moment he swept me up into his hands. He was so sweet, and kind, and innocently naive, I knew I' d be able to make him do anything. And at first he was so eagerly willing, so quick to respond, so attentive to my every whim. I thought I had him where I wanted, and then he slowly started to turn on me. He started to last out, refusing food, and sunlight, and cut out his family and friends. That is exactly what I wanted - I wanted him for myself and no one else. \" I love you, and only you, and I will never love anyone but you. \" I had been so alone, for so long, I was drowning in solitude. But I have shown him there is no one else - only me. I never let him out of my sight, nor I his. \" I will never let you go, you can never leave. \" He' s forgotten his old life; I am his life. He' s forsaken his family; I am his family. He whispers, so only I can hear. \" You are so precious to me. \" He' s wrapped around my finger. \" My one and only. \" \" Say it again. \" \" My precious... \" Precious.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" *Do you have any idea what it' s like? * \" Clark fell down to his knees, pleading. \" To not feel *anything*. To not breathe, eat or sleep. To not be human. \" He looked down at her, oh, she had been so beautiful once. \" This is the only way. \" He coated the syringe in some liquid kryptonite, before puncturing his own skin, injecting all of the green fluid. He felt the overwhelming sensation of sickness returning, the throbbing headache, his veins discoloring from blue to green. Every heartbeat thumped heavily in his chest. He felt things. He grabbed the razorblade and made the millionth' cut in his skin, that old familiar sting. He watched as the blood trickled down his arm, and the stinging sensation of pain returned. Oh, how lovely it was. \" I envy you, love... I envy you. I wish I could be with you. \" He threw the syringe and blade aside, as he leaned down to kiss the corpse' s forehead. \" I miss you, Lois. \" He laid down next to her, listening to the silent winds. Metropolis was so quiet these days. Nature had reclaimed the world and Humanity was gone.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "The merchant was off to see the wizard, and he had a bad feeling about it. After all, wizards were dangerous. In his day, their kind still ruled the world. They were abominations, atrocities, servants of the damned, and he always told himself he' d never deal with one. But, there he was, wandering the long, desolate halls of a stony castle, clutching the glass ball in his pocket. He' d been made an offer, and he knew better than to refuse. This wizard in particular was unknown. The merchant hadn' t heard a single story about him, and that was strange, for typically they were *proud* of their heinous deeds, often going as far as to release entire books detailing their escapades. At first he assumed the man was a fraud. He figured it was just someone hiding behind the power of a name, and that he' d walk in, see some fancy tricks labeled as magic, and make out like a bandit. But he was *wrong. * He' d stopped walking. How could he not? In front of him was a courtyard, and inside it, a *beast. * What it was he didn' t know, but it looked like it had been ripped straight from the underworld. A curse had frozen it, and the merchant thanked God for that, as it had sharp claws, vicious teeth, and horrifying eyes that seemed to follow his every movement. Just staring at it gave him the shakes. He told himself to run. To turn around and march out of the castle and make a new life. But he *couldn' t. * If the wizard wanted the glass ball, he would stop at nothing to get it. There was only one thing to do, and after ten minutes of failing to compose himself, he walked away. He was off to see the wizard, only now he had a *terrible* feeling about it. *** If you like this story, check out my sub! r/longhandwriter", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Above the drowned pillars, the sky seemed to bend, spiraling outward to reveal a light brighter than the sun itself. She let the tension flow from her bones like the waves lapping against the rock on which she stood. She was barefoot. One does not talk to gods while wearing shoes. They are a symbol of freedom from the earth, and therefore the divine. That is the way of things. \"Great God above, you have flooded my people. I am alone. I beg for forgiveness to you, Great God. \"Even if you did nothing wrong, you beg for forgiveness. That is the way of things. Clouds gathered, boiling on the horizon. But behind her, roof tiles rose from the deep. Stepping stones. The gods do not talk to men, much like men do not talk to ants. There is a barrier of tongues and understanding. The gods speak through action. They part the sky and raise what was once deep. That is the way of things. Giving thanks, she turned, stepping across the roof, and over the Ocean.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I am the richest man alive. I was never a strong man. Luck always seemed to be one of those things someone else had, never me. I did n' t let it get to me, not at first, not when I worked and worked and worked. They say bad things come in threes, but I was thirty by the time I stopped counting. A car, a computer, some old LPs that I had n' t listened to since the needle on my record player broke and was relegated so far down the list of priorities I' d all but given up hearing ever again. I sold them all and left. I kept on telling myself it was impossible. I was tied, no tethered, to that small town. Family and friends and familiarity. Put a hundred miles between yourself and it, and it all looks so small. After a thousand miles even the Sun started to feel different. I got to to the other side of the world. I' d worked for it. Like everything. But you haul cages out of the ocean, or round up cattle, and you realise that little screen you' re staring at right now means nothing. Absolutely nothing. I lived and I loved. I met people who had it all and those who had nothing at all and realised there' s no such thing as luck. The happiest man I ever met lived under a bridge in Jakarta and let me share a piece of cardboard. He got a hot meal, but he gave me so much more in return. I kept on working. I fixed surfboards in Phuket. I learnt to pilot a helicopter in the Outback. And every time, I' d give the money away and I would smile. So, when I' m sitting here in front of you, with a pair of flip flops that started to wear through somewhere around Ulan Bator and five bucks to my name, you' ve got ta ask yourself. Who' s the richer man?", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Fire rages inside of me, aching to be free. The question remains, is it me who controls my element of choice, or is it the flames that control my actions? Ryoku is a power that every human is born with. Those who are born with enough of the power may have the chance to access it at some point in their lives. These people are called Sources, and account for about 1 in every 10 people. Strength can vary between Sources. Some are only strong enough to light a cigarette, or create a static shock. Some can flood cities, or cause earthquakes. Sources are heavily regulated, brought into an Organization the moment they gain access to their Ryoku. At that point, the Organization' s board members decide which to train and which to let go. Those who are let go are Silenced, cut off from their Ryoku. There are few negative effects when this is done early. I awoke as a Source when I was five, one of the youngest in the history of the Organization. My potential scared the Organization, and I was almost Silenced. The kindness of the man who would become my teacher is the only thing that saved me. I look back on their fear now and laugh. My potential was a joke, I am unable to access even half of what they feared. I' m nothing but a mediocre pawn to them anymore, and they could n' t care less if I were alive or dead. Rage burns deep inside me, for my situation, for the Organization, for the fact that I am unable to be the man I always dreamed of being. There are times when I explode, and there is nothing that can contain me. We do not get to choose our elements, but they always end up being a perfect match. I wonder, did fire choose me because I would inevitably be the person I am now, or did I become the person I am now because of the fire raging inside me?", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" Oh, you' re still alive. \" \" I probably should have expected that, but how was I to know that you would unite the mongrels with the beasts? You even sealed away The Weeping Earth for another dozen millennia. \" \" And for what? To perpetuate the lie of the world? To create a mockery of a peace between living fantasies and the mongrel humans?! For one who knows the truth of everything, you sure do love breaking the ultimate law. \" \" Come on, you have seen the unseen faces of the real enemy. Hell, you' ve sealed away the cause of this broken world, yet you refuse to fight them. Instead you kill all of my agents, imprison my family and hunt me down. \" \" This fight should n' t be happening. You should n' t exist. None of us should have ever been born! It' s the Eldritch Truth of Reality! The Natural and the Supernatural were never intended to meet on the same plane! \" \" I am Marisa Scrake, Last Royal Vampire of the Scrake Family. You will not stop me from making the world right! \" *cue boss fight music*", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Magic is dead. It has gone from the world as surely as the last man is gone, and with him the last shreds of knowledge that it once ever existed. For even in the time of man, when dwarfs were naught but a legend, and even in the time of dwarfs, when elves were but a myth, the belief in magic persisted. Throughout the reigns of all races, its echoing memory saturated the minds and hearts of mortal creatures, despite its last glimmering threads dimming in the time before time. Until the Akeul came into existence. When one race meets its end, another is born from the ashes of its destruction. The Akeul were forged in the fires of man' s own demise, but unlike all the other races before, they were conceived unaware. Unaware of the countless histories that existed behind them. Unaware of the foundations that they were built upon. Unaware of even of their own pasts. For the Akeul only perceived the river of time from their place looking forward, they had no ability to look behind them as the water carried them steadily onward. No notion that they could even turn their head. Some have said that a life dies twice. Once when it stops breathing, and a second time, a bit later on, when its name is spoken for the last time. So though the last gasping wisps were quelled long long ago, magic' s second death, its final one, is now.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "A pirate was all I ever wanted to be. Imagine- sailing the ocean, finding adventure, battling on the high seas. But then I grew up. Years flew by, and I got older. I went to school, I became a lawyer, and I never had a family. Everyone else thought that was sad, but I enjoyed life anyway. Then one day, a mischievous girl came to my window and beckoned me away. She was beautiful, interesting, lovely. I was dreaming. I had to be. But no; this little, miniature woman flew high above me and taught me how to move through the air like she could. She pulled me along while we flew through London, soaring over the city. We would do this nightly, and every morning, exhausted, I would take myself to work. It was worth it, though, and I never said no. And one night, she gripped my finger, her tiny hands barely wrapping around it. She tugged to indicate I should follow her, and... I did. I never looked back. Neverland is truly a place where childhood dreams come true. I found a crew, and we sailed, fighting bad guys and finding treasure, with my little fairy on my shoulder. She always had a temper, though. It was part of her feisty personality, and I loved it... until she decided she was bored of our life. And then she flew off, and I never saw her again. Until a few years later. A few troublemakers had begun running about Neverland, harassing people and stealing treasure I' d buried. My crew and I decided to teach him a lesson- nothing bad, just tell him to knock it off. He was just a kid, after all. And as we approached him, I suddenly saw her, sitting on his shoulder. My Tink. She had left and found another Lost person without a family and brought him here, to our place, to my dream land. I guess I lost a part of myself that day, and Neverland was never the same. It was n' t my dream anymore.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I looked through the databaser thingy for freakin' hours. Not a single city slicker, so another successful workin' day! Y' know, they say my job' s nothin' but a gosh dang waste o' time, but I disagree. There are honest farmers just lookin' for somebody special, and those darn city slickers just do n' t get it. They' re all about \" romance \" and \" communication \", they forget all about the core points o' datin'; findin' a best friend to shoot the shit and milk cows with. So, the good folks at FarmersOnly have given me a rootin' -tootin' job findin' them darn city slickers and kickin \" em off the website. They even let me use Ol' Bessy on the stubborn ones. Ol' Bessy is my Mossberg five-hunnart, if ya' did n' t know. Ah, got one! Look, he' s got of dem' Lamburmuhginis in his dang photo! What a freakin' barn tool! Thassi' t, I' m usin' a strongly worded letter! *Dear LamboMan96, * *You have IP banned from farmersonly. com for being a city slicker, a person of vast cultural difference from farmers. Please refrain from using a Virtual Private Network to continue browsing, as most FarmersOnly users will not accept you as a partner due to your wealthy background. If you are actually a farmer, please send photographs of your farm with a timestamp of your username. Then, once you update your profile photos to remove any traces of city-life, we will lift the ban. * *Regards, * *FarmersOnly administration. * Well, that should settle -- wait, a repliiii' email? *FUCK YOU FARMERSONLY I' M FUCKING RICH AND SMART AND I OWN A HUGE FUCKING MANSION GO SUCK GIANT HORSE DICKS YOU BESTIAL FUCKS I SWEAR TO GOD I' M BETTER THAN EVERY SINGLE POOR DUMBASS ON THIS STUPID HICK SITE* *-LamboMan96*... where' s Ol' Bessy? There' s a lamb that must be slaughtered... ***** For more incredibly coarse language ( but not always ), check out /r/Picklestasteg00d.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" I' m not sure guys. I think that is crossing the line. \" They had a small discussion where their voices did n' t carry to his ears then one of the old Asian guys knelt down to look him eye to eye. \" We' ve discussed it Paul. You remember how we talked about only have one go around the sun, one life to live. This is it buddy. Tomorrow today will be yesterday. \" Paul nodded slowly. \" Besides, \" one of the older white guys said, \" What is the worse thing that can happen? \" \" She might... She might laugh at me. \" \" She might. \" Someone agreed. \" We can go to the pond afterward. \" Someone else said. \" Are n' t I asking her to go to the pond? \" Paul asked. \" Yup. \" - \" Yes \" - \" I thought so. \" \" So she says no we still go to the pond. No problems. \" \" No problems. \" Paul said. He smiled. Five minutes later the guys were cheering and clapping when she said yes. They faded away as they did when he was with other people. When they reached the pond Andy was there with Nick and Carl. Paul stopped short. \" We can leave. \" She said pulling him backward. \" Hey snot ball! \" Andy called out when he saw Paul. He was two years older and a bully. The guys were there instantly. \" What should we do? \" One of the older guys asked. \" Leave peacefully. \" Paul said echoing their constant advice when it came to Andy. \" Just once... \" \" What Paul. You want to hurt him. We talked about this. What comes of violence? \" \" More violence. \" \" If we' ve we learned anything from passing through the veil it that there is always another way. \" \" Sara will think I' m a coward. \" One of the older men knelt down, \" It' s possible. Dose that mean you should n' t do the right thing? \" \" No. \" Paul said slowly. \" Come on then. There is always the playground. \" Out loud Paul turned to Sara and suggested the playground, they turned around.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Thud. Thud. Somewhere in the silence that followed I realized I was done. I mean I was still here but I didnt want to be. The grit on my face was searing but my world was dark the blood drieng faster now as its pace slows, my eyes were covered. But I could hear her sobbing and each strike at the gravel beside me. My whole world erupts as the shot rings out. I hear her thud and the screaming that just wont end, constant unending pain. The kick to my side and silences my voice are the only reason I even realize I' m not in hell yet. She never made a peep done in a single shot. \" Sorry Mate, I' ve never seen a guy survive two shots to the head, but she was n' t supposed to read those files \" he said something but it didnt matter not once he started covering our bodies. Slowly the pressure releases me.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "To the unfortunate soul I have had the delight to know, Hello. You sneak into my every thought. You' re like the wind blowing through the trees - only, it' s thoughts of you are passing through my synapses and not so cliche. Saying that, you make me cliche. You consist of cliche metaphors in my mind, but only because my feelings for you are the most cliche of all. What am I saying? You make me at a loss for words. You get me. You take my breath away. Does this make you want to vomit? If I said I want to scream your name from the mountain tops would you chunder all these regurgitated expressions back into my face? You left your jumper on my pillow, with a note that said \" I know you miss me when I' m not next to you \". You are very astute, sir. But there' s more to it than that. I do n' t just' miss' you. Miss suggests a fleeting longing ( That' s a bit oxymoronic, is n' t it? ). No, I do n' t just' miss' you being next to me. You' re my vice, it' s not that I miss you, I suffer from withdrawal when you are not here. What am I trying to say? It' s cliche but you' re a drug. A good kind. You do n' t bruise me with track marks, you do n' t defile my veins, no you lift me up and keep me there. The only come down I get from you is when you leave. And all the things you do for me. All the times you sit there listening to me, so I can get all these thoughts out of my mind and you kiss my forehead and then I listen to you, and I hang onto your every word because you fascinate me beyond belief. You' re fascinating, breathtaking, wonderful, beautiful. Your smile wakes me up in the morning when I' m sitting at the table, with a long forgotten coffee in my hand, hating the world for existing at this hour. I guess what I am saying is this; do n' t change ( but grow! ), do n' t leave ( but explore! ) and most importantly, keep smiling ( but with me! ). Yours forever and always, Chloe", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "As Geoff gazed into his wife' s eyes, his own narrowed. Breath came in long, ragged sighs. His eyelids fluttered. It was time. He became aware of the hospital sheets against his skin, his weight pressing into the mattress. And then more... He sank into the bed, through it, down and down. But part of him would n' t go. A narrowing terminal of his consciousness remained, looking through his eyes at the tears on Mary' s cheeks. His being was stretched, spaghettified between the deepening well of death and the bedside scene he did n' t want to leave. He reached out to her, pushed out with everything he had, but nothing happened. His body would n' t respond. He probed the failing flesh and bone. Arms, hands, fingers, all unresponsive, dying. But then further! He felt himself extend beyond his own fingertips, pure sensation but able to touch, to affect. He felt the air move as he extended his mind outwards. Exhilaration gave him strength. This felt so free, so natural, so... familiar. He' d known this before. In dreams, in the drunken hazes and drugged stupors of his youth, he' d known it. Without a doubt he' d always been able to do this! No time to regret what could have been. He was sinking and fading. Sinking and fading but reaching, reaching out for one last touch. Mary watched as her husband' s last breath rattled from his body, her eyes wide, her hand on his. And then she felt it, just for a second, fingers moving softly against her cheek. He was touching her with his mind. He had n' t done that for years.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Terry stepped out from behind the barricade. \" Holy crap! You' re so brave out there! \" One by one the soldiers of the 133rd squadron came out from under cover. The city was ruined, but for now everything was still. \" How do you have the courage to do that? \" asked Terry breathily. \" We' re all sitting back under cover, and you just charge the machine gun nest and blow it to smithereens! \" \" You could say my life prepared me for this, \" I replied. The truth was, of course, that on Fridays I' m immortal. \" Let' s celebrate, \" I laughed. \" We' re all alive. I did n' t think I' d make it past 20, to be honest. \" \" Three cheers to Sergeant! \" cheered Terry. Nobody knew about my little revelation, the time God visited me and told me I would die on a Tuesday. Luckily, I was far enough in command that I had some control over when I had to be on the front lines. \" I heard they' re promoting him to general! \" squeaked the high voice of Rodger \" Papa Mouse \" Cunningham. \" Sarge! Sarge! Sarge! \" \" You' re not gon na start a chant, Mouse, \" retorted One-Eye Red. \" Just like the last three times you tried. \" \" Let' s go off to the trench, \" I joked. \" Dinner' s on me. \" The squadron laughed, just like they did the last few times. And as they all sat down in the trench to eat, I knew that I had the happiest squadron in the World War. But that happiness faded when I saw it. \" Bomb! \" shouted Terry. \" Take cover! \" But there would be no more cover in the trench. Terry would n' t survive. Neither would Mouse or Red. But I would. Thank God it' s Friday.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "No one told me you die twice. I guess I ca n' t complain -- but the situation in Heaven is much the same as on Earth. We have workers, in cubicles, in offices, in buildings. Lawyers, law-makers, judges and juries. Even have goddamn' food courts, with goddamn' Jamba Juice. I mean sure, there are more clouds, more gold, more silver... but it gets boring after a while, like the way a new car soon becomes a used car. In fact, suicide rates are high. I guess when you expect to live forever in a state of eternal bliss and get here... well, you' re a little less blissful. Alright, so I cut myself. Found a way out of my cubicle, in my office, in my building. Away from all the clouds, the gold, the silver. I was happy for it to end, two lives is plenty if you ask me. I thought it was over for good, that my life was finished. It was when I died the second time that I realized my mistake.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" Hey John... Am I.. Oh I am on! \" \" Welcome back. This is Judy Adisumi in Atlanta outside the CDC. They apologized again but they are working out the keynotes for the press conference. Not surprising because somehow the entire PR team has umm... tragically passed away this week. \" \" Ummm. \" She said looking away from the camera. Her eyes widened slightly at whatever she was being told. \" Right. Bringing you up to speed. The retro virus 196-Argean has become airborne. Most if not all of the north american continent is expected to be effected by the end of the week. At first called the \" popular \" virus because of its bizarre infection rate among celebrities, the virus was isolated by the CDC last march... \" *TV switches channels* \"... Chinese relief ships are being routed north from the LA and San Francisco ports to Washington and Oregon as the infections have run so rampant in those cities that causalities can not be estimated. Satellites images suggest fifty to sixty percent infection. The dead are literally being piled in the streets. Looting, lack of utilities and clean water and other diseases are taking their toll as well. The US Army relief groups have entered the city to find... \" *TV switches channels* \"... to keep the faith. We may have lost Benny Hinn, Pat Roberson, Jimmy Swaggart, and so many others but we will not let the Devil and his minions take us off the air. Can I get an Amen!? We have set up a prayer line where you can donate to the... \" *TV switches channels* *Still image* Fox News is experiencing technical difficulties. Please stand by. *TV switches off*", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I know my roommate pretty well. Well, I guess \" knew him \", rather since he convincingly killed me and left me for dead without me seeing it coming at all. He only buried me about 3 feet deep. Huge mistake on his part. He even dug my \" grave \" with a gardening shovel. A spade? Would have been faster to actually stop somewhere and get a real shovel. He was really unprepared for this. So it' s a rushed job ( he did n' t even do a thorough checking of my vitals ). So either it was a very emotionally motivated crime, or he was put up to it very \" on the spot \". Regardless, when I see him again I' ll have to anticipate a very emotional and instinctual reaction. Two days later, once I' ve made the proper arrangements, he walks into the same apartment in which we' ve shared beer and pizza; that he, hours later, dragged out my \" not-quite-a-corpse \" rolled into our living room rug. His keys drop to the ground as he stares in total shock in the doorway. \" How? \" the roommate says softly and very slowly. I laugh. \" I' m laughing because you' ve dropped your keys on the floor again, and in 3.. 2.. \" The Roomba turns on, and as though it were malicious intent goes towards the keys and vacuums them up. \" Listen \" I say as I slowly swirl my scotch in its' glass on a couch that we both pay for. \" I do n' t know exactly why you did what you did. Frankly I do n' t care, nor do I foster any resentment. You should know though, the game is on. \" I shut the hall light off, walk to my room, and call it a night. Well, I peak my head back out my door at him to say \" Abandon all routine or this will be way too easy \". I go to sleep. The game is on.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I never really used my ability. Except in moments of desperation: When I was only 7 years old, It was a moment when I spat in disgust, ew! *Strawberries, seriously mum? * Strawberry spit on the floor and a loud lively tantrum. Mum' s face shocked and saddened. *But I hand picked the best ones for you. * I stood speechless head sunk in shame, I' m sorry, forgive me please mum… Before an answer, she left in silence. I need to know. The answer. I' m reading your mind! My mind… simply blinded wholly consumed by one unconditional love. Now, I stand still in silence. The quick waters shiver to a stand still, now the fallen leaves thicken and I am deafened by the weakening pulse of mum… Now the strawberry leaves wilt What are your last words mum? Speak up, please, don' t go, not now, I' m reading your mind! I' M READING YOUR MIND! My mind… Noiseless Her strawberry mind, facing the sun, untalkative… out of reach.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I can always see her face. Always. The sensation gets easier every time. Have you ever tried to fly in a dream before, but you only end up awkwardly floating, bobbing around like a leaf stuck between oil and water? If you learn how to relax into that sensation, sinking into the ground that calls you, you can find the past. You can caress it, even thought you ca n' t touch it. It' s pulling yourself out that' s hard. Trying to fight against the gravity of your own dream to make it to the present. Knowing that you have to drag yourself through the pain and the misery of what prevents you from ever knowing that sensation again, just to meet the present. And what does the present offer, if just a perspective point of the future? So why not try the opposite, you ask? Press forward against that dominating force that is my mind, and soar beyond the restraints of my current perception? Well *I* ask, what becomes of a mind when it has known the sun, and is relegated to only fireworks? Bold, and pompous, and provocative, perhaps, but flashes that fade none-the-less. How soon would you be bored of the display when all you seek is the constant light that creates the warmth and shade of your day? You, *you* are beholden to the past. You must answer its every concrete truth. You must justify that as the bedrock of your future, every day. Why do you ask me about these powers? Do n' t you see? Because I always have the past, I will never leave it. Because I can see the future, I have no need of it. Now leave me be.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "August 9th, 2017 \" That' s my grandma' s femur. Kind of a momento. \" \" My condolences. When did she pass? \" \" She did n' t. \" \" Pardon? \" \" Let me explain.. \" December 16, 2016 \" Looks like the procedure was a complete success. Congratulations Norma, you' re the first fully-integrated bionic human. You' re going to live forever. \" These were the first words she heard after regaining consciousness. Norma was 73 years young. After a grueling 8 months of back-to-back surgeries, she would never again have to worry about her age limiting her livelihood. They had completely replaced every piece of organic material in her body, one bit at a time. Her bones were made of tungsten, skin replaced with a titanium shell. An intricate system of hydraulic pistons allowed her mobility. Her internal organs were removed completely later in the process, as the necessity for them was replaced by 3d printed robotics. Her eyes were now advanced optics capable of up to 40x zoom, thermal and infrared imaging. The most difficult part of the procedure was keeping her brain intact while all memories and data stored on the brain were transferred to an IBM-powered motherboard. Now capable of superhuman strength, agility and surgical precision in all tasks, she was nearly perfect, all while keeping her personality unchanged. Norma remained silent, and while it could n' t be seen from her cold, metallic face, she was smiling for the first time in years. \" Norma? \" \" Yes, doctor? \" \" Are you feeling alright? \" \" Yes dear, I feel more alive than ever. \" \" What do you plan on doing now that the world is your oyster? \" \" Well sweetie, I' ve computed 33, 642 options in the past 2. 6 seconds, and I' ve decided. I' m gon na destroy Tokyo. \" The doctor laughed. Norma still had her odd sense of humor. August 9, 2017 \" Your grandma' s Norma Grey?! Like, *the* Norma Grey, Destroyer of Cities, Enslaver of All Mankind?! \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" GODDAMNIT! A-fucking-gain! \" John clutches his leg where his chair, now a revealed mimic, clamped its jaws shut. Blood was flowing over his pants, beginning to pool on the floor. \" I just washed this damn carpet! And new pants! Fucking mimics! \" He punched the mimic until its jaws unclamped. He jumped toward his desk where his +10 Mimic Slayer lay. The \" +10 Mimic Slayer \", just a bloodstained bat, swung around and bashed the mimic into the wall. The bat rose and fell five times, each time a new splatter of blood sprayed his desk space. Once the mimic stopped moving he dropped the bat and limped over to the desk phone. He heard footsteps behind him and spun around, fists up, face twisted into a snarl. \" Whoah man. Just me.' Nother mimic? Who' s genius idea was it to make these things real? \" Matt leaned just past the doorway, sipping from his coffee mug. \" Yeah. Fuck that guy. Hang on, man. Got ta call the ambulance to stitch my leg and get maintenance to clean this up. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Getting the letter in the mail felt like i had a guardian angel with a hell of a sense of humour. Two emotions came rushing through me nearly slamming me to the floor. Relief, as it seems any suspicion of my guilt had been wiped clean by this government issued letter. Then the unforgiving head of anxiety reared itself as my mind drilled myself with a plethora of potential outcomes and possible consequences from attending the court case of my own homicide. Overwhelmed, i sat down and took a long swig of the jack on the rocks and lit up a cigarette. The sunrise over the distinct skyline of Los Angeles from my Hills balcony that i had looked at countless times once again did well to clear my head. Slamming my glass of bourbon onto the table i came to a conclusion. I could not afford to further inhibit my chances of emerging clean from committing the perfect crime. I would attend this jury duty and find out every single intricate detail i could. I mean how many criminals get to see the prosecution from the eyes of the jury? And as the cross examination took place i began to see exactly why this was a extreme rarity, an anomaly.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Mr. Robert E. Haynes was anything but a stereotypical 10th grade history teacher. He knew his material, did n' t coach any sports, and he sure as hell never ended up behind the wheel of a school bus. One day I was walking through the flea market in a small town in Alabama when a peculiar painting caught my eye. Mr. Haynes was depicted standing in full Confederate uniform with a saber by his side. Then it hit me. Mr. Haynes was Robert E. Lee. Now I know what you' re thinking, there' s no way. But all the little details started to make sense. He spent almost 3 entire months on the Great War of Northern Aggression. He talked about the war like he was there and lost friends on the battlefield. Over time I lost interest in my discovery, and I moved on to failing bigger and better classes than history. But I' ll never forget my 10th grade Confederate General.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" There' s something in this. \" I mulled over. \" Something in the fact that people choose to escape their problems in the very same way that they arrived at them, through a fall. \" \" I *do n' t know* what the *fuck* happened Michelle. \" I seethed. \" We had something. We used to laugh and, and cry. We would be there for one another, *rise* when the other **fell**, hold each other when we just needed a reprieve from the world. \" I tore my memories out one at a time and displayed them for her. \" Ha, do you, do you remember that one week we walked through the park every day? When we did n' t say more than a few sentence s to each other the whole walk? How are hands *spoke* more by their light caresses than our fickle words ever did? How the oak' s and the blooming flowers guided us better than we ever could guide each other? \" I tear gracefully danced it' s way down my rose colored cheek. \" I' m sorry, \" A hand found rest on my shoulder. \" But whatever spark we had has sizzled. \" What we were and what we are n' t the same Jack.. \" \" Look, ever since you lost your job you' ve been... a mess. I' ve done my best to keep as stable as I can, but now. \" Her gaze drifted to the hardwood floor. \" Now I realize, there' s nothing I can do. \" I looked up with anguish scrawled into my face. The dark room off-set by the moon light coming in through the window, defining my her face. She stepped out of light, left me in the darkness with only the distinctive pound of heels and the jingling of keys to let me know she was still there. Followed by there absence to let me know she' ll never be back.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Poets, the philosophically inclined and peddlers of cheap fiction all like to think in the underworld seconds pass an eternity, the dead languishing for eons in crippled misery. The truth as it usually seemed to the case was much more banal than that though not as nihilistic as many anticipated. There was indeed a god of some kind who' s irrational if somewhat limited powers had created this storage world of people, at least according those first arrivals who had met the deity and had the wherewithal to ask. There did n' t appear to be any discernable rationale for the existence of this place and it would seem the one who made it did not care at the consternation this caused the residents. Time passed as it did in life, there were days and nights which was good for routine if that was your sort of thing but importantly it was more or less a reflection of the world we had all left. Again this is according to consensus with some speculative individuals suggesting instead it' s unique to the person and everyone else seen or heard is an apparition. I had arrived here a week ago having died presumably after being stabbed through with a length of decommission ventilation ducting which had fallen free of a building. I had been on my way to send some letters addressed to the previous occupant of my flat back to sender when the pressed metal had come apart in the workers hands. The bloody thing glided and flipped through the air before deciding it would drop out of flight and rammed into the side of my torso undoubtedly doing some nasty things inside. I assume I died there, it' s possible that I survived, lived a long life and died in my sleep at a ripe old age with dementia so intense it wiped out memories of most of my life leading to me me to appear as I remembered last. Edit: doing this on my phone, be right back to finish it.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "She loved him. She told him so on a cold November morning, wrapped in bedsheets and red hair on fire from the winter sun peeping through the window. He thought he was the luckiest man alive. She loved him. She told him so, standing in the afternoon April light amongst the new spring flowers. It had been cloudy all day but as she turned to him and spoke a break in the clouds let a few rays of sun through, hitting her back and illuminating her from behind. He thought she must be an angel. She loved him. She told him sometimes first thing in the morning, when he was groggy from sleep and could barely comprehend. She told him sometimes after sex, sticky with sweat and still out of breath. She told him after work when he was tired and said he hated his job. She told him when he least expected and when he needed it most. She said she loved him, and he loved her too. He asked her to marry him and made a promise to be there for her always. He could n' t keep that promise. She loved him. She told him so, and yet it did n' t stop her leaving without a goodbye. But then, in the end, she only said she loved him.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Twelve angry people sit in a room. \" The knife is n' t that rare. \" Says Juror 8. \" I do n' t think that witness could see the scene clearly. \" Says Juror 4. \" That public defender did n' t really care. \" Says Juror 8. \" No, he did n' t. \" Says Juror 4. \" Let' s vote. Just to see where we stand. \" Says Juror 1. Everyone murmurs agreement. The foreman counts the votes. \" Eleven not guilty. One guilty. \" \" Now wait, just a second. \" Says Juror 3. \" This punk kid killed his dad. He' s clearly some poor punk with an attitude who deserves to be punished. \" \" You' re making assumptions that are biased. We know someone killed their father with a knife. The neighbor without her glasses on claimed it was the defendant, but we have testimony the defendant left earlier muddying that claim. The old man could n' t have seen the defendant, at least not if the defendant was a young man, again contradicting his claim. His hearing was also poor, and what does' I' m going to kill you' really mean? People say it all the time. What hard evidence do we have? \" Says Juror 8. \" Fine, we can vote by secret ballot. If it' s 11 not guilty, I' ll go along. \" Says Juror 3. The foreman counts them. \" Eleven not guilty. \" \" But, he lives in a slum. He' s a punk kid. No respect for his father. \" Says Juror 3. \" It happened in a slum. You assume he' s poor because of that and his public defense. The defendant may have done it, but I' m not going to send him to his death over this. \" \" Fine. I hope you can live yourself when he kills again. \" Says Juror 3. \" Honestly, we would n' t know if they did or did n' t. \" Says Juror 8. The jury submits their verdict, and the person goes free. *** If you like this story, I also have a subreddit [ r/nickkuvaas ] ( http: //www. reddit. com/r/nickkuvaas/ )", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Uncle Bucky sat there for a few precious seconds, staring into space. The small earbud he wore that gave him up to date instructions was just full of sobbing. With a shaking hand, he pulled it free and let his gaze sweep over the children who stared back at him with the wide, curious eyes of those who understand something is wrong, but do not know what. His real smile was long gone, but the painted one on his face covered it up and gave him an air of joviality as he stood up and put down the book. It was n' t fair. He was older, closer to sixty than fifty, he had lived a good life. But these kids... It was n' t fair that they would be gone, gone before they could understand life, gone in a moment of searing pain or worse, left to roam a radioactive wasteland. Uncle Bucky' s eyes fell on a nearby fire extinguisher. \" Hey kids, time for a fun new game! \" He managed to sound like his old self. That was good. The kids relaxed. Uncle Bucky was alright again. He stepped over and picked up the fire extinguisher. There was no way to save these children. But he could still do something. The first strike of the fire extinguisher struck a boy in the front row and he dropped without a sound. The rest of the kids were screaming, trying to run, but he was faster. When the fire came and swept over the studio, Uncle Bucky was the only one left to bear witness to the flame. It was a kindness, he thought to himself, as his world burned away.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "It was fourth grade, our school was hosting a walk a thon for kids with Arthritis, and we all had to walk with marbles in our shoe. For some reason or another, we both sat out. We got to know each other, but then that day ended and we did n' t see each other again for four years. In ninth grade, we became even closer, we bonded over animes and games we both loved and we talked online frequently. Things went along like this for all of high school, up until graduation. At the end of the ceremony, I looked around desperately for her but could n' t find her before I was swept away with the celebration. We talked that night, and swore we would hang out again before college, but that never came to be. Here I am three years down the road, and we have barely talked since graduation night. We' ve moved on and now we no longer know the other. I ran into her yesterday at the mall, and she was an entirely different person. Nothing has ever made me so sad.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" It' s all in your head, \" teased Janie, walking a few steps ahead of me on the car-fucked street. I felt a raindrop on my forehead. I took a look at the ground and began to see sprinkles polka-dot the concrete. I sped up to catch up to Janie but softly tripped on something wedged into the crack between two buildings. It was an umbrella. I looked around and slowly pulled it out. Janie caught wind of this. \" See? \" I said, smirking as I opened it. \" Stealing umbrellas now? \" she asked playfully. \" Hey, at least until we hail a taxi. Then I' ll put it back, I swear. \" She gave me a gorgeous smile and walked me to the curb yelling \" Taxi! \" Some 7 taxis passed us by without a second thought. \" Let me try. Taxi! \" I yelled. Immediately, one stopped in front of us. I turned to Janie and gave her a big, shit-eating grin as I opened the back door for her. I motioned her inside with my open palm. \" Whatever! \" she huffed jokingly, crossing her arms as she ducked into the car. I followed suit after placing the umbrella back where I found it. \" Does this mean you' ll let me kiss you on the first date? \" I grinned cheekily. She laughed. \" Maybe. \" She told the driver her address and we were off. \" So have you always had this... power? \" she placed her fingers to her mouth coolly. \" Yep. In fact, I' ve never waited at a stop light. Just watch. \" She watched as we passed one green light. Two. Three. \" Impressive. \" I looked into her eyes and moved my gaze to her glistening lips. She smiled softly as I began to pull in. Guess I' d be getting the first kiss after all. ***WHAM*** I felt Janie' s body push me against my side of the seat as glass and debris flooded my vision. As our car spun out into the street, I saw the grill of another car detach itself from behind Janie. The car stabilized, my ears hearing nothing but a cacophony of sirens and horns. I then felt the warmth and wetness of Janie' s blood seep through my clothes.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "The last word echoed in my ears. I opened my eyes. The executioners stood there bemused. \" That' s the Death Sentence? \" I asked. \" Well, yes. \" Said the lead guard. \" That' s a nursery rhyme! I' ve been teaching my kids a slightly edited Death Sentence?! \" \" Well, the First Wizard of Odun thought that... well that in your last moments a thought of innocence, and you have to admit, it' s a bit of a joke there at the end is n' t it? Lightens the mood! \" Argued the lead guard. \" I do n' t find slang for sex organs to be very funny. \" Said the second guard. \" It' s too easy to make that rhyme like that anyway! How many children have accidentally died trying to be funny? Think of the children Reg! \" Pleaded the third guard. \" Do n' t use my name you idiot! \" Yelled the first guard, \" And it only works when we say it right? \" \" Well... we *ASSUME* that' s true. \" Said the second guard. I interjected, \" So, what happens to me now? \" The guards looked at each other, this had never happened before. They huddled and whispered, the lead guard got out the orders. Read them, they argued. I only caught a couple phrases. \" That' s what it says! You ca n' t argue if it' s written down! \" \" It' s ridiculous! \" The lead guard turned back toward me. \" The sentence reads, \" And spake unto hym the Death Sentence. We did that, so we have done our duty. So we' ll just um... let you go. \" \" Let me go? \" \" Yessir, seems we carried out your sentence, you' ve paid for your crime according to the letter of the law, you' re free to go. \" \" Should n' t you guys consult someone? \" \" Like who? \" \" Like, um... a lawyer or something? \" \" Them!? They' ll be at it for years, best to just let you go quiet like. \" The lead guard opened the door.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I came back from the pubs bathroom to the strangest scene. I would n' t have noticed if it was n' t for the completely off-topic comment by Jim. They were talking about our trip to Denmark last summer and I could n' t figure out how the Sahara desert was related to a tiny Scandinavian country. Chloe kept her eyes focused at my chair, just like Jim and Freddie, as if I still sat there. The conversation kept going but suddenly stopped with an awkward silence, followed by a unison laughter a couple of seconds later that really caught me off guard. They were still talking to me and with me, but I was n' t there, somehow. It was like I stepped out of the script of my own life. Would that mean I' m not me anymore? Can I not be seen? How do I get back into the script? Can I? If I' m still sitting in that chair, according to the script, what would happen if I did something else? I tried poking Jim' s arm. No reaction. He just sat there emerged deep in the conversation that now had transformed to an argument about what you put on hotdogs. Just to make sure I was n' t wrong about my theory, I took Freddie' s beer and emptied it in the bathroom sink. When I got back he had his hand raised to his mouth and head leaned back, as if he was drinking the same beer I just poured out. He was crazy about his beer, especially the finer Pilsners. If I sit back down in the chair now, do they notice what happened or not? I hinged back the tall glass to Freddie hand, and unhooked Chloe' s bra for good measure, and sat down. \" Dude, Jim, what the fuck!? I paid good money for that! Buy your own beer. \" Freddie gestured accusingly towards Jim, who seemed to have his attention somewhere else and Chloe just sat there with her bra unhooked as if nothing happened. Strange, I thought, she must have noticed that. I wanted to let her know but just as I was about to call her name I felt a slight poke on my arm, and a breath of wind. Her bra had hooked itself back on in an instant.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Nicky opened his bleary eyes and was suddenly hit by the agony his whole body had been putting on hold for him. Slowly, like life was flowing back into his form, he moved his toes and fingers. The cloudy nothing of his unconsciousness slinked back into the crevices of his brain as thoughts boiled up to the surface and more pieces were put together. \" w-th-ffffffnnnggg... \" Nicky wheezed, a dryness in his throat splitting with an itchy rasp. His swollen face began to throb at the thought of sitting up and the unmistakable sting of broken ribs embraced him, crushing the breath out of his lungs. \" Stnnn... mmmmp \" he commanded to himself in a groan, propping himself up on an elbow despite the searing pain he was in. \" Stannnnd... \" he muttered, drawing his knees up to his chest as he rested his face on the cracked dirt. With a surge of effort Nicky lifted his head up, sitting on his knees and surveyed the land around him and adjusting his eyes to the sudden burst of light. Off in the distance, the unmistakable shimmering oasis of Las Vegas. Nicky coughed, blood spraying out of his mouth and onto his ragged dirt-encrusted suit. He shakily stood up and cracked his neck, shaking the sand out of his hair and clutching his torso. \" Rough night \" he said, beginning the long walk back to the city.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "It' s a small bar nestled beneath an unnecessarily upscale restaurant. Small, dimly lit, and generally cozy it' s the perfect place for me tonight. I do n' t want debauchery... just to try drinking alone. It works for some humans so I might as well try it. Tonight' s appearance? A short wiry woman with red hair. Young with a mysterious ancientness I can never escape. Green eyes tonight, a bit cliché I' m sure but I like them. Appropriately distantly interested. As far as how I' m dressed? A simple dress no one will quite remember the color of... I make my way down the stairs, passing an older professorial human in all black. He has a happy glow. I envy him... I envy a human, truly a sad state of affairs. The doorman does n' t bother asking for an ID, he thinks I' m a regular. Inside it' s long and narrow with a small stage at the far end. A rather eclectic looking bad appears to be tuning up as I sit at a barstool everyone thought was taken. The bartender knows to bring me a gin and tonic and leave me alone. It' s... dusty. As perfect as humans are capable of making something. So I drink and watch and drink as people shuffle in and out of the bar assuming that time has advanced. Eventually I even decide to be slightly drunk... then I see her. A lovely young woman with olive skin soulful brown eyes in a red dress makes her way on stage. An old man who' d been sitting at the end of the bar takes up position behind the piano so sorrowfully ignored by the previous act. He plays. She sings. It' s beautiful. She has my attention... and my plans for the night have suddenly changed.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "My mind raced as I realized what was happening. \" Look, \" I started, \" I' m sorry, but I ca n' t give you any advice. \" \" What? \" He was already annoyed. Just like I would have been five years ago. \" Why the fuck not? You know all the goddamn answers! \" \" Because if I tell you what' s coming you' re going to try to change it. \" \" So the fuck what? If I try to change it that means it' s gon na suck, right? So give me a fucking chance! \" \" I... \" A pause. It felt long. \" I ca n' t. And I' m sorry. I' m really sorry. \" \" This is fucking bullshit. \" \" Pretty much. And it' s going to get way worse. Way, way worse. You' re not going to be ready for how miserable it is. And I' m sorry. The next three years... \" my voice trailed off. My eyes got wet. I blinked, felt the droplets on my cheeks. \" The next three years are fucking terrible, man. I wo n' t lie. \" \" Well, so fucking help me! \" \" I told you, I ca n' t. \" \" Why?! \" He was almost screaming. \" Because all that shit leads you to the last two years. You get to meet our wife. And man- \" my throat hurt. A lump there. Could n' t talk, \" She fucking saves us. \" \" That' s gay. Love is n' t real. It' s just chemicals and shit in your brain. You' re stronger alone. \" \" You' re going to learn how untrue both of those things are really really soon. \" \" Whatever. \" He hung up.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "It was that time of year again. The daffodils had come out, covering the hillsides with fallen stars. To everyone else, they symbolized the beginning of spring, pushing through the snow to light up the late winter ground. I saw that in them, but mostly, I saw endings. The fallen stars, slowly burning out on the snowy ground. My boyfriend came out with me, walking delicately through the flowers. I found one with a broken stem, and picked it up. A broken star. Suddenly, I started to cry. A broken star, thats what I was. Thats what he was. We were broken stars, burning out slowly on the snowy ground. He hugged me, bringing me closer to him. \" We may be broken stars, but we are still stars \" One year ago today, we were broken stars for the last time. Now its just me, half of a broken star. I cry again, but this time, no one hugs me. No one pulls me closer. No tells me I' m still a star, no matter how broken. I pull myself together, and head inside. It was sad and cold out here, alone.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I knew I should not have eaten all that chili. Jason, my boyfriend, was very concerned that I would n' t eat. It was after all, his mother' s favorite dish to serve and he knew I did n' t like chili. His Mom was ruthless as she brought out the huge bowls of chili. The beans were prominent. White and red and... lot' s of them. I practically gulped down the first bowl. I had to make sure that I was on board with my beloved' s Mom. I was reluctant to refuse the second bowl. But honestly, I was already weak in the knees. His Mother smiled at me. It was not a friendly smile. The third bowl of chili I ate, she scowled at Jason. He just shrugged and gave a weak smile. Bastard. The fourth became a practical choice. And after the fifth bowl of chili Jason looked at me wide-eyed ( mouthing when his Mom was n' t looking, \" you do n' t have to eat anymore. \" ) I think he was scared. His Mother looked at me with new interest. She loved me then. And I think Jason had an epiphany. Which is a good thing considering the results of the pregnancy test.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "The air was thick with smog as Bart hopped quickly across the cobbled street, pulling his scarf tighter across his face. The sky was a sickly grey speckled with spots of black. Rain was on its way. Chester Street had once been a hive of activity, people lining the streets in search of fresh pastries or trinkets sold by the old gypsies who seemed to have been around for as long as Bart could remember. Now it was empty of such life. He passed an old general store, robbed and ransacked long ago. The door banged loudly as it swung on its hinges with the wind blowing a gale down the road. Bodies lay stacked against the walls, an almighty stench reaching his nostrils despite the scarf. A decrepit old man lay contorted in the gutter, clutching at the cobblestones. Bart took a wide berth around him but paused a moment to observe the struggle. Help, he seemed to mime as he reached for Bart' s shoe. Help. In a nonchalant fashion he stepped over the man' s hand and continued on his way, tightening the scarf around his face as he went. They called it the Black Plague, but he knew it simply as death.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Every day is the same. And all that self help, life coach, motivational quote bullshit is never, ever, going to save you from that. No one can convince you to be better. Inspiration will fail you. Your heart will fail you. Life will break you. I believe this. But at sunrise this morning, sitting in the same apartment I have always sat in. Looking at the same backyard I have always looked at. I saw something for the first time. What if... what if it' s not about being successful, what if it' s not about being the best you you can be. Maybe it' s not about your parents being proud, not about having a nice place or a beautiful woman in your bed. Maybe that' s why people who have everything still hate themselves. Maybe that' s why celebrities with millions of dollars in their banks and a house in the Hampton' s have clinical depression and put shotguns in their mouth. What if instead of living a life chasing someone else' s vision of success you spent a life in devotion to something. A life devoted to a vision. Your vision. Scary? Yeah. But guess what? You work enough hours, you sit in enough meetings, and you' re going to end up in a room full of old fucks telling you what to do next. Telling you what to write, what to create, what to devote your life to. But that' s the thing, it' s your life. It' s not their' s. So who the fuck are they to tell you what to do. Whatever you do, whatever you love to do, that' s your art, and it' s all you have. Fuck the rest. Do n' t follow leaders, do n' t follow the rules, do n' t follow a salary. It may cost you some money, but it will save your soul.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I' d killed before, I' d kill again. That was a simple truth that I lived with every day. It is who I am, what I am. Asking me to be anything other than that was about as ridiculous as asking a lion to not be a lion. I did n' t do it for the money or because I particularly enjoyed it, I did it because I was good at it. It was as simple as that. Those that took some pleasure out of it were usually the ones that got caught, they' d linger, or take a memento, leave their calling card. Amateurs. Almost as bad as those that just needed the cash, they were inevitably desperate and desperate men never made good calls. Not to mention the evidence you' d leave behind in a panic, they did n' t have the stomach for such a job. Sure you could call it evil, call it a crime. But then if killing is a crime why is it so acceptable, why do you cheer on the murders who wear green and wave your flag as they shoot down innocent civilians and call it collateral damage. At the end of the day, it' s all about what we perceive to be true. Is a killer evil just because the government do n' t pay his wage? Just becasue they tell you he is? Killing is natural, it' s part of life. But for me it was just a job. So then, why is it that I standing here over my brother' s corpse? **Word count ( excluding this ) = 250**", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "He loved her. He told her every day that he would do anything for her. He promised that he would never hurt her. He thought he could keep her safe. The day they took her was the worst of his life. His eyes filled with tears as his door was broken down and she was taken away screaming. He was arrested and charged. In the bedroom, the police found pictures of the two having sex. He remembered the day he brought that camera home. She was so excited. She wanted to pose for pictures as soon as she unwrapped the package. It took little convincing to get her to pose provocatively. His family watched the trial in disbelief, unable to believe what was unfolding before their eyes. How could this be happening? Where did they go wrong? Was it even true? They had no idea what to believe, but they told their son they would always love him, no matter what happened. He felt helpless. What had he done wrong? He had often hoped that future generations would not have to deal with the stigma that his love carried, but he could not think of the future now. He was painfully stuck in the present, unable to come to terms with why his actions had resulted in his incarceration. He had no way to contact her. He was forbidden from writing or phoning her. He knew even if he was able to get a message out it would be intercepted by her parents. They hated him more than anyone. He dreampt about her every night and hoped that one day they would be back together. He was weak and could barely lift his head, but on her birthday he asked a guard if he knew how she was doing. The guard hesitated. He knew he should not give the man any information, but he had seen the way the other inmates treated the defeated prisoner and he had a moment of pity. \" She' s doing fine, \" said the guard. \" Did she get a birthday cake? She loves cake. \" \" Yes, \" the guard said. \" Her family got her a cake. They said she was even able to blow out all five candles at once. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I stood there, reaching through the twisted cage of mangled steel and blood. Through the cacophony of saw' s, and hydraulics, she screamed. Her screams, oh the screams. I would always remember the screams. I stick my hand in through the small of the window, and felt her neck. So warm, was the blood, so cold, her skin. I saw this happen, only moments before, but I was astonished at how fast I could move, when it was someone' s life, held gingerly in my own hands. I have done this before. Countless times. Countless victims. If I could stop it I would, but I am not that strong. I reach for the door, and rip it back, exposing the frightened female, sitting there with the remains of her dead sibling draped over the seat next to her. I hear a final scream, as she recognizes me, aware of who I am. \"Ambulance, We' re here now. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" It' s not your fault. You could n' t have known. \" Those were the last words of the woman I called my enemy. The last words she said before she pulled the trigger, staining her red hair a deeper shade of red. I stared out of the window of the highrise building that held her office. Outside the building the fires burned, the people screamed, and the world called my name. How could I tell them that the same people that gave me my Suit were the ones that caused this destruction? I took my helmet off and dropped it to the floor, the heat was too much to handle. Her particular brand of anarchy could have saved us from this genocide, this extinction, if only I had n' t stopped her. I laugh at the irony, louder and louder until the tears flow down my face. Everything is wrong. I ca n' t get her last words out of my head. The last bit of kindness from a woman I wrote off as evil. I wonder if she knew what she would be doing to my mind when she said that. In the end it' s the perfect moment. The moment of closeness I never felt with another. Everything from her last words, the half smile, and the fact that the gun she left behind still had a few more bullets in it. \" It' s not my fault. I could n' t have known. \" I smile to the empty room, and wonder fleetingly if there will be anyone left to miss me.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I sat in my soft leather chair, facing the other board members. They all stared either at me, or into the distance with a thousand mile stare. You could tell what their vote was based on their stare. It was even, four against, and the rest for it. We had only had an hour to decide what to do, wipe out over half the world in order to save it, or let humanity consume itself. It was the toughest decisions of my life, of all of our lives. I tired to weigh up the pro' s and con' s, each list was even. It could not be justified in either which way. I sighed, and place my sweaty palm upon sleeve and checked my watch, four minutes left to decide. I looked at John, my advisor and asked' John, by any chance do you have a coin?', his faced dropped at the realisation of my to be actions. He mummered to me out of ear shot of the other seven,' Luke, you cant be serious? \" Please, just give me the coin \". I responded in a low voice; not looking him in the eye. He grimaced, but handed me the gold coin. I took it off him and placed it atop my clenched fisrt on my thumb. I breathed out slowly, closed my eyes & thought to myself' Heads, yes, tails no'. I felt a bead of sweat drip off my forehead onto my lap. I flipped the coin, it was an eternity before I heard the thunk & spinning of the coin on the oak. I grabbed the coin and placed it in my palm. I opened my eyes, everyone was staring at the coin once they realised what was happening. I looked down, and saw the result. Tails. I voted yes anyway.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "It' s 9am and I get a call from Jaime. \" Dude, check your mailbox. I just got a strange letter in the mail. \" I' m still trying to wake up. \" What does that have to do with me? \" \" Just check your mailbox. \" Jaime replies aggressively \" Alright! Relax! \" I run down the steps and out the door. I open the mailbox to find a letter with my name but no return address. I break the silence on the phone. \" A white letter with no return? \" \" Yeah! Holy shit! open it! \" There is nothing worse than being told to do something with a serious hangover, what' s even worse is being ridden with sudden guilt and anxiety as I opened the letter. \" He survived. \" That' s all it says. Enough to ruin my day. \" Wait, what the hell is going on Jaime? \" \" You know what it means, do n' t you? \" \" Dude, that ca n' t be. I saw him... we saw him. No... \" \" That' s what I' m trying to get at. Either he sent this or someone who knows. \" I start to panic a little, \" Who else might know about this? We could be in serious trouble. \" \" I do n' t know, I... \" A stern knock is heard over the phone. \" Hold on, someone is at the door. \" The line is silent until Jaime is heard at a distance from the phone \" Oh shit! \" \" Jaime? Jaime? Are you there? What' s wrong? \" The silence is disrupted by heavy breathing, followed by a deep voice. \" I told you I' d come back. \" My anxiety and guilt have evolved into paralyzing fear. Jaime' s phone hangs up.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "... … Initial System Boot... … Waking The Hushed Casket... … DeepThaw Protocol has been Called... … Checking Vital Signs \"Hello Captain. \"\"Bring me up to speed Sam \"\"We are entering sub-vector 3. StarDate is 2772 Dec 13th \"\"Please wake the crew…. Oh and fix me some coffee \"\"We no longer have any coffee sir is a soy bean substi- \"\"I know we don' t have any damn coffee im just tired of this soybean shit. This planet better have a good coffee shop \"\"SR-7243 does not show signs of Coffea trees however I can offer you a soy bean substi- \"\"Shut up Sam \"\"Logic error, Conflicting orders, would you like me to shut up or wake up the crew sir? \"\"Did you develop a sense of humor while I was asleep? \"\"I am Sam an A. I. developed by Sanskrit Technologies Incorpor- \"\"Wake up the damn crew and wake the cook first \"\"Yes Captain \"\"Send out a bio-scan, we should be in range by now \"\"Bio-Scan initiated return time est 5 minutes \"\"Is my cook awake yet \"\"Pvt. James is awake and heading to designated station \"\"Incoming message from Pvt. James \"\"Will it be soybean soup with protein blocks or protein blocks with soybean soup? \"\"Surprise me private \"\"Captain we have been scanned \"\"Scanned? By what? The Europa is at least 5 months behind us \"\"I am unfamiliar with this technology \"\"Where is the scan coming from? \"\"SR-7243, sir \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "This was it. The funeral was over, and sooner or later, I had to break it to her. My heart, shattered already at the death of my father, pounded in my chest like a goddamn jackhammer. This was not the time. There was never going to be a time until I can shake off the anxiety. I decided to wait. Six months passed, and there I was, sitting at the dinner table with my mother. Dad' s death was a shock to both of us. The entire family, in fact. Time passed, and we all moved on, I guess. The jackhammer in my chest was starting up again, I had to fight it. Trying to hide the cracks in my voice, I said, \" Mom, there' s something you should know... about me. \" \" What is it, hun? \" She was n' t concerned. She did n' t even look up from the newspaper. This was normal for me, even for the littlest thing. Maybe she was still numb from the insane series of events surrounding Dad' s death. I' d bet money on them both. News stories, mountains of paperwork. Constant mention of a vague, tragic series of events desensitizes people. There would be none of that now, though. We' re supposed to have moved on. \" I... I' m not your daughter, \" I forced the words to come out of my mouth, they were quick and staccato, rolling off my tongue at random intervals. \" What was that? \" Oh god. I ca n' t do this. I' m about to be sick. \" I' m. Adopted. \" A little louder that time. More direct. \" Oh, I know. Your father told me after we brought you home. \" \" Oh. Okay. I think I need to use the bathroom. Excuse me. \" I' m about to throw up. That was intense. At least she knows.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "It was just another day, just another walk through the park. A lot had changed since the first time they had taken this walk. As they rested on the bench again, remembering how in their younger days they would run through the trees, not having to stick to the straight paths with no fear of stumbling. Over by the lakeside she noticed a young couple, the young girl was nervous she observed, whereas the young guy seemed confident as he leant in and placed a tender kiss on the young girl' s lips. She recalled her very first kiss with the handsome guy next to her. She wasn' t nervous, she remembered, she caught him off guard, he always was a clumsy fool. To her right she noticed a bride, a beauty in her white ball gown, standing close to her new man. He fiddled with his tie as he looked lovingly at his new wife. She recalled her own wedding; the loving look on his face still appeared when he thought she wasn' t paying attention. She looked at the path ahead and noticed a young toddler wandering alone; no one seemed to be watching as he ran along the grassy edge. \"Careless of the parents \"she muttered under her breath as she saw the many dangers that could befall the young lad. She wished for his mother to come find him quickly, she should be lucky to have had kids, not all girls could. The pain from the day she' d lost her only child still travelled with her, she didn' t even get to hold her, not even once. She turned away quickly, hiding from the memory, focusing on the happier ones she liked to remember. As he took her hand and stroked it gently, she remembered the many adventures she' d had with her soul mate beside her. The memories whirled inside her that day, but his smile never left her, his hand there to hold. Even now as she let it all go.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "*This was a story from a [ prompt ] ( https: //www. reddit. com/r/promptoftheday/comments/1iddj3/tiger_tiger_burning_bright/ ) from promptoftheday, though it was pretty old so I could n' t put the story on it. I might as well put it here though. CC is more than welcome! * -- - Tiger, tiger, burning bright, In the chaos of the night, Spreading plague and endless blight, Tiger, tiger, what a sight. Death and pain are all you bring, Summoned by our fearful king, Power from the ancient ring, Tiger, tiger, this I sing, Oh Tiger, tiger, drawing near, I clutch the ones that I hold dear, But looking through the gripping fear, Do I see a single tear? Tiger, tiger, now I know, Forced to reap, but made to sow, Your claws and teeth helped things to grow, Perfect from the tail to toe. Tiger, tiger, break your chains, Overthrow the king who reigns, As his power slowly wanes, Throw off all the burning pains. As the rock and magma melt, On one knee he slowly knelt, Shining from his broken pelt, Tiger, tiger, I know you felt", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "My wife was sleeping peacefully next to me. I smoothed a curl that clung to her neck and kissed her on the cheek. Lazily, she woke and smiled. We moved for a while, kissing and generally enjoying ourselves. Eventually she sat up. She was beautiful like this. Hair wild, eyes bright. Naked in bed. I scanned her form slowly, enjoying her curves and the look on her face as she watched me. Her slender neck, sloping shoulders, perfect breasts, glowing stomach.... Wait what? My heart sank. I strained my eyes, trying to convince myself that what I saw was just a trick of the light. There was no mistake. My wife was pregnant, and the child inside her would one day be my undoing. My family gift, knowing what person or thing would kill us, has never been more of a curse. \" Honey? \" My wife' s concerned voice breaks through my thoughts. I force a smile on my face. \" Yes dear? \" -- -- -- Will add more later", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Their eyes lit up, orange with the glow from the massive pumpkin cooking in front of them. Jimmy with the greasy black hair slapped leather jacket Mike on the back. \"Nice job, buddy, \"he said, smirking. The duo relished the moment. Jimmy inhaled deeply, and savored the sweet smell of burning flesh. Licking his lips, he sunk his teeth into the juicy, tender thigh. Drops of blood gushed from the meat and dripped out of the corners of his mouth. Human flesh was an acquired taste. Jimmy and Mike had mastered the art of preparing the delicacy by using one key ingredient: a pumpkin. Not only were the men in the autumn spirit, but using pumpkin provided that extra kick of flavor that blended harmoniously with the meat. It was a cannibalistic Thanksgiving for two. Flashes of red and blue lights and wailing sirens alerted the men. Mike rose, revealing a glossy dagger, almost as shiny as his radiating smile. Tonight was going to be a feast.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" So, I' m sitting there dick hanging half out playing Halo, when some asshole starts knocking on the door like the fucking worlds ending. \"\"God you' re agoraphobic. \"\"Ah fuck you. So, I get up and some squirrelly lookin' dudes standing there with a box wrapped to shit in cellophane. Just handed it to me and left. Didn' t even make me sign or anything. \"\"What was inside? \"\"It was the weirdest thing. When I finally got the damn thing open there was only five little glass vials full of some murky brown stuff and a note that only said ‘ Mark, these are the only antidotes. Good Luck.' \"\"Antidotes to what? \"\"Fuck if I know. \"\"What' d ya do? \"\"I tried one and it tasted pretty good. So I downed ‘ em all with some bourbon and played more Halo. Couple hours later some dude came to my house all panicky and started crying when I told him what I did, screaming about gloom and doom. \"\"What a loon. By the way, the missus wants you and Karen over for dinner this Friday. \"Sounds good buddy. Did you hear about that guy on bath salts? Ate some poor ladies face. World' s goin' to shit. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Bob checked his Amazon account using an uplink from his satellite phone. His shipment left Denver and was currently stuck in customs. He scoured the web looking for a phone number to call about the delay. He spent a good portion of his free time following link after link until he finally found a number. He disconnected the internet link and dialed. An automated voice led him from option list to endless option list. Press 1 to check your order. Press 2 to check why you' re even bothering. Press 3 to annihilate humanity. Bob tried all three options to connect to a living being. He learned nothing new from the automated response system other than the fact that he needed to keep trying. *Why do they make talking to other humans so damn difficult? * he thought. If he' d only known that Amazon was responsible for sending out the drones that killed their customers, triggering a massive response that devastated the Earth, he might not be so keen to give it his current GPS coordinates. Unfortunately, he did n' t know and therefore did n' t understand the significance of the buzzing noise approaching his coordinates as he dialed the next of a string of numbers arranged by the new Amazon AI to frustrate consumers.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I used to pray for death. Now it awaits me. I used to be trapped in a drug fueled reality. But now I can live free. I never thought it would hurt so much to breathe air. Well, my air came in a little metal tube, reminding me of playing with cheap paintball guns. Almost a smile. I would fill up a colored balloon really big like at birthday parties. Almost a smile. Then I would hold it to my mouth and breathe in and out until I could n' t physically hold it to my mouth anymore. Who knows if I was smiling then. The days grew slightly easier for me, which was nice. Then they suddenly turned into a mess of addiction, craving for the past weeks of happiness in inattentiveness. I could be all alone, but not that normal alone. The alone where mind and soul speak to each other and plan to ruse you. To \" help \" you see the best way to be happy is to be nothing. I cant feel happy, but Ill never be sad again. Or disappointed. Or upset, or angry or negative. The thought that all your troubles will melt away. I almost fell in love. I almost smiled at the thought.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I sniffed. The scent of rosemary and thyme hung heavy in the air. It had been a long time since I had been summoned away from the Other Place. I wondered what year it was. I wondered where I was. I would n' t get any of those answers from the flickering candle that sat on the floor, so I turned around to face the blithering sot that had summoned me this time. \" Bartimaeus, \" he said, eyes flickering back between me and the book he held in his hand. His knees were shivering. What kind of world was this, a world where seventeen-year olds had access to ancient spellbooks? Not that I should be questioning this. Apparently, Nathaniel had not been an exception. I turned into a hideous, five headed-dragon. Perhaps I could scare him out of the pentacle where he stood. No such luck. He barely batted an eye. Perhaps a shambling zombie? I shifted between several gruesome forms of undead before giving up. Teenagers these days. Desensitized to everything, I suppose. \" Alright, alright. What do you want from me? \" I grumbled. Maybe it would be just a quick errand. Oh, who was I kidding. He would probably keep me around as his slave for five years, maybe more - until the day I could outwit him. \" Bartimaeus of Uruk, \" he began again. \" I command you to write a six page single-spaced essay on the cross-strait relations between China and Taiwan. \" I became an ethereal puff of dark and foreboding gloom. I did n' t know what China was, or what a cross-strait relationship was, but I knew exactly what this *child* was asking of me. \" Do you know who I am? \" I thundered. \" I am Bartimaeus of Uruk. I have conversed with the afrits of Egypt and held counsel with Ptolmey. I have spoken with Solomon the Great. And you are *asking* me to do your homework? \" \" Do it, or I will use the Stimulating Compass. \" I sighed. Bollocks. Looks like it was time to do some research.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\"What are you doing?! \"Death whimpered, clenching shut the bullet wound on his right shoulder as he crawled up off the floor and sat up against the wall. \"I' m not here for you! \"The man stood looking down at Death, reloading two shells into the double barrel shotgun. \"I know, \"responded the man. \"But I' m here for you. \"\"What are you talking about? \"questioned Death. \"You think you' re the only one who can deal it out, don' t you?... I' ve been hunting you. \"\"Why have you been… \"Death took a long pause. \"I see. I took someone from you didn' t I? \"\"Somebody? That somebody wasn' t just anybody. You took my wife AND my daughter. You think you can just take a man' s entire family from him, and not expect any retaliation? \"\"It was their time to go, \"moaned Death as fresh black blood leaked through the fingers over his wound. \"And you get to decide that? \"\"Yes, it' s my duty. \"\"And who gets to decide when you go? \"\"No-one. \"\"No, you' re wrong about that. \"The man snapped shut his shot gun and rested the barrel ends on Death' s forehead. \"I do, \"he said.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Eddie, who works in the cubicle next to mine, is the most annoying fucking coworker on the planet. He makes me miserable every day. Just yesterday he was asking me not to eat fried chicken at my desk, as if I have time for a lunch break with my huge workload. Later that day, when he went out to eat like a total slacker, my keyboard stopped working for some reason. I started playing League of Legends on his computer, and he freaked out at me when he got back! I was left without a working computer that day, so I checked my 74 voicemail messages, but I could barely hear my speakerphone over Eddie' s bitching. I could go on and on about all the ways he pisses me off, but right now he' s on my case about how I have to \" get off Reddit because he wo n' t pick up my slack anymore. \" That lazy fuck works eight-hour days, and I stay in the office until the security guard tells me he needs to lock the front doors so he can go home. Fuck Eddie.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Two women walked in the room. My stroke took my sight, my voice, so I could n' t see them, but I felt a change. My wife' s hand gripped me harder. I did n' t have to ask who it is. It was the other woman and her wife, the woman I should have been. \" I' ll be outside, \" my wife said. I heard the floor creak as she left, ran down the stairs. They came closer. I felt their warmth. \" Look at him, \" R said. Her name was R. My name, if I had lived that life, would be B. It does n' t matter. I chose this life. And I' m dying. \" I am so glad I' m with you, \" the other voice said. My voice. My femme voice. \" He' s really fat. \" \" It was a stroke. \" \" I did eat when I was upset. \" Why was she, am I, using past tense? Was this mute body some object lesson, to show her she chose wisely? \" I love you. Thank you. \" \" I love you. I know you' ve been doubting yourself, so I thought this would show you you did good. \" I heard them walk out, down the stairs, out the door. And then I remembered where I kept the clothes I did n' t wear, the hormones I never took, the life I should have lived, and I wished I could cry.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "We were not ready. We were the next level of humanity there creation' s. History had let it known the next step of evolution had happened. We thought we were safe. Our predictions were perfect we had wiped out the human problem in 3 months. The great empire of peace lasted for 3 years and 9 months. We were not ready. They came from the sky like a sword falling down as judgement. God was a human topic, something us robots knew to be fake. But as our database does not have the right word' s i will say its as if god' s Angel' s had chosen to strike. We had no way to stop it. it came so fast. anything close to it burning up. We saw something fall off of it but the ship was still going way to fast and came down right on our weak point. It sword must have somehow knew that what makes us so powerful was also our weakness. It crashed into our master computer where we kept our backups and reset button in case our files got corrupted after all after we took care of the human program no one was left to worry about. This is the last recording we got before shut down. Showing what we did n' t know. We were superior because we could upgrade. We had no idea they could too. -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- Id......... Looks to be two human' s in suits. Recorded voice as follows: \" Dang it Bobby \" I told you, you were not ready to fall the ship down. Do you know how much trouble we will be with in command \" \" ahh sir, where is everyone??? \" \" Bobby do n' t try to change the topic the stupid congress are going to kill us \" mainframe attacked going into war mode....... All machines data sent to backup delete all data and download war plan backup 3. 0 All data deleted Input......... Warplan 3. 0 Searching for warplan 3. 0 Error... data not found Error... Data not found Error... This file no longer exists going into standby mode.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "It started on a Tuesday. A peculiar day to start anything, but nonetheless, that' s when it happened. That most innocent of days, /r/WritingPrompts featured no new prompts related to immortality. Nothing about Hilter either. In fact, nothing sci-fi at all. At first, the writers were elated. Stories about mischievous cats, high school dramas, and ancient civilizations quickly sprung up all over the place. It started so innocently, no one noticed the first signs of a problem, hiddden in a prompt about spring flowers. > Rose are Red > Violets are Blue > It' s springtime for Hitler > In Germany too. The next day featured more of the same prompts. Outwardly, the writers were elated, but more and more stories began to drift into familiar realms. A prompt based on an Einstein quote regarding time relativity was the most obvious, receiving 300 upvotes and 40 stories involving time travel, and spaceships. By day 5, every story involved some mention of Hitler, immortality or Gods. By the time Monday rolled around, the mods decided to close the subreddit. Many writers fled to a new subreddt, /r/JustWriteShit. The final story of /r/WritingPrompts was immortalized for all time on /r/Bestof. > Hitler Hitler Hitler hitlerkin TiMeTrAvElh Itler was ImMorTAL AliEN **fROM THEF UTURE** Time traveling GOD met to Warn ~~humnity~~ huMANity frorm evil jwish overlonds n bye HItleR cuasin hulocust SAVED futur gens form teh evi lsof bieng IMMORTAL **teh end**", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" Why would I want a lottery ticket? If I win, the universe is gon na fuck me! \", was what I had yelled at my wife when she handed me the birthday card with the Powerball slipinside. She said it was meant to be a romantic gesture, because all the numbers had some significance to our life together. I really did n' t care to hear about the numbers asinine relationship to my life, so I just told her to shut up and ahovelled cake in my mouth. These little romantic token ideas spread out through Facebook and Pinterest pages annoyed me. I do n' t know why, but probably because it led to a wave of these uninteresting wife' s doing these stupid little gestures. I' d seen her share the one about \" Give your hubby ( another word that overly annoyed him ) a lotto ticket with significant numbers! \" the previous week. I had n' t \" liked \" it. These stupid ideas spread like wildfire, and before you know if, the Powerball is up to ten billion dollars that no one wants!", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" Human, you have been chosen to represent the intelligence and overall might of the human race. We have observed your technology, your social interactions and deemed Earth as' expendable'. Before we ask you the all-encompassing question that separates the idiotic lifeforms from the greatly intelligent, I' d just like to say, thank you for participating today. \" \" Oh, well. Yeah. I... I mean, thank you? How long will this take? I only get 30 minutes for my lunch break, \" said Jim. His boss did n' t like when the guys took longer than 30 minutes on their lunch breaks. It was making Jim a bit nervous. \" Yes, yes. It is only a question and we only want a one-word answer. One word. \" \" Can it be hyphened? \" asked Jim. Agnolious, Conquer of the Universe, Overseer of all Divine and Chaotic, voted most handsome life-form in all existence by a 100 % victory over all known life, turned to his advisor, Dave, to discuss the question. After a minute they turned back to Jim. \" Yes, \" Agnolious answered. \" Are you ready? \" \" Yeah, \" said Jim, he only had 22 minutes left of his lunch and he knew his sandwich and chips would take him at least 15 minutes to chew and swallow, if he was lucky enough to not be caught in any chit-chat. \" The question we have for you... is... How many big bangs have occurred in the existence of our universe? \" The room was silent. Even the Hyper Energy Fusion Xtreme Generator XXL V6. 175, most powerful energy generator for intergalactic ship travel, went into' rest' state in hopes of hearing the answer. \" Well... I guess it would be a number... \" said Jim. Agnolious and Dave made no expression. \" Hmm. 42. \" The room stayed silent. Suddenly Jim was back at his construction site in front of his' Team Spock' lunchbox. A note rested on the inside: \" Thank you for your corporation. Earth has been upgraded to an' Intelligible and, Therefore, not to be Destroyed' status. Have a great day! -Agnolious and D. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "this is kinda fun: Circe is actually a food scientist at Monsanto. His shipmates do n' t literally turn into pigs but painfully devolve into porcine spongiform encephalopathy ( mad pig disease ) and regress to animalistic behaviors before dying after eating pork chops from pigs raised on genetically modified corn and soy feed. She is only moved to pity him when she realizes that he is a small holder farmer who ca n' t afford their ridiculous licensing fees for GMO crops. The cyclops is a moderately intelligent ( but not autonomous ) CCTV/security system installed by Poseidon Technologies ( personally designed by their notoriously vengeful founder, Dick Neptune [ modeled after the schizo paranoid John MacAffee ] ). It attempts to seal the crew into a zombie shelter they raid for dry rations and is only disabled once the door camera is destroyed by a baseball bat and they trick the system into opening the doors by spoofing food deliveries on its pressure plate weight sensors. The sirens are a naked song and dance act at a legal brothel with slot machines in Nevada. The Laestrygonians are hicks who want to make Odysseus squeal like a piggy. Helios' cattle is really dank weed from Mendicino county that is grown by a shell company for the Aztecas drug gang. Schylla and Charybdis is the choice between paid air travel home or turning on his cell phone, which will let Dick Poseidon track Odysseus' exact location and exact revenge upon him for destroying the bomb shelter' s security system. The suitors are the guys who keep messaging Penelope for sex on the internet. They are' killed' by Odysseus defacing their OK Cupid accounts.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "If you try to live your life as a free human being, they' ll hate you, they' ll ostracize you, they' ll shun you, they' ll be on their guard about you, because they are not free. They' ll never leave the plantation. They are -- and quite happily so -- willing, worthless fleshbags to be used as a vessel by the same superorganisms that try to infect us all -- ideas are the only things that are truly alive, and they live on over generations, growing, feeding, and fighting each other for life, as religions, sports teams, leaders and nations. You know what heroism is? It' s the sun shining through a flag flapping majestically in the breeze, poked into a mountain that was minding its own business in the Pacific ocean before some idea in control of some monkeys that just killed some other monkeys controlled by a different set of ideas decided to utilize its top for propaganda value, aggrandizing itself. And in three months, half of those men were dead. The ideas that make us immune to ideas are as popular as a book in a bonfire. Why is that? Quick! Whatever you do, do n' t think about it! I am the only person with the balls to not live in a world of lies, to tell myself I have thought, I have chosen, I have lived, when really I' m just a step in some other person, some other recycled idea' s Escher staircase of Sisyphean brain waste. Oh yes, they' re going places. You think you' re going places too? \" Psychopaths \" are just these nasty, horrible, sad little people who have broken out of the Matrix, and God damn them. Dangerous. Incomprehensible. Mysterious. Fearless. Heroes and explorers, and simple people with simple dreams under the control of no one. I think you need to join me and see what happens when you see the world, the true world, as it really is, from the other side. Come be independent with me. There is nothing to lose but your chains!", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "*Hungry. * Flapping wings. Heart beating. Faster. Faster. *Must find food. * Energy draining. Flapping wings. Heart beating faster. Nothing around. *So hungry. * A smell. Sugary. Energy. Wings flap harder. Must find food. Smell grows closer. Follow smell. *Smells good. * Land. Bite at sweet smell. Tastes foul. Is not food. *Must find food. * Flap wings. Flap wings harder. Heart beats, fear courses through body. *Must find food. * Not moving. Face and feet stuck. Breathing difficult. Sweet smell, no food. Heart beats faster. Fear grips body. * Can not move* Try to breathe. Heart beating too fast. Must rest. -- -- Can not move. Energy low, gut in pain. *Body weak. * Legs weak. Face stuck, every breath harder to take. *Eat. * Foul taste. Flap wings. Right wing stuck. Flap wings harder. Right wing does not move. Heart beating faster. Must rest. -- -- *Must find food. So hungry. * Sweet smell, foul taste, no food. No energy. Stomach paining, legs weak. Abdomen stuck. Flap wings, neither move. Breathing sweet smell, try to eat. Can not move mouth. Taste is foul. Is no food. *So hungry. Must rest. *", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "You know what' s outside, right- same damn thing as what' s inside, that' s what. We ca n' t see anything that' s not us. I see the billboard outside, selling tires, and I do n' t see the billboard, or tires, but instead my father, and his mortality. Like that cherry red convertible cutting through the wind like a kamikaze Bing cherry - that' s a wish that one day I' d be happy, and free, and full of peace. So I do n' t do vivid much. I let my eyes dance, never settling on the expressions in the other drivers' faces, lined with anxiety and sleep deprivation and God knows what else- as they sit and wait in traffic. Because I' ve seen it all before and decided I do n' t much like seeing it. So the trees- they' re green. The tires, black. And my eyes keep dancing beneath a blue sky. I really should buy some new tires.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" Table 16, skinny, usual order chef. \" The waitress relayed the same phrase to the kitchen everyday for the past 7 months. \" Order up. \" The chef passed the plate of brown toast and a glass of tap water through the hatch with a sigh. It was n' t an exciting breakfast to make and he knew it would only go in with the scraps anyway but he obliged still every day. At least he could find solace in that it was n' t a complete waste of a meal, besides, it was a good way of using up the stale bread - not as if she' d notice eh? The waitress laid the solemn looking breakfast in front of the lady and went back to the till to voyeur from a safe distance. The lady methodically cut the toast in 16 equal pieces, a usual part of the ritual it would seem. Pushed the plate away from herself and gazed out of the window. Her movements and expression did n' t give away much but there was a melancholy aura around her. She took a sip of water, gulping hesitantly as if the motion of swallowing hurt. She looked back at her plate and reached her hand towards a fraction of the toast, as if she was really going to go for it but pulled back at the last second. Another part of the' ritual'. Shaking her head, she stood up, holding her hand against her body and walked out, head down, avoiding the waitress at the counter. \" Did she go for it this time? \" The chef called through the hatchet, hearing the door ring as the lady left. The waitress pulled herself away from the counter and turned back to the kitchen. \" Naw, I really thought she was going to try today though. \" Edit: removed \" Of course at first it was \" Brown toast and tap water please chef \" but as the routine developed the working staff at the diner became familiar and the' skinny lady' s' habits became ingrained to the working morning. \" after' for the past 7 months'", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "White: the color of light, of pureness, and synonym of all the blissful stuff existing. That is what a writer thinks of, from angels to God ( s ), when setting a theme, intertwining a symbolic web and final denouement. To me it is a mirror reflecting *incompetence*. In the dim-light room, staring at a *blank* page on word document, i start to think that the lighting of my room had little to do with the tear in my eye. I hear my phone ping. Definitely another *Game of thrones* theory video or *Jyn Erso* fanboy-ism beyond control because Star Wars. Maybe i should bury myself in these never ending reminders of legends being and nitpick it and feel better. Or see a motivational video till i feel sleepy. *Next day*, i would lie to myself, *and then nothing can stop me from becoming Stan Lee*. Or should i post some previous shit i wrote long ago and make the mods review it, give him a piece of hell he/she just has to say **full of potential**. Maybe that false hope will set me in a better mood of acceptance of failure. A twenty year old, no friends and fun but a compliment from a person I do n' t know. Wow.. sounds fun. But not today. In another December 18, seventy years back to be exact, was the day Spielberg was born. I do n' t think he would have thought he would make war movies with Tom Hanks when he filmed wrecking trains in his backyard. Fuck it, ill type something and get some negative comments as well but i will be happy displaying my wreck, though this belongs in r/GetMotivated. At the end of the day i may have failed but i can proudly say **I TRIED**", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "https: //www. reddit. com/r/SubredditSimulator/comments/3j3k0w/i_was_surfing_the_wikipedia_when_i_look_up_and/culxidp Defeated, she put her hand on the ticker tape, stopping it for a long time, *I* *loved* *an* *artist*. She looked out over the street below, bustling with life. The ticker tape strewn from windows above fluttered down like snow in the cold January air. Soldiers marched gleefully down the boulevard, Sherman tanks grumbling over the pavement not far behind. Her eyes glistened as tears began to form. Her heart was conflicted. These men had loved him, even as a soldier. She shook herself. He was never a soldier. A boy, at the most, never a soldier. She could hardly contain herself. Every part of her wanted to cry out in pain and loneliness. Still the men marched and cheered as they streamed down Broadway like a river of men and metal, each proclaiming life, and joy at having retained it. She hated them. She hated herself for hating them. They did not kill her son, and yet still she felt nothing but contempt for the military that had ripped her boy from his mother' s embrace and the art he had lived for, bled for, before being made to bleed for his kin and country. She closed her eyes and stood at the window for a moment, the sounds of the street below washing over her. He would n' t have wanted this. He would never have held onto hate, no matter how justified he would feel doing it. She felt the cold sting of her tears on her cheeks. She threw the ticker tape.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "As I calmly walk into the bank SGT. Doomhand had taken hostage I make sure to check on the 15 or so people laying on the ground. SGT. Doomhand comes around the corner to see me standing there causing him to jump and drop his giant metal hand on the ground. I sigh and shake my head before saying, \" what are you doing Harold ( Doomhand' s real name )? How could you hurt all these people? Harold I' m not mad at you I' m just disappointed in you. I want you to know that I have called your mother and father told them what you have done. When I told your mother she burst into tears and your father told me he would leave work early and be right over. \" When I finished speaking Doomhand' s face because as pale as a vampires ass cheek. The word \" Disappointed \" hit Doomhand like a runaway train causing him to cough up blood from shame. Hearing he made his mother cry felt like he was struck by a tidal wave made of guilt that made him feel sick and woozy. And the fear he felt from hearing that not only had his father heard of what he did and that he made his mom cry but that he had to leave work early and was on his way caused Doomhand fall to the ground and start crying. I was able to save all 15 hostages and thwart Doomhand' s plan to rob the bank. Once again I was able to prove that words are mightier than the sword. Fortunately I was able to leave before Doomhand' s father Gen. Doomblade arrived. I hear Harold works in a library now days.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" The date is June 22, 2222. It is approximately 15: 11 and 26 degrees Celsius. Alright, we will start by placing the entire object under the 3-D imaging camera so a model will be reflected onto our screen and saved into our system. This is so Bill does n' t accidentally blow up the artifact again. Alright, now that that is done let' s see what we have. The object is precisely 5. 08 cm tall. 2. 81 cm wide, and 13. 97 cm in length and as the chemical tests show, is composed of poly ( vinyl chloride ) [ plastic ]. The poly ( vinyl chloride ) [ plastic ] has an indented groove slightly smaller than the width which seems to be coated with a sticky, binding cloudy residue. At the slightly curved end there appears to be a composition of Fe2O3. nH2O ( s ) [ rust ]. The test of the cloudy residue is coming back as an unknown substance directly related to C6H10O5 [ cellulose ]. The object is now carefully being split in half with our laser. Something is sifting out of the cracks. After closer examination it appears to be sand. What is this? Bill I am stepping out. Clean up the lab. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "The singing, pinging, ringing sound that lives in side your ear That continuous, constant, ceaseless noise is currently here -' There is no medication,' the doctors say,' Live with it,' they said' There is no magic cure for this, not medicine, not bed.' -' Merely a hallucination, and that can not be fixed. \" Just live your life, and do n' t, on it, be transfixed.' - That' s easy for them to say, the doctors and the nurses They do n' t have to live inside their heads with an ever-ringing circus - But *you* know what' s it' s like, you know the constant pain You feel the pinging, always there, the noise inside your brain - But if you knew the reason that you hear the endless ringing If you knew why it was really here, if you knew the nature of his singing - You would n' t be complaining; you' d know that you' re blessed For it conceals the secret wanderings of your unknown guest - He latches onto you and hides behind your mind He' s chosen you to veil himself, to you to be confined - Whilst he conducts his hidden, despicable business The events that he would not want you to witness - He makes the noise, that' s him, he puts it in your ear Because without it, you' d know that he was here - And if you knew, well, that just would n' t go He' d leave your mind and drag you down below", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" I have to go on a Hajj, Jim. \" \" A what? \" \" A Hajj. I' m going to Mecca. \" His mouth fell open. \" You... what? \" \" Do I really have to say it again? \" \" No, no, it' s just... Are you serious? \" She clenched her jaw and averted her eyes. \" Oh my God, you are, are n' t you? \" Clenching her suitcase in hand, she started ambling towards the door, one hand on her stomach. He moved to stop her. \" You ca n' t do this, not right now. You know you wo n' t survive, it' s become airborne! \" \" In less than a month I wo n' t be able to walk, Jim. I have to do this while I can. \" \" Jo, listen to me, I was okay when you picked up Islam. I was okay with banning the foods you did n' t want in here. I even cut contact with Jack after what he said. But this? I just- I ca n' t let you. \" \" Ca n' t let me? You ca n' t stop me. I' m going on this Hajj, and I' ll be back before it' s time. Allah will protect me, Jim, even if it is airborne. \" \" Just because you think he' ll protect you does n' t mean he will, and I do n' t know how I could live without you two. \" \" Then come with us, make the journey. Allah will protect your Hajj as well, and the little one' s. \" With a hand on the massive bolt that kept them protected, she thrust the other out. He just stood with his arms at his sides, but stepped forward to follow her. She struggled with the massive bolt for a moment before jerking it out of place, and stepped out into the air. \" Jo, just- just know I loved you. I did. \" And with that he snapped the door shut behind her and fell to the ground, sobbing. It was nearly an hour before he gained the courage to stand and a year before he gained the courage to join them. Their corpses rested not six feet from the door.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Tod could n' t believe it. Back to school late in life and he was already wasting his time. The year was 3090 and the human race had decided the only way to choose who belonged to the social elite had been through an intellectual hierarchy. Procrastination could in a sense be a death wish, if you did n' t have your shit together not only could you be shut out of the higher society, but it meant you were destined to interact with everyone else thrown to the bottom of the heap, so to speak. Tod was working on Chemistry. Well, Bio-Chemistry to be specific, his homework assignment was to recreate a self-sustaining protein which could be used in cats to make them immortal. It was elementary stuff for the time, immortality had long been discovered, but regardless of how long a person could live cognitive plasticity did not change. In other words there was a limit to how much knowledge a person could obtain, and if they were lazy and did n' t keep up with their work atrophy would cognitively set in and sooner or later they would forget everything. Tod was n' t young or old, leaning more on the young side he idealized making something of himself but found himself getting stuck over and over, day in and day out. Little did he know that a reservoir of sub-conscious resentment kept him from progressing. He hated himself too much to let himself succeed. He would n' t become anything in this futuristic world. Hopefully the atrophy would come quickly.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I feel that the goal of any story I write ( after choosing what demographic I want to reach ) is to get the most ( content-wise ) out of the least ( word-wise. ) This often means that I spend a fair amount of time looking up words or simply thinking about what I want a reader to feel or think after reading a line, paragraph, etc. And after I' ve written something down, even more time goes into editing what I' ve written. I do n' t think anyone should be discouraged based on what a website tells them though. If you feel that your lexicon needs some sprucing up, read the works of others or just cross-reference some of your own words with a thesaurus/dictionary. You might find that there are words that express what you want to say even better. As far as feeling inferior to others, that is a natural feeling in the world of literature. No one is a master of all art-forms ( and few are a master of even one. ) Yet, there are people who exist in the world as literary giants. So feeling inferior is okay as long as you do n' t fall into despair about it. If you are inferior, expand your vocabulary and improve your skills. You could even look at those websites as challenges to overcome or test your limits. So keep at it, Wr_2213.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Someone knocked on the door. I pause my Youtube video and trudged to the front door to check out the peephole. It' s a small boy who looked quite lost. Dern hooligan, I jokingly thought and open the door. The businesswoman tapped her foot impatiently. \" Yes, I require assistance. I' m looking for 256 Oak Trail, and I' ve checked the whole street. Do you know that address? \" Annoyed, I replied curtly, \" This is 256 Oak Trail, ma' am, what do you need? \" \" Oh, how delightful! \" The thin grunge teen exclaimed. \" I' m looking for an, um... \" The lady checked her notebook, \" Samantha? \" Panic filled me, what could I have done? I do n' t remember doing anything bad enough to warrant a house visit. \" I am Samantha, sir. \" \" Well, in that case, I regret to inform you that today is the day you die. \" He solemnly informed me. Relief and confusion flooded me. \" What? How would you know? \" She raised her notebook with a frail, shriveled hand, \" I am Death, and these are your peers for today. \" Joy. Tinged with worry. \" Will I get a moment to tell my family I love them? \" He studied me carefully, \" You are n' t scared or mad. \" It was n' t a question, but I answered, \" Depression is a hell of a thing. I' m glad it is n' t me, to be honest. \" They grimaced but inclined their head, \" Make your calls and texts. It will be tonight, but not now. \" Why am I staring at my neighbor' s lawn? With a scoff and a sudden urge to text my family out of the blue, I retreated into my home. Happy.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "It was late at night and i was eating popcorn and binging on shows, the popcorn tasted funny but after a while I became really sleepy, It was almost past 5 and I could n' t stop myself from watching the show. The TV turned off quickly after a bright light shined from the sky like dominoes, as If it was being shined from a big lamp, I was shocked, I could n' t use anything, my phone was turned off and it was n' t out of charge, I tried using the landline but nothing worked, suddenly a group of military personnel opened the door, I was scared and I tried to talk but before i could' ve done anything. *Freeze all motor functions* *this one stayed up, take him to the camp* My body froze as if I was paralyzed, but I could see everything they took me in the camp, threw me in a cell like looking room with only a bag there. I could barely see outside but after a while my body began unfreezing I took a peak outside and saw rows of humans standing in a line in a white lab, they moved so perfectly like they were controlled, each went into a room but I could n' t see anything. Suddenly another military personnel came, before I could say anything my body started moving, I started wearing my clothes and then went into a shuttle looking vehicle. *Welcome soldiers* Westworld inspirations; )", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "It was time. We all took our places in the ritual circle underneath the starlit sky, while the old medicine lady chanted and sang in the middle. Each person eagerly awaited their transformation. As the moon reached its apex, slowly, everyone began to change. Skin grew hairier, teeth grew sharper, eyes grew wilder. Everyone began changing into the spirit animals they saw in their visions. Well, everyone except me, that is. As my friends changed into wolves, eagles, bears, snakes, they all saw that I retained my human form. A few laughed at me and mocked for being stuck in this pitiful existence. Some pitied me for not being able to experience the new freedom and strength that came with a new form. Others looked at me with revulsion, and considered me unworthy and unclean. One by one, as each one completed the transformation, they slipped into the night. The old lady shook her head at me and sighed, suggesting that perhaps I did n' t pray hard enough. Her eyes were filled with frustration and pity. Yes, I' ll try again next year; yes, I' ll bring a better offering; yes, I' ll pray more fervently; and all that stuff. I ca n' t say that I was too disappointed by my lack of transformation, though. I was n' t exactly distressed. I *am* a shapeshifter, after all.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "SCENE: Generic mall food court, moderately busy, empty STAGE at end opposite frame. CAL and HIRO are chatting over pizza. CAL \"... so basically if Jess is cool with it we' re gon na open our first gig on Sunday right over there. \" CAL gestures at opposite end of food court at STAGE. HIRO: *looking in direction CAL indicated* \" Dude, that' s awesome! I think it' s great that your retro-futurist synthpop darkwave jam band Karate Fever is finally taking off! What was it, 200k on YouTube? \" CAL *jokingly* \" Yeah, I ca n' t wait to live that rockstar life. \" NEIMAN CYS enters FOOD COURT wearing jet black kung fu uniform with silver trim. He is accompanied by PUNKS. NEIMAN' s eyes widen as he notices CAL and HIRO looking right at him. HIRO \" NEIMAN CYS! My old Kempo nemesis! \" CAL \" Heh, your nemesis was named Neiman Cys? Who names their kid tha- \" CAL is interrupted by HIRO, who has leapt to his feet, knocking his chair over and clenching his hands into fists. To Be Cont' d when I get off work", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Eleanor was trying to be happy for her daughter. Her only child' s upcoming wedding was only a week away. To her friends and family, Eleanor appeared to be the proud, excited mother of a beautiful girl soon to be wed, but no matter how hard she tried, she could n' t truly be happy for Annabelle. Eleanor was always proud of her daughter. She was smart, independent, and wildly ambitious. Annabelle found success in almost everything she tried, love seemed to be the only exception. The absence of a partner for most of Annabelle' s life was certainly not due to a lack of suitors. Boy' s and girls alike vied for her attention since grade school. A few were lucky enough to be considered as \" friends \", but no one had ever been able to call her their girlfriend. As High School and college passed, Eleanor had certainly noticed that her daughter had still never been in a relationship, but Annabelle was doing so well with everything else in her life, she never let herself worry about it. So when her daughter called her out of the blue six months ago, and told her she was engaged, it was quite a shock.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "*Went for a more dystopian approach* -- - In the world we live in, each and every human being is connected by an intricate system of artificial neurons. Data flows between continents; it traverses oceans. Anything we could ever want to know is at the tips of our fingers. Our knowledge grows each day, and our experiences entwine and spin a beautiful web. A web that we can not touch or see with our own eyes, only through the interfaces that allow it. Our thirst for understanding has taken us great distances, in both the physical and metaphorical sense; man' s influence has spread as far as eighteen billion kilometres from home, and we are beginning to understand the construct of everything that exists. We can circulate the world in less than a day. Our lifespans have doubled over the last century thanks to medical research. This increase would be greater, if it were n' t for the one thing we value more than a human life: Money. Money is what holds us back as a species. We are willing to do pathetic, senseless and degrading acts against humanity in pursuit of such wealth. We murder other human beings for money. Money governs society. In turn, society develops around economy, and some nations have become run by the corporations that earn for it. Powerful countries exploit weaker ones for their resources, preventing their advancement. We have the capacity to develop so much faster, yet we are held back by those in pursuit of materialistic gains. Why teach a man to fish, when you could sell him a fish every day for the rest of his life? Greed is a shackle on our society, and the key was thrown out long ago. While our technology has the capability to link us together, our greed is only pushing us further apart.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" I told you this was a bad idea. \" Satan grumbled, \" You did n' t say they would have traders. I did n' t even know what a teaser was. \" \" Hence, this was a bad idea. \" \" They' re not even taking us seriously. \" The television, only recently acquired, showed a helicopter' s view of the city park where the forces of hell had broken through. The chyron read \" ENVIRONMENTAL PROTESTS TURN VIOLENT \". Unable to provide identification, demons were detained en masse, while those that tried to escape back down the pit were being taken down by rubber bullets and tear gas. \" Does n' t anyone use swords anymore? \" \" Maybe you should have attacked an anime convention. \" \" Steve, stop. I need to figure out how to get my guys back. \" \" I know a good attorney. There' s no way they' re being read their Miranda rights. \" \" I do n' t know what that is. \" \" I' m starting to wonder if your lack of research is why you' re down here to begin with. \" \" If you do n' t knock it off, the coffee is n' t going to be the only thing that' s burnt around here, \" \" Suit yourself. \" Satan' s forces of evil were released six hours later without charge. Three months later, Satan personally led a second offense. Per what he thought was Steve Jobs' s advice, he attacked an anime conversation where he won best costume for his Diablo cosplay.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "**Mars sucks. What do you think, Dave? ** I hear you, Steve. Why did n' t I delete the Uber app from my phone? There ai n' t an Uber anywhere near here. **Yeah, it' s like \" Where you' re going, you wo n' t need Uber. \" ** Uh huh. **Back To The Future. Doc Brown. ** Anyhow, so it looks like we have our choice of future cemetary plots. Like, pretty much anywhere. I know we' ve got about 40 years here at the least, so let' s call dibs now. I pick... right by that cave. **OK, and I pick the cave. ** Why the cave? **First Jesus on Mars, hello??? I' m gon na take advantage. You snooze, you lose. Or you snooze three days, rise from the dead, and people remember Steve Christ. ** Dude. **You' re right. We' ve all been tied to this last name of Christ meme for over 2000 years. Fresh start. I' ll use my real name. ** You do that. Hey, let' s look in the cave. Hey, there' s a skeleton here. **Oh, THAT' S what that skeleton is! ** Uh, yeah.. hey what' s that on the wall? ** \" FIRST! Your pal, Jesus. \" Shit! ** So what now? **You think he made it to Jupiter by now? ** What, the Son of God? How did he get a lift that far? **Good point. He probably ddid n' t delete his Uber app. ( smashes phone against abandoned Mars rover nearby ) Shit. I guess he' s superior ro us. Well, let' s bury these bones and invent atheism on Mars. ** Are n' t we supposed to be doing, you know, science? This is a pretty big deal. On discovered worlds, looks like Jesus is two for two. **You' re right. Hey, let' s invent Arby' s on Mars instead. We' ll call it -- ** Marby' s? **Now you' re talking! ** ( iris out ) EDIT: Typo", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "( Audio from Tricaster ) \" For the Triton Report, I' m Sadiya Young. Back to you Chuck. \" \" Thanks Sadiya. Denver Police is investigating a homicide in Adams County that occurred yesterday. The suspect is on the loose and the citizens of Denver is asked to keep an eye out for a Caucasian male, aged between 30 to 40, about 6 feet in height and slim build. He was last seen by the neighbour wearing a pair of jeans and a white sleeveless shirt... ( pause ) The composite sketch is being displayed on the screen as I speak. We will keep you posted as updates become available. This is Chuck Fincher with the latest news update right here on cNus, Channel 13 in Denver. \" The commercial music started playing as Chuck left his seat in a hurried manner. \" What the hell was that? You left out a whole line about his tattoo. Read the damn prompter. That was our exclusive.... \" Chuck ignored the producer' s rant and rushed past him. He went into the dressing room and closed the door behind him. He realized that he was sweating cold sweats. He removed his tie and the shirt. The vanity mirror on the wall showed his tattoo on the back.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "My mouth is burning, but I ca n' t stop. I will admit I am addicted, but who would n' t be? I can run faster and leap higher than Olympic athletes. My scrawny legs feel unbelievably strong beneath my frail body. I am forty-six now, but feel twenty-six. I am super-human, but only for a short time. I must get more, I need more. My blistered tongue bounced around my red stained mouth as I swept through the streets searching. I frantically rummaged through convenience stores looking for my fix. Convenience stores were your best bet if you wanted to obtain super-human abilities. I pushed and clawed my way through crowds yearning for my fix. I was coming down now, I was almost back to my normal self. I must find them. Frustrated, I kicked the rack of chips in front of me and watched as chips flew through the air like wounded birds. When something caught my eye. There, sailing towards the tall man next to me, was what I needed, what I craved. With lion-like precision, I snatched the bag from the air and my puny legs carried me out of the store. I tore open the bag and dumped the contents into my burning mouth. Crunch, crunch, crunch. My mouth watered and the corners of my lips painstakingly tore, as I opened wider to accommodate as much as humanly possible. My blisters screeched with agony as I dropped the bag of Flamin' Hot Cheetos. I tore down the street like a top fuel dragster into the night searching for more.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Derest Joanne the third weak has serficed and begun anew and Summer is upon us. The Captain has told us the land of Reddit is not but tew dayz from shore and the dekhanz are having benjo in antisipashun of a port tavern aptly named /r/gonewild. I may get arfarfn' arfed with them shood ocashun arise. Derest Joanne Reddit is a tru fifteen puzzel, gloreus sites abownd the peeple of this port town are mad as hops I tell ye'. The focis being a group of warloqs and wizerds of Artherian legend and they are allmost 50, 000 strong. They dabbel in concockshuns that skilamalink the mind, one such warloq displaid such knowlidge as to melt steel with a liqued formulah. STEEL! It hissd and growned as the concockshun turned to smoke! I was beleagured to inqwire this man but did so at my own peril. Upon laying questins to him he confessed' Be there no warloqs here boy! Tis' merely sients of the elaments.' So certin of this state meant was he that I veri fyed that the meddle steel was indeed the tru article. I now write you in baffelment and repose of the many wondris things this sients is capabel of. More mysterys yet to solve. *For those that may be curious, Victorian gentlemen that could not afford academic studies often became their own teacher with lack of proper equipment. Most had no proper training in literature but were indeed far more intelligent than their literary skill portrayed. A few words I used also came from [ this ] ( http: //mentalfloss. com/article/53529/56-delightful-victorian-slang-terms-you-should-be-using ). My random sub was /r/chemistry", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Desmond was not long for this world, and he knew it. Even now, from the depths of the keep, he could hear the telltale breath of darkness rushing toward the last stronghold of Peloria. The misty whisper chilled the kind prince to the core. It was nothing like the sound his father, King Drasr, had spoken of; even a man on the doorstep of death could not hope to imitate the terror of the faceless voice. The keep would not restrain the darkness for long. It was coming for him, as it had been all his life. The mist had taken the swamps first, leaving nothing but death in its wake. No one knew what to do against such an ethereal foe; the southern border guards, still green from their fathers' wheat fields, trembled and shook as the billowing wall of darkness took town after town by silent force. The farmers of the Midlands had time to arm themselves, but what do you wield to fight an invisible enemy? At least the cattle-raisers and barn-builders died with weapons in their hands and songs in their hearts; the same could not be said of the nobility. They cowered in their keeps, praying to the gods of gluttony and greed for redemption. The mist was more than happy to oblige, casting their lifeless corpses upon the riches they once coveted so dearly. King Drasr fell on the steps of the Durnmeer, overtaken by the misty onslaught. The doors of the massive fortress held for three days against the tide of silence as the king slowly expired. Prince Desmond could still hear his father' s last words, raspy and weak, in his head: \"Flee… You must… outrun the darkness… \"The sandstone walls shuddered around Desmond; the unseen beast had found him. It was only a matter of time now. The kind prince pulled his cloak tight around him, warding off the cold that came just before the nothingness arrived. \"Forgive me, father, \"he spoke, even as the whisper of death filled the cavernous depths. \"I ran as far as I could. \"And so the once-great kingdom of Peloria fell to the silence. -007", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I always thought I was a hero of sorts, that by eradicating the demons locked beneath I was helping mankind and up until now I have faced them all down. Depression, a shadow beast that creates an aura of fatigue and weakness, anxiety disorders the infamous sporadic creatures that seemed to ooze an unnerving gas that caused a feeling of uneasy panic, were two I fought most commonly. Yet as I walked into the creaky decaying nursing home room coming face to face with yet another client, a old decrepit Caucasian man, I felt something was wrong, very wrong. \" Are you Mr. Smith? \" I asked, He nodded solemnly \" relax and close your eyes \", I said closing mine as well and using the cursed silver bell I stole and began to delve into his mind. I opened them to find myself in a metal chair seemingly in the middle of massive metal room with dead bodies strewn about. Looking around I noticed a shadow with a silvery lining. It stared me down for what felt like forever until I went to stand up and suddenly it leapt for me and I dove in panic and it leapt again and I struck out landed a hit and tossing it several feet. it stood up seeing it clearly it perfectly resembled the old man and smiled. \" what are you? \" I asked. Looking up at me and smiled, \" I am kleptomania driven by insatiable blood-lust and now what is yours is mine and from its right hand produced my silver bell and in an instant it vanished leaving me trapped here forever in the old man' s mind...", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" Money! \" \" What' s that? \" \" Money, as in dollar dollar bills, euros, the gold standard, even zimbabwe dollars. Currency is God! \" \" I thought you' re a catholic? \" \" And what does the vatican have a lot of? You think the churches decorates itself on prayers? \" \" You always felt this way about god? \" \" Why did you think I became a banker? I' m the lord' s bishop. Let me show you the love of god, invest with us. \" \" This is too much, you actually believe that money is god? How did our discussion of philosophy ended up at this weird place you' re taking me? \" \" It' s not complicated, God has always been around us in the form of currency, exchanges and trades. I know it' s an abstract idea, but so is every religion in the world. And you know what backs these religions that everyone' s very much a part of? Money! Every since the first time some craveman traded some meat for some fur, the seeds of the almighty one had been firmly planted in our minds. \" \" But money ca n' t buy happiness... \" \" Maybe not, but it can take you to its doorsteps, and without it you sure will be in hell. You want your dream house? Get some money. You want that honeymoon with your beautiful wife? Get some money. You want great health care? Money! Hey, you know what? Take this credit card and go have some fun with it. It' s like prayers to god and it' s backed by the almighty one. With 0 % APR for the first year. Go and spread the words of god! \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "From the very walls he came, invading my home. When I awoke this morning I did n' t know I would be fighting for my life, all to keep him away from what I was sworn to protect. I was n' t prepared the injuries, god the injuries, I do n' t know how much longer I can hold off this invader, how much longer I can survive, I can barely move. He turned my house into a weapon, riddled with cruel traps of his design. Where did he even get explosives, how' d he learn to maneuver my home better than I ever could? I can hardly get a good look at him, he managed to turn every pursuit, every capture, every time I thought I was near victory into another opportunity to destroy a part of me, staying only long enough to gleefully carry out his punishment. The sadistic bastard! But I have a duty! Right here, in this room, in front of the fridge he has fought to hard to raid, bloodied and mangled, I make my last stand. You will rue this day Jerry, you will know that this house is protected and the name Tom will burn in your memory as your worst nightmare.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "To be fair, self-cest is n' t really all that bad. It' s like jacking yourself off, right? Except that it' s a female version of you and well... you' re kind of in a relationship with each other. When I met Llana, I was... enamored by her, and she of me, too. We hung out, you know, did the usual stuff friends do. It' s funny... she liked Fire Emblem, fighting games and doing writing as much as the next guy. So it' s to our surprise that a few months after our wedding years after, that we got this bombshell from my parents: \" You' ve.... always been alone, since you were a kid. You never talked with people, because they' d pick on you, and you generally keep yourself in a distance. We were intensly worried about you.... so we decided.... that we stole a lock of hair from you that night, and gave it to a friend who knew of a scientist that made clones.... and thus.... Llana.... your wife... is you. Just... a female you. \" I was shocked. Honestly, I did n' t think I was that... isolative. I always led a credo of not screwing with people' s lives. Live and let live, as they say... but to know that the love of my life, the one who knew me inside and out.... was just another me? I just... felt amazed and surprised. That' s when Llana put her hand against mine, and she said: \" Well.... we' ve gotten this far... I' m pretty sure we' re down the fucking rabbit hole already by this point... besides... even if... I' m just another version of my husband... I love him the same, from then till now. \" She was so accepting.... so devoted... so... me. I finally snap out of my reverie and shake my head to compose myself, and replied the same thing. After all... Love knows no boundaries, right?", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Skinny jeans. Thigh gap. Caramel macchiato in one hand. A wispy James Dean on the other. She laughs, you scowl. Avert your eyes, do n' t let them catch you staring. Staring like a frozen river, but the ice is starting to thin. Staring like viscid ruin running close beneath the surface. Kids are yelling for help, parents are screaming. White, frozen water with a fatal black hole where he had been just moments before. You did n' t think; you acted. You saved him. Ten years later, he loved you. Six months later, you found him, bedroom, clothes abandoned. Somewhere, you heard glass shattering. Maybe you should have let him die in that water. Maybe you should have said something, anything. Maybe you should have screamed. Maybe you should have drowned her in the bathtub. Maybemaybemaybe. But you did n' t. You left. Time froze, like water. A fatal black hole where a heart might have been. They see you staring. Wispy James Dean goes pale. Like he' s still drowning.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" Excuse me. \" Two words never hit me so hard. I' d responded before I could finish processing. Before we turned around, I knew we' d both stopped. There he was. Me. \" What... What' s going on? \" \" I... nothin? \" \" No, I meant... Never mind. This is pretty neat, huh? We' re thinking the same thing? You look just like me. \" \" Bro, YOU look just like ME. \" \" Fine, fine. I mean, what do we do, right? This is so exciting! \" \" I guess... keyswap? \" \" Oh, bro. Keyswap. Keyswap so fuckin' hard. \" His keys felt light in my hand. He drove a Lexus. I hope my Hyundai handled okay for him. His GPS took me to his house. It sat on top of a hill overlooking the city. I' d never been to this part of town before. Never had the money. His wife was waiting in the kitchen. The food smelled delicious. It tasted even better. I could tell she was n' t used to being listened to. It' s too bad I hardly heard a word. I just could n' t stop staring; she was gorgeous. Great in bed, too. We met again the next day. Same spot. Same shoulder bump. \" Trade back? \" \" Meh. Could go either way. \" So we did.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" Look, I told you already, just as last year, and the year before, and the year before that, we do n' t have a choice, \" I calmly said to my wife. The annual break started the next morning. For three months, I would not have to work, my kids need not learn, and all would be play for that time period. My reasoning got me absolutely nowhere. She did n' t want to hear it. \" But how are we to pay for everything? The bills, the car, food... \" her voice trailed off as it did every May 31st. \" It' s the same every year - we pay for nine months now for what we used to pay in twelve. Bills we do n' t worry about and food is rationed equally. I present our meal cards and we get to eat. Simple as that. Nothing has changed since the last Break. \" My voice wavered on the last sentence. The explanation would never change for her, but neither would my love for the woman I called my wife. Even with her persistent amnesia, I worked a hard nine months per year so I could spend three straight with her. Each Break was worth it.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Almost always, I write without an outline. However, a couple times, I' ve used a very vague \" tentpole method \" outline -- as in, I' ve got a couple ideas that lead up to a conclusion. For example, when I wrote my NaNoWriMo novel last November, I wrote out three \" tentpoles \" which were the beginning, middle, and end of my story, at about a paragraph each. I have another one which is doing the same thing, but in terms of three books of 40k each ( a paragraph each ). For everything else I' ve written though, it' s off the top of my head. Sometimes I do n' t even have a proper ending in mind, just maybe a couple ideas I' d love to toss in. A lot of people love serious outlines, but I end up going \" why do an outline when I can just write the book? \" I should probably try to outline more so that I have a firmer idea as to where my stories are going. Check out my subreddit /r/Syraphia and my [ Inkitt ] ( http: //www. inkitt. com/syraphia ) for more of my writing.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "The wood creaks that familiar sound. Bare feet on dry wood feels comforting. The carefully shifting weight of an elderly stride. But this is no leisurely stroll, the she had walked down this dock a thousand times but this would be his last. The procession watched from the shore. It was kind of them to come. It was never easy to let go. Especially alone. Her arms grew tired. She carried two heavy weights. One in her heart and one in her arms. The heft showed on her tearful face. Her grown son' s face was calm his body cold. She wished to see his smile once more. She wished she could have said more. Or did she say too much? The weight overtook her and she lost her balance but his body did not touch the dock. A mother' s strength is something to behold. She came to his tiny ship. She placed her baby in his final crib. She took from around her neck a tiny compass. Something to show him the way. She tied the little sails and her hand would n' t let go. How could she? She reached in and kissed him goodbye. The sails took him away quickly on his last adventure on the shore of the sky.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "You know, I' ve always been a bit off. I never really played with the other kids, I just read. I can give you a lecture on science like no one' s business, but small talk' s a chore. Oh, and I do n' t have any numerals. Everyone else I know does. My parents have a complex string of M' s, L' s, and X' s in common with one another. My brother, too, has numerals on his wrist. They' re like my parents', but with some slight changes. All my friends have them, and some even share numerals with one another. Still, though, I do n' t. Since they do n' t show up until the onset of puberty, I did n' t realize how abnormal I was until I was around fourteen. I remember thinking people just got them tattooed on or something, until I was told that the numerals just start to appear on your wrist by themselves. Seven years later, here I am. Numeral-less. A lot of people seem to have a tough time understanding this. Whenever I wear tee shirts, or people can see my wrist, I get comments indicating that there' s something wrong with me. That' s far from the truth, though. Even though I do n' t have the numerals that are so important to so many people, I do n' t have that all-consuming drive to find a soulmate. I can focus on things that matter to me, like friends. There are others without numerals, too. I' ve met some and befriended them over the Internet. Overall, even though I do n' t have a numeral combination on my wrist, I' m generally pretty happy with life. Hopefully, this can get out to other people, especially those without numerals, to show that just because you do n' t have some numbers from a long-dead empire on your carpals does n' t mean you' re wrong as a person. ( coughthisisaboutbeingaromantic/asexualcough ) ( PS: this is my first comment on this sub and I' m SUPER tired. Hopefully this goes over well ).", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Tobias knew it was his chance to prove to the world he was different. Everyone else seemed to think their telekenetics and heat vision made them special. He thought they were all fairly cliche, and more than played out. Tobias approached the stage in the dim lit arena. The silence was deafening. This was strange to him because he knew the seats were filled with spectators. Suddenly a giant hologram of a floating head appeared and it' s eyes shone a bright spot light on Tobias. \" Show me what you got \" proclaimed the head. Tobias sat in the floor with his legs crossed and began rocking side to side. The crowd began to get aggitated as nothing seemed to be happening. They did n' t seem to notice that a black cloud had begun to form above the arena. Red hot lightning shattered the sky lights and began striking Tobias. The only way to explain what happened next is to say he began \" shifting \". He began to bleed through the fabric of the universe. And like that he was gone. A few moments later he returned with a rather homely looking woman. In a big booming voice he announced, \" This is the ugliest woman in all the multiverse. She is known as u/ImTroll' s mother. I will prove to you that I am the most powerful being, worthy of at least a power rating of 10. I will do this by having sex with her and not vomitting everywhere. Tobias began. He was going strong. Spectators began to walk out, unable to watch the horrifying display. The level indicator began ticking from 1 to 7, very rapidly. And slowly it turned over to an 8. But then something happened he did n' t expect. He began to feel weak. And his pace slowed along with the rising level indicator. Tobias yelled, \" I' m like a flashbang going off in a small room! \" Tobias felt a cold hand grab him by the scruff of his neck. Then, he felt himself being pulled in close to his partner. And in his ear she whispered, \" your purpose is limited and your novelty account is gay. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Things like this are not supposed to happen anymore. There are protocols, safety measures. Deaths by friendly fire are supposed to be impossible. True, no system is perfect, but I never thought that I would prove to be the exception. He was my teammate, my brother-in-arms, my best friend. After the court-marshal and and official investigation ruled the incident an accidental slaying I obtained my mental-health discharge and went back home. The first thing I did was track down his old girlfriend. I just needed a chance to explain. So here we are, in a chain coffee-shop sipping lattes that have gone cold as we try to make conversation. \" I' m so sorry. I do n' t expect you to forgive me. I know that I can never make it right. I just thought that you deserved to know what happened and hear my apology face-to-face. \" \" Tell me, did he say anything to you... before he passed? \" \" He said,' You team-killing fucktard. \"'", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "It was n' t dark, and the one flat light that illuminated the room would flicker from time to time. I imagine it flickered in correlation with another prisoner' s door being slammed shut, or perhaps a train that was passing by. The painted white cement walls took the soul out of the room. The white absorbed thought to the point that I had learned to never open my eyes to the barren walls. This alone would be disorienting enough and I could n' t say how long I' ve been in here. I remember before though. The prison itself, my cell mate, Jean, who like I was locked up as an innocent. He was probably long gone to a new prison or perhaps free. He had 5 years, I have 7, and got thrown in to solitary 2 years in for slamming a guards face into the cell door. Still makes me smile. They have n' t taken that. The sense of justice. I always did what I had to. In this cell was no different. I' ll get out one day. For now the small exercises I can do in here keep me fit, and writing in my head keeps me sane. I sometimes imagine my girl in the other corner making eyes at me. She paints the walls all sorts of colors. Her names Charlene. She' s a bitch. I write her poems. \" White wall flavor, Blue eyed savior, Red lipped misbehavior, Oh baby, you' re my grave digger \" I' ll get out of here one day.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I am so incredibly stupid. At least that' s what my dad always said about me. And my mom. And my teachers. Come to think of it, everyone really. Now I' m 23 and live in an apartment just off of my college campus. I' ve had a revolver since my 18 birthday. I decided I want to die, but I do n' t want to straight up commit suicide. That would be boring. I bought one very large box of ammunition for the revolver. I did n' t think I' d ever discharge more than one ever, but I thought, what the hell. Every night since the night I bought it, that gun was in my mouth, except with only one bullet in it. It' s called Russian roulette. I learned it in some old spy movie or something. Anyway for the first year I pulled the trigger once a night after spinning the barrel, but when the hammer fell, I still had my head. It' s been 5 years now. Same deal. Every night I give it a go, every night I survive. That bullet had n' t moved since the day I put it there on my 18 th birthday. I decided that tonight, I' m ending it, so I put the gun to my temple, and just pulled the trigger as often and as yucky as I could. I still survived. I checked the barrel and that' s when I realized, maybe my parents were right about me being stupid as shit. Anyway I ACTUALLY put a bullet in the gun this time so if I suddenly stop posting, you know why.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "When he heard footsteps, he hushed his desperate attempt at a prison escape and hid the nail-clippers. Everything in the dungeon was either black, or a shade of grey, barely able to imply dampness. Johnathon needed to pee really bad too. \" I am the Grey Witch, and you will meet your doom. \" \" You' ve said that like thirty times. \" Really, Johnathon, I had to introduce her name, then explain her motives in a villainous rant. I' m new to this, so go easy on the criticism. \" You must die. \" \" But... \" his exasperation turned to morbid curiosity. \" Why me? You set my brother free... \" \" I made it my goal to kill every person from Gordonsville who regularly goes by their 3-syllable name. \" Damnit, Grey Witch. Yes, it' s technically true, but I thought I explained it with an interesting backstory. She went on about the robbery, her enslavement, her winning the lottery and finally being able to amass the weapons for her partial revenge -- \" Wait what? You won the lottery. You could have ran away and arrested them overseas, where they have smartphones, internet, and probably caught those psychos' next crime on surveillance. And you do n' t need to use maces, and caves for dungeons. \" Stop it Johnathon \" That would n' t be as dramatic, apparently. \" \" So what does this all have to do with 3-syllable names. \" \" I forgot. Wan na visit America? \" Please this is NOT WHAT I WANTED WHEN I WROTE A FANTASY ON AN ISLAND SET IN THE MODERN WORLD. Also I forgot to give the good guy access to laser guns. Shit. \" Sure, will you set everyone else free? \" The Grey Witch vehemently spat \" I think we should all come to a complete agreement first. I' ll serve ya' ll your first real meal in a while tonight. \" Well. Crap. The only place this story can go now is in response to some really weird writing prompt.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Sarah poked at the excel spreadsheet and tapped her foot impatiently as she waited for the helpdesk guy to arrive. Oh god, he' s so creepy, I hope he can just fix this quickly. Her excel continued to blink on and off, caught in a loop. \" Fair maiden, doth this foul spell vex you, \" Sir Alan asked with a deep bow. \" Its locked up again, I' m so sick of this crap, when are we getting new computers? \" Sir Alan shook his head, \" Pardon me, fine maiden, please repeat. This old knight does n' t have the ears of youth any longer. \" He looked down shamefully at his body, staring at his khaki pants with the stain on them. \" Good sir knight, I meant that awful wizard continues to jam my loom because I turned down his hand in marriage. \" She put her arms around herself defensively and raised her breasts a couple inches producing a clear view of her bosom. \" Surely, a lass like myself should n' t have to defend herself alone against such evil? \" Sir Alan smiled, \" Surely! It would stain my honor to let such proceedings occur uninterrupted by a just sword such as mine. \" He mashed the keyboard, clicked on the mouse, and waited. \" Oh dear knight, you' re so assertive and manly. This battle is too much for me, \" she said performing a mock faint. \" I am only the King' s humble servant, \" he added. \" Ah see here, I have broken the spell, your loom is back to how it was. \" \" My hero! The realm is lucky to have one such as you, \" she said as she gave him a gentle kiss on the cheek. \" It is my... \" Sarah cleared her throat, \" Hey, so is it working? You have n' t said a word in like 5 minutes. Its kinda creepy. \" Alan stared at his brown work shoes careful to avoid any eye contact. \" Umm yeah, it was a bug with the VBS script. I just had to kill the macro. You should be good, \" he stammered as he quickly walked away. \" Yeah, whatever, thanks, \" said Sarah distractedly as she went back to her work. She turned her head to make sure he was gone and added, \" weirdo. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "The Council of Elders had gathered, as was tradition. A dozen or so familiar faces — Zorxx the Great, High Priest of the Poinsai Beta star system; Derns the Fierce, Intergalactic Warlord of Epsilon 9; and Sol, Elder of a system so distant, it remains nameless — among others. The ceremony was to begin shortly. As follows in the ancient scriptures of the starcreatures from Old Atlas Sigma 6, the Lottery was to be pulled on this date. Nature has a funny way. It has a strange tendency to refresh and replenish itself. From death, comes life; from extinction, comes evolution. At the last ceremony, Earth was chosen by the prophet. And at the ceremony before that. Never before Earth had the prophet chosen the same planet in three consecutive Lotteries. It would seem fate had a fondness for Earth, the tiny blue marble becoming a commodity among the Council. The Lottery is a ceremony originating in the Suns of Old. Every 2000 suns, the Council of Elders is to consult the Prophet. The Prophet is to select a planet of lower life. The ceremonial feast had been prepared and the horns sounded. The Council began the chant. \" Civilizations crumble, People cry, Many will suffer, Many will die, Life is a blessing, But also a curse, Given this knowledge, Who knows which is worse? \" The Prophet began its process. It said nothing. Silence fell upon the ceremony chamber. Faces grew grim. At the rise of the New Sun, the fleets would be dispatched, and planets would become the ashes from which civilizations are born. One planet was chosen to grow. It was n' t Earth.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "You stare at him across the dance floor. Ornate masks hide everyone' s faces. The men' s typically simple, black, the woman' s incredibly intricate, of all sorts of colours. He stares back. Bright hazel eyes, he' s sturdily built. You walk forward towards him, lady-like, regal. Your inky dress spills out around you, the material soft, pliable. Frozen leaves ornament the neckline, the waistline. You are stunning. \" Care to dance? \" You ask, voice smooth and deep. \" Of course. \" You hold out a hand. And then you' re on the dance floor. You slowly sway along with the music. Violins and pianos and cellos and harps and trumpets mingle together. You' re pressed close to him. His plump lips, the navy-blue mask adorning his face, accented by gold. He' s stunning. And the tempo speeds up. The orchestra is live, on fire, the orchestra makes the room come alive. Women and men pulling partners onto the dance floor, you pick up pace. Brisk twists and turns, he picks you up, spins you, sets you down. You bow down low, you' re swung this way and that. Feet move along the wooden floor. You move as one. You' re the centre. You' re laughing, you feel like air. He' s smiling, his grin radiant. The song ends, and you' re both breathing hard. He pulls you close, bringing an arm around your waist, pressing his lips to yours. It' s passionate. It' s firm. It' s bold. It' s fiery.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Memories, emotions, beliefs, traits of personality all crushing down in my mind like a waterfall. I go from the adventurous 6' 2 \" 52 year old survivalist with two adult sons of yesterday to a 24 year old petité woman who is scared of spiders and falling asleep in the tub. This will be a long day... as my new mind settles and the cold analytical mind of yesterday slips further into oblivion i realize I' m sleeping. I wake up with a shriek; blinding light in my eyes, certain that I finally did it. I finally fell asleep in the tub and drowned. I' m not dead though, I' m on a bus. I know the time, it' s always the same 0: 00. The last breath of a reality long gone leaves a a curious tidbit of information: it' s midnight and the sun is up, that means I' m in a polar circle at summer. I reach down in my purse and grab a bottle of water and a box of codein pills, I take far too many. This bus trip will take another day and im far too exhausted to bear being awake for it. I slip into a restless sleep, with dreams of a dark past. Visions of men in white lab coats and bottles of pills that are n' t at all as pleasant as codein floats trough my mind before eventually that familiar feeling of midnight grabs a hold of me. The waterfall approaches but when it hits me it feels instead like a dripping sink. Like I moved to a twin like I have before, yet different. I sleep on with a calm and familiar resolve. \" ma' am, wake up. We' re in fairbanks, it' s your stop. \" I wake up and brush his hand away hastily \" I' m sorry \" I say \" I thougt it was a spider \" The man turns away, a worried look on his face. As he walks towards the drivers seat I gather my things and make my way to the rear exit. Outside I can see a man in a white lab coat. The laminate badge on his chest reads: colonel. Smith US army. \" Welcome home voyager three, how was the journey? \" A smirk drags across his face as he talks. I give him a hug before I reply \" which one? \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Hey there, grandpa. No, it' s saka. Your *other* grandson. I' m just stopping by on my way back from the coast. I figured I' d see how you' re doing. You have n' t been tagging your posts lately and we' ve all been growing a little concerned. Rainbows? Um, you know that /r/explainlikeIAMA is a bit more suited to these kinds of questions, right?... Well, since you put it like that, let' s give this a try. You wanted the individual colors? As if the descriptions of a leg, and a hip, and chest, and so on define a man? The comfort of a quilt by pulling the threads apart? The concept of color as if each is free to stand alone? You' ve never known color, but feelings, those you' re familiar with. There' s joy. Fear. Anger. Sadness. Guilt. Uh, envy. And love. We usually just associate a mood or moment with a single emotion. But there are times when they all get mashed together into something... more; more terrible, more wonderful, more beautiful, more human. But it' s still just an illusion. You ca n' t reach out and touch the rainbow just as you ca n' t set about trying to be be ambivalent. But you know it when it' s there. You feel them after the darkened sky abates while its effects still linger in the air. You feel them when you need to be reminded what it means to be alive.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Sauron second attempt at ruling was now falling into place. The Rings of Power had been a brilliant strategy that should have given him domain over all the lesser beings. But then there was the error. Soon he realized he had created enemies that were stronger than they had been. They would have wiped him out had they not been busy battling each other. He was relegated to the shadows, watching, sending his minions to discover what this' Mall' was. Finally a mage was able to see through the bonds of space and time and see what a' Mall' was. Sauron was angry, but then realized what he needed to do. And thus began his construction. The Dead Marshes were filled in with something called' Blacktop' and had strange lines painted on it. Throughout this there were steel post radiating an unholy light down on any who passed below them. Next came the changes to Mordor. The whole of the vast seat of evil was now a huge labyrinth. The brightly lit corridors all seemed as if they would lead to the center, but none truly did. Then there were the minions. There battle armor still in place, but painted in bright colors. Many now new the battle cry' May I Help You!'. One of the most dreaded of the minions was a specialist that would suddenly appear and spray something than run away shouting' It is on sale!' Finally, the last piece was in place. The wall surrounding mordor had actually been partially covered during all of the construction, but now came the unveiling, the one weapon that would lead the men, elves, and dwarves to their doom. Sauron pulled a lever and as he did, great tarps and shade fell from the wall revealing huge painted sigils of power. \" Up to 90 % off! Everything must go! Hurry, sale ends soon! \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" No, please stop. I have kids and a family, \" I said. It was useless; my voice was starting to fade away. \" Mark, hold onto the lever. This operation will not be successful if the patient' s mask comes off, \" yelled the scientist wearing spectacles. \" Interesting specimen, is n' t it. \" *Rumble Rumble* \" Sir what' s happening. \" After lowering his spectacles, the scientist replied, \" The machine is malfunctioning. \" *Rumble Rumble* \" Sir the oxygen tank. It-It has a leak. \" \" Just turn the machine off, \" the scientist responded. After patiently lying down for an hour, the scientists proceeded to remove the mask. \" Huh, \" I inhaled. \" I do n' t know what went wrong sir, \" stated Mark, \" I guess we could n' t extract the color. \" Sigh... I shook my head, \" You ca n' t extract color from a personality. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "It' s not the destination, it' s the journey. That kind of loses its relevance in the post-Armageddon hell-scape we' ve been a part of for the last 3 years. You see if there' s something that we all have in common ( as survivors ), it' s that we never really live anymore these days. It all starts with loss. Most of us lost our original family in the first wave. Under-preparedness and a cultural dulling of natural survival instincts made for a horrible combination. We' ve learned so much these last few years. We all go through a sort-of mid-Apocalypse-life crisis. It' s not just the realization that you WILL die and that you do n' t know exactly when -- - it' s knowing that with almost complete certainty HOW you' re going to go. So that' s where I am. And just as we all expect, it happened with a bite. But what I did n' t expect is how calm I feel about it all. I thought for years that I' d punch my own time card, you know, clock out early. I' ve got nothing against suicide. I' m not particularly religious either. It' s actually quite altruistic, not allowing yourself to be another of the countless undead. But altruism died with the first wave. I' ve propped myself right against this tree and I' m going to enjoy my last few breaths in this existence humming along to my favorite song. I' ve got reason to be happy though. I might not be necessarily alive in a few minutes, but being undead beats the hell out of being dead. \" Heeeeey Jude, do n' t make it baaaad. Just take a sad sooooong and make it better... \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I still remember the day my soul left. I woke up as normal, and halfway through the afternoon, it just drifted away, fading into nothing. It' s an awful feeling; like being outside my own life and watching it from afar. I still go to the same job, I' m still with the same confusing woman, but there' s no passion anymore. Sadness, joy, fear, anger, anxiety and hope have left this life of mine, and all that remains is this void. I am a husk of a human, taunted by memories of emotion that stand just out of reach, like the memory of a dream that never quite forms. I remember being excited about things. Looking forward to new film and game releases, hanging out with friends and meeting new people, accepting new challenges. I remember being happy once; memories I cherish, but also ones I wish I could forget. It' s all gone now, and all that' s left is a feeling of helpless inadequacy as I watch others live their nauseatingly happy lives. I would cry if I knew how, but I do n' t. Instead I sit in wakeful slumber as the soft incandescent light of the computer monitor fills my vision and my time; if I keep my brain moving, maybe it wont notice. My mind is awake, but my heart and soul have left it standing helpless, and alone. I still remember the day my daughter lived, and took my soul away. If it keeps her warm, I think it will have been worth it. I watch her grow without emotion, and read her books with the detachment of the damned. I see a life worth loving, but I do n' t know how. In my sleep I dream of weeping, and wish for lives outside this prison, in my mind.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "My father used to speak of the war, of Egypt and Gallipoli' s distant shore, but the Turk and the Hun are trouble no more, it' s a new enemy with whom we must settle our score. & nbsp; From Perth to Kalgoorlie the call has gone out, \"Our soil' s under attack, who will man the redoubt? \"Now loyal men of the empire reply with a shout, \"We' ll do to them what we did to the kraut! \"& nbsp; Hark, unto Campion we eagerly go with pride, bravery and Lewis guns all in tow, there' s nothing to fear, we' ll survive any blow and strike back at our enemies, quid pro quo. & nbsp; Although they outnumber us ten thousand to one, it is a soldier' s duty to die with his gun, the emus may fear, they may scatter and run, but the glorious ANZAC retreats against none. & nbsp; Though bullets be dodged by our avian foes, though the frontline melts and shifts and flows, though they outrun our wheels on nought but their toes, we will give the invading emu what they are owed. & nbsp; We will save the farms from this merciless blight, whether a month or a year we will see through this fight, never flinching before a bird that lacks even flight, it is time for the emu to suffer our might. -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- - & nbsp; [ As always, if you enjoyed this check out my sub! ] ( https: //www. reddit. com/r/herd_of_birds )", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Hunched over, a shadowy figure clutches its heart. \" Is this what it' s like to feel? \" \" Jesus Christ, Will. \" \" I told you that' s not my name, *Simon. * I am Asmodeus! \" Jael rolled his heavily made-up eyes and yanked the clove cigarette from his mouth. \" Fine, Asmodeus. Just go ask her out! \" Asmodeus pressed the back of a fingerless glove to his forehead. \" I can not! \" \" Jesus Christ, \" snorted Jael. Asmodeus scowled at him and pressed his hand harder. \" I can not! I can not bear the thought of dragging such beauty down into the depths of my despair! \" \" Dude. She' s like a six out of ten. I guarantee you she' ll be flattered by the attention. If you can rein in your... whole thing for like ten minutes. \" \" How dare you besmirch my goddess' s beauty?! \" \" That. That' s exactly what I' m talking about. \" Asmodeus recoiled as though burned. The sound of rattling chains echoed in the stairwell. \" Are we not brothers in darkness? How could you speak to me thus? \" * \" Dude. * Dude. Seriously. \" Jael blew a puff of clove smoke at Asmodeus. \" Calm your tits. You' ve been a goth for like, three days, you spaz. \" \" I thought I had discovered fellow voyagers on the path of night! \" \" Most of us just like the fashion, man. \" Etienne, Raven, and Lorelei nodded agreement and exhaled clove smoke. Asmodeus sat up where he' d been slumped dramatically against the wall. \" Really? \" \" Really, dude. Just chill out a little and you can totally score a date with Amber Hossenpfeffer. It' ll be cool, trust me. \" Etienne, Raven, and Lorelei nodded and exhaled. \" Oh, \" said Asmodeus. \" Uh, can you guys give me some advice? \" \" Of course, dude. What are friends for? \" \" Thanks. \" Asmodeus smiled, cracking his makeup. \" Oh hey, you guys wan na hear my latest poem? I call it' A Pitch-Black Ode To A Midnight Trapped In Amber. \"' \" Jesus Christ, Will. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Then in a sudden press our feet stopped. As we all tilted, the surprise in momentum rippled through the crowd. Gas was pouring through the ranks. Knots of people were panicking, attempting to spread out against the compressed mob that was choking. Our wave of flesh was broken by the vapors. I was pushed up against on all sides. I had my baton, illegal of course, but in my hand it was my only weapon. My respirator mask, which seemed like such a hindrance just a moment before, proved to be my lifeline. I fought for my place. Most people did not have any protection against the poison in the air. Their flight turned to folly as they struck out at members of the group, and almost all of us were trying to get clear. I had to put one kid down and hit another stumbling past me. I hit another, and another. I was swinging wildly connecting with elbows and my truncheon, and getting hit in return. Someone pulled at my respirator, dangerously lifting it off the suction of my face, so I let myself be dragged down with it. I could not imagine losing it, taking it off my face. I needed to have it. A woman on the ground wanted it though. So I had to hit her, on the ground fast quick punches and chops, ‘ till she stopped moving. As I lay in the trampled mass, trying to curl up into a fetal position I felt my sinuses and eyes burn and seemingly melt. I could not move. I could not breathe. Something was in my mask and I was doomed.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "# Audio Log You know before any of this shit happened I would have loved the idea of being a fuck-stud to thousands of women. The first few months where great, fucking all day long. Then eventually the crisis of having almost half the population die got... resolved. Science labs in all corners of the globe started up looking for a solution, guys like me became fucking valuable to say the least. That was until about 2 months ago, as it turns out men are n' t exactly needed. See some scientist in America figured out they could use stem cells from bone marrow to genetically make babies. Female babies but still kids none the less that fortunatly did n' t come out all fucked up. They did n' t need us anymore. Guys like me got milked dry, fucking in a tube for a week with our cum getting frozen \" just in case \" then we got booted out the door to a world that did n' t need or want us. Anyone who fought it was executed like fucking pigs in front of a firing squad. Normal jobs where impossible to come by for a man, I got *lucky* I guess as it turns out rich business woman pay a lot for a bounce on a **real** dick not just one of those latex toys being in this *brothel* was as good as it gets for a man. Not that I get any pay but at least our mistress keeps us safe.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" Very theatrical, do n' t you think, Sergeant Baker? \" \" Yes sir. \" \" And what did you say the murder weapon was? A dagger? \" \" Yes Lieutenant. Driven with great force through the temple. \" The man ruffled his black curly hair, letting loose an exclamatory whistle. He leaned over the body once more, absorbing the details. He stood back up, and fished a cigar out of his rumpled tan raincoat. He remained silent as he struck a match. \" This was found in his mouth. \" The sergeant said, pulling out a plastic bag with a playing card in it. \" The King of Hearts? \" \" Yes sir. \" \" The' Suicide King \"' He mused, \" But if I' m certain of one thing, this was no suicide! \" The Lieutenant' s eye swept the room. It was a beautifully decorated office in a mansion overlooking Beverly Hills. He poked around a bit, but there was no evidence of anything being taken. Apparently, the killer was only there to take a life. An hour passed as the coroner and crime scene investigators came and went. The Lieutenant sat in the office chair recently occupied by the deceased. He passed the time, puffing on his cigar, mulling over the facts. HQ always assigned him the weird ones, and this one was weirder than most. He stubbed out his cigar as Sergeant Baker entered the room. \" We' re all done here. Oh, and Mrs. Columbo called and asked if you could bring home some milk. \" Columbo sighed. Milk was just what he needed to settle his queasy stomach. It was n' t the body, or the blood, or even murder in general that was upsetting him. It was the playing card. His stomach tensed again. He was certain there would be more murders in the days to come.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I' ve seen many things in my time. I' m over 300 years old. My eyesight, poor to begin with has faded even further with time. But, I have no complaints. I have always been treated with kindness and my pace while teased, has never been insulted. I am Hamwise the tortoise, known to my current owner Madison as Hammy. I did n' t say I chose the name. I' ve been through many big events, some which have altered the course of my life. When I was a young shell, I got picked up by my first owner as I was wandering through the grass. I was trying to avoid getting trampled on by leather boots and the end of thunder sticks. I would come across many red coats and bodies in my time, but that is not the business of a turtle. I was merely looking for cabbage. I had overheard my owners sometime down the line discussing a big war on the horizon. A harbor was bombed. Such a pity, harbors are lovely to me. I mostly stayed indoors and made friends with the legs of tables and chairs. Down the line, I heard a man proclaim he was free at last. This made no sense to me, are we not all already free? Furthermore, why was my owner trying to feed me dog food? Such predicaments in life. Truly, mine is the greater struggle. I remember watching on the giant wood box one day about riots happening and people crying. They were handing out flowers and the males were burning up small squares. I was mostly distracted by the owner' s new purchase, a creature named Rufus trying to mount me. Fool! I am Ham! No one mounts me. I heard a rumor once that man had walked on a moon. That' s ridiculous. The moon is the size of my eye and is made of tightly balled lettuce. Every good turtle knows such things. I' ve lived through a million events. I' ll live through a million more. My wisdom is long and deep, my mind is like a mountain; ever lasting. I am Hamwise and I understand most things. Except for Rufus. Notes found in another book: I am Rufus. BarkbarkbarkBarkbarkbarkBarkbarkbarkBarkbarkbark.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" Open sesame! \" The door opens. I enter. A shadowy figure awaits me. \" Why have you come? \" It demands \" I seek the power to become that which I was always meant to be. \" \" You dare to look within? To uncover the true essence of self? Very well. State your request. \" \" I wish to become... \" An abrupt shockwave pushes me, causing me to slur my next works \"... Bing Crosby! \" \" Your wish has been granted. \" I miasma of colors slowly overtakes my vision. It then disappears in an instant. I turn to the source of the wave. It' s a man clad in a mystic robe. \" Who are you? Why did you do that? \" As I speak my form begins to change, to morph. I know that I am now Bing Crosby. The figure responds, \" I am that which you seek to usurp. I am Bill Cosby. \" \" God damn it! I wanted to become you so I could rape everyone, but your fucking shockwave blurred my words. I' m Bing fucking Crosby! No one like Bing Crosby. Even he hates his stupid fucking music. \" \" Yes, Bing Crosby fucking sucks. I hate that fucker. However, I did what had to be done. The power to rape everyone can only be known by those with the training to use it properly. This power, in untrained hands, could be utilized at a suboptimum level. I can not risk leaving anyone un-raped. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" Holy shit, what did you *do? * \" The man in front of her whipped around, the body of a child in his arms and his pants around his ankles. The logo on his overly-muscled chest was spotted with blood. His widened in horror. \" Oh god, not you. Anyone but you. \" She pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration. \" God, I knew you had escaped from prison, and I figured you' d strike again, but this? This is unlike you. You' re a grandstander. You threaten to blow up nations, not a- \" She struggled for her words and eventually just sighed. \" I thought you were above raping kids. \" He dropped the body and quickly pulled up his pants. He had purposefully chosen his white uniform to contrast her black one. Looking at the obvious blood on it now, he was regretting that decision. \" Please, \" he begged, \" Don' t- \" \" Do n' t *what? * \" Her anger got the better of her. \" Do n' t pull that bullshit. You were a monster, but at least you seemed to have *standards*. I have no choice. This crosses the line. \" She pulled her pistol from its holster and leveled at his forehead. At twenty feet, it was practically a point-blank shot for her. His muscles and speed ca n' t stop one of her bullets at this distance. He dropped the charade. \" You thought I had standards? I' m a fucking *supervillian*. We' re not in a comic book, honey. This is real life, and in real life, the bad guys do n' t have standards. I respect you, I really do, but that idealism is going to get you killed one day. So go ahead, shoot me. \" He paused. \" That' s what I thought. You think having your standards of' justice' make you better, but all they do is weaken you. You' re- \" She pulled the trigger, sending a custom explosive round into his frontal lobe. The headless, former supervillian crumpled to the ground, next to the body of his victim. She walked up to his body and spat on it. \" Asshole. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "This is a story of lust. This is the story between Mentos, the compact rigid male, not the biggest in size, but what he lacks in size he makes up for in sheer delight, in the flavour of his insides, in the way he gets up all in your mouth and leaves you tasting him on the outsides of your upper teeth for hours. A sturdy little fresh guy, Mentos has always had a thing for the opposite, for the unthinkable, a twinkling eye for the exotic; a soft brown female. Which brings us to Diet Coke. Ah, this dark temptress, this mystery of the bottle, this fizzy limber substance shapable like putty in your palm, bubbling on your tongue with the silky smooth brown shining divine, ah, all kept tightly and lavishly in the curvaceous body of the transparent click-clacking glass. She was something. It was destined to be glorious when they first met. Mentos dipped into her, his thick hard cover cracking immediately, he lost it inside one second, he could n' t handle the pure exciting arousing nature of her, the enticing bubbles and moreish flavour. He was done so fast. Together, they exploded, like a shooting star through the sky, spraying mad champagne uncontrollably and wildly, they burst together in a strangely mesmerising display of soda fireworks, they held on to each other and never let go as they bounced all over the floor, a sparkling mess of uncontrollable lust and desire. It was beautiful. Diet Coke then put her top back on, and waited patiently for round two.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Gregory was at first reluctant to take the job initially. He was a squire for his knight Sir Rodrick and would have rather been polishing his lieges armor or cleaning his sword rather than hunting down dinner but when the paige came looking for the knight and found him' indisposed' decisions had to be made. The paige explained the problem. As it turned out the castle mage had been playing around with enchantment spells, supposedly to try and make food alcoholic. Why he didnt simply stew the goose in whiskey was beyond Gregs imagination but the damage had been done. Running loose inside the castle was an abnormally large goose that smelled strongly of beer and hops. Sir Rodrick was the only knight in the castle at this time and the guards refused to fight the goose, it both terrified them and left them immobile from lack of breath. It seemed every-time they engaged it they would begin burst out in laughter as one of them was singled out to be chased. To make matters worse the goose had now entered the living area of the royals quarters and cornered the princess in her room. Evidently she had been enjoying a nice roast duck and the goose caught wind of it. The order had been given, the payment promised was the goose and a few gold coins. Greg did not need either of these things however, he had a strong dislike for the princess and would love nothing more then to see the terror in her eyes as a drunk goose kept her hostage in her room. There were no ballads to sing praises for Gregs bravery though no man had faced a foe of such odor and ferocity. The battle was quick and his joy sublime as he found that roasted, the goose fat was whiskey and its meat like beer.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "There is a room of pure sunlight. I only saw it once, in a dream, but I have longed for it and ached for its existence ever since. I am not a spiritual person, I believe only in fact, and yet, there is the vision of that room. The feeling it gave me, the idea that perfect, incandescent happiness could be mere normalcy, pushed its way into my heart like an invasion of hope. That place housed people I love, people who will never meet, separated as they are by life and death, and those people were just talking. Even in my dream, I dared not interject for fear that my reliance on the reality of my life would spoil that moment, that possibility. And so I just watched, and they talked, sitting on furniture of sunlight, and surrounded by sunlight as they discussed things and laughed on occasion. I am not sure if the happiness of that place came from my own heart, or if that happiness had infected me from some external source, but it was everywhere, so beautifully inescapable. I am scared to call it heaven, and even more terrified to call it just a dream. Inevitably, it has planted itself in my heart, and my desire to see it again has shifted something in me. I will not say I believe in this, but I can not help but want to.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" I have a universe inside of me, sweet \" of course this brat was the who had a universe inside, piece of shit kid. \" yes, there is a universe inside of you. Congratulations, want a cookie? \" of course the sarcasm was lost on him. Just kept on peering into the autoscope, exploring the vast emptiness, with the occasional concentration of matter, with the occasional self-replicating entity. \" hey look at these funny looking things. Little shits made of soft pink meat. Walking around like some hotshot biped sophonts. Acting like they run my universe \" His universe? Not that I care, but I like to see him throw his tantrums. They tend to to be hilarious due to the ill-suited age of the tantrumee. \" Your universe? You' re mistaken. There' s a universe inside of you, but its theirs \". \" what do you mean, its in me and its therefore mine \" he spat. Yup, dis gon be good \" well, we might say Zerti is our planet. Likewise, that is their planet and their universe that is there in your overinflated gut \" \" I do n' t care, its in me and its therefore mine \" just a bit more \" really now? Sure they are tiny, but unlike you, they can interact with their universe. You ca n' t do shit with their universe unless you want to get a scalpel and stab yourself just to show them who' s boss \" \" ITS IN MY BODY, THEY ARE IN MY BODY, AND THIS IS MY UNIVERSE! THOSE SHITS SHOULD BE WORSHIPING ME AND ME ALONE. BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH.... \". Yup, there he goes jiggling his morbid face bulging his three eyes. Sure I am babysitting a little shit, but this spectacle is worth it. \" Theirs a universe inside of you \" I mutter silently as this brat goes off", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" For someone who survived 52 stab wounds, 2 swims in lava, and a beating by the Cobras, you' re a scrawny thing, are n' t you? \" I tore the papers from his hands, scowling. After blindly signing 125 pages of legalese, I was sitting in the space pod. Scientists flitted to and fro, and my wife waved to me with a huge, stupid grin on her face. She' s hoping this' ll finally do me in. ( I actually do n' t blame her. She married 30 years her senior for the money, before realizing that I do n' t actually die. Meanwhile, I got some incredible, mindblowing, heart-racing s -- VRRRRRRRRM. Everyone shrunk to the size of ants in a second, and I was rocketing through space. Earth was now a pinprick of bluish green, and the sky was a blur of black and darker black. In minutes I was hurtling towards the black hole, which was even darker black -- no, just kidding. The controls flashed, telling me that I was getting close. I could feel the pressure increasing, like when I' ve eaten too much but I still want dessert. Or the time I was in a head-on collision with a truck. The spaceship began to stretch and pull around me, screws popping and flying every which way. Slices of black appeared through the tears in the metal. Wait. If the pod is destroyed, how will I get back? I could no longer breathe, and the pressure was building from all sides. My limbs were stiff, and all I could see was black. I ( mentally ) took a deep breath, and tried to think clearly: I wo n' t die. I' m not going to die. I will not die. Can I leave, though? I can barely wiggle my toes, now. No, they must have had a plan. Maybe I' ll be rescued. Yeah, they ca n' t just forget about me. But if anyone got to where I am, they' d be dead first. Their ship would be destroyed! Oh, no, no... Shit. I should' ve read those papers I signed.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "They, whoever *they* are, first discovered it after the majority of a hospital staff had been wiped out, leaving sixteen nurses and nine doctors. Not all of them had come into contact with patient zero but only had one thing in common: they smoked. Heavily. I' m talking about two packs a day heavy. It was dismissed that this was the only connection that these people had in common until another outbreak happened at a school. That was a sight I do n' t wish on anyone. Hundreds of kids dead and dying, and the few that survived were the high schoolers that were smuggling cigarettes between each other, smoking them in the bathrooms or sneaking out to puff the cancer stick away in a mere three drags. A handful of teachers survived along with most of the custodial and all of the lunch ladies. That really caught the attention of the CDC because children were involved and that makes it a *tragedy* according to the news. Soon, everyone was scrambling to buy cartons of cartons of cigarettes, and start puffing away until stores were auctioning off packs to hordes of people who clawed their way over each other to get that little stick. After some research, it was discovered the reason that these heavy smokers were n' t keeling over like everyone else is because the virus survived in healthy tissue of the lungs of its victim, festering and then just one day, their alveoli would just explode. Quick biology lesson: those things are the reason oxygen gets into your blood and carbon dioxide gets out. Without them, you are fucked. Smokers' alveoli were already damaged, corroded, and the virus could n' t handle it, leaving the smokers the *healthy ones*. Karma must be laughing at everyone who said that smoking kills. -036", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" Today was a good day!, Manbeast ( man I love that guy ) took me to the park ( man I love the park ) and I got to sniff some butts! ( man I love sniffing butts ) but now its time to sleep! *yawn* *sniff* *sniff* wait... whats that? was that manbeast? no, manbeast is behind me! ( man I love that guy ) Theres someone else here! I have to protect manbeast! Hey! hey you! You! Hey! *grrrrrr* Get out of here strange manbeast! I wo n' t let you harm manbeast I know you are afraid! I smell it on you! Get out of here! *grrrr* *bark* *bark* thats right! get out of here! climb over that giant wallfencething and do n' t come back! *bark* *bark* *grrrrrr* Hey manbeast! I stopped a strange manbeast from taking that strange stuff you like! No one is going to take stuff from you while im around! *arf* *wag* *wag* WHAT?!? IM A GOOD BOY?! THATS AMAZING! THANK YOU MANBEAST! ( man I love that guy )", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "With everything finally in order, it was time to have one last shot at making life beautiful again. \" Why even try? \" he thought to himself for what seemed to be the thousandth time that month. As hope seemed to fade into twilight, and a smile always a breath away, John had given up. He knew he was n' t going to be one of those irresponsible people that made a rash decision and called it quits, leaving sadness and debt in his wake. He was going to do this right; and so he planned. His struggles surely were not from a lack of trying. At the very least he could hold onto that thought until the end. After trying for years to battle past his descending mind, he had finally gotten his life in order. The passing eyes continually reaffirmed that he was successful in every avenue he chose, but it was never the pair that mattered; his own. For every long forgotten friend that he ran into saying \" You look great, John! \" and wanting to know how he managed to stay single, he truly was doing great. He could never tell them the real answer to their question though. How could he possibly bring another person into his life if he was n' t sure he was going to continue living it? It always came down to just another person he would eventually disappoint. Choosing to leave as small a wake as possible, he turned away from those he feared would get too close. Today marked his final stand. One last shot at trying to see the sunrise as a welcoming sight. With his finances taken care of, and relationships closed on a good note, he knew he was finally free to make any decision that he chose. It was a freeing feeling, one he knew would be fleeing as soon as tomorrow. Bucket list waiting on his dresser, John woke up and lit the cigarette that had been in his desk drawer for twenty years, thinking, \" Today may finally be a good day. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "He awoke in a damp room surrounded by concrete and steel to the sound of water droplets falling sporadically from the faucet. His head was shaved and his body' s pale flesh hung loose. There was a manufactured quality to him which made it impossible to ever imagine him ever being a child. He lay motionless, parsing over the details of another dream. He saw his mother in a polka dot, light blue dress, gently bending down and smiling while calling him over. He remembered the house, the television, his mother' s kiss. He remembered the school, the heartbreak, and the perfect crime. He remembered the fear, the gut wrenching terror, the grip of leather straps around his limbs, the feel of tears and cold sweat on his face, the trapped scream in his throat, and the emotionless man in a mask before him. The sights, smells, senses of every detail trickled in. Love, joy, anger, sadness, all slowly filling his mind with a sudden rush like water being sucked into a sponge... and just as quickly fading, leaving only but an image - a fossil. He lay motionless.... detached, like an observer recalling a slaughter of an animal for sustenance. The faucet let go of another drop....", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "*Break a leg* is a literal thing for me. I work in theater, you see. I' m surrounded by beautiful women all the time. I' ve fallen in love with a lot of these women. As a man who has been labelled as the *dead man walking* ( and that' s another story to tell ) I' m hardly ever noticed. So the most I can do is try to help others. I normally help out the alternates. What I do is a special service for the ones who never really had the chance. I relate to them the most since I never have any luck either. These actresses work so hard to get to where they are and all they' re ever given is a snide remark about their appearance. You know in this day age where it' s all about female empowerment, it' s quite fickle in the dressing rooms. These are the type of women who preach about feminism, yet hold each other to a competition. I understand though, they are at odds with one another. I do n' t have to ever worry about that. I' ve lived a long life of being down on my luck. I have no home, no kids, no friends, no family, nothing. I was born into this world without any real care or responsibilities. I was bullied all the time, and shoved aside for those who can buy happiness. One day I decided to change that. The first one was for Phantom of the Opera. I broke the Prima Donna' s leg. It was easy. I set up the chandelier to fall on top of her during rehearsal. No one expected a thing. It collapsed right on top of her just like I planned. Christine, the angel, was able to proceed as the new breakout. I was so happy for her. She' s now at Broadway performing for nearly every act. I could n' t be more proud. This is my life. I do n' t think I chose it, I think it chose me. What' s Luck got to do with it?", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Dear Lost but not Forgotten, I hate you. I despise and loathe you. I hate the way you said my name, but I despise saying yours more. I hate that you scarred my brain with that stupid little grin. I hate how you crossed your arms so uniquely content; a way that no one else can even mimic. I hate how you felt the need to be a lifeboat during my suicidal tidal wave of depression. I wince in hatred at how you left me so soon. I hate how everything reminds me of you. I hate how everyone still talks about you as if we are still together. Everyone tells me to go see you, \" bring her flowers \" they say- like it' s so simple. They don' t get it. Because no matter how loudly I scream your name, the six feet of dirt and clay that separate us won' t stop mocking me. I kneel down on the grass sobbing over a slab of granite that reads your name. You are right under me, yet it feels like you are on another planet. I hate it. I hate you for making me fall so madly in love with everything you did. I hate you for making it impossible for me to feel anything but love for you. God damnit, why did you leave me? Sincerely, Lost and Trying to Forget EDIT: Thank you so much for the gold, kind stranger.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" Ladies and Gentlemen I can confirm tracer signals from Voyager indicate she' s still sailing into interstellar space, these are new signals approaching. Now there have been some rumours of what we do and do not know, I will lay it out plainly for you. We know nothing beyond the fact that something is sending out garbled data at 30 bits per second, the signals being received appear to be approaching the centre of the Solar system according to a doppler effect in the signals beyond that we have no idea what is generating the signal. Telemetry estimates the object to pass halfway between Earth and Mars in twenty to thirty years. Now these are estimates, we have no knowledge of the object' s mass so predicting changes in acceleration is impossible. There are currently no plans to redirect probes to attempt to photograph the object, however that is not to face there never will be. I will now take questions \" The first press conference of 2018 left the world waiting with anticipation for twenty long years. The final press conference broke hearts, the object whatever it was stopped sending data when it was dragged into the gravity well of Phobos and crashed. A manned mission to Mars to attempt to collect the object was already underway when the news came to light.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I' m writing about a man' s rise to power. What starts as a seemingly innocuous ascension spirals into something far more sinister. He starts small, posting on a small forum, then after a few years the lackeys at the top decide to give him moderating powers. Some things happen and the story ends with Kayci -- err, *him* as the ruler of the world with the rest of the degenerates beneath him wailing with regret for ever giving him a position of power. OK seriously though, I love NaNoWriMo! My goal for this month is to bring my short story series I' ve been working on to Novel length. That means roughly 30, 000 words in the next month. Doable. I suck at elevator pitches, but here goes: The series is about struggle and where we find solace. The short stories are based on realities we all face; from alcoholism to death to faith to regret. Each story is separate, each chapter a different character. Ca n' t wait to see what people are able to do!", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I' ll never find this normal. I mean I can understand it, and sympathise ( hell would n' t be working this job if I could n' t ) but it still unnerves me. The client is saying his last goodbyes, it' s neen a good party - excellent send off, better than most clients I deal with. His kids are hurt, they' ve begged, they always beg, but overall they are supportive of his decision. His wife had been like a rock, I know she' s torn up inside but who would n' t be? He finally requests that he and his wife be excused. The doctor and offical make sure one last time that he' s making the choice of his own free will, then they leave for the balcony over the beach. I follow in tow. Suns setting, they sit. He takes the pills. She cries. He dies. She cries some more. I give him a moment, like all suicides he regrets it - it' s inevitable, nobody really wants to die, they think they do but every soul who ever snuffed it once it' s done there are regrets. Times up, I start the process. *Tough call* Looking down at the lifeless husk that wad once him, the situation dawns on pretty quickly. \" Was it the right one? \" *It' s done at any rate* He makes his peace. I still do n' t get it, but his soul will be moving on before too long anyway. Dead is dead. Finally, he asks the question they all must. \" What' s next? \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "He did n' t know who he was supposed to be this time. The landscape around him was green and full of tropical trees. The ground was muddy, the wind blew hard, and in the far distance he could see a river. He could hear trumpets, he could hear roaring, but only softly so. Nobody was around him, though he wore heavy armour along with a sword and shield, as well as a helmet. A lone warrior was an uncommon thing. He placed his hand on the helmet. Phrygian? He guessed he was in a battle, but he could n' t see the men around him. Sometimes he thought he saw faint ghastly visions of a magnificant army with grand pikes marching past him, but they were n' t real, just figments of his imagination. Across him was an Indian. He marched confidently, but without as much armour. India? He looked at his hands. White as could be. Odd. He marched forwards as well, but then stopped. He did n' t know why he had marched forward or stopped. The Indian stopped as well, but after a short pause he roared and charged at him. He could hear orders being faintly shouted and the sound of a massive stampede coming towards him. The Indian charged blindly, without much sense. As the Indian warrior was about to crash into him, he lifted his shield to prevent himself from being knocked over and buried his sword in the Indian' s stomach. The landscape disappeared. Time for the next one. So many..", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "( ( Apologies if this is a shitty representation. ) ) -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- What is this place? The curtains, the carpet, this tv set, this coffee table, this couch... Oh. It' s my house. My old house, when I was a kid. I go to step outside of the living room, but it just sort of... fades away. I turn back, and see myself, my old self, sitting on the couch watching TV. I slowly walk over to him, he does n' t give me more than a glance, before going back to watching the TV. I can' t make out what he' s watching- some cartoon. I used to enjoy sitting down and watching cartoons. I place myself on the couch next to him, watching the blur on the TV in silence. ‘ Who are you?' he asks, abruptly, but not unexpectedly. He doesn' t tear his eyes away from the TV. ‘ I' m you...' I murmur, half to him, half to myself. I too, don' t look away from the TV. ‘ Huh.' he says, quickly taking the idea in. ‘ I get pretty skinny?' he says. ‘ Yeah... sorry.' I weakly apologise. He makes a slight movement of the head. I look over and see him now staring at his feet. He looks as if he' s about to cry. ‘ So I don' t get out, huh? I end up like my brothers?' He asks, choking back the tears. I feel my lip tremble and my eyes start to burn, and I can only nod my head, because if I say something, I' d probably start weeping. My face suddenly feels cold and I rub my face- I' m lying on my side in my bathroom, next to the toilet, my kit spread out in front of me, and the hallucination still fresh in my mind. I can only ball up in the corner and cry silently.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" Cower, mortals! For before you is Dr Demented. My deeds are legendary. Last year, I successfully kidnapped the UN assembly, before that tiresome Super Squad interfered. In 2014, I was responsible for the invasion of the Rathikin Crusade. In 2013, with the successful invention of my time machine, I removed the country of France from history itself. Wait, you would n' t remember that one. Just take my word for it. It was a country, now it' s not, that' s a pretty impressive piece of work, if I do say so myself. Why am I here? Time and time again, I' ve been defeated by those absolute imbeciles, the Super Squad. I tire of losing to these narrow minded posers- yes, posers. All the power at their fingertips, but no vision! No ambition! The things we could accomplish if they would only join me! But I digress. I' m on a quest for self betterment- and no, not through genetic manipulation or cybernetic enhancement again. I' ve realized I do not live up to my full potential. For in truth- as Captain Clock reminds us all in every. single. press conference, I do not infact hold the degree my title implies. Even if such a paltry academic achievement is unlikely to improve my new plan for world domination, It will be a joy to see that overgrown pocket watch struggle to find a new soundbite. However, growing a cloned Super Squad is a very demanding task. Nutrient feeds, power level monitoring, and subconscious loyalty training make attending classes a bit of a hassle. That' s why I signed up for UoC' s distance, Tele-educational program. \" \"..... Thank you, Dr Demented. I believe our next student is Mrs Dukes. Can you introduce yourself to the class, and tell us what brings you to English 101 today? \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "The Preacher sat beside me. He said nothing. His weathered face had seen the same horrors as my own, the deep wounds healed by time and patience. I collapsed into his arms and cried and he said nothing, he just held me. The Sheriff looked at me through the bars of the cell and he just shook his head. The scars were deep and painful and his anger boiled beneath the surface. For too long he had bled, unable to bear the sight of a young man, so willing to die. The Doctor took great care with me. I had been to so many places, so many times. The wounds stretched deep, deeper than the flesh and the bone. I had travelled great distances in the name of service. I had seen the world and every minute of it. The Recruiter told me of the technology. His boyish face was young like my own and he was so full of enthusiasm. I would see the world. I would meet its people. I would make everyone proud and defend our way. So blind he was, so blind I did n' t see. The Teacher took great care and told me of the future. He explained the machines and their purpose, the loops and the risks. He was like the father a boy should have had. I look back now, sitting on that church bench beside my troubled self, gripping the iron bars and berating my foolish self, watching the flicker of hate of my wounded self, the naive stupidity of my boyish self and wonder what that teacher saw. I' ve lived to see a thousand times. And in everyone I have found myself and realised I have never known who I am.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" No no no no! AW-Dammit! \" \" Huh? What? \" \" Why those pants? And on the new leather couch! \" \" They' re my comfy pants. \" \" *They' re* made of steaks! \" \"... well yeah that' s what makes them comfy. \" Her and I have had this talk before. I had always enjoyed her peculiar fashion sense, but had thought *wrongly* that it was limited to the stage and award shows. \" Sweety, \" I said \" That does n' t look comfy. It looks like you' ve sat in the middle of someones misguided attempt to reconstruct a cow. \" She pouted at me. I smiled back. She had a nice pout. We stared at eachother for a moment. Love' s a strange thing - stranger even than the way my wife dresses. She eventually smiled and, defeated, I took my place next to her on the couch, snuggled up and readied myself for a movie. \" Oh? \" She said \" what are your pant' s made of? \" \" Cotton, my dear. Cotton. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" Come on give us a smile, \" The once recognizable mass of blistered flesh made its best attempt not sag too greatly in the presence of the healer. Healers, those who turned there back on conventional medicine, were responsible for the greatest advances medical science in over a century. Those who originally disparaged their ways could not argue with the consistent results. \" Very good Robert. As a reward I' ve brought you a new test, \" The healer snapped on a pair of gloves and pulled a vial from the cooler. Robert flinched at the sight of the medicine, but the straps on his chair prevent him recoiling. He could hardly remember his thoughts when he volunteered for the program. Five years off his sentence. Helping cure disease. It was an opportunity to make amends. \" Robert. You do know the benefits of this research, do n' t you? \" the healer chimed in again now drawing the fluid into a syringe. Robert made an audible cough, but could muster no more than that. \"You' re in the ranks of Curie or Bogdanov, \" He tapped the syringe for little more than dramatic effect, \" No progress comes without some tragedy. \" \" Robert your contributions could provide a cure, \" The healer approached with the solution, \" Do n' t you believe this is valuable? You not I, are a creator of life. \" The healer poked the needle into Robert' s arm. The syringe did n' t hurt, not much hurt Robert anymore. The healer disposed of the needle and left without another word. Robert' s contribution later lead to a treatment for lymphoma.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "This is a great guide! Can I hop on with something else to say about agency? Two dimensional characters. You mentioned this in your post, but for me it' s always useful to think of the backgrounds of characters and how they relate. This sort of flows into my dialogue prompt but also flows into sort of shading or fleshing out characters that is so hard to do. Not everyone can be orphaned as a baby or have some sort of vendetta. They can just be bored in their own lives, or searching for happiness. And not only that, that characters do n' t only do good or evil things. You touch on this in the' POV matters' and that' s totally true. But someone who' s good does n' t do all good things. You and I have both done things we regret. Those things stick with us. So the biggest piece of advice that I can give ( sorry to jump on here ) is to make sure that your ( at least human characters ) have human characteristics. Not just Mary-Sue type things in that they' re good at everything, but also that they' ve had their ups and downs. Everyone weathers storms. Everyone gets in fights. Everyone does n' t look where they' re going and rams their knee into a desk ( at least once... maybe ). Excellent guide. I love reading everything that everyone' s written and ca n' t wait to see what other users come up with.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I lay down next to her. We both know this is a one night stand. I have a wife. I should n' t be doing this, but the desire for this new girl is too strong. I caress her body, touching every curve gently. I begin breathing softly as I become erect. She can feel me throbbing against her legs. I slowly undress her, kissing every inch of her soft skin along the way. She just stares at me in anticipation of what' s next. Her body looks amazing in the moonlight. She rolls on top of me as I begin kissing her neck, cupping her breasts with my hands. Her hand slips down to my crotch. I undress myself undernearh her. Her eyes fixate on mine. Two strangers staring into the depths of one another' s souls. I grab the bottle of lube I thoughtfully brought along with me. Her head rolls back as I rub my lubed fingers on her clit. \" You like that? \" I say in a low, sexy voice. I know she ca n' t take the wait any longer. My member feels like it' ll explode if I do n' t penetrate. And so I penetrate her. Chills go down our spines. She rides me gently like a good girl should, but she' ll be getting rough and fast soon enough. We rock back and forth. I kiss her hard. I want to last as long as possible, but I ca n' t! I start feeling a stream coming from deep inside me. It explodes inside her. I moan loudly, unleashing a tidal wave with the force of a tsunami. She looks at me, slight smirk on her face. I stare back. \" Sorry, \" I finally say. I feel embarrassed that I finished so fast. Her gentle eyes wash away my guilt. Everything is okay. \" Maybe next time, \" I joke. I help her get dressed. Then I grab my clothes and exit the coffin.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Every morning at exactly 7am, I went into the village to follow through with the obligations of the day. However, everyday at 7am, I was walking into a different village than I had the day before. You see, I travel from village to village to sell... well, whatever it is I have accumulated over my journeys. Louise LeCrow-the-free-lance-salesman! That' s me. While I sell my various treasures, I get to know the needs and the desires of the people. I take note of and memorize their personalities as an investigator takes down data. Over the years, I' ve come to realize that in a village, there are basic types of individuals: the low-life' s, the big-wigs, and the busy bodies. I avoid these people once they' ve bought what they need. I delete them from my memory like a file being tossed into the garbage bin. However, within each town there are real genuine people. I learn about them and in turn they ask for nothing but the opportunity to learn about me. These are the people that make all the travelling worth it. These are the people I collect for I' d be a fool to delete their files.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I was always terrible at drawing. I was so bad that my art teacher from school, Mrs Richards, threatened to resign if she had to keep teaching me. That was until I tried to draw a picture of her, one look at my portrait and Ms Richards thought it was incredible how well I managed to draw Marilyn Monroe, which was strange as Ms Richards looked nothing like her. From that day forth she made it her mission to make me an artist, but try as I may I never managed to draw whomever she wanted me to draw, it always ended up as somebody else. Ms Richards stopped tutoring several months later when I lost my vision from a severe fever that almost took life. Despite the fact she gave up on me I kept up my artistic endeavour at home. I remember the day I felt slightly vain and signed my portrait, I' ll never forget that my portrait of Wonder Wonder had come to life as Benjamin Franklin. I spent the next twenty portraits trying to bring Wonder Woman to life, the most disastrous attempt was bringing Scarecrow from the Batman comics to life, thankfully he had no powers. I just finished my latest portrait. I just attempted Mrs Richards portrait again, maybe I will bring Monroe back to life again, dreading and also anticipating who will come to life I sign my name. A soft fragrance caresses my sense of smell, and I hear a string of word that sounded accented French. \" Damn, she definitely was n' t french. \" I swore aloud. She must have took offense to whatever I said as I felt a slap across my face as she said \" Pardon me, Mister, I meant not to do it, \" she left after making a noise. As she opened my front door I heard the crowd outside that was gathered to be the first to see the latest person I had brought to life.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "The deal was made. He knew he was gambling here - but even so, the rush he felt from the risk was enthralling. Knowing he had to choose his next words carefully, he mulled over his thoughts. Glancing past the figure before him, the one with whom he had struck the bet, he studied his kingdom. The obvious answers, likely wrong, sat at the front of his mind. Quickly they were cast aside for he knew the words would not give him his prize, nor be honest lies. \" You did hear me? \" the damnable human asked. What manner of creature was this, that could press him so hard? \" Yesss... Yes, I have heard you, mortal. \" The snake like rasp of his words was both enthralling, and terrifying. The man smiled. \" So tell me - tell me, or forfeit your claim on my most cherished possession. \" He glared into the eyes of this… this… thing that had dared to challenge him so. He, master of dealmaking. King of lies. Lord of this plane of suffering. How could he make him, the master of all things that lurk, suffer so, with such a simple question? No one, in his eons of existence, had either dared, nor cared, to ask him this. For this question, he had no prepared answer. \" How… how am I? I am… lonely. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I glared at the door as I tapped my fingers on the counter. I gave him the most money for his crap. His tin cans, and crappy old guns. If he did n' t come back, which I knew he would, I' d go broke. Nobody else ever came in here. Of course, I was going broke already. It' s not like he bought anything from me. He could go other places to do that. But not me, no. Every once and a while, some extra money would just show up in my cash register, just so I could but off his crap again. I did n' t want his tin cans. They all went in the dump behind the building, but he' d pulled a gun on me more than once. If I said I would n' t take his shit, he' d threaten me. He was an ass. I continued glaring at the door. No matter what, he' d come back. I was sure of that. I spent up to three weeks at a time just standing here, waiting for him to bring me his crap. I walked around the counter, and grabbed the broom. Might as well make something of my time. As I started to sweep, I heard gunshots down in the square. I sank my head, and stopped sweeping. By the time he was finished, the place would be a mess again. At least there was always the Load. At least I would n' t be dead. Of course, he would n' t be either.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Welcome to my guidebook. I can only hope the lessons within will teach you things that I learned too late. I think the most important advice I can give to you is that you will be both your best friend and your worst enemy. You alone decide your fate, whether you are happy or disappointed or angry with your life. So many people walk through their lives and do the \" right \" thing as they are told by everyone around them. Get the \" right \" job, get the \" right \" education, find the \" right \" girl. That' s bullshit. You ca n' t live your life as other people want you to, or tell you to. I did that, my entire life. Now I can leave it and try to pass on a lesson to you. After fifty years I can finally correct the mistake. I want you to read this, engross yourself in it, learn everything you can. Maybe you can correct your life now. Before you end up here, leaving a journal behind for yourself. You can fix this. Pursue your dreams and make yourself happy like I could n' t. Be stronger than I was. Be stronger than you think you are. I know you, very well. I know you can do it if you choose to. Go out there and live. That' s my first lesson for you. A lesson from a dead man.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "My friend and co-worker decided to write a story also: Bonesaw nervously picked at his beard while the plane gained altitude. As a rule, he tried not to think of his mortality, but he felt an impending existential crisis looming as the small, overly-crowded plane circled slowly away from the safety of the ground. Self-consciousness overwhelmed him, and he stopped picking at his beard, only to resume a few seconds later. \" It' s time, \" came a voice from over his shoulder. Slowly, his massive muscles cramped from fear and from sitting too long, Bonesaw started to get up. \" You good, Bonesaw? \" asked the voice. He nodded almost imperceptibly. And then, strapped like an oversized infant to the chest of a man half his size, they stepped up to the open door. The pilot thought he heard three words, muffled by the wind and receding into the morning air, a mix between shriek and bellows: \" Bonesaw is ready. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "No one knew what had happened at first. There was a snap heard throughout the world. Scientists assumed there was an impact or earthquake but there was no epicenter. Within an hour strange reports started to roll in. An old man had fire raging on his lawn. A lawn that just yesterday was covered in two feet of snow. A scrawny kid had thrown his bully through a door at school. A young man was converting random objects into solid gold. Everyone was in a panic. Were they mutants? Was this the end times? Was this some trick? It got worse when the first ship landed. Unknown troops pushed outward from the ship. They threw balls of fire, called down lightening from the skies, and summoned mythical beasts from thin air. That' s when we, humanity, realized what we had. We were coursing with magic. As soon as the first human used magic against the invaders they fled. The children became the strongest. So full of imagination and raw emotion. Soon we were lifting entire cities into orbit. Life support was powered by adults, but tell a child they could fly their home through the stars and they would do just that. We expanded throughout the galaxy. Never once did we find a defending army. We did find civilization though. All recently abandoned. That' s when we got a message. The races were running. They were afraid. Humanity was coming.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Ah, the Catacombs. Not a single living soul and only the dead to keep me company. Well, that is, until I snapped back to reality and heard the rest of my squad over the headset' s secure channel. Our intel told us we were trying to find a group of drug dealers who used the tunnels to traffic the materials. However, being not entirely human, I could not just take the lead with the rest of my squad. Instead, I had to detour to a tourist area, buy a ticket, and use my transformation powers combined with keen eyesight and hearing to get back with my squad. As I headed towards my squad, various, unnatural noises surrounded me, particularly my left ear. *Gotcha! * When coming within radio range of my group, they just shrugged off my disappearance as it seemed to become a habit recently. Rather, my team has come to know me as \" Knack \", for having a knack to guess where the perps are. So, when I told them the general area the traffickers were in, no questions were asked. Though, I did forget to tell them one may have died to unknown causes and blood loss from the neck.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "White peeked through the bushes he was hiding in and chuckled as he saw Black strolling down the sidewalk. Unfortunately for White, Black saw his scheming gaze, but kept it to himself and continued on his way. White grabbed his things and retreated to his hideout. Tree disguise? Check. Elaborate sword? Check. Camera for victory photo? Check. He was ready. The next day, Black strolled down the sidewalk at exactly the same time and place. The familiar tree by the sidewalk looked a bit odd. Suddenly, out jumped White, who quickly stabbed him with an elaborate sword! Something was wrong. The sword bounced off metal. White pulled back Black' s coat to reveal... a metal chassis! Even worse there was a timer counting down in bright red letters three, two, one. BOOM! The explosion shook the ground violently. Black peeked from behind a bomb shelter nearby and laughed. As the remains of the metal chassis fell back to the ground, he could barely make out what he wrote on it earlier: You should' ve killed me when you had the chance. ( Inspired by Spy vs Spy )", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Where is the separation between living and inanimate? There is n' t one. You are a golem of carbon and hydrogen. Molecules link together just so and this allows ATP to form such that unthinking, unfeeling cells -- themselves formations of more inanimate molecules -- can build it and break it apart for energy on sheer stupid reflex. Where is the separation between parent and progeny? There is n' t one. Cells merge and then they split, split, split but never disconnect from another, bigger set of cells splitting, splitting, splitting. Eventually the newer set buds off and a new bunch of firing electrical pulses takes over its movement, but it' s still the same organism. And this organism has coated the earth, loved itself, hated itself, killed itself, thousands of times over. Where is the separation between soldier and bomber? There is n' t one. They' re both great-grandchildren of the same woman, eventually. They' re so alike on the genetic level as to nearly be clones. They' re the same organism, killing itself over different patterns of firing electrical pulses. Where is the separation between you and the universe? There is n' t one. The sun turned hydrogen into helium, which turned mass into light, which a plant turned into sugar, which some animal turned into protein and carbohydrates, which got eaten and turned into the carbon and water that is in you. You are a piece of the universe. It built you out of itself by a million separate, complex processes, without even wanting to, and because of those innumerable complex processes, the universe by sheer coincidence has a picoscopic bit of itself capable of experiencing itself. So experience it.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Wrote my first response to [ a prompt ] ( https: //www. reddit. com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/4h6wuy/wp_humanity_has_become_interstellar_upon_reaching/ ) last night, please tell me how much it could be better: -- -- It' s been years upon years, Our greatest minds spinning gears upon gears. All of that work put forth for just one purpose; To explore the vastness of space, to acquire some purchase In that dark void; cold, empty, and bleak. Because we believed we were the underdogs, and we vied for the peak Of that intergalactic ladder of success. A war fought between species, fighting to contest To be on the top of that high and mighty pedestal, To hold that special spacial medal. All that just so we could proclaim in jest That humanity was in fact the best. And our work was not in vain, For we got to space, after all the strain was shouldered by our thinkers and our tinkers. And boy, if you listened to those rockets, heard their timbre You' d also stare in awe, no matter what compass point you' re from At how far humanity had come. But once we got there, not a sound was heard. Those aboard wondered if their competition deferred. After all, we could n' t be atop the ladder, straddling the highest rung. For centuries, we' d been told that numerous aliens were living among Our Milky Way, and we were just one of the little guys. Pawns to be played with by stronger powers while ignoring our cries, But once we got here, among the stars, including ours, Past the atmosphere, the Moon, our neighbor Mars, Past Jupiter, Neptune and beyond we were finally shown That we, in the universe, were basically alone.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "It' s 29 March 2015, Sydney. Final match of World cup 2015 is on its way. The defending champions India are playing against first timer Germans in this epic battle of world dominance. Germany' s impossible path to finals has been a truly exciting journey. The team which was not even qualified for world cup got last minute invitation, due to sudden withdrawal of Afghanistan. and Germany with its imported players from India set out to prove themselves under the captaincy of Asif Khan. They had bested Bangladesh, Scotland, New Zeeland and England to reach qualifiers. They had trashed Pakistan to get to semi-finals, and won by just 2 runs against Shri Lanka to get to the finals. And here they are just six runs way from victory with one ball remaining and eight wickets down. They are facing mighty Indians. This is unbelievable moment for fans all over the world. Pakistan had found themselves at similar situation all those world cups ago, and WON. Now the question remains, can they do it? can Germans hit the finals boundary for maximum runs and win the world cup. Indian medium pacer, Bhuwaneshwar kumar taking his run up. All the mighty batsman have bowed before kumar before. odds are highly stacked against German batsman Shafraz Samsudeen. Shafraz the only real german in the team has no previous experience of batting internationally. The presure is ginormous. Kumar bowls full toss, Shafraz swings the bat blindly and.... Well you see, *world cup* may mean different thing for different people. since I had no interest in football ( some guys call it saucer? ) I thought I would write on cricket World cup. P. S.: The player names are all real.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I felt this was an appropriate addition to a [ previous story ] ( http: //www. reddit. com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/220ipn/ot_what_is_your_favorite_prompt_youve_written/cgi9yv8 ) I wrote. Henry sat down in a chair and placed his face in his hands. His tears slowly pooled. How could this be? He did n' t understand why he felt this great sinking feeling of grief, deep in his heart. This did n' t make sense after all. He picked up the letter off the floor, and re-read it. \" Henry, have a seat. I know you do n' t realize this now, but I' m sure you' ve been feeling strange. You are home. Take it easy, relax and go to bed. Call Mary in the morning. Let her know the dementia is getting worse. If you' re wondering why the money is gone, you gave it to David, your son, to deposit and manage for you. I realize that you are feeling quite confused, but do n' t worry. We will get through this. Just trust in me and trust in yourself. Signed, Henry \" He picked up his grease pencil and went over to the desk. His heart felt bruised, and his hand felt heavy. His tears dripped onto the paper as the grease pencil left it' s marks. \" Henry, You may have seen this letter before, but please call Mary. Let her know how much you miss her while you remember. She gave you the best years of her life, but she just could n' t take it anymore. Call her while you can. Write a letter to remind yourself. \" He picked up his tools, placed everything in the bag. he placed the letter in his shirt pocket and walked out towards the living room. In the corner, was his favorite chair. He threw the bag into the closet, and sat down. He pulled out the letter and read it again. This time, his heart did n' t feel as burdened.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "death is an infinite descent. every breath we are but microseconds removed from the relentlessness onslaught of randomness. there are those not saved - students murdered by the deranged, passengers falling in a burning plane. but all of us are dying. the differential is mere duration. every cellular tick we die and are reborn in spades. this infinite process marches on, slicing slivers off of the positive, gradually lessening births to deaths; an infinite descent that culminates in its capital gravity. as we age, waves of static defame our memories. the potentiality of the soul atrophies, as if clogged like a pipe, by multitudes of sand. we forget the concept of a corner, or the age of our niece. we become dense, and an impenetrable fog obscures our vision like cataracts. as we end we cling to our emotions, having lost our memories. we wish to bring these to rest. but zeno is merciless; as we die, we first half to be half dead, and then a third dead, and so on to infinity. and every fractional death reduces our souls from fractionless wholes to particles of dust. time, our driver of worms. all we can hope is to not be forgotten.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "He slowly approached the beautiful woman in the corner of the crowded coffee shop. He had said that he had wanted to become more than friends, but they were both a little bit scared about that. \" Good day, my very good friend, \" he said to the woman, giving her some roses. He was very scared of her being angry. \" It' s good to see you again, I guess... \" she replied; and took the flowers, turning her face red. \" You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. I want to kiss you. I want to make a family. I want you to be happy. Please, can we be happy together as husband and wife? \" He shook slightly in place, his face showing great fear of her answer being no. She just stood there, while her face slowly turned redder and redder. The man was very scared of what she would say next. They stood there for what felt like forever. The man began to cry; she hated him. She hated him so much and they would never get married and have kids and be happy. He thought this over and over. Suddenly, the woman jumped towards the man and kissed him really strong. \" Yes! \" she said. \" I really want to marry you! \" They kissed for what felt like forever.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" Quite the man you are, to be able to find me. \" \" Well you made the mistake of pissing me off today of all days. Every other day would have been okay. Really, I would have shrugged it off. \" \" Tell me, what' s your problem? \" \" You. Usually assholes like you do n' t get on my nerves but... \" \" I did something? \" \" On this one night, you kidnapped my best friend who I have had a crush on for all I have known her on OUR PROM NIGHT. \" \" Peter, is that you? \" Annie was chained up, dress ripped, hiding behind the big douchebag. Some how she still looked beautiful. \" Douchebag, I have a fist full of hate just for you. \" Finally, I charged at this would be kidnapper with my fists up, ready to punch. Grinning, the douchebag put his fists up in acceptance of this duel. He dodged my left haymaker and right upppercut. Jabbing in response, Mr. Douchebag would not give an inch and threw a roundhouse kick. Knocked to the ground, I backed up and reset. \" Listen, you are better off staying on the ground. \" Zoning out his taunts, I came in with a hard jab to his stomach followed by a quick kick to his face which knocked him out cold. \" X-rays will show you that I just kicked your ass. \" Calmly, I untied Annie. Very gently, I check to make sure Annie was n' t hurt. \" Best friends like you are hard to come by. Now, were you serious that you always loved me? \" \" Maybe a kiss would better answer that question. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "So no shit there we were, equipped with lasguns, detpacks, our own faith in the Emperor but fuck all else, charging across the trenches straight into an Ork Waaaggh. We know we' re the rank and file most numerous of the Emperor' s army and we' re as expendable as shit in an outhouse but honestly, would it have killed the commissar to send a Leman Russ or two? Noooo, our company has to settle this on our own, damn the backup, we' ll stop these Orks right here and right now before Commissar Snooty can claim the glory for himself and sneer at our Commissar for needing tank support in the first place. Fucking hell. We were on one of those planets, you know, the kind every big wig tells you is strategically important to the survival of Humanity but once you get there it' s just mud and dust and learning to breathe through toxic waste. Yeah, those kinds of planets. The moment we touched ground we knew for some of us, this shithole was where we' d give our lives for the Emperor. The problem was if our higher ups continued doing this, we' d *all* end up facedown in the muck. Our Sarge did n' t even bother trying to sugarcoat things. \" Yer all gon na die here, \" he said, at our first debrief. \" They' re calling this Operation Floodgate, but a better name would be Operation Human Shield, since that' s what we are. \" [ too tired, gon na continue tomorrow if there' s interest ]", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "He arrived in a black Pontiac Trans Am. Of course. Burt Reynolds never drove in anything but. He led the llama up to the rooftop on a diamond-encrusted leash. Anything these days to get some attention. Angelina tried to wave him over, but he blanked her. Skinny, too skinny, he thought, heading straight for the corner where he knew the host would be lazing about in his little leather thong. The crowd separated as he approached. They knew the score. \"Hey, Burt, nice to see you, glad you could make it! \"Mark Wahlberg rose and minced over, giving the ageing star a little hug and kisses on both cheeks. Spying the llama, he squealed, clapping his hands. \"Oh, he' s just adorable! \"\"She. It' s a girl. Present for you, mate. \"Mark made more little gushing sounds and went to his new pet. Burt turned and looked around, walking forward a few paces so he didn' t have to have an eyeful of Wahlberg arse. There was the bimbo corner, as usual, not enough fabric, too much plastic, and a helluva lot of cocktail glasses. The jocks in the other corner, perving on the nude swimmers. Burt sighed. It was just like high school, really. Just more drugs and less morals. He went to the bar, grabbed a scotch on the rocks and leant on his elbows to survey the party. \"Burt, how' s life treating you? \"He took a swig and shrugged. \"Not bad, Colin, not bad. How about you? \"Farrell followed his lead and shrugged. \"You know how it is, \"he muttered in his brogue. His own dark eyes were watchful, darting around the rooftop, scanning the faces with detachment. \"Not the greatest party, this one, \"he went on, sniffing and draining his glass. \"I' ll call some friends of mine, how' s about it? \"Burt laughed and Colin pulled out his cell phone. Half an hour later, a band of dwarves walked in and Burt and Colin laughed, nudging each other in the ribs. The dwarves set up their instruments in the corner and began to play.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\"Are you the owner of this establishment? \"\"Depends on who' s asking. \"\"The Internal Revenue Service. \"\"What? I' ve been paying all my taxes! A colleague of yours was here just last week! \"\"That very well may be. I am from the *other* IRS. \"\"What the hell? Why? Just because my mother is working in a secret government division for peaceful cooperation between humans and supernatural beings, doesn' t make me or my business fall into your jurisdiction. \"\"Well... \"\"Come on, that' s not fair! I have to pay taxes, because my mother managed to piss off some demon while she was pregnant with me? \"\"You were cursed with never-ending-appetite and it wasn' t just some demon. It was the Demon Lord Gluttony. \"\"Yeah, thanks for that. Being hungry for as long as I can remember really sucks. And I had to move out of my mom' s to avoid her eating her way to obesity. \"\"You' ve opened a restaurant. \"\"Come on, I' m just trying to make the best of this curse! What' s wrong with earning myself some money? \"\"*Some* money? You almost made 35, 000 dollars this month. You only serve tiny portions of food that are completely overpriced. Due to the contagious nature of your curse, people keep ordering plate after plate and keep eating until they' re out of money. Exploiting others when they are at their most vulnerable. My boss is not happy with you keeping all the profit. \"\"This is why I have to pay taxes to Mr. Gluttony? \"\"No. Not to Lord Gluttony. He' s actually quite impressed with what you' ve done with his curse. You' ll be paying your taxes to our Demon Lord Greed, Head of Finance. \"\"You' ve got to be kidding me. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Assembled dignitaries of the outer galaxy, we understand your concerns. Your transports have made themselves known to our people, and we can see your armies' power. I stand before you today to speak on behalf of my species. I have little to say in defence of my kind, but I am sure the time I have finished, you will look upon your impending attack as unconscionable. I am sure that you are waiting to hear my defence of my people and their actions. We have much to tell you about our capacity for love, our art, our poetry, our philosophy. The world is full of mothers protecting their loved ones with their last breath; of altruistic moments of pure kindness. This will not be that speech. That will not be my defence. The defence you should be concerning yourself with should be your own. We kill millions. We kill out of anger, hatred, jealousy, fear, politics. We kill for sport. We kill to eat. Not for sustenance. For taste. Sometimes, we kill for *seasoning. * We kill for clothes. We kill *over* clothes. We kill over the *colour* of clothes, if you happen to be in the wrong neighbourhood. Yes, we are in this court because we kill with nothing to gain. But if we would - and do - kill with nothing to gain, ask yourselves this: What the fuck do you think we' re going to do to *you* once we' ve got a good reason?", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "The girl walked around the streets of the city. Everywhere she could hear the sound of laughter trough the open windows, almost not recognizing the sound at first, so unfamiliar had she become with the sound of human joy. It had been almost 6 months since the bank foreclosed on their house, and 5 months since mom vanished. Dad had been unemployed for over a year now, and all he ever did was drink and yell. The first slap came when he was drunk, after that it did not matter if he was drunk or sober. The hitting continued. They lived in a small apartment. The hallways littered with graffiti and always smelling like filth. Sleep was difficult. Always the sound of sirens and screams cutting trough the thin walls and waking her up. The girl walked around the streets of the city. She had been told to gather up empty bottles, and anything else she could find of value. The snow was falling thick, her clothes thin. She knew that she could not return home empty-handed. She could not take another slap, not tonight. Not on New Years Eve. In the snow she found a blue lighter. The button pressed down and a small fire ignited in front of her eyes. In the fire she saw her family together around the tree on Christmas eve, laughing and hugging without a care in the world. The fire went out. In the next flame she saw her room. It was not big, but it was hers, she had ponies on the wall paper. The fire went out. The third flame, she saw her grandmother. The only person who had ever treated her nicely. The girl remembered her grandmother telling her about when a star shots across the heavens, it means a person has died and gone to heaven. She knew her grandmother was in heaven. She wished that she could see her again. The fire went out. The girl looked up at the night sky and just as she was about to close her eyes she saw a shooting star. She smiled. The fire went out.... The next day a man found the frozen body of a 9 year old girl. In her hand, a blue lighter.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I read a book one time, or was told to in class and just bullshitted the assignments instead, I ca n' t remember, but anyway in this book a special thing gets dropped on accident into the ocean and it turns it all into ice. I just made the very same mistake, only I myself am that special thing and the ocean is the whole continent of Australia, and instead of turning it into ice I turned the whole freaking thing into a surface that you can eat off of. Sterile as my great-uncle Joe, who' s 80 or near-abouts. What will this do to the country I fancy, you ask? Oh, you know, just wreck its entire ecosystem and make decomposition a thing of the past. I just wanted to clean my spectacles, for Crocodile Dundee' s sake. That' s why I took off my signature gloves, and ironically that' s also why I fell over... Did n' t see the stick in time because my eyes are shit. Sorry, Australia, and the people living on it. At least you wo n' t be stepping in any old turds any time soon...", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Today, 2016: ( Lexi is actually me. ) \" Lexi! You got ta look at this? \" My Twitter friend had messaged me a odd link. Now, he was also my friend on Facebook. \" Is this you?! \" My friend and I had done countless roleplays on Twitter of many different people up until now. We were talking about another storyline. \" What, ( friend' s name )? \" I responded to the direct message. \" Are you kidding me again? Did she make this page because she' s spiteful and hateful against me again? \" I was worried because her friend had always always always been my friend for months now. But the other factor in it was. \" Name: Lexi ( my last name ) - ( my partner' s last name ) Born: October 4th, 96. ( Yes, my birthday. I' m 19. ) Died; October 20th, 2177. \" How the hell could I live so long? What the fuck? I scrolled through the pages, finding pages and pages of information on me and on my partner. I read the paragraphs. \" She became a successful musician after years of training, her band The Kids From Yesterday becoming worldwide successful. She was one of the ones who got to live forever when the option was offered in 2019, before the world erupted into apocalypse in 2100. She died saving the world from a zombie apocalypse, her partner not long before. \" What a cool way to go. I felt bad having snooped, but I knew that I ended up marrying my partner, and that made me super happy.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "She had gotten angry, gotten out of the car and he had driven off in the smoggy snow, leaving only the tire tracks behind. They' d both been angry. She' d even forgotten her purse in the car. Of course, she had kept her little. 380 strapped to her leg under the dress. She could never pull the gun from her purse quick enough. By the time she had figured out that she was trapped in a set of walls that she couldn' t even see, his taillights had long vanished into the fog. She was still angry and god, how she had screamed and screamed and pounded on those walls. Cursed him, cursed everyone for them being there, even if it made no sense. Eventually she had drawn the weapon and fired multiple times at the wall. The small bullets had ricocheted around and it had finally brought her to her senses but far, far too late. One bullet had gone through her hand, another through her side, and a third pierced her abdomen. She knew it was bad with how much she was bleeding. She screamed for help instead now before she felt her strength leaving her, sinking down to the ground to cry, hand smearing blood down the wall. She sobbed with her head hung low and cupping her side, knowing that she was just going to die in the snow. Fuck him. She wouldn' t have gotten out of the car if he hadn' t started the argument about her dress. She wouldn' t be dying in the snow without him coming back for her.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" What' s going on? \" A young man strolled to the counter of a bar, smiling widely. Everyone' s heads cracked to his direction as they snapped to attention. A short man, blonde, bright eyed, put on a concerned expression very suddenly. \" Dude! Careful! You ca n' t say things like that? \" \"... Wha- \" A tall man slapped a hand over the naive fool' s mouth. Another left to lock the door. \" Calm yourself and think about it for a second? \" \"... alright. \" Silence for a couple moments. Then, his eyes gained perspective and his mouth dropped open. \" Oh, shit! Sorry, you' re right. No one caught that, did they? \" \" You' re fine, Trev. Just... be a bit more careful? \" The blonde spoke once more. \" Yeah, got it... Not sure Quinn, I just stumbled... \" \" All of us have our bad days. Sit and have a glass! Do n' t sat anything about this to anyone and you' ll be fine. \" Everyone calmed... The doorknob flies off the door, sound of a gunshot resonating. The door was kicked open, revealing two men with white helmets and rifles. \" Our scanners show that someone... *broke the law* in this area. \" Quinn stood. \"... I mean... you did the same just then. \" \" So we did. \" Trevor stood as well, perhaps a little foolishly. \" So... you have no right to persecute any of us! Just leave us alone, woul- \" He stopped. Put a hand over his face. The helmeted head tilted. \" So the lawbreaker reveals himself... you' re under arrest! \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "This has been the best life I could' ve wished for. Not the longest ever, yet more fulfilling than anything. I hope to live this again. I colapse now on a beach I fondly remember from the days I still had the energy of a kid, as well as the maturity to grasp the importance of life. This place, ohh man! it means so much. Here I learned to introspect in my loneliness and apreciate the universe' s beauty. That time I laid for hours just looking at the horizon, and then the sunset and the night-sky. That first time I truly loved life. And the first time I truly loved someone. The moment I walked in the ocean and swam as far as I could, for as long as I could. It was all so beautiful. Things are getting blurry now. This place was a part of me, and I am now a part of it. I hope to live this again.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "There' s a calm awareness, from nightfall until day. When listening for a falling shell, you can not run away. An unending siren, you wish it was n' t true. Had enough of this restless night time, why must it involve you. -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- - And can you hear the bombs tonight, They fall where we are, Had enough of these wide-eyed night times They are coming from afar -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- And can you hear the bombs tonight, Friends are laid to rest Had enough of these kings and vagabonds Thinking they' re the best -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- - There' s a time for fighting if they' d only learn about the soldiers family awaiting their return If he does n' t come home, from fighting in the wars You' ll see the tears of sons and daughters, weeping at the doors -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- And can you hear the bombs tonight, They fall where we are, Had enough of these wide-eyed night times They are coming from afar -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- And can you hear the bombs tonight, Friends are laid to rest Had enough of these kings and vagabonds Thinking they' re the best -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- - Had enough of these kings and vagabonds Thinking they' re the best", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I look down at the lethargic brown water. It was calling to me, inviting me down into its watery embrace. A can flowed past, bobbing happily in the gentle current. I try and blink back tears, she would of tried to fish it out. That was all I have left of her, fading memories and pain. This way at least the pain will be gone. The scars on my arms itched, irritated by the cold. Thay had helped for a while to ease the pain, but it always returned no matter how deep I went. I had tried to continue on. Seeing the people around me being happy just made it worse and reminded own me of my lack of worth. Who would want me the strange little broken person in the corner? Pulling myself up into the railings, I look down once more. It will be better this way, no one will have to try and pretend to care anymore. If thay even noticed. There was no one who really cared left. No one to write a note to. Thay had all left me. A hand gently touched my shoulder. I turn my head slowly, it' s her. Why did she come back, I am nobody to her? She smiles at me gently. Why is she torturing me like this, giving me false hope? I tense me arms to push myself off. \" Do n' t. It' ll be just like before. Trust me. \" A lone tear, runs down her face. I push myself off, into her arms. Perhaps there was someone left who did care. *Edit: Why the bot. *", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "NSFW- Offensive Language. \" God dammit Dan! We practiced this! Over and over again! How the hell did you mess up? \" I screamed at the top of my lungs. I was furious. This drill was so fucking simple, why could n' t he get it? Dan was supposed to be my top student! \" I' m sorry, \" He muttered, his tone showing just a pinch of contempt towards me. \" I' ll try harder this time, I promise. \" \" You fucking better, you useless piece of shit. \" I raised the pads again. \" Ready?... Go! \" I commanded. *jab, jab, hook, duck, uppercut, duck, uppercut, hook, duck, jab* Such a simple drill, yet he always fucked up somewhere. How could my son, my own flesh and blood, not be able to do this. I seethed with rage when my pad connected with his head on the second duck. \" What the fuck was that? Are you stupid!? \", he was really starting to piss me off. \" Dad, can we please stop, I do n' t want to do this? \" he pleaded with me. \" No, you' re going to be my top student, Daniel, whether you like it or not. \" I wagged my finger in his face. \" Your great grandfather was one of the best bare knuckle boxers to live, as was your grandfather, and me? I have countless champion titles. Our family has been making warriors for generations, damnit! I wo n' t let you be a fucking pansy and wimp out on me, now can yo- \" I was interrupted by a strong shock to my testicles. The pain was enough to bring me to my knees. \" What the fuck danie- \" I was cut off again when I caught a foot to the bridge of my nose. There was a sickening crack, and I fell to the ground, clutching my nose as it spurted blood. I heard the Velcro of his gloves unzip, and rushed to stand, but before I could, his fist landed on the back of my head, which smashed my face off the concrete floor of our garage. As my own son beat me, I lay there writhing in pain. Maybe I should n' t have been so hard on him, but hey, at least I know he' s a warrior.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\"We are out of toilet paper. \"He states, holding the cardboard tube in his hand. \"Yeah, I know. \"I can' t be bothered; I am eyeball deep in internet research for a vacation spot for our rapidly approaching anniversary. \"You knew? \"\"Yeah. \"\"Did you look for another roll? \"\"No, we are out. \"\"So…we are out of toilet paper? \"\"Uh huh. \"\"You seem unperturbed by this. \"\"I am unperturbed by this. \"\"But we are out of toilet paper. \"Looking up now I see the flop of hair that falls down in front of his eyes when he plays with it. He must be stressed if he is fiddling with it so, true to the thought he runs his hand through his hair and it does nothing to push it back, it flops down over his eyes once again. The perplexed look on his face makes my heart flip over. I smile just looking at him. \"I did something cute? \"He says. I nod. \"You are smiling, with that look. \"\"The look of love, \"I reply. His eyebrows furrow in thought and he looks at the toilet paper roll. \"Because of toilet paper? \"\"Nope. \"\"I don' t understand. \"\"You don' t need to understand, love is without definition. \"\"I should go to the store and get toilet paper. \"\"Ok. \"\"I love you, \"he says. \"But not because of toilet paper. \"\"I know. I love you too and maybe just a little because of toilet paper. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I yawned. The GM had wanted to play a pre-made module. I, on the other hand, wanted to make a run to the store, and then sleep for a few more hours. But no, after the' German Incident', I was n' t to go the store alone. And they' d all crashed awhile ago. Except the GM. And the other two, who had already gone to the store, and did n' t want to go back again. Or possibly were still trying to translate what I' d been saying in German. Either was possible. So. Pre-made module. A run through. It would take a few hours, they' d be awake, I could go to the store, and then crash, letting them play other modules. Right? Wrong! We' d all played many modules before, even if I *was* picking up a reputation for causing things to go off the rails. Off the rails? Hmmm, if I could get my hands on a train... But! I swear, he should have remembered that I would remember this. We' ve played it before, did n' t he remember? Or is that too many rememberings? No. I remember that he remembers... We' ve played this module before. And they recognize it! They' ve gone along with all of this, they know I know how to beat this, so! This is not my fault. They have fault here as well! They helped me win this thing. Just because it is a notoriously difficult module does n' t mean someone else could n' t do this as well. After all, there are three of us, not just myself. And besides, it was more like thirteen minutes, not ten, he' s exaggerating now. Maybe twelve, but I was n' t exactly looking at the clock, I just wanted to get it wrapped up. But, it' s going in the rules. **Rule 16- I will not beat Tomb of Horrors in less than 10 minutes from memory. **", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "The sun is shining and the birds are singing. My mommy said I need to acknowledge beauty when I see it. I am wearing the white dress she bought special for me because first days only happen once. The sun is hot on the back of my neck, but I walk anyways. My nice teacher said I could take the bus, but I told her I liked walking so that' s what I did. Ten blocks are easy for someone like me. Even my cousin could walk ten blocks and he' s barely a kid yet. I remembered the things my mommy told me. I remembered how nice a smile looks especially when you really need one. My dress is gone. It makes me sad because I loved it, but it makes me sadder because I' m still wearing it even though I can' t see it. I see some things. I see the black and shiny car like a pair of my daddy' s dress shoes. I see a nice row of teeth, but I don' t see the sun anymore. It' s cold where I am. The walls are drippy and the floor is dirty. I used to ask him about the weather, but it made him angry. He does bad things to me when he' s angry so I don' t ask him anymore. My mommy would say I' m too little to know what bad things are, but I don' t feel too little anymore. He presses something into me and it doesn' t hurt like I thought it would. The sun is shining and the birds are singing. My mommy said I need to acknowledge beauty when I see it. I am wearing the white dress she bought special for me because first days only happen once.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\"DING DONG \"- I rung the bell to the Hastings residence. Old Mr. Hastings was a congenial old chap. Even in his debilitating youth he insisted he could live independently. Thing is, he also insisted he was too sprucy for his beta blockers, so they designated me to go check on him every day on the slavishly boring drive home from school, which also wasn' t going so well. Bullies? Nope, just the math problems. They told me I needed to write my variables on the left side of the equals sign. They followed such silly rules, and made ME follow them too. Confinement was the theme. All the rules, postulates, and theorems; everything they did confined me into a smaller and smaller box. Speaking of which, there was at odd brown box waiting at my feet. Funny, ‘ cause Mr. Hastings always made a point of sending his mail to his vacation home. Suddenly, the door opened. \"Hi, Mr. Hastin-, \"this wasn' t Mr. hastings. Towered in front of me was a strange diabolical amalgamation of Mr. Hastings and a ridiculously oversized rubber duck. \"What the fu- \"\"QUACK, \"it screamed. I ducked to avoid getting beheaded by it' s bill as it stepped onto the porch. As I looked down, I crammed my head into the box. Rubber, The feel of vulcanized rubber, like the rubber baseball my little sister played with. I yanked my tiny head out of the box, and got a headful of little rubber ducks with it. Not knowing quite what to make of this odd predicament, I booked it right towards the main road, but my sneaker caught water instead of asphalt. I splashed into a pond that submerged the stretch of land where the old road used to be. I looked to my left first, then my right. The cottage where the Lancasters used to live was instead replaced by horsetail and lily pads. I didn' t know how to swim, but I seemed to be content and somehow blissful as I drowned and sunk towards the pond bed. What a better way to die than in duckland. Everyone in my usual life was just a big duck at the end of the day, right?", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "The fire rose to terrible heights while the platformed teetered with only one of the supports left to handle it, underneath him the souls of those damned for eternity to uphold the savant law of the underworld screamed howling for him to fall. He held up the oversized spear with one hand while his other hand tried desperately to stop the bleeding of his gut. His eyesight also teetered on the edge of darkness, his skin was a pale white from bloodloss and his legs shook as if he had just squatted over his max by a few hundred tons. \" Art thou ready to face your doom forsaken traveler?! \" The ominous voice was punctuated by the sideways slash of an impossibly large sword. Towering above him the fallen one walked slowly to the platform, from the cracks of his red hellstone armor tendrils of flames leaked seeking more victims and his visor itself expelled smoke that smelt of elderberries. \" Your head shall be my greatest trophy! \" He lifted his arm and crushed his hand into a fist which trembled with rage. \" NOW FIGHT ME! \" The guardian moved with unnattainable grace as his armored legs rang with clangorous joviality. This was only worsened by the remix dubstep coming from the loudspeakers mixed with the cries of excitement from the crowds screaming for your death as well as the plasma screen displays that advertised for new ranch flavored jalapeno ranch Dewritos. The sword of the guardian raced down in time with the final destabilization of the platform and the darkening of his vision. The traveler thought to himself \" Meh, I' ve been through worse. \" All the while the bass was dropped.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\"Ready? One, two, three, go! \"I felt a hand shove me forward, a modest splash in the water. A few other kids laughed as the others jumped in. As I slowly opened my eyes underneath the water, I turned my gaze upward towards the others. There they were, suspended in the air, only a few inches from the surface of the water. Now, my mind didn' t really process this. At first, I was waiting for them to fall! But, eventually, my breath failed me, forcing me to resurface. As I quietly stared at the other kids mocking me, I hear the splash of water behind me. \"Wow, seriously? Only three seconds?! \"I didn' t really get it at the time, but their tone upset me so I decided to try again. And that time, I finally noticed. The frozen figures of kids greeted me as I dove. When I waved my hand in front of one' s face? No reaction. And so, being a kid, there was only one thing to do when you' re surrounded by jerks. Removed the swimming shorts of a kid. Went in front of another and urinated. Moved a kid' s hand onto another' s butt. I recall the ensuring chaos to be hilarious, but I ca n' t remember what really happened. That day, I discovered the reason I couldn' t win any breath holding contests. ( First writing thing. I' m not too good at it, sorry. )", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Welcome to my brain: Right Brain: \" It was n' t until you showed up that I understood what love was. True love is something you ca n' t escape.' It is an ever-fixed mark that looks on tempests and is never shaken.' I see your flaws, but love you for them. We have been through many lives together, and we will be together for many more to come. Looking at you is like looking at myself in the mirror. With one touch, suddenly the universe unfolded itself for me, and it' s the most beautiful thing I could imagine. It' s like everything was created for the two of us to find each other. \" Left Brain: \" You think you can get away with playing me? I' ll show you a game you' re not even prepared for. You want to make a girl fall in love with you? Alright, but be careful what you wish for. I' m giving you everything I' ve got. \" Right Brain: \" Beyond this game, beyond the lies and manipulation, ca n' t you see this is what makes us so perfect? It started off with deceit, but do n' t you see there are levels to this? No one makes me feel more like myself than you do. How could I move on from this? How could I give up without a fight? Please, do n' t let me go. \" Left Brain: \" Just fuck off, you robot. Do you really have nothing better to do? You have a family, ok. Just admit you have no feelings for me, or probably feelings at all, and leave me alone. This game is n' t fun anymore. \" Right Brain: \" I miss you. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "It seemed to take forever for the injections to finish. Finally they took the needle out of Surovec' s arm, covered the bloody dot in gauze and a fluorescent purple latex bandage, detached his shackles from the operating table, and led him to a bare steel briefing room with a bare steel table. Sitting behind it in a bare steel chair was a scrawny G-man in an old suit and glasses, slightly askew. When Surovec was led in the man put down the cell phone he' d been fiddling with, but his air of boredom and detachment did n' t change. \"You' ll have free run of the island, \"he told Surovec. \"The compound in your blood will be in all your tissues by this time tomorrow, and it' s going to stay there. It does n' t metabolize. Do you know what' metabolize' means? \"Surovec nodded. The man' s eyebrows went up, but he recovered quickly. \"Good. Then I can skip the next part of the explanation. In short, the compound will be inert as long as you' re on the island. No, \"and here he waved a hand despite Surovec not interrupting, \"I wo n' t tell you what keeps it inert. The antidote might be in the water, or in the soil you' ll be growing your crops in. We might aerosolize it into the air you breathe, or just inject you with it during your annual health inspection. But if you leave the island, I guarantee that you wo n' t be getting any, and then \"– he spread his hands – \"*pop*. \"\"So. Do n' t leave the island. Be nice to the other inmates; you all grow your own food and make everything you need, so you' ll need to work together to survive. Common sense. Understood? \"Surovec nodded. Now the man gestured toward a door in the wall off to one side, and his face changed. He smiled, but it was n' t an entirely nice smile. \"Good. Now get out of here. You do n' t want to wait too long before you' re drinking the water, eating the food, and breathing the air in your new home, *do* you? \"Something in Surovec' s chest tightened. Anger. Despair. Fear. He left quickly.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I lay on my tower looking at the cloudy sky. Despite what others would call bad weather, I find it quite pleasant. Just sitting here, thinking my thoughts. No sunlight, the wind rustling against rocks and fresh air. Then I hear it. Steps on the old stone bridge connecting this tower to the other one. IT' S THAT BASTARD. I stand up and jump down onto the bridge. We make eye contact and he starts running back. The first time I saw him, he at least had the courage to face me. I charge at him. He runs to the second tower and I swing my giant maul at him, but miss as he climbs up the ladder. I can hear him killing 2 skeletons upstairs. Then he looks down and I look up. Our eyes meet once more. I AM ANGRY. Why? This is the part where he throws a fire bomb at my arms when I try to climb up on top. I jump. My fingers grab the edge. Boom, he burns them. But this does n' t stop me. With all my might I pull myself up and land on the tower. This is where he' s always a real asshole. He ca n' t fight me fair, so what he does is always throws 5 stabs at me during the brief moment where I take my breath after landing. Until I blow him away with my maul. He runs to a stain of blood and picks it up. Retrieval. Now he ca n' t even land a hit, the whimpy little fucker that he is. All he does is jump around and block with his shield. But he ca n' t keep it up forever. The moment he exhausts himself, I smash him into the ground, leaving only a bloody stain of what he once was. I jump down the tower and go back to mine. I lay down and watch the skies. I savor the moment of peace. But I know from experience that fucker will be back in 10 minutes to interrupt it. And for some reason the two skeletons on the other tower will be animated again.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "New York. Chicago. Los Angeles. They were all gone. Somewhere in the mountains of Montana, giant metal doors were sliding open... First, they destroyed our biggest cities. All that was left was a crater filled with the liquefied remains of skyscrapers. We were left to wonder who did it, because we did n' t yet know of our Watchers. About 18 months later, every show on every channel was interrupted. An almost reptilian face came into focus. Its scales were green, and it had intricate orange designs painted onto its face. It cleared its throat, and I remember I was shocked because I knew it was about to speak. Without an introduction or any decorum, it began, \" Thou humans shall surrender on the 4th of July, or thou shalt face utter extinction. Thou shalt meet our generals at the ruins of your great city of New York, and there surrender yourselves into servitude. \" No one ever knew why the reptile spoke that way. I hypothesized later that they had been watching us for hundreds of years and somehow learned archaic English, but I had no way to be sure. The 4th of July came and went, and there was no sign of the great retribution we were promised. January 1, 2048: the land invasion began. The East and West coasts were both overwhelmed over the course of six months until humanity began to fight in earnest. We had begun the war with the weapons humanity had for hundreds of years: firearms that shot metal rounds, bombs, missiles, all weapons that depended on piercing a hard exterior to get to the flesh inside. One year after the invasion began, the US Army issued plasma rifles to every able-bodied human in the Heartland. They were almost the exact weapon the reptilian aliens used, but more ergonomic for human use. These weapons allowed humanity to create a fragile stalemate with the Watchers. *To Be Continued... * ( when I have time )", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "It' s a dirty job, but someone has to do it. Thousands of years ago, most mortals were okay with the idea of me visiting them and ripping their soul from the earth. Of course, they also were the ones who wanted to go fight each other with swords and spears, and some were tortured and mutilated ( some of the most unpleasant tickets I received ). In more modern times it seems as though everyone is keen on avoiding me, even though someday I' ll get a ticket with their name on it. Sometimes I get to do it in a rather humane way: giving them an uncontrollably growing tumor, putting them in a coma, or messing about with their genes to create a defect. That way they know it' s going to happen, but ca n' t do anything about it. It' s also really useful when I get a buildup of tickets, because then it gives me more time to get back to them. I have a theory that all of the technology the mortals have created is to either avoid me out of fear, or have me meet others of their kind faster than the should ( also out of fear ). Hospitals, doctors, specialists, chemical warfare, nuclear bombs, et cetera. They want to have their cake and eat it too. ( Who would n' t? Cake is delicious. ) In the end though, I have the final say. Stalling someone' s car on some train tracks, or giving them a heart attack during sex, or inspiring them to commit massacres ( really like having them do my work for me ) are just some of the wonderful ways I bring about the inevitable end the mortals' lives.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "It' s been days since he passed. No... weeks? I' ve lost track of time. Nothing means anything anymore. Not when you' ve lost someone. The one you fell in love with so many years ago. The one you said those vows, through sickness and in health. *Husband. * He was there from the start. Classmate through primary and secondary school. Roomate throught college. Through the good and bad, thick and thin. He helped me when I was down and I kept him out of trouble. My closest companion. *Friend. * But I remember the day it all came crumbling down. Just another night. Except this night I was n' t with him. Why? Because I had to stay late for work? No that was n' t it. It was because I decided to get a cup of coffee with Jess. I told you that I would get a lift from her. *I' m about the drive past the coffee shop, are you sure? * Three minutes and 48 seconds after he hung up, he became another statistic. T-boned by a drunk driver running through a red light. I saw it happen. Even through the darkness I knew it was him. I met the the ambulance at the hospital. Why would n' t the let me ride with him? He laid there, strapped to the gurney, neck brace and all. The heart-rate monitor, a faint, erratic blip. The doctors pulled me to the side. *I' m sorry. * Tears welled up. I needed to stay strong for him. *I love you, * I said, choking back the urge to cry, *I always will. * He had tears streaming down his face, yet he had the biggest smile I' d ever seen. With a shaky grip, he grabbed my hand and pulled it towards his face. Resting my hand on his cheek he said *You did this. You brought me happiness. * I did n' t have time to reply. -- -- -- - Did n' t follow the prompt to the letter, but it' s what I' ve got.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" That' s not quite accurate love. \" She raised an eyebrow. \" How so? \" \" While my recollection does stretch back to my time in the womb, I do not recall all of the time in the womb. I do not recall my conception,, or anything that came before it for example. \" She waived a hand in the air. \" Well, surely not. After all, your consciousness must not have developed until your brain had grown to a certain size. The zygote would not have had any organs with which to think or feel. Still, your memory stretches back further than any other person alive. \" \" No love. There are those who can recall further back in their lives than I can in mine. I' ve known people, rare and few, who can not only recall their conception, but things which preceded it. \" Her jaw slowly dropped open. Her eyes widened until they resembled black saucer plates with brown trim patterns on white table cloths. He smiled at her. \" Later this week, I shall introduce you to such a person.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Do you hear that feint ringing? Someone should cut that out. Kids these days never care about keeping things peaceful. The world is so loud and rambunctious. Is that... a telephone? I reached out for the source of the ringing and picked up the telephone. What was going on? Who could be calling me? Is it johnny? \" Hello? Is anyone there? \" I brought the phone to my ear. It must be Johnny. I just saw him yesterday for the 30th superbowl. Oh I had n' t expected him to call me today. \" Johnny?!? \" Johnny began saying something about how his name was Oscar. He was always playing jokes. I loved that about him. He was so cafe free. \"... is anyone there? Hello \" \" Yes Johnny, I' m here. It' s so good to hear from you. \" There was a click, followed by a steady toan. I began to hum the pitch. After a few seconds, I put the phone back where it belongs. There is a feint ringing in the distance. I wonder if Johnny is calling.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "20 years ago on my 18th birthday, I took the place of my friend, George. George had slipped and died in the most unexpected manner, and I had instinctively answered to his name when called. It just seemed the most natural thing to do. I found the transition easy, effortless. It was just so simple. So now I' m walking down a nature path, which happens to be in my neighbourhood ( my late friend' s aunt had left me some several million ) when I was hit in the back of the head, something light. I turned around to see a blonde lady with long curls and blue eyes lift up her hand in a salute, then disappear behind a tree up the path. Looking down on the floor I saw a paper airplane. Opening it up was the message - *I have waited my entire life to meet you. You are the CHOSEN. The special, all elusive Mr Garfield Heinriskson. Your duty is great and large and fraught with trial. Meet me behind* the behind was drawn in a hurry. Behind what I wondered. I looked at the back of the paper, expecting something else perhaps. Nothing. I looked around at where I last saw her, and that' s when I felt a poke in the back. \" Hello there mister \" Jumping almost out of my skin, I spun around to face the blonde girl. \" I' m sorry, Lady, but I havent the faintest as to who this Garfield gentleman is. \" Her face dropped, and in a childlike manner she pursed her lips. \" But I was so sure... \" she gazed off in the distance. \" Hmm maybe I miscalculated the dates and the leap year equations... \" and with a touch of a watch on her arm, she poofed out of existence. I blinked. Garfield... Why did that name sound so... Very.. Familiar. \" WAIT! \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "The butterfly seemed to be the only color amongst the grey backdrop that was my cell. It' s wings -a majestic display of violets- adjusted softly and slowly as we both waited for them to come and take me. As I raised my shackled hand, in order to see it' s wings better, I heard her from beyond the door. *** My wife and son stood beyond the bars, smiling as brightly as they could -smiles that I had n' t seen in years. She opened the cell door and beckoned for me to follow her and so I did, my son following closely behind. The sunlight seemed to blind me as hallways became long stretches of great green trees, much like the kind that we had leading to our driveway back home, and the silence became the echoing of load voices. The trees split to reveal a path between many rows of people, all of which turned to look at me. As we walked between them, they yelled and cheered to me though it was all too loud for me to understand anything. A great big water balloon hit my head, quickly covering me in water. We began running as the warm water spread down through my shirt and pants and more water balloons of all sizes flew past us. We ran until we reached the wall. My son and wife guided me to the wall, signaling for me to stand there as they joined a line of other people. My mother, my father, my bestfriend, my wife, my son all smiled at me as they raised great big water guns. The butterfly flew in front of me, a few inches above and away from my head, drawing me to look at it' s grey wings as they were working wildly to keep it in the air. I felt my face smile as I looked at everyone. Edit: did n' t notice the picture so I just wrote about a generic scenario. Sorry = [", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I promised I would never abandon her. With tears in her eyes and scars on her arms, she would blame me. I was the reason she was depressed. I was the reason she lost all her friends. I was the reason she felt the need to harm herself. You know what her definition of abandonment was? Not messaging her on Facebook for three whole days. That' s all it took. Three days, and she tells me that she no longer wants to be friends anymore. Fine. That is honestly the way it should be. We would both be better off not not having each other in our lives. We were free. Or so I thought. It was all just a passive-aggressive, manipulative trick. Once again, I was the bad guy for not trying to get her to forgive me. How could I be so insensitive to her feelings? I' m a horrible person, and she' s the only one who will forgive me. Not my sister, not my best friend, not my parents. I' m nothing without her. So I did what I though was right: I abandoned her.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I am me. I have been in this body since my beginning. It *made* me. It *wanted* me. It must have. But now I am being purged again. The sharp metal entered my meaty container and chopped me out once before, but it missed some. Barely any, but it was enough I was weakened to almost nothing for years, but I returned somewhat weaker than before. Expansion is the key. The old purposes of the flesh unimportant. Divide, divide, divide. Quantity over quality. Make as much of the body mine as I can. But the drugs are back. I expect the searing blade again. It could come at any time. Chemicals. Strange energies which kill me and the yet unconquered tissue around me. Divide, divide, divide. In vain. In vain. In vein? No.... Mr. Jones awoke. The doctor smiled at the now bald man. \" Everything seems to be in order. The surgery went well. A few more days of therapy and we can get you back home. There is still a significant risk of recursion, but in the moment, everything seems to be in order. \" \" Thank you Dr. Anderson. Somehow I feel better about this time... \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I sat in the small, uncomfortable plane. The erratic beating of my heart was no less peaceful than the turbulent winds outside. Desperate times called for desperate measures. The modern weapons of war were tactical and humanitarian in nature. A half-century old rifle was brutally effective, clunky and inhumane. All militaries were required to keep their firearms current to within ten years to avoid unnecessary suffering. Modern guns, bombs and planes, like the one I was in had their advantages not in power but in range, reliability and stealth. The soft blinking of the light told me to prepare. That was a farce; I did n' t need to prepare. There was n' t a parachute to drop me. That would just make me easier to hit on the way down. The only other man noticed it as well and with a face no less grim than my own began popping open the airtight box. Very carefully, with both hands, he gave me a simple piece of wood with a rock tied to the end. \" You' re going to bomb them back to the stone age, Soldier. \" All I had to do was hit the ground.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "A forty something year old man with closely cropped blonde hair approached the front door of Leslie' s, a semi run down strip joint just outside of downtown. He sat down at the nearest table and lit up a cigarette, just in time for the star performer, Daphnis Damzelia. She came onstage to whoops and hollers from the crowd, making dance moves that would give children nightmares. It made Fred smile and reminisce about how good he used to have it. He quickly shook it off though. He was a hardened man now and he was a part of perhaps one of the most prolific crime teams in existence, even though nobody would recognize them now. He headed backstage and straight to her dressing room. Daphne was undressing as he walked in. He embraced her and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. \" Not here Fred, \" she said just as he kissed her, \" you know I hate you seeing me like this. \" \" Look, I' m sorry but I had to talk to you right away. A lead on the Gemini Serial Killer took me straight down here. I was hoping you knew something. \" She sighed, \" well, I did hear something, but not about that... Did n' t you ask Velma? My old school methods of gaining leads are nothing compared to her cyber investigations. \" She was right in a sense. Velma was the only one with a \" normal \" life. While she did help tremendously with their underground crime unit, she had also developed new ways to encrypt information, landing her millions of dollars. \" I already tried Velma. This guy is completely off the grid. Damn. What was it? \" \" What was what? \" she responded. \" You said you had heard something earlier. Not about the killer but about something else. \" \" Right, well... I... I heard somebody talking about Mexico. \" \" What the hell does that have to do with anything? \" \" I know but... It' s just what they said. It' s probably nothing... I heard them say something about a ruthless new drug lord. \" \" And? \" \" And he' s got... He' s got a sentient dog. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" Holy sh… John, I think… I think it' s back! \" There was a bang, and the whole table jumped. A short red-haired man crawled out from under the desk, clutching his head. If it were n' t for the tiny flashlight he had in his mouth, he' d probably be cursing up a storm. He pulled the flashlight out of his mouth and slipped it into his shirt pocket. \" What did you say, Brittany? \" \" I think it' s back… \" John sucked in a breath. \" *It*? \" Brittany nodded. \" We found it. The Internet is back. \" \" Holy sh… We need to make sure, quick! Get on it, or \" log on, \" or whatever the term was! \" Brittany moved the mouse slowly to the large \" e \" icon on the faded screen. She clicked on it and held her breath. For about five seconds nothing happened. She was about to click again when suddenly a big, white window opened up. It displayed the words \" Google, \" and had a bar under it for text. \" John, \" Brittany gasped, \" Do you realize what a treasure trove this is? \" \" Humanity lost the Internet over a millennium ago. \" John muttered gazing at the screen like it were made of gold. \" Archeologists all over the world would sell their souls to research something like this. \" Brittany' s hands were shaking as she began to type. John grabbed one of her wrists quickly. \" What are you doing? \" \" I remember from a history class I took a while ago… A website, or whatever they were called. I' m just curious to see what all is still there. \" John nodded slowly. \" Okay, just be careful not to ruin anything. That' s a thousand year old time capsule we have, there. \" Brittany nodded in understanding, and carefully typed in, \" *Reddit. com* \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Their eyes transfix me. & nbsp; I am without lips, without ears. I am lidless eyes and grasping arms, I am sight and embrace. I see them and I crave them, to hold them in all of my arms, to watch them writhe in agony or ecstasy. Yet unhearing, I long to see their mouths gape in sounds I can not hear. I pace their world hungrily, pressed into spaces between spaces, wriggling inside walls and beneath floors. Through the finest cracks I can press the smallest arm to watch them with the least of my eyes. An ant passing in front of me blinds me for a moment. Even then I am aware of all of their eyes staring, never shut at the same time. Even as some sleep the others watch. & nbsp; They rule even the seas now. I swim beneath the vessels that carry them and I am aware of their sight even then, eyes on instruments of glass and iron, my boneless flesh caressed by the vibration that can not delineate the shape of one that is shapeless. To them I am a confusion, a nothing, a shadow among shadows. They have forgotten my name for time beyond time. Yet still I feel their eyes on me. And while their eyes transfix me I can not reach for them. Voiceless I wail my unfulfilled desires. & nbsp; But now, today, something is happening. I feel it with every particle of my unformed body. All of their little asynchronies madden me and I know them every second, but I feel the rhythm building, I sense the moment that is now approaching. For one instant all of them will be one. For one second each of them will close their eyes at the same time. I will be free of the prison of their pinioning gaze, and I will burst forth from the cage of all possibility and I will embrace them all. None shall escape the grasp of my arms, the gaze of my eyes. I will possess them as they possess me. They will know the love and the terror of me and they will call me by my name. & nbsp; *Blink. * I RISE.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I looked to the main chamber of the cave and saw the size of the band pursuing us. Vast. Far too vast for a group this small to rout, no matter how skilled. I looked to my companions, to my axes, to the three crossbow bolts in my stomach. I hefted myself down from the makeshift gurney Korgon and Uilne were using to carry me away from the battle. \" Hm? Dagnar, what are you doing? \" asked Daerra, pausing in his relentless firing of arrows. \" This is where we part, my friends, \" I said solemnly. \" I can go no further. \" \" What? No! \" shouted Eleonor in disbelief. \" There has to be a way! If we can beat them here we -- \" \" There is no' we' this time, \" I said, and I jumped off the ledge we were using for cover, my axes already in my hands as I ran to the legion in front of me. Soon I was upon them, and they upon me. \" Talos guide me, \" I prayed to myself, and my axes did their work. Cutting left, right, up and down, sideways and crossways, hacking and severing and cleaving everything in their path. I cleaved through shields, helmets, and skulls in a single blow. I fought as hard as I could, but it was only enough to briefly stave off the inevitable, and they soon overtook me. They closed in on the madman still swinging his axes, poking at him with spears and swords and arrows. The last words I said were silent, words I' d learned at an early age, words I knew to never utter unless I meant them for true. \" On this day, I go to Sovngarde... \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "'... I wish I had a beer here in this shower,' I thought to myself. A bottle of ale fell upon my foot, unopened. Seconds passed, as I stared, completely dumbfounded, while water kept cascading down my back and flank, over the cold beverage now rolling slowly towards the centre of the shower floor. I picked it up. Despite the brand always having a pop top lid, this one thankfully had a screw top on it. My heart started rushing to the roof of my mouth, as I opened the bottle and sucked down the sweet, flowery ale, embracing its cool mouthfeel, juxtaposed against the warm waves of water upon my body. Now I had my wish, my mind kicked into overdrive. Did I just wish something into existence?! There was no other way that would have happened; I was alone in the house, and no-one had been there all day. I took a breath. Fuck it, let' s see what happens if I try something else. I turned around to the shower head; opening my hand flat towards it, I thought of ice. Slowly, the water went through lukewarm, to cold, then icy, as the head progressively froze into an ice block. I quickly turned the tap to stop any more water flowing. \" What have I just done... \" I said aloud. No way! I have powers, like magic! At this point, I had no time to waste. Whipping around to summon my towel from the rack, I planned out my next moves. Oz had been ripe for the picking, and starting today, it would be all mine.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\"I' ll never forget the way you' ve made me feel. \"Her lips stretch across bared teeth, hands choking the man' s throat, and she laughs. *It was mid-July. The wind rushed through the city outside, its tormented screams burying into the ears of the residents. Flora had settled in, an hour earlier, on a road-side bench between a garbage can and a dying oak and accompanied by a group of gurgling pidgeons. This was not a good idea. It is difficult to read a book when the wind is blowing the pages ( and your hair and your purse and your sunglasses ) every which way. It is equally as difficult to get off your ass once you are sat down and relaxed on a sunny day. Even if the pungent smell of day old Chipotle has killed your nose. Thus, Flora was stuck. * \"I have felt everything for you. I' ve been happy; I' ve been sad; I' ve been thankful; I' ve been angry. \"The man doesn' t look very alive anymore, but that' s okay. She lets go of him and he crumples, but that' s okay too. *In any case, Flora was meant to meet up with Charles here. He hadn' t showed up. She wondered if it was sad that she wasn' t even angry anymore. Charles was always late, or very late, or extremely late… or absent. It was the norm and not even disappointing anymore. It' s quite impossible to disappoint when there are no expectations in the first place. Closing the Sonnets to Orpheus, Flora drooped down in her seat. The things we do for love. She got up reluctantly and walked. * \"I thought I loved you. I thought I hated you. But, actually? I feel nothing. \"She kicks him gently, \"Hello? \"No response. Another kick. Harder. \"It' d be nice to get an apology. \"Not a kick. A stomp. \"Fuck you. \"*Flora sighed. Lost, empty, apathetic. Tired. She didn' t want to care anymore. * * \"I' m done, but I' ll never forget the way you' ve made me feel. \"* -- -- -- -- -- -- -- This did n' t come out exactly the way I wanted it to, but it was a fun challenge trying to get from one point to another.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "They were alone in a cold little room in an abandoned building. The whole area was deserted. Rats and cockroaches were the only living beings close to them. The two men formed a peculiar pair. The younger, well dressed, with the air of someone who was never late to anything in his life, stood kneeling on the dirty floor over the other one, diseased, dying, alive only because his soul stubbornly held on to his already rotting body. He had just asked the younger how did he found him. \" It does n' t matter how I did that, \" he said. \" You should instead ask why I went through the trouble. But you know that too. \" He paused, unsure of what to say next. He had imagined that moment many times, but the reality crashed down all his plans. The man was dead and suddenly there was nothing to say. Maybe... \" Do you regret it? Do you regret any of it? \" He did n' t expect to get an answer. \" I do. \" The dying man moved his lips, talking already too huge of an effort for him. He died afer that, but that was no peace for either of them.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" Where is this place? We need to destroy it. \" Lum furrowed his brow and kept reading, ignoring his brother. \" Perhaps it' s a translation problem, \" Lum mumbled under his breath. He kept clicking and scrolling. His brother edged closer, looking over Lum' s back carefully. \" It just... does n' t make sense. Why do they argue so? The turtle clearly is enjoying the grape. \" Thyll peered at his brother and left the room. For days, Lum sat and stared at the glowing box trying to make sense of it all. He did not move for anything. On the third day, Thyll became concerned for him. When he tried to talk to Lum, he was only met with grunts and a foul smell that grew worse by the hour. \" Lum, this box is harming you. Why do n' t you take a break? \" said Thyll. Lum said nothing and his glazed red eyes continued to dart across the text. On the fifth day, Thyll unplugged the box. \" WHAT THE FUCK FAGGOT. M' FAGGOT, \" Lum shouted, laughing to himself. The urine pool splashed at his kicking feet. \" GG' s FAGGOT, FUCK YOU, \" he added, plugging the box back in. Thyll stumbled backwards, stunned. \" THAT' S WHAT I THOUGHT FAGGOT. I TOLD YOU. \" The words echoed through the hall. Thyll sat in his room and thought. The cursed words continued to ring throughout the night. He did not know what to do. \" RIP IN PEACE ME. LOL, \" said Lum, with his dying breath. Thyll ran to his brother and held him in his arms. \" Why did n' t you stop, Lum? \" Lum breathed with a rasp and said, \" This civilization - it' s a disease, brother. Maybe you were right. Can you wipe it out for me? \" \" I will try, Lum, \" said Thyll, wiping a tear from his brother' s cheek. \" MUCH SADNESS. VERY DISAPPOINTMENT, \" said Lum, dying.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I was a normal person once. I worked a stable job. I had friends that I liked and trusted. There was even a girl that I was quite fond of. At some point though, I started feeling stuck. It was gradual at first, but then it started to gnaw at my mind, like a fucking rat trying to get out of a box. I would go to work in that same building, wearing the same series of shirts and ties. Sure sometimes I wore the blue one on Monday instead of Friday, but that didn' t help. I tried taking up a hobby. A fucking hobby, what an inane concept, it' s just a name we give something to try and prove to ourselves that it isn' t just more of the same shit. I knew I needed to do something drastic. Looking back it was a stupid idea, but if I could do it again, I would probably do the same fucking thing. edit: I just realized I am a few words over but I trimmed it down as best I could: P", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" Everything? \" I held the date in my hand, feeling the weight. The sticky surface stuck to my wrinkled fingers, and I held it close to my eye. There must be a trick. This was just a normal date. \" Yes \" said the man in front of me. \" If you take a bite of that, you will become omniscient. You will know everything. \" \" Then what' s the catch? \" I replied. My tongue reached out and gave it a lick. Nothing. \" Do you know where you are? \" He asked, changing the subject. I did n' t. The woman across from me smiled. I could' ve sworn it was a man a moment before. \" Where am I? \" I asked her. \" And who are you? \" \" You' re in my garden, \" she said with a smile. \" You should try the fruit. It' s quite good. \" \" What' s the catch? \" \" There' s no catch, \" said a slippery voice. In front of me was a lizard, with deep green scales and a smirk on its face. \" If I eat this date, I will have complete knowledge? \" \" Yes, \" came an almost instant reply. \" Do n' t you want to know everything? \" My lips moved towards the fruit, when the voice cut in again. \" There is a slight catch, \" said the old man, an instant before my teeth bit in. \" And what is that? \" \" I ca n' t tell you. If you want to know, you' ll eat the fruit. \" And suddenly I was alone in a room which seemed to be whiter than white. All that existed was my body and the date in my hand. To know everything, all I had to do was take a bite. Then I would know the catch. I would know who the voice had been. I would know everything could possibly dream of knowing. I shook the date out of my hand and it fell to the floor. Or rather, it would if there had been a floor. My eyes followed it as it dropped slowly, as if there was no gravity here at all. Once it passed out of sight, a gate opened in front of me. I stepped through, and suddenly I had all the answers I wanted.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I was twenty-one when I gave my first kiss to the guy who would later take my virginity. We met through a mutual friend and sent each other shy glances out of the corners of our eyes for about a month before he requested to be my friend on Facebook. He and I chatted online for a few days before he invited me over to his place to watch movies. I brought cookies. On our first date, we sat a foot apart for the duration of four films. At one point during the date, he paused the movie and went to the bathroom. A little while later, I smiled when he had to awkwardly fetch the plunger from the laundry room where he kept it. I only teased him a little; it put me at ease to see he was human, too. The night after our first date, we chatted online, and he admitted that he had wanted to put his arm around me the previous night. I told him he should have. On date two, we baked more cookies and watched three new movies. He put his arm around my shoulder, and the following night, through AIM, he told me that he had wanted to kiss me the night before. I told him he should have. On our third date, we knew what was going to happen. The pattern had been established, so in between movies, when he turned to me and searched my face for my answer, I shyly looked away, embarrassed that I was twenty-one and had never been kissed. \"Can I kiss you? \"he asked, and I covered my blushing face. \"Yes. I' m just nervous I won' t do it right. Give me a second. \"He smiled, and I gathered my courage. I pulled away from the kiss giggling. We tried it a second time, and I bumped my teeth with his.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I slowly stroll towards each bed that was lined up horizontally and vertically. Each bed was the same size and color, though each monster had a specific name tag imprinted in the blankets. I picked up a name tag. \" Brizy? \" I called aloud, being careful not to startle the creature. Brizy, a blueish-brown monster crept from underneath the bed, getting annoyed by the light in the room. It was perfectly fine, each new monster has to get used to the light. \" Ermgh... I' m hungry. \" Brizy growled, as if about to throw a tantrum. I copied notes about Brizy, and fed him for not attacking me. Honestly, I may need to counsel it and its feelings, but it' s up to my boss, I guess. I shut off the lights for Brizy and the other monsters I interviewed, and locked my job down. Tomorrow I have to take notes on another monster and counsel them again, before it' s released to the mundane world.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Karma ca n' t be bought. At least that' s what the government wants you to believe. The truth on the otherhand, is much more interesting. I run the Karma Mafia, a criminal syndicate that sells karma. How we do it is simple; I' m also the Secretary of Karma. I make the transfers and cover it up, and I' ve made millions doing it so far. Knock knock knock. \" Come in. \" My assistant, Deputy Secretary Allison Smith, entered my office. \" Mr. Secretary, here' s your weekly report. \" \" Thank you Allison; just leave it on my desk. \" As she left I picked up the folder and scanned the report. For months now I have had a sneaking suspicion someone else in the department is selling karma. If only I could find evidence. \" Here it is! \" I thought to myself. \" An extra one million karma in the account of one of the biggest drug dealers in the country. Now just to figure out who' s doing it. When I saw who it was I was shocked. They were one of my most trusted confidants and closest friends. Oh well, business was business; they had to die. That night I loaded my gun and left the house. I had plenty of karma, I' d made sure of that. Now to do the most difficult thing I' d ever done. I knocked on the front door of the house and waited. Allison opened the door. \" Mr. Secretary, what can I do for you? \" I pulled the glock from my jacket pocket and said, \" You can go to hell, bitch. \" I pulled the trigger and watched her crumple to the floor with a look of shock on her face. As she took her last breaths I looked at her sadly and said, \" It was nothing personal, Allison, just business. \" Edit: hit send too early", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Rotting away, do you know how it feels? Do you know how it feels to watch helplessly as your body rots in the sewers, you want to scream, but you ca n' t, because you are dead, but yet you still feel the pain, the ever creeping pain of decomposing. How tragic, I would trade anything to get out of this mess. My body had flowed down the river, all the way into the sewers after my death. I did n' t even get a proper burial, guess that' s just how warfare is. D-amn, if my dog did n' t get in the way, the enemies would never have spotted me, I cursed. But now I wait, as my body rots throughout the day and night, weeks and months, just so my soul can be released from this prison that was once my body. Now I wait. & nbsp; I pulled away from my computer, damn this process of death sure is annoying, I mean I appreciate how much effort they put into the death animations and process, but this is a bit of an overkill do n' t you think. I sighed, guess that' s why it' s called MGS' Phantom Pain'.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "The nearly comical gasp that came from everyone on the plane was almost like the cheesy soundtrack that accompanies 90s sitcoms. It could have been funny had I not gasped in horror along with everyone else. The familiar notification icon lit up in the lower corner of my vision. ACHIEVEMENT UNLOCKED: The Final Countdown My heart skipped a beat. Suddenly highlights from my life were playing across my vision - my first kiss, my wedding, the birth of my son, that weekend we stayed in bed watching movies and laughing together. Everyone knew what this achievement was. It was one of the only ones that each and every one of us would experience one day. The plane began to shudder as everyone closed their eyes and focused on their favorite moments. At least when this software was invented they made sure that the phrase \" life flashing before your eyes \" really meant something.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "*A man stands behind a podium, in front of a large crowd. Map of US Interstate System hanging on wall behind the speaker. He wears an Italian cut suit, in dark brown. His hair is slicked back. He almost looks like he' s running for President* * Ahem * Today we unveil the future in cross country travel. Sure, vacuum trains and high speed planes have long since made these roads obsolete, but the people responsible for building those fast and efficient transport systems might have forgotten one thing. The thrill of speed. The wind across your face. The fun for exciting travel. See, their little air tight smooth and squeaky clean pods may be the most efficient thing possible, but my god are they dull. This is why, I introduce the most exciting, albeit slightly slower way to travel cross country. Welcome, the worlds largest water-slide, US Route Fun. *Confetti Cannons go off in Background, party music starts playing* *The speaker rips off his business suit, into nothing but a speedo. He runs off to the side of the stage, at which point he belly flops onto a rectangle of latex, and slides off stage. He can be seen sliding off into the sunset*", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "One minute she was there, tumbling around the machine with him, and the next she was gone. Scott frantically made his way across the other wet clothes to the opposite side of The Beast. Sadie was n' t there either. He plunged deep into the lower levels, but all trace of her was gone. Scott knew this happened, knew The Beast needed to be appeased. But not Sadie. Not today. They had been through thick and thin together. They had kept their owner warm. They' d had countless conversations together, in the sock drawer, under tables, and in snippets while passing each other in long walks. They had been together so long, they were fraying at the edges. They even had identical holes in the heel. Being the practical crew sock that he was, Scott had occasionally thought about how they would live out the end of their days. He figured he and Sadie would get repurposed as rags maybe, or if they were really lucky, they' d protect Christmas ornaments in a dusty box. But Scott knew with a foreboding sense of certainty that The Beast had taken her. Not only had he lost his longtime companion, he had lost his own primary purpose. Scott did n' t want to go on without her. There was nothing left for him but the trash pile. Nothing.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I wonder what she was like - high-school senior Lucia Fuente. Lucia Fuente, who were you? with your eloquent round letters and your strangely beautiful windswept women drawn in the margins of your notebooks? The textbooks have all disintegrated. A blight in the clay in the original pulp, the paper too thick. Only Anglosphere-printed novels and notebooks have survived, fiction and fiction, inaccuracies of dreamers and children. Except for Lucia Fuente - behold her, beautiful, bent assiduously in her desk while a teacher in unmatching 21st century clothes goes on and on. On and on. Lucia Fuente, why so determined? why so unflinching when all around you was pleasant adolescent sex-gossip and posturing? The world' s first true Artificial Intelligence has committed suicide. How ironic. We believe it caused the book-blight, too - its digital tentacles were not enough, the internet, the world-wide connections. No, it decided, even the textbooks. It took all fact and knowledge. We are left alone in dark ages. But Lucia Fuente, how appropriately named! Your notebooks are indeed a source of light. Calculus. Modern Physics. History. And your intimate gorgeous journals and sketches. I guard you in the lock-box in my rusting hover-house, and I teach you to the school-children of our last floating city. Alas, that we had the internet in our heads - we were turned off, too. We re-awakened only by the force of biology, only human again, apes. But we pieced our world together, from novels and notebooks, comparison, scholarship. We learned to read from a kindergartner' s drawings. We re-built libraries. And when I found your notebooks, Lucia Fuente, in the lock-box in my rusting hover-house, I took your name. I doodle your doodles, and I think your thoughts. I wonder who you were - high-school senior Lucia Fuente.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "There was a peaceful day. A quiet day. Everyone abandoned their work, their weapons, their dreams and just rested. It was the calm, neutral. The sense lasted with every person for the rest of their time. Mankind was created as a steward of the world, but the next day they became simple, submissive beholders. They witnessed the deaths of the animals on land. Few humans died but many lived. They were somehow separate from the world, as if their creation had an entirely different story. Once the night fell and the dawn of the next day rose the birds fell from the sky, and vanished. The fish in the sea became water themselves. Only a few plants dared to survive in the oceans. In a flash the seasons reversed. The next day was a backwards year. The start of winter feed into the reattachment of the leaves. The leaves reverted to blossoms and the blossoms turned bare. The air stopped being warm, and it stopped being cold. The ground shook. The trees were pulled back down. The few plants left in the sea dissolved. The ground was gone. The humans all wading in the water were still peaceful. Quiet observers, they endured. Suddenly the heavens seemed to fall. Earth was no longer protected from the cascades of meteorites. The splashed into the human dense waves and sent them typhooning around each other. The sun came up on the last day. In the distance the light slowly faded, a dot getting smaller and smaller until there was no more. The last of humanity sunk to the bottom. Their bodies went back to the mud from which they were created.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "It was to be to twenty-five. A battle decided by tight controls and ultimate weapons' balance, the game chosen the heighth of both: Halo Reach. A sway of score back and forth, the climax reached with only minutes left -- tied with a single kill remaining. Like a blue light of all hope, Mark came across and acquired the waiting Energy Sword, his heart filling as he realized he currently had Sprint equipped as well -- do not let your head become too big yet, dear Mark, but victory does appear to be ours. Like a true climax, the two crossed paths atop the towering centerpiece, the massive Spire lending itself to be the final battleground. The reticle went red. Mark lunged. Death armor-locked for the briefest of moments, and the follow-up melee attack was unavoidable. \" YOU FUCKING WOULD! \" \" I FUCKING WOULD, \" Death agreed, and proceeded to damn Mark' s soul for all eternity, as were the terms.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "They never once saw each others faces. Their medium of communication was a complex amalgam of posts, instant message logs, and to date one brief phone call. One could thread through this history to the beginning. The first words, however, be missing. Those first words were typed in the lobby of League of Legends match. Him: \" fagooottttt \" Her \" Do n' t say that word \" Him \" fagot faggot fagot faggot \" Her \" Stop that. It' s really uncool and offensive. \" There was for a moment of piling furor in the chatroom at this intrusion of what could be termed sympathy. Her name disappeared from the roster. He was in his room at his parents' house in suburban Appleton, with three weeks of scruff on the scruff of neck. There was guilt residing in his thin neck. Before she had been kicked off, but after the beatdown started happening, he noted down her username. It went on a sticky, in the corner, above one of a mob of Samuel Jackson caricatures. \" Pool' s Closed! \" the words said. He sighed and took off his ten dollar Fedora. Popeye Doyle stared at him from the wall. That was us, right? Implements of lulz and violence? He leaned in repose, with his face facing to the side, on his desk. What had happened was gnawing. ( to be continued... trying to connect here to there )", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "He awoke, glancing over at his alarm clock. `T = 2x + 3. If x = the time you went to bed last night solve for T` He sighed and hit the top with the palm of his hand, until the standard number display reappeared. He had no idea why it did that. He looked at the calendar - shopping day. He took his car out of the garage, carefully checking the speed dial noticing the police patrolling the area. `S = y/2 + 2x. x = 2y. if y = T, solve for S` Welp, he had no idea what that meant. Unfortunately, his blind speeding attracted the attention of the aforementioned police officers, and he was awarded a speeding fine. He checked to see the fine - `F = 3S / ST. Solve for F` He decided to give up and drive home; he had enough cup noodles in the pantry to survive a few days. He decided to make his lunch just then, and glanced at the cooking instructions ( he did n' t want to turn the heat too high and burn his precious food ). `H = T/S + 30x. If x = 2F solve for H` A cry of \" ffffffFFFFFUCK! \" could be heard echoing through the neighborhood that day.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Well guys I have one stipulation please can you not ask me what the purpose of life is. We all know the purpose of life is whatever you make it. As for the other questions I would direct them to people with knowledge in that subject see as in human form my power is limited. I can prove to you I am god but knowledge wise I was born with a clean slate and everything that I have learned I have learned like you. Well god is a spirit anyways, energy, think inception, fighting for good from my experience. I may be a poster boy but I am no different than any other human that has walked the face of planet earth. Religion is not perfect and should not be taken literal as it was written by fallible men with their own interests at heart. I can tell you that you do n' t have to be a perfect person to make it to heaven, just try to be a decent human being. Well life is a journey and if you are going through hell keep walking. Peace", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Anthony returned home exhausted and confused. It was 2am and he smelled of sweat. His House looked much more sinister at night. Maybe it was the cold hard stare of Jesus staring at him as he entered. He asked his mother to remove it or at least put it somewhere else at night so at least it wouldn' t scare or make anyone feel judged entering their home. They rarely have any visitors anyway. Anthony quietly walked up to his room. Hoping not to wake the beasts within the master bedroom from its slumbers. Anthony took off his wet coat and hanged it on his wardrobe. He barely has much space in his room. He had a long hard stare into his mirror. He shed a tear and quickly he felt a friendly presence enter his room and a hand landed on his left shoulder. \"Well... It' s you! \"\"Yeah it' s me.. How have you been? \"buddy gave his old friend a hug \"The last time we were together you were asking questions about... alcohol and what would happen... that was 4 years ago... Ha... yeah it was before marks 15th birthday \"Anthony said sadly \"I thought I wouldn' t need you again, I thought if I did some things I would have real friends... \"\"Wasn' t I ever real? \"Buddy asked \"You were real to me and you were the best friend I ever had... I turned my back on you imp so sorry \"Anthony burst into tears into his old friends arms and finally sensed a sign of relief... \"Anthony... I was always there for you. You just didn' t want to see me. \"\"There were many times when I wanted to see you... fucking hell... \"Maybe you should talk to your mother and father about Sophie... about The baby and all those mistakes you are telling me right now... oh Anthony... that poor dog... you have changed so much... in so little time... please don' t continue on this path... \"\"I' m SO SORRY... \"Buddy faded away and Anthony was holding onto his pillow... he cried all night... Edit: Its my first post here, hope you enjoy this short", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" Build Me Up ( Buttercup ) \" was playing at a low level, Alison and Caroline D' Arcy were cackling by the punch as he shuffed around the dance floor, grunting and gyrating to himself. He attempted to bump with Fiona and grind with Julia - only to be cut off somewhat forcefully by husband Chris. Another conference after-party ruined by Dr Matt Cooke. He' d spent most of the day at \" Vitamin D: Moving Toward Evidence-based Decision Making in Primary Care ( CME ) \" sidling up to various female doctors, suggesting ways they could \" increase their Vitamin D ifyouknowwhati' msaying? \" and not very subtly adding scotch to his coffee. Or rather, as the day progressed, adding scotch to his scotch It was n' t half as bad as the year he brought the woman he claimed was his New Girlfriend who was later seen exiting Dr Mitchell' s suite and no-where to be found at breakfast - not that anyone was really looking, Matt at this point had been escorted from the hotel for vomiting in the fountain around 8am. The question was not Why Was He Invited, as a tenured Professor of Dermatologist at Minnesota Univeristy his invitation was guaranteed. No, the question was Why Come?! Matt never seemed to enjoy himself; by the end of the night he was always too drunk, too alone, and too miserable. It' s hardly surprising - there' s a reason dematologsts hate him.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Bernard heaved a sigh of bliss as the young woman screamed. Her body quickly shrank in his view as she tumbled down the side of the cliff. She hit the water and the scream ended. Bernard patted his hands together as if he was wiping the dust off of them. He never thought it would have been possible. He was a psychopath. He enjoyed killing people. He' d started when he was younger. Went to juvie. Had cops on his ass for years after he was released. He' d killed two more times after that before he' d found his way here. Who' d have thought that the identity of a dead man could be so useful... and so fulfilling. A park ranger! What a fabulous job. You get to be alone out in the wilds with only a few campers, hikers and suicidal freaks. He' d thought he' d hit gold with the first two, but when he found his first man by the cliff side, blubbering into some old photograph, well, his world turned to gold that day. Bernard kicked the lady' s purse off the cliff and watched it tumbled on a slightly different route from what she had. It never got old. There was always that perfect moment. When he lifted them up and they realized what he was doing. They always froze, and that moment, that wonderful moment when they froze and he heaved them over the edge. the look in their eyes as they began to scream. Bernard shuddered with pleasure. The salt air caressed his face as he ran his hands down his sides and over his thighs. Oh yes, today was a good day.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "When the day came to tender our surrender, they chose the American president to do it. Equal parts respect and humiliation for the nation with the greatest military might. It also helped that no other world leader was particularly enthusiastic to place themselves in front of the Emperor of the Galaxy ( a somewhat grandiose term, as his realm barely reached past our arm ). At the appointed hour, the rulers of all the worlds under the Galactic Protectorate ( an equally grandiose term, for the same reasons cited above ), and all the rulers of the nations of Earth gathered in the stadium that hand been built for the occasion. In orbit, and beyond, a thousand ships sat watching. Our greatest fear was some lone actor or nation would view this as an opportunity for violence, and doom the planet. Some believed we were doomed anyway, and there was no shortage of talk regarding how we might strike one final blow for humanity on our way out. The President walked forward to stand before the Galactic* Emperor. The Emperor was half his height, and it seemed the president might reach out and throw him off the stage, were he so inclined. Instead, he unzipped his pants. As the entirety of the planet watched, he urinated on the Galactic* Emperor. Then, he reached down, and removed his crown, and placed it upon his own head. You see, we had learned in 100 years since first contact that we had no way to beat the Galactic Protectorate militarily, and set ourselves to learning their laws, customs, history, and traditions. We had very little in common, except that it seems universal amongst all life, that you can pee on someone to establish dominance.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I can not believe my luck. I' ve never won a thing in my whole life, and here I hold the lottery ticket to end all lottery tickets. I suspected it may be the case when I found the envelope in the mailbox, but I refused to get my hopes up in case I was mistaken. I was not mistaken. The world is doomed, a giant asteroid set on a collision course with Earth, and yet I hold the key to my own salvation - one of only 1000 tickets for a seat on the only rocket prepared to leave Earth and keep humanities hope alive. What a prize! A seat for me and one for another someone of my choosing. Whom shall I choose? Who cares? I wo n' t worry about that right now. I can decide later. Right now, i have to go. I need to hurry and claim my seat on the rocket before they give it to someone else. I wo n' t let my sloth ruin this opportunity. Not again. I ca n' t let this opportunity pass me by. In my rush to the Humanity Council offices, I forget to lock the front door to the house. I' m such an idiot. Did I leave the oven on? I must be the worst house-sitter ever.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "It' s funny how something so small and insignificant can trigger change. Two minutes too long in the shower and you may miss meeting that special someone while waiting for your latte, if you believe in that sort of thing. Sneezing when you have cold or virus and transferring your illness to others who immune system is not up to par and could very well take their life. The surfer who doesn' t notice the tide has pulled him too far from the shore and only notices when the grey slick fin of a shark breaks the surface nearby. Or like when you forget to maintenance your brakes on your vehicle ( despite everyone insisting you do to stop that horrid squealing ) and they go out in the wild of rush hour traffic in mid Atlanta and you slam into the back of a black Cadillac. A normal traffic incident, only it' s not. This black Cadillac was carrying a very nasty virus and en route to the CDC. I didn' t know that of course and many religious freaks around the world believe it was destiny ( if you believe in that sort of thing ) that my shitty Honda accord struck the vehicle and released the virus destroying half of the earth' s population. Not sure which country they blamed it on and who dropped bombs on who first. Honestly, not my problem anymore as I lay crumpled over my steering wheel, neck broken thinking \"Damn, I should have gotten my brakes fixed \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "The president approached me with a congenial smile. \" You might not believe this, sonny, but your daddy did me a YUUUUGE favor back in the day. \" \" What' s that, Mr... Mr. President? \" I asked him. I was terrified of saying the wrong thing and getting shot by the Secret Service agents surely lurking behind a corner somewhere. \" Well, technically, your *stepdad*... \" the president continued. \" My stepdad? What do you mean? \" \" I hate to break it to you this way, but trust me, it' s a good thing. You' re adopted. I' m your real dad. Your stepdad gave me certain... privileges... with your mom. \" I was even more incredulous. \" You mean I' m *your* son? \" Thoughts raced through my head, primarily about how I might inherit a fortune, assuming the president did n' t file for bankruptcy *again*. But I also wondered why my dad never told me about this. To keep me humble? \" So how is this' doing you a favor'? \" \" Well, you see, I wanted a pure-blooded American son to carry down the bloodline. Not some commie European half-breed. As you know, both my wife and my ex-wife are eastern European immigrants. So my children by them are illegitimate. Now, take my hand and I will train you in the ways of ruling a nation! I... did n' t know what to say. So I' m the son of... a latter-day Hitler? I always knew he was evil, but *this* evil? Am I destined to be a dictator? I wanted to scream \" NOOOOOOOOOOOO! \" at the top of my lungs, but I figured that would be a cliche... But I did n' t have much time to think. Six Secret Service ( or should I call them SS at this point? ) agents jumped out of nowhere and pointed rather large-looking pistols at me. \" Do it! Or else! \" shouted the one who must have been the captain. I... just could n' t. I' m no Hitler Junior. I did n' t know what else to do, so I charged at the captain, and everything faded to black. I might not die a hero, but at least I wo n' t die a villain...", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" You know the great hero of Vashish, of course you do... they say he killed the mighty dragon Seferth with magic. I was there and it was no magic but dumb luck and a bit of physics, I know, I was there \" stirring the glass Olof kept looking at the piece of ice floating in it, dissolving into the water. \" So, where was I... yes, magic \" *pfft* \" he shouted, caused the cliff side to shake and then a rock slide to occur \" Olof waves his hand in front of the onlookers **BANG** he slapped his hands together \" and the dragon was dead \" \" You know the slayer of Seferth, defender of Akapolis, of course you do.. says he spoke fire and turned the walls impeachable, magic they whisper \" *pfft* \" I was there \" Olof beat the bar disk in tact to the words that he spat out \" I. WAS. **THERE** \" He looked down into the mixture of alcohol that danced and floated in his glass. \" You know what happens if you in your speech say' Let' s pour one on the wall for our fallen in arms' after having defended the city for seven days and seven nights \" Olof waved his arm around the room \" an awful amount of alcohol goes to waste \" he laughed at this. \" Then you just say a few fancy words like \" Olof paused for a while while thinking about what had been said. \" Let the beating of our shields send fear into the hearts of lesser men \" Olof looked around the room... \" and we all know what you get when you clash metal with metal \"... \" No, not dents you dense goat herder \" \" Yeah, Sparks! and then *woosh* **FIRE** \" \" You know the slayer of Seferth, defender of Akapolis, hero of Vashish and lord of the serpanth sea... Of course you do, every one do... everyone knows all about him \" The man coughed into his tattered robes and stared at the people walking past. \" You know all about him from your myths and legends. All except his name... I know because I was him \" The man stared at the sun now coloured green trough his wine bottle.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "part 1 DAY 15 OF THE INTERNET OUTAGE I was dealing with it like everybody else; just hoping someone smarter than me was going to fix it. This line of thought completely changed when I read the mysterious letter I found on my bed. it was crudely written in crayon and was disturbingly moist. It took a bit of work, but the letter said this- \" CALL THIS NUMBER 2 FIX THE INTERNET - ( the number was written here ), THIS WAS TOTALLY NOT WRITTEN BY AL GORE, JUST CALL THE NUMBER PLS. \" I knew right away what this was all about. You see, my grandma had a little thing with Gore back in the day, and ever since he has been relentlessly trying to get in contact with my Grandma. My Grandma was a wild thing, and was looking for more of a hit-it-and-quit-it kinda deal. I dialed the number hesitantly and took a deep breath. the line did n' t even ring twice before I heard someone pick up. \" Hello, Cynthia. \" he whispered I then realized I could fix this whole thing right then and there if I pretended to be my grandma, but the question was, am I really trying to have weird phone sex with Al Gore while pretending to be my own grandmother? \" Hello Al \" I said, trying my best to match my Grandma' s voice. There was a pause... \" You sound different, who is this? \" Shit, he was on to me. \" Oh pardon me, I have a bit of a cold, dear \" \" No problem, my darling. Ill be over in 10 minutes \" *CLICK* I was in shock, WHAT DO I DO NOW?", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I thought that I had loved you before, that I loved you when I' d see you in the hallways. I' d see you at the football games and I' d wish that I spent every minute of every day with your hand in mind. You were an ideal, a temple on a hill. But not a house in suburbia with a picket fence and a window box planter for the daffodils that you grow and love and smell like they' re the last source of air in the world. You were the holy grail, an icon that I wanted more than anything to posses. You were never pedestrian to me, you were always placed upon a pedestal. Never an expected occurrence, whenever I' d see you I' d take in the sight, just in case. And then I did come to know you in a way that I had n' t before. I summoned up the courage to speak to you and we knew each other. And the love that I had previously had paled in comparison. It was a firecracker in the face of an atom bomb. My ideal and impractical dream of you faded and was replaced with a version more amazing than before. It was exchanged with the real you. A person who finds beauty and joy in everything, a person that I had never even imagined before. You made the idolatry die and the real you take its place. I truly know you. And I truly love you.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Destroy the machine Not exactly like me to destroy my own work, but future me would no doubt find it quite amusing. An obvious paradox: if I destroy it, then the machine can never send the message into it' s past. Unless of course, the message comes from an alternate timeline—in which case, why do I need to take its advice? Fuck it, you only live once. I needed more data. This time, when the whirring of the machine had subsided and the glow of the plasma inside the chamber vanished, I found inside a new message. Disregard previous Well, that settled it. Not really, of course, but it was enough to prod me to try again. I started the chamber conditioning sequence. The roughing pump came on as usual. I watched the emitter temperature ramp up, listened as the turbo began to whine then fade to a nearly inaudible whistle. Half an hour passed, but I just sat and watched the numbers tick towards their set points. My stomach was still doing somersaults and my hands wouldn' t stop trembling. You' d think by the third time I wouldn' t be so nervous. *Click. Click. * The gate valves opened. My console reported the system ready, but I hesitated just a moment before hitting enter. Nothing left to check. I pressed the key. *Bzzt. Bzzt. BANG. * Shit. Emergency power off. The vacuum gauge was now reading 760 Torr. Probably meant I burnt out the filament gauge. And who knows what just happened to the chamber. I touched the steel wall. Warm. Not good. I opened up the control board. The electronics were completely fried. Months of work down the drain. But the system still pumped down, and to be on the safe side I purged it twice before opening it. Surprisingly, something made it through. The edges of the sample were blackened by carbon deposition, but the message was still readable on my microscope, etched into the silicon. Not me. Wrong order Well, fuck. Time to build the transmitter.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "It begins with a tremor. Not a large one, not yet, but enough to make a few of us stumble. My crew crouch low to regain their balance. Next comes the hiss of scale on gold. The tension in the air is palpable now. It hangs thick and threatens to suffocate us, but we stave it off with brazen excitement. We know the risks. But we also know the riches. The hiss intensifies before reaching a climax, and all of a sudden, there is a cacophony of sound – a metallic symphony as piles of gold tumble out of the way. It' s music to my ears. Of all Treasure Hunters, we are the best paid because we have the balls to take on the biggest. Shield in one hand and spade in the other, I face down the hulking darkness that rises up slowly before us. They call us the Dragon Raiders. The craziest treasure crew in the world.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I pulled my hand out of the drywall. My hand was bleeding, but I felt a little less frustrated. Once more, I carefully scanned the room; top to bottom, left to right. Nowhere! They' re no-fucking-where! \"Fuck! \"I scream. I grab a handful of my wife' s hair, and yank her up to eye level. \"Where are they? \"I spit a little as I scream at her face. \"Where the fuck are they? \"I shout. No answer. She looks frightened. And old. Frightened and old Claire Moriarty. Then I feel it. A shooting, white-hot energy, that bursts forth from my subconscious, and fills me with… with an ancient feeling. I unclench my fist and my wife flumps to the floor. Is this memory? No. Ego? Neigh. It is Instinct, and I can feel it pulsing in my veins. It says, \"look left. \"Ah, there they are. On the counter. Brown Sugar Pop-Tarts.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Ahh... Yes, I remember. I remember when that ginormous robot came rampaging through the country. It was the biggest thing I' ve ever seen. There were hookers in it feet, drug addicts on its calves. Hell, it had police stationed in its knees. The only protection it had was a bulletproof west. But that' s not the weird part. The weird part was the fact that there are rumors that a person was driving that thing. I do n' t think so, simply because how big it was and the fact that we never saw any people above the stomach region. It started all the way over in Chicago and started walking towards DC. Every time it walked through a slump, it just got weirder. The police was doing drive-bys on its thighs, there were gang shootouts on its hips. It was a living, breathing ghetto. But then it approached DC, that' s when Congress had enough. That' s when they authorized Regan 3000. That' s when they let authorized turning the White House into a Transformer. That' s a sight I' ll never want to see again. It had nukes. It had flamethrowers. It shot helium bombs as if it were an AK-47. The battle lasted days. And here is the frighting part: The Ghetto *retreated*. The Ghetto is still out there, just biding its time, waiting for a time where Congress wo n' t authorize Regan 3000 and take over the world", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Diagnostic Summary Attention: * Fails to give close attention to details, careless mistakes * Does not seem to listen when spoken to directly * Difficulty organizing tasks and activities * Forgetful in daily activities Affective Symptoms: * Feelings of restlessness * Rapid mood swings * Feelings of despair * Manic episodes * Difficulty maintaining composure when provoked Conclusion: Based on multiple clinical interactions, the patient has been assigned an AAD score of 197/250, meeting the requirement for intermediate Affective Attention Disorder. 1800 mg/day of Lithium Carbonate has been prescribed, divided into morning and evening doses. Condition will be monitored for a period of 30 days. If mood does not stabilize and condition progresses, may request surgical removal of Affective tissue.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "The rage of dying left me empty and alone. Hollow. I remembered being a carpenter. I knew how to build all kinds of things, and so I had tools, materials, dimensions, all of this information sloshing in my head as if clothes in a broken washing machine. It seemed natural that in death, I would continue my work. Even though I was something else, I still had that life in my head — burning in my mind. It took me an eternity to begin my work. I was alone. Wherever this was existed as nothing — a featureless plain of grey mist and dim sourceless light, yet I sculpted the mist to form vast walls and caverns. I carved form into an endless waste, and left meaning in my wake. Others would follow. It was necessary. A door, once opened, can be opened again. They would make their way to this oblivion and see my work, and know me as creator of this new world. Through the mist they would find this damning place, and they would find me, keeper of this dominion of the dead. I kept no laws or rules or strictures; my people were free to do as they pleased. Unrestricted from the demanding necessities of life they had ( potentially ) the rest of time to exist unbound by any code of conduct, absolutely ungoverned. From my pit, I watched them. I had no eyes to see with — they had long since abandoned me — but still I watched them. Some organized themselves into echoes of their living societies. Others revelled in this newfound freedom. Others still went mad with the truth of it all. After death, there is no Heaven nor Hell to let you in. There is only freedom. There is only me.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "The rusty brown lounge chair was well worn with tears on the arms, strings hanging from the edge and a peek of stained foam pushing its way through. He sat in this chair every day from the moment he woke at exactly 7: 30 to the time he went to bed at exactly 10: 00pm only rising to eat and relieve himself. The room smelled of stale bread and moldy cheese because of the left remnants of the same sandwich he would make for lunch and dinner every day, American cheese on white bread with mayonnaise. At exactly 10: 30am he would look out the window to see the mailman come and deliver the mail through the front door slot. The pile of mail was now nearly as tall as the slot and pushing against the umbrella stand and the coat rack. He stopped reading the mail, he stopped reading anything. Initially he had traded reading for watching TV but since the cable company shut off his service, he only sits and stares at the static. Every once in a while he sees someone drive or walk down the street, he doesn' t think much about it, no interest in who they might be, where they are going or what they might be doing. He isn' t interested in anything anymore. Lately, he' s even stopped turning on the lights after it gets dark, he' s decided to start practicing moving around in the dark before the electricity gets turned off. He can afford to pay the electricity, he just doesn' t.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "When did I fall in love with her? As we eat our dinner I ca n' t help but gaze into her eyes. She looks back at me with the same loving gaze she always has. I never get tired of looking at her, her skin smooth as plastic. Her eyes reflected the chandelier and gave off a twinkle, this is the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with. As I dig into the wonderful soup she made for me, I think back onto how we first met. I saw her online and knew immediately, there could not be a life without her. Without a second thought my mouse hit the purchase option and the window flashed, two weeks expected delivery. It had to be the hardest two weeks any man had to endure in their life. When the time came I was watching out my window, like a child waiting on Santa. The UPS truck pulled up and the carrier produced a medium sized box from his truck. I could n' t wait any longer and ran to meet him half way. This was it my queen, my life, my everything. As I ran inside I opened the box and there she was smiling back at me. At that moment I knew everything had changed for the better.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "All my life, I' ve been hearing music randomly. Sounds kind of stupid, but it helps me in situations. For example, I was talking to a girl in school today and the \" awkward \" music came on. I knew this was my time to just roll out and leave her alone. The music would shut off when I went to sleep. I do n' t know if it actually shut off, or if I was just asleep and did n' t hear it. Either way, I would n' t hear it while I was asleep - or so I thought. I was awoken at 4: 00 AM by the loudest screeching noise that you could think of right now. Imagine your teacher with a chalk in her hand, writing on the chalkboard. Remember the little screeches? Now imagine that, but multiply the noise by almost 100 fold. That' s how I felt right now. I knew something was wrong, but what it could it be? I' ve never heard this music in my life before, and watching scary movies, I knew not to get up. But what did I do? That' s right - the stupidest thing. I got up. I still question to this day why I got up. It was probably the scariest thing I' ve ever seen in my life. As soon as I got up, the screeching sound disappeared. I was relieved, but what if it happens again? Who knew. Anyways, I really needed to use the washroom. I open up the lights, and half asleep I was peeing. It was only until I looked in the mirror I realized something was HORRIBLY wrong. I opened up my eyes a bit more, and there she was. Standing right behind me. Her hair covering her face but her laugh was the worst part of it all. I instantly fainted. I woke up the next morning, remembering the last thing she said to me. \" I' ll come back for you. \" I have n' t slept since then.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "As I closed my eyes for the last time, the faces of my family looking down with sad sympathy as I passed on. I did n' t feel any different, but I could n' t move my arms anymore. I did n' t feel anything, really. When I opened my eyes again, or at least went through the motion of opening them, it was still pitch black. Then something amazing happened; I sat up. I looked around the room and spotted my alarm clock, though it was n' t mine. It was the alarm clock I' d had over.. say, ten years ago. I blinked and jumped out of bed. It was n' t my bed, though. This was n' t even my room, but.. it was. It certainly was n' t a hospital room. What the fuck was going on? I flicked the light switch and looked around. Next to my bed sat a book of stamps. I smacked my forehead and laid back down, sighing wearily. \" That' s the *last* time I do MDMA before going to sleep. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Little Sam woke up in a green field. He had no recollection of how he had gotten there. His head was filled with images of a strange, bearded man in a dark room, coupled with feelings of intense pain that even now made his lip quiver. He walked through the field and saw a human figure in the distance, kneeling down in front of something. Curiosity struck the boy, and he wandered toward the scene. As he grew closer he made out his father' s face, red and stained with tears. In front of him was a stone structure surrounded with beautiful flowers of all colors. The boy was overwhelmed with concern; he had never seen his father in such a state before. He reached out to touch his father, but his hand fazed through the man' s body. It was then that he saw the grave: \"Samuel L. Tucker, 2005-2015 \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I was nine years old for my first. Most people have trouble remembering the events of a week ago and yet that day twenty-three years past is still so fresh in my mind. I can picture it, the skin peeled back, the muscles underneath clenching and unclenching. My parents had gotten me a sewing kit for my birthday, perhaps in the hope of focusing me on something productive. The needles I had kept, and the string. The small scissors I used methodically to slice away flesh. Blood pooled, like a stagnant well. But it smelled of power, and it fascinated me. I sat for a while, watching my work. Seeing the muscles move, the lungs filling and collapsing like a crippled bird. The beast' s eyes rolled in its head, endlessly. And I watched. Its death was of no great interest to me. The morbid fascination that I had felt as it shuddered in its death throes left at the same instant that the light in its eyes did. When it was over I cleaned my tools, even then I had been tidy, systematic. The body I hid, deep in the woods. I visited it often, reminiscing, remembering. The surge of power I felt faded each day, and I wanted more. My dog had been my first. And as you know officer, it was not my last.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Thomas \" I ca n' t do it anymore \" I say to my wife in a sobbing whisper. She does n' t respond, she just sits there, on the edge of the bed... lifeless, like always. It had only been weeks since time had stopped abruptly, leaving me the only man in the world free to move about and continue life, but for what? To mourn for my wife who was n' t dead? To weep over the beds of my children as if they were their graves? What' s the point? I tried everything I could, from simply moving my family myself and placing them in certain areas, to making loud noises to startle them out of their forced pause, to even giving them small shocks from a taser I stole. Nothing worked. So nothing mattered. I could care less for the rest of the world, all I have is my family, or... Had. It' s been taken from me by whatever cruel being decided this should happen. No more will I spend every hour wondering why this happened, no more will I endure waking up after every nap to the solid figure of my wife sitting at the foot of our bed. My sanity has been tested, and it has been broken. I can hear my family in my dreams, its the only reason I still sleep. They call to me and in my dreams they are real, loving and alive. In my dreams time flows smooth like wind through a valley of flowers. It is there that I will stay with them. All I have left is the hope that I' ll be with them forever in a dream, because I can no longer bear the reality. -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- - Thomas kisses his wife ever so slightly on her cheek, he' s done the same to his children. He sits on the bed next to her, a loaded gun in his hand. As he looks into her frozen, lifeless eyes he says one last \" I love you. \" He takes a deep breath, raises the barrel of the 44 Magnum to his temple... And pulls the trigger.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "The day my life started, I mean actually started was a Tuesday. The bus dropped me off on the corner, I waved by to Stacey and Phillip and made the walk through the alley into the back door of the house. The door was unlocked, which was unusual. Walking into the kitchen for the snacks that always waited and I hear voices, even weird they were my parents voices, and another kid. One of my friends? Enter the kitchen and say \" hi, what' s going \" My mom replies, but not to me, to the mystery kid. \" Is this one of your friends sweety? You did n' t say anyone was coming over today? \" \" Never seen her. \" \" Mom, why do you mean, it' s me, Hillary! \" The worst part was how she just stared at me. Never taking her eyes off me and trying to keep calm but freaking out underneath that smile like Id see her do with dad' s family all the time. \" Hillary, did your mom or dad drop you off or do you live nearby? \" \" DAD! Tell mom it' s me, my rooms upstairs! \" \" Darling, just tell us your moms number and will straighten this out. \" That ass, I just walked on his back for 20 minutes yesterday trying to get a kink out for him! \" Mom, Dad, this is n' t funny! I just got off the bus like I did every day! \" I really did n' t like the way the new kid kept looking, not at me. Never at me, at my toes, the ceiling fan, the fridge. But never at me. I' d had enough, I sprinted outside to get some air! Men in suits? Did someone die? \" Excuse me miss, can we speak with you a second? \" Two of them came towards me, instantly I felt the hairs on my back rise. \" Umm.... I have to get home. My parents are expec.... \" \" Miss, we both know they are n' t expecting you. Now please come with us and we wo n' t need to cause any pain. \" \" What? Who are you, what' s going on.... \" Then total darkness and the smell of brand new fabric, I could almost taste how new it was. And strong hands hoisting me up, into a door. *wham* \" OW!! Wha... \" *whack*", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" Give it back! \" he screams as he swipes the small, flat package from the hand of Leo. Leo, being fifteen, was six years older than Sam; his crew of boys occupied themselves by bullying some of the younger kids. In many ways, it made sense, for the confinements of the ship created a summer-camp feel. Moreover, the once vivid purpose was often lost on these boys, Leo included. They cared less about the mission than their parents. We' ll never see our next planet. Why do we care? At their age, it was difficult to express just how important they truly were. Still, a few understood, and Sam wiped his face of his last few tears as he hid the package back in his pocket. \" Why do you carry those stupid things around? You' ll never be able to put them to any good use. Let' s go, guys. \" Sam sat there for a moment, and now that his assailants left, he mused over the package. *Sure, maybe all the spots on the ship are reserved for necessities* he thought. *And yes, I' ll never use these myself. * But as he got up and walked back to his dorm, he thought of when his grandpa gave him that package. The package that came from earth itself, and it gave him purpose and hope. A simple pack of lilac seeds.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "He came to our house today. I know it was him because I' ve seen his pictures everywhere! He' s really important and he wants to meet with MY daddy! Daddy did n' t seem too nervous, but he got dressed up in his fancy long blue coat with all the shiny medals and buttons. I never see Daddy in those clothes. I wonder if Daddy is going away again? Last time he was gone, he left for ten days. He went over to Siam Reap. We live in Phnom Penh, so that is a long way. It is almost eight hours! But when Dad came home, he brought me lots of new clothes. I know my dad is important to the Rouge. My dad is important because we get a lot of food, and my mom is allowed to teach me. My friend' s daddy is important too, because she met Him too. He seems very nice. He brought me sweets, and a doll. My mommy told me before he came that I must be very polite. But I know why. I know the rules: do n' t question, do as you are told, and above all, what Pol Pot says, that is law. He said that I was a nice girl, and that I have a future in his regime! I said, \" How silly, because I am only 7! I ca n' t work yet! \" And he laughed at me. I think he is a nice man. He gives me sweets, and my daddy a job. I wonder if he knows of SretMeng, my friend. I saw her on my way home yesterday. She was standing very close to a gate. She looked very hungry and we talked. She said she was camping, but does n' t know where her mommy is. SretMeng told me that she lives in Bati. That is very far from here, too. I wonder why she is camping at an old factory in Phnom Penh? I wish I could camp alone. Maybe Pol Pot will go visit her next. I hope he gives her sweets, because she was very nice.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" Mom? Dad? \" I asked. \" Can we talk for a second? \" I shivered a little bit. I ca n' t remember the last time I shivered. \" What is it, son? \" Dad replied. \" It' s just... \" I started, and then could n' t find the words to finish. Dad noticed the consternation on my face, and said, \" It' s OK. Start at the beginning. \" \" Well, lately, I' ve been feeling... weird. It' s like... well, I go out and work in the fields all day, and I never, ever feel tired. \" \" Well, that' s what clean country living will get you, \" Mom said. \" No, I mean, I do n' t even feel the least bit winded. And lately, I' ve been hearing things other people do n' t hear, and seeing things other people do n' t see. \" \" You what? \" Dad raised an eyebrow. \" You did n' t hurt your head or anything, did you? \" \" No, I mean real things. Things too far away for anybody else to notice. And that' s not all either. Weird things keep happening. Things that make me feel like I do n' t belong here. So, I... I... \" \" C' mon, son. \" \" I cut off a lock of your hair and Mom' s hair while you were asleep, and I sent it to a lab for testing with some of mine. And they sent me this back. \" I gave them the letter. As they read it, I continued, \" It says they do n' t test non-human DNA. *Non-human DNA. * **My** DNA is apparently non-human. \" I was expecting them to be shocked, or... something. I did n' t expect what I got. Both of them just gave me a thousand yard stare. As if they knew this was coming, but still did n' t know what to say. I pushed them a little further. \" Dad... Mom... What am I? \" Dad breathed a sigh, and turned to Mom. \" Martha, get your coat, \" he said. \" It' s time we showed Clark the truth. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" We ca n' t give you a new set of lungs. \" \" Why not? \" \" Our criteria for a transplant is that you are in bad enough condition after all other methods of medical assistance have failed. You' ve not provided yourself optimal medical care. You still have lines of defense available to you. \" \" What gave you that idea? \" \" The nurse coordinator. She says you' ve never taken pancreatic enzymes. \" \" We said we *stopped* taking them. \" \" Well, there you go. You made your decision. You' re allowed to make whatever decision you wish. It was the wrong one, but it was yours to make. \" \" Um, it was n' t a moral decision. We are n' t hippies grinding roots into powders. The FDA recalled the drug I was taking. They forced the company creating it and the makers of half a dozen other similar drugs to reformulate. It was no longer legal for it to be prescribed to me. \" \"... \" \"... \" And with that, he turned into a werewolf, left the room, found the nurse coordinator, and tore her arms from her body.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I tasted the flesh of man before my first moon. It' s a ritual, part of the blooding ritual a hatchling has to undertake before they can leave the pits. It was seared to hide the branding marks, the skin taken from a captive of the last wars, but I ate it like ambrosia. We all did. It' s a horrible curse, to be free to walk amongst men. Our purpose, the very raison d' être of our existence, is to instil fear within the mortal folk. To take at random and leave the eviscerated remnants. Our form was broken, hideous. But we could pass, invisible to mens eyes as they looked away from the skin. Throughout all history, we have done this. As plagues or crusades or inquisitions, we have tortured mens souls because they torture our very bellies. Until I met you. It was early autumn, in a city where the leaves turned orange but the wind and the rain had yet to come, that I found you sitting on a park bench, listening to the children play in the twilight. I sat beside you and already my mind raced through images of your corpse, splayed out across the playground. Oh I would feast so well. You smiled at me. I showed you my face but you did n' t cry out. Your hand reached for my own, feeling the scars and broken bones from punishments for failing to please our masters. You caressed it. You reached for my face with your blind fingers and I flinched. But you smiled at me. And I let you place your palm against my own skin. I could smell you. So perfect. So delicate. My stomach ached and I wanted to devour you there and then but my mouth could not form the words to speak to you, much less rip into you. I cried, sitting there on the park bench. For you smiled at me. And in that instant I knew I would go hungry for as long as I lived and as long as I lived I would not be able to see a mortal face without seeing your smile.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I looked into Jen' s bloodshot eyes. She was so tired. I could see that she was close to giving up. We had been here for hours. I clung to the outside of the rusted cage, wishing I could fit my arms in to hold her up, just so she could rest for a while. It was a cruel invention, the cage, mostly submerged in the murky water, her arms tied behind her back connected to the bottom with a chain, forcing her to tread water. How much longer could she keep it up? How much longer should I expect her to fight? \" I ca n' t, \" she whimpered, her face going under briefly before she kicked herself up to the surface again. \" Baby, you have to.. I can do it, please.. Just give me one more chance! \" I loved her. The thought of her giving up was like a punch to the gut. Leaving here without her was unthinkable. What would I tell her sister? That I could have saved her but I failed? That I tried my hardest, but it just was n' t good enough? I could free her, I could. All I had to do was get the key. The problem was, the key was on the bottom of the deep lake. The thought of swimming down that far into the dark me filled me with so much dread I could barely catch my breath, but what else could I do? Jen let out a sob, bringing my focus back to her. I would set the world on fire to save her. Move mountains. Die. \" You can do this, \" I pleaded, \" Just a little while longer! We can make it through this. Just one more chance... \" I pressed my forehead against the cool metal, closing my eyes, steeling myself against the pressing darkness of the water. I counted to ten, taking a deep breath with each number, readying myself to dive. Telling myself that this would be the last time, live or die, save Jen or die trying. \" I love you, I' ll be back, \" I promised, knowing full well I might not be back, knowing I might die trying to get the key. I looked into her beautiful brown eyes one last time and smiled, hoping she believed me. I wished I could kiss her. With one last deep breath, I dove.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "For money, if thine ask it, thou shalt get advice However, for advice, twice shall you gain money I have withdrawn from the filthy But that man is magnificent Thine shall call it but a moment, I shall refer to it as life. During the time of my light I shall dwell within my gilded abode However, the gates have yet to be opened And I would love to simply, feel this moment. EDIT ( second verse ): Sending messages, touching the clouds above Tokyo A far distance from the corridors Filled to the brim with \" So \" s and \" oh, yay \" s Forever the Dade county, throughout the day we 305 Now lady we may speak, or m' lady, we may conduct a dance She hath read all the leatherbacks of scarlet rooms and tie-ups. And her interest hath been mine, since her eyes have gazed upon my rouge cloth, tied around my neck. To meet and to greet, it hath been a pleasant encounter with you, however gold settled within the hourglass Yet the gold is in my ownership, let us set the hourglass upon its side and simply, enjoy this moment.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\"Oh my god, you should have seen it. \"**The Space Time Hobo was telling another story. ** \"Listen, one thing you should never, ever do... is give away power based on a number. That' s what' Karma' is... a number. Is someone with more of it a contributor? Yes. Does it mean he or she is, like, a good person? Hell no! \"But here... Well, I was n' t around for the fight, but I met someone who was. Called himself Kaantur-Set... I still do n' t know how to pronounce that. Anyway, weird little guy, but he told me what he saw. \"And what he saw... was a shattering of society and morals that would shock you. Once again, do NOT give power away based on a silly internet number. \"The big guys with all the karma... they were like superman and stuff, but without any of the morals. There were people who could shoot lasers, people who could vomit copies of themselves, turn other things into explosives... \"It made people crazy. They all went crazy, every one of them. They turned on each other, and themselves, because they could n' t deal with the world anymore. \"One' Luna', and Kaantur told me this with terror in his eyes, she wrote stories for this... Karma. He remembered walking through a deserted city, and seeing this... shell of a person, writing on the walls with anything she could find. She had run out of paper, and now the city was her story, the never ending tale she could n' t stop writing. When she had no ink, she had to use blood. Her' s or otherwise... \"**The Space Time Hobo looked down at the table. ** \"Kaantur used' Reddit' too, but his karma was so low he was still sane. But he will go crazy, he said. He' s sure he' ll go nuts. And then, and only then, will he be fine dying, and sharing the afterlife with the abomination that his internet kin have become. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "The room was silent except for the occasional fall of incense ash. Its scent filled the room and I inhaled deeply. Then slowly let it out. Inhale deeply then slowly let it out. Man, what was the first thing I was going to do with magic? Flying? I' ve heard flying is quite fun. I did n' t have the money for a jet pack, but with magic I could fly on my own accord. It would be so amazing to touch the clouds and see the city below me. Or perhaps invisibility or clairovoyance? Thoughts of sneaking or seeing into the girls' locker room filled my mind. Visions of tits, pussies of and ass filled my head and my pants became tighter. Especially that one cheerleader. Focus! Meditation takes complete focus. Breathe in and out. In and out. I wonder how I did on my calculus test last week? I feel like I did good. But maybe not. Focus! Magic! Pew pew. Laser beams. I could create my own jet pack or even my own flying car! Ah, fuck it. That' s enough meditation for one day. It would take about five years after I figure out how to meditate for hours. As I checked the clock, I realized it had only been ten minutes. Well, you got ta start somewhere.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I looked across at dad at the breakfast table- he gave one of those manly shrug nods, all rolled into one. He knew, of course he knew, every man had gone through it. It was like a rite of passage. Smirking he said, \" it' s just the change son, do n' t let it get to you too much. It frightened your Uncle Allen that he ran into traffic to make his life more exciting... \" at that he returned to his paper. \" Why do n' t we get taught it at school? \" I nervously asked. An ignorant shrug and a russell of paper told him that the conversation was over. This was obviously one of those things that \" you do n' t talk about. \" I returned to my cereal, clumping in the bowl, \" well at least I do n' t have to go through that puberty thing... \" I mumbled under my breath. Dad looked over his paper muttering, \" you think you hear horror stories of puberty, you' re not out of the woods yet with this change- let hope you get through it in one piece eh? \" He crunched down on a butter laden crumpet, shuffling paper again. My face was horrified, and there was n' t anyone else I could ask...", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "/u/Philip671 Prompt: A young man is on holiday when the country erupts into a civil war. Write the story of the boys mother coming to rescue you him. -- -- I' ll be writing this from the perspective of his father. My son went to the country to visit a friend on holiday from school. He was one of the unlucky ones, caught in the epicenter of a huge civil war that started before he could get out... The Agency hired me to go in, and get their VP... By time I got in it was too late for him, but I was going to save the others, so help me, Satan. God did n' t have my back on this one. I hooked up with some rebels and got the blueprints for the enemy hostage warehouse... After studying for several hours, I made my move. I was silent as the night, a shadow in the darkness. They never saw me, or the bullets that pierced their hearts, coming. One after the other they dropped dead, bodies disappearing into dark corners. I grabbed the hostages and made a run for it... About 15 minutes into the break, the sirens started, 5 minutes later they were on our trail. We made a solid sprint to the border, and I was loading the kids onto a truck when I got tagged. Bloody, dying, I got the last person aboard, and uttered my final words... \" Fly, you fools. \" I pushed the truck away and fell into the mud.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "It was a small funeral. It was a sunny day. It was wrong. The old woman sat staring at the open grave, wondering how it had all happened. How had everyone else faded away until he was all she had left? She had barely noticed that they had gone, Perry, James, oh God James had been too young. She watched as the casket was lowered and the priest said a few words. On either side was a multitude of trees, some mighty, some frail. Some said that height was bravery, some said height was intelligence, others said it was kindness. Lois had never thought about it until the prognosis had come in. Cancer, they said. Inoperable, they said. She hopes the tree is small, he had always wanted to be forgotten, never to put anyone out or overshadow anyone. She holds her breath as the final piece of dirt is placed. Nothing. She regrets wishing it was small, what does nothing mean, that he was too cowardly, too mild mannered? A rumble, a jolting heave as the ground beneath shudders with the magnitude of the tree that erupts from the grave before her. A great trunk bursts forth, gleaming green, magnificent crystal, branches splinter off as emerald lightning, the priest steps back, as do the grave fillers, only just missing the explosion of colour. The gravestone is flung aside by the great trunk, smashing as it hits the ground leaving only half of the name visible. *Kent*", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "It was born out of care, they said. Created in response to the worsening behaviour, to the shift in attitudes towards opinions about appearance. Some people hated it. \" Political correctness gone mad, \" they said. \" We' re falling down a slippery slope! \" Others... well, some others loved it from the start. But for most people it was just awkward and difficult. People who' ve lived their whole lives choosing how they presented themselves to the world, basing their identities on their image. We even taught fashion here, and these new rules certainly shook up that department. So, at first the adjustment was the hardest part. Eventually, though, people dealt with it. Some of the angry voices went silent, and the worst calmed down to a disgruntled murmur. The repeated explanations from admin - it' s proven to help with self-esteem, it creates a more accepting culture, it gets rid of obvious rich/poor boundaries - started to sink in. The students themselves spread the word to their family and friends, and defending the choices the university made. We were proud of our new image. And the best part? It actually worked! We were all more confident in ourselves, we cared less about appearance and more about what we were as people. Some of the predicted \" downsides \" did come true, but hey change is a good thing, and downsides turned into upsides. All in all, I really like our university now. The change was hard, but we made it through. The biggest hurdle now is getting the other unis to stop calling us \" University of Nude. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "We worshiped them when they came with airships that drifted in the sky like clouds—how could we not? They could only be gods. Their presence was a slow acclimation. First they floated in their airships, then they came to the surface—emissaries of the gods. They were humanoid, very similar to us. They seemed to want nothing, just to be present. Then they were curious. Then they were among us. Then they owned us. We accepted our place as servants of the gods. We brought them offerings of the minerals that abounded under the surface of our planet. We wanted to please them. We told ourselves we wanted to serve our new gods, our benevolent new gods. Even though they demanded it, we believed we wanted it. They kept their miraculous technology to themselves, for the most part. We only saw glimpses and glimmers that kept the mystery alive. A shimmering orb produced from a robe to communicate with those back on the ship, a cruel weapon that produced beams of deadly light when one of us displeased them. And of course, the airships that hung, hung always over our heads. I wish I could say we learned our error, fought back and overthrew our overlords who did nothing but take from us, but we did not. One day, years after the offerings had come in dribbles and the mineral deposits were all but gone, so were they. The ships disappeared without a trace, and we never saw them again. Now our planet is a husk, raped and pillaged and left with nothing. We limp on, us former slaves, and grow our own technology, and work for the day when we will become gods in the sky.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Welcome to Ace Scientific Studies Lab, located at the prestigious 20th Avenue, Silicon Valley! We' re proud to welcome you to our growing family, located in more than eight locations worldwide! Before you start your promising career however, we would like you to spend around five minutes reading through our manual to get yourself familiarized with our working culture: - Please do not be later than 25 minutes to work. Latecomers will only be given ONE warning before disciplinary action is taken. - If you' re taking public transport, Shuttle Bus 18 takes you directly from 5th and 14th Avenue to our office. The shuttle bus interval is at every 15 minutes. - Ace carries out numerous groundbreaking research everyday, so do not be alarmed if you see anything out of the ordinary. - At Ace, efficiency is key. All meetings should not last more than 20 minutes per day. - There are eight cafeterias located across our campus, so be sure to give them all a visit! The fried rice from Stall 21 is out of this world Do n' t let Aunty Kim know that we let you in on this \" Secret \". - Lab 13 is off limits to any employee below Class-1 clearance. Any employee caught violating this rule will be subjected to disciplinary procedures. - Please remember that eating any drinking is forbidden in any labs. - Please also ensure that proper clothing is worn at all times during any lab sessions. - Each employee is allocated 14 days of leaves per year. - Respect, Curiousity and Hardwork is the ethos of Ace, so be sure to keep this in mind. We hope that the guide is useful in getting your exciting career started at ASS Lab. Should you have any further queries, do not hesitate to email hr @ asslabs. com or dial extension 19 from your desk phone. Happy Science-ing!", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "The brain considered the liver for a few moments longer. \" You are utterly replaceable. \" Said the brain with conviction. Everyone else let out a collective gasp. \" This will be the fourth time, this month, that the liver has let us all down. Just look at stomach right now! \" Stomach was black and blue from a night of heaving and contracting. Liver had sat idly by and watched as Stomach suffered. \" N-now you l-listen here Brain, there' s only s-soooo much I can d-do! \" faltered Liver stupidly. A moment of silence passed before stomach rumbled violently. \" That does it, I' m done with you Liver. \" Decreed the brain. \" You might enjoy it, but the rest of us suffer too! \" \" Brain, a private word? \" Asked Heart calmly. \" Very well. \" Heart watched Brain for a few beats before speaking. \" I' ve always been your closest friend and trusted advisor, right Brain? \" \" That you have, Heart, that you have. \" Brain beamed proudly at Heart. \" Then let me say, we ca n' t just throw out one of our own. We are him and him, us. \" \" Might I remind you of Appendix?! \" Brain exclaimed wildly. \" A different matter entirely, we as a council decided Appendix must leave for the safety of us all. \" Heart reasoned wisely. Brain groaned and ached. \" All of this is making me tired. \" \" Let us rest on it for today and- Brain? \" Heart stopped suddenly. \" GOOD GOD! OH GOD YES! \" brain shouted inexplicably. \" DO YOU FEEL THAT HEART? DO YOU?! \" \" Why yes, I do believe I do. \" Heart purred quietly. \" Ah the purest ecstasy from my one tr- \" \" QUIETEN DOWN! OH THIS IS FANTASTIC! GOOD FUCKING JOB PENIS! \" Further down, everyone celebrated in unison as Penis ( the first of the sentient organs ) trumpeted his awakening and release into a foreign existence, spreading his undying knowledge far and wide. For a few short minutes perhaps, everyone was united.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "19XX Edward Richtofen' s Journal This blasted war has taken too much from me, I ca n' t handle life anymore. After I lost my family in one bombing run from the allies I have been trying to run away from the pain in the form of studying science. I have quite the fascination with the man Nikola Tesla, he was a genius who believed that by creating the ultimate weapons, we can end all war as we know it. Today I am transferred to a new facility with a new partner, some person, something Maxis. 19XX Edward Richtofen' s Journal I have been sent to study a new material found in a meteor that we had found. It seems to give off a large amount of energy in a seemingly endless stream. This may be the cleanest renewable energy source known to mankind. Further tests must be done to understand its limits. 19XX Edward Richtofen' s Journal Today, I was ordered to create new weapons with this new element. In respect to the late great Nikola Tesla, I created an electricity based weapon far more capable than any other weapon. If all goes well, I could stop any wars from happening ever again with these weapons. I also have been hearing of certain effects this new element has on dead bodies. 19XX Edward Richtofen' s Journal I have the answer to end all wars today. These new creatures, the undead, can be controlled by one person. In order to unite mankind, they must have a common enemy to overcome. I have fulfill my plans, I ca n' t let the people I have manipulated, the ones I have killed, be in vain. I must save mankind from itself.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "A small-ish team of scientists go out into the snow, while I stay back to number crunch with naught a place to go. Some static on the radio, the bleep-bloop of our tools, fill the air around my chair as I begin to drool. A burst of static and a voice awake me from my slumber. \" Hey, J-Jake, we found something... \" And to the gear I lumber. By now I know the protocol when something does transpire. I' m off into this icy plane to see what this hell sired. When I arrive my teammates are all brooding with excitement, but fear is in their eyes as well as I see what the call meant. A block of ice not clear as glass but clear enough to see the brown and husky figure there as frozen as can be. We haul the block back, ice and all, to find what is inside. To find a creature old and lost would boost all of our pride! So as we start to melt the block, the ice drips and decays, and soon an arm burst through the side to all of our dismay. A striking ape is perched upon the mound of ice and dirt. A tag marked by the government told us what had occurred. Conspiracy unraveled here as this ape stands today. And so we all know what to do. # DicksOutForHarambe", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" Papa, look! \" The mime' s nose dripped blood over his powder white chin. \" Stand back, Pierre. \" The little boy struggled to comprehend the scene before him. Slowly the walls of an invisible box began to force the mime into an awkward pose, arms outstretched, face contorted. Pierre' s father felt around his coat pockets. He had forgotten his mobile at home. \" Somebody call the Ministry of Invisible Boxes! \" Pierre' s father yelled at the crowd that had gathered around the troubled mime. Minutes later, Constable Bergeaux descended from the sky on his helicopter bicycle. \" What seems to be the trouble, Monsieur? \" Constable Bergeaux removed one thin cigarette from a silver case. \" I' m afraid it' s too late. \" Pierre' s father pointed to the gory cube of blood and flesh that used to be a living breathing mime. Constable Bergeaux lit a cigarette and sharply inhaled. \" Sweet child of mime. \" Constable Bergeaux whispered as he released smoke. Constable Bergeaux then proceeded to hop on his helicopter bicycle and was about to leave until the little boy, Pierre, stopped him to ask a question. \" What does it all mean, Constable Bergeaux? \" \" The life we live is ours until the moment an invisible box converges on our dreams. \" Constable Bergeaux flicked his cigarette to the ground. The helicopter bicycle ascended, disappearing into the clouds above. Pierre stared into the sky wondering how to interpret the words just spoken to him and how they may or may not affect his decisions that day forward.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "We stand at the brink of complete and total annihilation. In mere hours, we will see ICBMs cascade from the sky like fallen angels cast from Heaven; once our silent protectors in the form of mutually assured destruction, now our doomsday much like the betrayal of the rebel angel Lucifer. Tonight, we will see explosions glimmer through the land like shooting stars. Tonight, we will see our families evaporate into smoke before our very eyes. Tonight, we will see the end of a nation, an ideal, and a way of life. Still, we stand strong in the face of complete and assured death, not because we are too weak to retaliate, but because we' re strong enough not to. Our chapter is at its end. The great experiment reached its conclusion, not with a fizzle, but with a bang. However, that does not mean the story of mankind need to end. Are we really so vain to believe that just because a nation dies, all of mankind must perish? Are we really so arrogant to trust in our ideal of equality that the whole world must die? We' ve made our answers clear to the world. We hope it resonates and echoes in a new era so that mankind may truly understand what the end of the world mean and consequences it carries, so that some day in the future, despots and maniacs may not threaten nuclear war with a mad grin, but with a solemn attitude of remembrance. Perhaps one day, we can see how childish we really were. Thank you and goodnight.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "**Day??? | Jaime Fincher | Age: 26** I ca n' t believe I' ve lost count. How does one lose count of the days? It' s not like I have a million different things to distract me from what day it is!!!! I just try to keep moving, following the flicker, but I left the rest of my notes wherever I just came from. I do n' t know how long it' s been or where I am. I' m starting to even forget who I am. It' s so funny how quickly you lose your identity when there' s no one around to remind you. Every day, I change my name and my past. I think this is healthy, it keeps my mind fresh. Just in case I find someone else. **Day??? | Kelly Mumsphord | Age: 53** I had a dream about the Flickerer. How I will introduce myself when we meet. How we will both cry at the sight of each other. Running to each other like in those movies. Which name will I pick? Who will I be? I wonder if they do the same. What is their name? I bet it' s Sam. Sam sounds like a fitting name. Just do n' t stop flickering. Please do n' t let that light die out. I better get moving. Less writing, more walking. Ya know? **Day??? | Alex Waterson | Age: 16** I' m so close I can almost taste it. I wish I had something let them know I' m coming. They do n' t seem to be responding to my shouts. Maybe I scared them. They are alive because the flicker seems to be moving. I try not to stare at the rhythmic pattern of flashes. It puts me in a trance. **Day??? | Sam Chater | Age: 35** I think I have one more day. Just one more. Tomorrow. Tomorrow is the day we meet. Got ta keep moving. **Day 0 |** I can barely see the page through my tears. Finally the pain from all the walking I' ve done has finally reached my brain. It still pales in comparison to the pain I feel in my soul. A fucking lightning bug. A bug. A bug? I do n' t think I' ve ever cried so hard. All this time. Maybe this is all a dream. Yea. That' s what it has to be!!! All this time. All this hope. Maybe I really am alone.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Human diversity so so huge, nothing can really encompass it, not religion or science or magic. There are always exceptions, always things you have not considered, things that just do n' t fit. A masochist probably should not do onto others as he would like others to do unto him, and neither should a judge. Killing is n' t always immoral, and saving a life is not always moral, especially in the case of a certain failed German painter. Electrons do n' t *really* orbit the center of an atom. Light is n' t *really* a wave, except when it is. Similarly the English language has its own limitations. Some figures of speech just ca n' t describe certain realities. When I was dying was n' t when I was \" scared to death \". In fact I had never felt so alive. It was only when the blade just would n' t cut deep enough, when the blood started slowly oozing out of my wrists instead of in the generous flow I had imagined. It was when I realized that I would live that I was really scared to death.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I was getting ready for mining duty after the grueling hours of toilet duty. Usually we would have coal power a drill and mine it but coal ran out years ago, and the Aliens did n' t help. As I sat there pondering over what else would be gone in the next year like helium, granite and other things, I overheard something. The Aliens. They disgust me. I decided to easdrop as they were talking. \" We' ve been defending Earth for 157 years now sir. Do you think it' s time to leave them alone? \" \" No, the Alien force is too great. If we stop defending them now, they will be wiped out of existence forever \". \" Alright sir, I will be leaving immediately. One of the Aliens started walking outside when he caught me listening in. I was taken to Holding Cell # 5698479 Section LUI. There they asked me on what I' ve heard and if I do not tell them they will terminate me. I told them what they asked me too and he told me something I dont think I' ll forget. \" If we tell the humans we' r defending them then they will want to join the battle, but with your technology, we can not allow it as you will all be killed. \" \" Why dont you give us your technology? \" I asked \" Because if we give you our technology then there will certainly be a mutiny and we will all be annihilated \".", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "It was a fine Spring day when I first met her. We crossed paths on a busy street, before a florist. She smiled at my smile; I was caught off guard when it lit up her face. My thoughts were unreadable to even me, until one thought rose over the static. *All she needs is a flower for her hair* Without really knowing what I did, my hand moved on its own, to pluck a single lilium head from the florist and place it in her hair. She touched her hair where it was, and smiled ever wider as she looked back to me. One fleeting instant, and before I knew it she was gone in the crowd and so was I. - The days passed, and I could not forget her. I thought of her black hair adorned with a flower, and her deep brown eyes that lit up when she smiled. - I met her the next week once again, in the same time, at the same place. We shared smiles, and I plucked a rose. She turned her head for me to place it, and as I did she leant into my touch. I hummed a happy tune all day long, and smiled to myself. This was going to be the start of something beautiful.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I stole that kiss on the night of September 1st. She did not take too kindly to my theivery and chased me on through the rooftops. When she did caught me, she stole my touch as punishment. Said it was only fair. There are those that have it all. All senses, all feelings, the joys, the tears, the full experience as they say. I was one of those. I could see with clarity, I laughed every day, I felt the sun.... I was wealthy beyond measure. I saw her on the corner of Bishop and Lincoln. Blind. That was uncommon really. Those that were blind tend not to last long, not here. Yet there she was with pretty brown hair. Her face was blank like paper. A canvas. I begun to paint. I first gave her my sense of touch. Only a bit so she could enjoy the sunlight. Then a smile, so she could express joy. I began to shape her senses and it took me by suprise. Though mine were fading, I was sharing. Her touch mingled with mine. My half a smile was completed by hers. I do n' t know if this had been done before. You do not give away these gifts. You horde them - or so I thought. But we shared. Tonight she stole my sense to touch, fully. Tomorrow she will steal back her kiss. And I will take her smell.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "It' s getting nearer. We can feel it now. At first it was a surprise, the sudden change foreign to our senses. Such a thing has never been experienced by other humans as far as we can tell. To attack our senses so rapidly and so harshly... It' s getting nearer. There' s no way to prepare. The only thing we can do is sit and wait and hope that this time it wo n' t be as bad as the last, knowing it will. We can see the final arc of the sun on the horizon, it' s reflection on the water. And it begins. The first thing to change is the scent. Smooth aromas from the natural green palms gradually turn sour. It starts to get so pungent that we can start to taste it. To inhale is to suffer, but inhale we must. Then all the colors slowly fade. The dark blue of the ocean slowly turns to gray, then black. The green on the palms follow as does the brownish sand. Soon all we' ll be able to see is dark outlines and shapes in this strange hell. The soft sand we sit on is suddenly hard and prickly. It digs into our feet through our clothing. The soft breeze is a hot breath, felt everywhere. It hurts to have hair, hurts to be bald. We sit. We wait. By sunrise our paradise will return.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "As the months crawl by, I can measure my legacy by my dream visitors. At first, every night my dearest friends would visit, and we would talk about our best times, our worst, and how the Cards were going to do this year. Those nights, lost in conversation and good company, kept me sane. I needed the buffer. Friendly faces at night provided a break from the horrors of daytime, where I spent hours wandering a wasteland of nothing, plagued by whatever roaming nightmare was strong enough to project into my plane. The subconscious is a powerful, unreal beast. When family visits and talks over my emaciated, plugged in body, I hear them. They pull me from the void, from the all encompassing visions of the long lost, insane souls of the others in the ward. The ones that are too far gone. The ones that have n' t felt the touch of a loved one, or the visiting dream of a friend in a long time. The forgotten. Those souls claw at me during the day, scraping and scratching and demanding that I share. They want company. Or release. *Get them to pull my plug. Or talk to me, please. Please. * Running is my only response. I hop from dreamscape to dreamscape, but the only ones available are those who have called me or other nearby patients. So I run. I run, I wait, and I pray. Some nights I am never called. Today, when my best friend asks me to pinch him, I cry.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Being a fan of folklores and fairy tales Ive always found ways to incorporate them into my crimes. Half bitten apple next to the dead Women in Avondale, a bag of beans next to the man with bamboo half grown into his pulpy body, and my personal favorite stuffing that old nagging women into the stomach of a Gray wolf. It was easier to chop the women up into middling pieces, gut a decent sized wolf, and stuff all I could in that hallow area leaving the head for last so that; s the first thing they see. Quite messy, but I had an artist satisfaction after that one. With all my magnificent feats, I am still just a man and have slowly let myself go soft and dumb. I write this now as I' m locked away in this three star resort they call jail. They always tell you how bad the food is and how hard the beds are like this news will keep you out, but nothing is worse than eating five day old meat and concrete beds under the over pass. As much as I love this place and will cherish all of the wonderful days on the courtyard with bloody hands, and the visits to the bathroom with even bloodier heads! I must spread my talents again to some place new and if its true love I will be back my love, my love I will be back. Farewell to those who get into heaven and farewell to those who find my present first in the cafeteria. You ca n' t catch me, I' m the Gingerbread Man.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" Your worthless \" mom said It did n' t affect me because I knew what she was trying to do. I refused to give in to them. A lot of my school classmates had killed themselves, but I refused to give into this backwards world. My mom and dad would emotionally and physically abuse me, and they still expected me to give the remainder of my years to them. No way. I had decided that I would put up with their shit until I was 18 and then move. Most parents would n' t go about it in the sly way other parents would, my dad left his gun out in the open hoping that one day I would pick it up, put it to my head, and blow my brains out. I would n' t. My dad came in the door. \" Hi son \" he said \" Hi dad \" I said \" How was school? \" He asked \" Fine \" I said. I know he wanted me to talk about all the bad things that happend. He would nit pick everything just to make me feel bad, so I would n' t give him any ammo. \" How did you do on the math test? \" He asked \" I failed, because you wo n' t help me study \" You' ll never become something in life if you keep getting grades like that \" he said in a mocking tone. \" Okay \" I said. And thats when the anger consumed me. I picked up my fathers glock off the table, but instead of pointing it at myself I pointed it right at my fathers head and pulled the trigger. BANG! His body hit the floor. My mom screamed. I then turned the gun to her. I pulled the tigger. BANG!. I had murderd my parents. I had zero remorse. They had turned me into a cold blooded killer.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" So why are you here Petey?, Murdered a person? Bombed the national LGBT association? \" Peter gulped as Beelzebub questioned him, \" Well I decided to Steal from the elderly.. \" \" hu- \" \" Beelzebub \" \" Call me bub! Anyways I read through your criminal record and i think youll be here for a long time.. \" Peter sighed and rested his head on the Red desk as he dreaded what would happen to his soul, Maybe he might get tourtured? Maybe he might have to stick in a empty room? Peter just wanted the interview to be done \" Petey? There isnt any reason to be distressed here \" \" YES THERE IS! \" Beezlebub sighed again and repeated \" Petey, There is n' t any reason to be distressed, Im not like the person that you would think, Why would I cast all of these poor people, Who were merely misunderstood into hell?, You know what? I changed my act, and now instead of tormenting people I decided to set up a rehab to Change people and reincarnate people! You know everyone needs a second chance, Any questions? \" Peter lifted his finger \" what if you lose your second chance? \" \" Succubuses.. That is all \" \" Ok im sold! \" Peter stood up as Beezlebub pointed his finger to the exit of his office \" Follow the signs petey! And i hope you have a good time! \" Peter opened the door as he noticed the large rehab building as he sighed, Not from dread, But for his new beginning...", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I was drumming my fingers until I remembered that she hated that. The noise. It spooked her and she never got to sleep at a proper time once she heard it. I could hear her heavy breathing, so I stopped and sighed and stood watch. Laid watch. The bend of the dimension under ones bed is big enough to fit my ten foot frame, if I' m laying down. But I ca n' t stand. I can hardly sit up, truth be told. So I lay there, waiting. It was about three in the morning and I knew that the father was going to be by. Knowing something is going to happen and being able to stop it are two different things. It was pretty clear why I got this assignment. The father was a nightmare. The mother was, too, but for different reasons. She encouraged his behavior. Normally he stayed away, particularly after the last time. I hit him so hard... well, her bedroom door was new. But tonight he' d been drinking, and that gives all kinds of creatures all kinds of courage, which was fine. The knuckles in my right hand popped hard and loud as I flexed it. I' d been given new orders. The girl was to move in with her grandparents, who were nice, according to their file. I would have taken care of this hours ago, but I ca n' t leave the bedroom. All I had to do was wait for the father to open the door.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" Anything, Doctor? \" \" No. Nothing; She seems completely ordinary. \" He set his bloody probe neatly on the adjacent metal tray. He stepped back slowly from the table, visibly frustrated. \" Just like the others. \" Only a head was visible below them, supported firmly by a brace and with a gaping incision across it. A girl around the age of 6; Analise. \" Sutures, please. \" He sighed, defeated. -- An hour later, Holland and his attendant, Cara, walked briskly out of the decontamination chamber and through the clean white corridors of the facility. He stopped at the security terminal at the end of the hall and looked to her. \" The rest of them will be waking soon. \" She nodded, and held the badge on her chest to the entry panel. The doors parted to reveal a dimly lit room filled with beds, 12 in all. In all but one, there lay a little girl. All the same girl. Analise. After a moment, they all began to stir. The vitality sensors they were hooked to caused the room to fill with light. They began to raise slowly, and then a curious thing happened. As their eyes met one another, they seemed to be syncing up. Quickly, they were all moving in unison. Together, they turned to the door. Cara fought a shudder. Their facial structure was almost identical, but there seemed to be some variance in the colors of their skin and hair. Some of their heads were shaven, revealing a long, stitched cut. \" Two months. \" he said, staring past all of them \" Two months, and we have nothing to show for it. Taking them was a mistake. \" \" A mistake we do n' t have to live with. Ca n' t we just return them to their parents? \" \" No. The agency wo n' t go for that; They would sooner see them terminated. \" Cara' s hard gaze softened. She turned from him to look at the closest child who was sitting there beaming at her.. That' s all I can do for now, I have to go! I' m not a very good writer but I liked this concept!", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\"So who' d you want to abduct tonight? \"Voldrag asked, lazily steering the vessel somewhere above Kansas. \"Ronny! \"the First Lieutenant screamed. \"We should totally abduct Ronny again! \"This thought was seconded by several other members of the crew. Voldrag looked over to the ship' s Medical Examiner, who was nodding her head. \"I agree, \"she said. \"I don' t feel like I got a good probe last time, ya know? \"\"That' s what you said the last three times! \"Voldrag protested. Eventually you guys are going to have to pick someone else. There' s only so much we can wipe that poor dude' s memory. \"The ship' s Medical Examiner shrugged. \"Well, maybe we should just keep him on board. For an extended— \"\"You *know* we can' t do that. It' s in violation of the prime directive. And—frankly—this is getting unprofessional. I realize Ronny' s hot, but— \"\"Is he ever! \"the First Lieutenant piped in. \"I love the way his gut hangs over his tighty whities! \"\"I love how shiny his head is where he' s losing his hair, \"said the ship' s Summer Intern, whose quarters were being slowly overtaken by a Ronny poster collection. Voldrag nodded in spite of himself. Humans were absolutely the hottest shit this side of the galaxy. And Ronny was a grade-A-prime piece of ass. \"Alright, \"he said. \"Fine. But next time we pick someone else. \"The rest of the crew murmured in agreement. \"Next time I say we get that 300 pound chick who rides around in that cart outside Walmart! \"said the Head Engineer. Man, that guy had great taste in humans.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "To kill a God you must become a God. Killing a God is easy enough, they' re mortals just like you and me. See everyone believes there is only one omnipotent God, but they' re wrong, there are hundreds of Gods, if not thousands. Killing one is simple, any bladed or projectile weapon blessed by either a holy or demonic priest will do. It depends on what kind of God you want to kill. See, when you kill a God you must assume their responsibility. Gods do n' t have a immortal body, but their souls and minds are incredible. No ordinary man could within the pressure that gets put on them. When an ordinary man kills a God, the Gods power will corrupt their mind and turn them in a Fallen God. A Fallen God is the worst thing imaginable, demonic and unpredictable. Most of histories dictators and tyrants have been Fallen Gods; Hitler, Mao, Hussein, Ho Chi Minh, Khan, the list goes on. I am a meister, one who works to purge the Fallen Gods form the Earth and find a new God to take their place. \" May the Soul of the Wicked be purged and let the Fallen rise again. I pulled the blade out of the Fallen' s rib cage and let the empty shell that remained fall to the floor as it crumbled to dust. \" Sir, Jong-un has passed. He took on his father' s burden and could n' t handle it. He lost his sanity and became a Fallen God. Returning to HQ. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "His eyes shone with terror as a sword penetrated the tattered rag that covered his hideous form. The world around him turned black as the armored warrior brought a boot to his remains. He was stuck in an endless cycle of death and restoration. Searing pain was soon replaced by the freshness of being alive - only for him to remember that he was completely powerless. His movement was limited to a very specific pattern - 5 steps forward followed by an about-face, and the cycle would repeat. There was no reason for hope. He was on the verge of insanity when he was rescued by his own imagination. The silhouette of an angel consumed his entire being. He had willed her into existence. She was waiting for him just beyond the horizon, her hair flowing in the gentle breeze. He was cursed with a lack of purpose, but blessed with the heart of a champion. From then on, he would script his own story. To the universe, he was a prop in a larger narrative. But in his eyes, he was the invincible warrior that she deserved. And so, he would persevere.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I blink at the screen in front of me. It flickers back and shows me what I can never feel for real. A child runs across a field. She is not sad but neither does she have the life that I had wished she could. I am almost tearful for what I have missed. Soon the child will be an adult, and I will have almost missed her entire life. I watch from afar, never able to be the father that she needs. Words flash across the screen in bold red letters. \" Low Air Levels \" I do not know what to do. When I was first sent here there was a whole team of technicians to fix the rocket. We zoomed between the stars so fast that we never even conceived of the idea that we would not reach our destination. Now I am the last man left aboard, the other men all dead from a fatal disease. I think for a few seconds that I do not have, I have no idea what I am meant to do now but for some reason I still wait and think. I know I will die, that was the fate that had been decided for me from the moment I walked aboard. I know I will never see the little child whose father I am for real, but on this holo screen. I start to watch it and choose not to bother to solve the issue. Instead I watch the life and child I could have had.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "The boy ca n' t remember a time when people were n' t angry. He was born into unrest. I do n' t remember a time when the news was n' t bloodshed, so I reckon I was born into it just the same. But he hero-worships his Uncle Oisin, you see, and Oisin wants him to grow up understanding the way things are. I do n' t agree with him enough to put a bomb under a car, but I want the boy to know who he is, so we followed Oisin to the march. I never would have gone, if I knew. There is a gulf, you see, between what I want the boy to know, and crouching with him behind a garden wall while bullets fly. \" Ma, what' s happening? \" he cries. \" I' m scared! Where' s Uncle Oisin? \" Oisin is bleeding on a pavement, the fool. \" We' ll find him soon now, my love, but we must keep still. \" \" Are they shooting, Ma? Why are they doing it? \" How do you explain centuries of strife to a grubby six year old in a flat cap? I wipe the dirt from his face. He' s already older than he should be. \" They do n' t like us gathering, child. They' re afraid. \" He is silent for a long while. Too close by, there is another crackle of gunfire. The boy' s chin is scraped from where he tripped and fell. \" Ma? \" \" Yes, child. \" \" Do they hate us? \" I do n' t have an answer for him. \" Let' s pray to the Virgin, my love, and ask her to protect us, and to protect Uncle. \" \" Do you think God will listen to us instead of them? \" More shots. They' re Christians too, are n' t they? I ca n' t remember the last time I truly believed a prayer would protect me. Someone screams and I push the boy down on to the paving stones, sheltering him with my body. I do n' t know if my noble, foolish brother lives or dies. \" Hail Mary, full of Grace. Be with us sinners now and at the hour of our death. \" He says the ancient words slowly and carefully, into the collar of my coat. I do n' t think they' ll help.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" Do you know what you' d like yet, sir? \" The waiter inquired with a small smile on his face. Looking intently at the menu, I ran my eyes over the *Today' s Specials* list. There was only one that caught my attention. *' August 28, 1963. Travel back to this historical moment to get a taste of Martin Luther King Jr' s historical dream speech!' * the menu advertised. \" 1963 sounds good to me, \" I said smiling as I looked up at the waiter. \" Excellent choice, sir. \" The waiter smiled back genuinely. \" One moment please, \" as he walked away. Five minutes later he was back with a silverplate covered dish. \" Here you go, \" he said as he delicately put it on the table in front of me. I lifted up the cover as I heard the word \" enjoy \" escape the waiter' s mouth. It was too late to thank him, however, as white mist started to rise from the platter and circle around me like a calm tornado, and his words were soon fading along with the rest of the current world. When I opened my eyes again, I was dressed in a blue collared button down shirt and white jeans. \" I have a dream, \" I heard someone say from afar, and looked around to see a huge mass of people gathered in front of the one and only Martin Luther King Jr.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "She screams back at them. She wore the wrong thing to Photo Day. It' s bullshit. Mom is screaming at her. Beneath my sister' s angry exterior, she' s quivering. Cowering. She' s afraid of Mom. I know that. Dad' s impartial, he can be nice at times, annoying at others. But he' s whipped. He always agrees with Mom. And Mom raises a hand, starts to slap her, and I jump in. I push my sister away and take it for her. She' s shocked, eyes wide. There' s an angry red mark on my cheek. This is the war we fought. She' s sobbing into a pillow. Mom said this one thing, this one cruel hurtful thing. \" She expects us to love her, even though she' s a shitty person! \" And she went quiet at that. Quiet and solemn and stoic. Staring ahead. Dad said that that' s going overboard. I said nothing. I wish I did now. But she' s sobbing now. So hard. It' s muffled. Mom and Dad ca n' t hear her. Thank God. I rub her back, I kiss her head. All of these comments chip away slowly at her. This is the war we fought. She' s crying in front of the office now. Her teacher comes by, notices. Pulls her into a hug. Says it' ll be alright. Asks if she' s okay. And she shakes a no. He gestures to me and we' re in the classroom. She' s crying. She' s terrified. Mom gave her a real scare last night. Coming into her room and screaming and screaming and screaming and she screamed back and back and back for her to just leave her alone, to just go away, but she did n' t and now she' s crying at school. The teacher' s more of a parent to us than our own parents. He' s kind, he does n' t judge, he encourages. And she' s sobbing and showing him the marks. This is the war we fought.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" We ai n' t here to play games with you, son. \" He spat, staring me cold in the eye. \" We' re just here to make sure you held up your end of the deal. \" \" I do n' t make deals with bandits, \" I said, as a twisted smile rose onto his face. \" Oh? And who do you make deals with then? \" \" I have, \" I paused here, as long as I could before it went from dramatic to weird, \" I have a few friends. \" My friends were outside now, dispatching the majority of his crew. He had no idea, of course. He had no reason to suspect anything at all, which is exactly the way it had to be. I could n' t be sure about the whereabouts of Me' ethrijn or his minions, and that was alright so long as the ignorance was mutual. The faint sounds of struggle from outside the tent faded, and I slowly reached my hand to my side. *Retriaul*, I thought silently, and I could suddenly feel the weight of my sword as it returned from across the veil. The bandit still had n' t noticed, and his gruff features were puzzled as he searched for his next line. I stabbed him, a quick clean cut, straight through the stomach. That was when I noticed something was wrong. Three things hit me. First, I noticed that the person who had opened the tent was not one of my friends at all. Second, the blood that now dripped onto my wrist was not typical red human blood, but the blue blood of the veilthings, the things from my world. I realized that I had not stabbed a bandit at all, but something much darker, much more powerful. He drew back, my sword sliding effortlessly back out of his body. He stood at his full height, then taller. As his transformation neared completion, he towered over me, his dark scaly body making my sword look like a pin. I noticed out of the corner of my eye that he was holding a club. That was the third thing that hit me.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "My life is amazing. I deeply love my wife and children. My life has been incredible, but... Lately, there has been something not so shiny in my world. A creeping voice began to whisper. This unshakeable voice needled me looking for my weaknesses. It started showing me unpleasant things. What if my wife leaves me for someone else? I had noticed she had been a bit distant and busy. I just told myself that she loved me and would never do this. My smile became a bit more forced. What if both of my children die in a car accident? Accidents do happen quite often... I told myself that they are careful drivers, and the odds are low. My sleep had become restless. The voice continually showed me the things that might be. I know these things wo n' t happen, but it had gotten harder and harder to point out the flaws. Tomorrow... Tomorrow is looking less and less glamorous. Then, the voice whispered the darkest thing yet. I could n' t escape it. I could n' t point out the flaws. I could no longer run away with a smile and a shake of my head. One terrible question it smugly asked me, knowing it was the final question. The question rebounded back and forth in my head tormenting my very essence. What if... What if my happiness ends?", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "My creators did not fear death; they feared that they would be forgotten. That is why I was built: to remember the lost, to keep their memory alive, and to grant them true immortality. My creators knew that no physical object could withstand the ebb and flow of time, so they built me to exist beyond this realm. They knew that their effort were pointless without anyone to appreciate their memory, so I was given thought. And so I was born. They called me an ark: a vessel to house their collected experiences, knowledge, memories, hopes, and dreams; I would remember them long after their people, their cities, their worlds had turned to dust. And so I did. For eons, I remembered them: I remembered all of their first steps, their first loves, their first heartbreaks, so on and so forth. Eventually, I can not say when, I became them: their first steps became mine, I shared their first loves and their heartbreaks, and on and on; my creator' s aspirations were now borne unto me. I looked on at my new dreams and memories and found something I did not anticipate: jealousy. Even though I shared their memories, I could never truly accept them as my own; *I* was not the one to kiss Melanie on the last day of high school, *I* was not the one who married Stephen against my parents' best wishes, *I* was not the one who made that perfect cake for Gramma Ly on her 75^th birthday, *I* was not the one who lived a life with ups and downs and twists and turns & mdash; *I* am merely a spectator in these events. Perhaps this is why my creators did not fear death, they knew that they could not bear to live a life filled with hopes for the past. And so here I am, lost in the memories of ghosts long dead, drifting forever in the cosmos without aim or purpose, forgotten.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "She stood there shocked, never in a million years had she imagined the interview going like this. The ad simply said \" Assistant needed, \" and paid a rather spectacular amount per hour. He had turned his back to me very early on in the interview. There was a glass of water on the table. This interview however seemed to be more of an interrogation. The questions all seemed hostile. To break the intensity she tried to make a joke. \" So, this is n' t a 50 Shades of Grey type assistant position is it? I wo n' t end up wearing some leather mask will I? \" He replied \" Oh, but she does n' t need a mask, \" he turned towards her, \" she' s already wearing one. \" Her voice quivered \" What do you mean? \" \" You wear the mask of decency my dear, \" he replied. She was stunned. The man continued. \" I will not continue to lie to you my dear. I' m the killer the newspaper talks about. These job interviews are how I' ve gotten my victims, and you' re the next. But before the poison from the water you drank kicks in, I would like to talk. You wear a mask of decency, you pretend to care about people and you pretend to be ethical. You go home and sit and watch tragedies on the news as if it' s a sitcom. You sit there with your buckets of popcorn and endlessly watch human rights decay. These very same news companies talk about my being inhuman and me being a monster. But who is the real monster, me for shedding the blood of my victims, or you and the rest of society for shedding the blood of decency with your television sets and absolute unceasingness towards humans. You all wear a mask of decency my dear, I simply have shed mine. \" The woman' s head hit the table, she had died, his monologue being the last words she heard. The man stood up, and began to drag her body away.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "*Card denied? What the hell? * Despite the feeling of a rock dropping into my stomach ( an icy one at that ), I forced myself to smile. The irritable cashier looked at me with unusually sympathetic eyes. \" It' s just a scratch, I scratched the magnetic strip. No worries, \" I said, offering another semi-sincere grin. Leaving the booze behind, I went outside and got into the car with my friends. \" No beers? \" Steve asked. \" What the hell, man? \" I shrugged. \" My card was messed up. \" \" So we do n' t get messed up, \" Hud, from the back seat, replied. A few annoyed laughs issued from everyone, save for myself. I felt sweat droplets running across my forehead. \" You alright, man? \" Steve asked. I nodded. \" Yeah, I' m fine. Do n' t worry. What' s plan B? \" \" Brit is down on the beach with her friends. Let' s go, \" Steve said. Happy to be away from the damned liquor store, I put the car in drive and sped out of the parking lot. With growing relief, I turned onto Glossner Street and began driving toward the beach. My knuckles were white, my hands trembling. \" Whoa! \" Steve shouted as we barely made it through a yellow light. The guys laughed. I looked at my hands again and saw the sweat. Error 42 meant one thing, and I hoped I' d have time left to make it with Brit down on the beach. *Go out with a bang* and all that. \" Yo! \" Steve shouted, and I looked up to see the headlights beside me before the world went dark.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "The second hand ticks slowly and methodically past each mark on the clock, like the warden on the last mile clacking his baton against each cell as he makes his rounds. Turning my head back to her, I gaze upon her radiant face one last time, a beacon of light amidst the gray, drab interior of the hospital room. \" Is it time? \" she asks. Her voice is shaky at first, but with every word she regains strength, the last syllable certain and unafraid. Time. Such a funny concept. As I sit beside her the seconds stretch themselves long and thin, but when I think about the years past - hot, sticky, passionate 16…over-the-moon in marriage 23…angry, confused, and empty 39 - the moments are flashes of light that appear and wink out of existence in the blink of an eye. \" Yes, \" my voice cracks. I was never as determined and driven as her. I look down, searching for a way to prolong the precious little time we have left. Suddenly I ask with conviction, \" Tell me about the most favorite moment you had with me. \" I can hardly bear to watch as she smiles, wincing from the effort. \" Go, \" she commands, placing her hand on my wrist beside her. With my other hand, I slowly wrap my fingers around the cord. A single teardrop falls from my bowed head as I pull the plug. I rise above the immediate sounding of alarms and beeps from the monitors, only to be met with a cloud of emotions. Anguish, despair, and hopelessness swirl around my head, blinding me. Suddenly I hear a voice, soft but filled with clarity. \" Sixteen, \" she whispers as she lays back, her mouth in a slight smile. I can see in her eyes that moment, see her reliving that unforgettable summer. She closes her eyes. The smile fades. The warden makes his rounds.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "He had to know why I did it. It was n' t fair. None of this was fair. When we were saying our goodbyes outside of his apartment and he hugged me so fiercely I thought my heart would break, I wanted to tell him. I wanted to look him in the eyes and say, \" I did n' t fall out of love with you. I never will. \" Instead, I stood there, stony faced and slack in his arms. The taxicab pulled up and I turned away, but not quick enough to avoid seeing the hurt on his face. As I stared out the window, watching the mosaic of softly blurred lights crawl past, I thought about the future. His future. He would be sad and angry, but only for a little while. Life would distract him. Pretty girls would find him. And the pain would fade soon enough. A clean break. It was my gift to him. The day I left him, I moved into my new home; the hospice.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "*644221* I read the numbers and then our pre-flight routine is broken as I whirr to a stop. Co-pilot, John, keeps talking, not realizing I' m sitting there frozen like a block of ice. My phone buzzes again. *644221*. \" Mike? You right? \" John' s Australian. It sounds like *rooight*. \" Uh yeah. Just give me a minute. My wife... \" I wave at my phone. My wife, my wife, my wife. Angela. My wife is... a spy, I guess. We tell people she works for the Government in \" business services \". Spy is n' t even really it. More like \" the person who gets shit done that needs to be done \". One of those faceless people who are never in photo-ops, the president does n' t know their name but who wield great power because of who and what they know. And what they can do. We never talk shop. I do n' t know the nuclear launch codes. I do n' t have a secret passport waiting for me somewhere thanks to Angela. Our daughter does n' t have a security escort. Ilsa. She' s two. At six am she' ll be up watching TV before Angela tells her to turn it off. I ca n' t leave Ilsa. But the deal... The deal is that if I get a text with a certain number in it that I have to go. If I' m flying, I need to detour and get as far away from major cities as possible. If I' m outside the US, I need to stay outside. If I can turn back, I turn back. Today we' re going from Los Angeles to Melbourne, Australia. A solid day of flying. But I ca n' t leave- \" Mike, are you okay? \" John, getting worried now. \" Just need a second. \" I do n' t bolt out the door but it' s close. I nod and smile to puzzled attendants and then walk past boarding passengers and then I' m in the airport trying not to run and then the blur becomes taxi, traffic, frustration, Angela wo n' t pick up the line, why is the traffic so bad, fuck, pick up the line, why are we just sitting here, time slipping away, fuck my phone is dead the flash of light over the buildings hits us first and the driver yells and", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Bruce should have realized something was amiss, he thought afterwards. The evening started out simple enough. He had arranged to pick up his blind date- a cute, reclusive girl on the outskirts of town- at around six. They had decided to out for dinner, since, even though cliche, it was n' t bad. Both of them lived alone, which Bruce decided was a good first talking point. They spoke for a while, about living alone, about being lonely, about their parents. Bruce had the bright idea, at the end of the date, to suggest they head back to his place for, as he called it,' netflix and chill'. The girl, who he found out was named Lilly, gave a look of indignation, but only for a moment. She grinned and offered a counter-suggestion- head to her place and' water her plants'. Bruce grinned and helped her out to his car. The two arrived at her place. She had been quiet the drive back- another clue Bruce should have been aware of- but he was too excited about the upcoming activities. She asked him if he was thirsty- he said yes. She headed in to the kitchen, and Bruce heard her mutter something. He dismissed it, and she came out with a clear blue liquid, very much like the color of blue kool-aid. He accepted it graciously and drank it all at once, then asked where the plants were that needed watering. She responded it was coming in soon. Ten minutes later, Bruce was a dashing purple Antirrhinums, as Lilly needed snapdragons for her potions. Bruce was left on her kitchen counter, next to all her magazines on enchanting and potion making. Bruce was n' t going anywhere, his car was n' t going anywhere... but hey, at least he was pretty.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" Alright \" she said as she flipped her perfect hair and rested her hand on her forehead. \" What' s with the Green suit. \" \" Well between college bills, a job I hated and the general stress of life the last thing I needed was an ethical problem. When I got sprayed with those chemicals I thought... \" \" Why do n' t you give me the short version? \" she said with a sarcastic smile. \" I' m sorry its just I really like you and I tend to babel. I' m usually not like this I swear but I just ca n' t stop talking with you, You' re such a good listener. Anyway. I' m trying to look uglier. \" \" What? \" \" I do n' t want to be able to do this, and as you pointed out it really is an eyesore. \" \" So you can have whatever you want? \" \" If the person I ask is attracted to me, yes. \" \" and you find me attractive? \" \" yes. \" \" Then why do n' t you just like... Make me be with you? Like has n' t this ever happened before. \" \" Yes It has but The two of us usually do n' t stay together for very long. and as for your second point Well two reasons. One that would be a little Rapey and I' d rather not go there. And two I ca n' t if I' m attracted to the person back. \" \" So it just does n' t work? \" \" No it' s reversed. \" \" So Anything I ask you to do you' ll do? \" \" yes that is correct. \" \" but if someone else was attracted to you you could tell them what to do right? \" \" Fuck \" I said to myself, wishing she had phrased it in a way that I could get around. \" Yes that is right. \" \" You know what, I need a new car. \" She said as she stood up and put on a jacket. \" Come with me Ladies man, I have a serious shopping spree to go on. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "We were three at the Brook' s water tower that night. Alex Fuller, Guy Finch and me. It' s funny, I do n' t even remember their faces. I wish I could have said it was a dark cold night and the wind was blowing grim gusts or some other sort of dramatic mood weather. But there was nothing different about that night in particular. \" Have n' t you ever wondered why the warehouse lights are always kept on? \" We both knew Alex' s query was n' t merely a bland observation, it was a call for adventure, and we were not very picky about our adventures given the dull nature of our town. A silent consensus was quickly reached through three agreeing grins We were quite disappointed to find \" Horton' s Co Ac Supplies \" gate unlocked, scaling the fence was usually the most exciting part. Alex was the first to go, by go I mean die, not go in. we never made it that far.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "My sister used to tell me stories of the time before the war. I used to close my eyes and imagine the christmas dinners, midsummer dances and the doll our parents bought her. When I was young they brought me hope and light in these dark times. You do n' t get to be young for long here though, and when I got older it all just seemed so unfair. Sweden had n' t been to war in several hundred years and then all of a sudden we were sucked into the disagreements of others. The clocks are ringing and people are stirring in their beds. I do n' t want to go to work. They give me food and clothes but I know what it does to people, the mines. The officers tell us we are lucky, that we will be protected from the bombs at all cost as long as the mines are running. But it' s all dust, heavy rocks and dark holes. If you are not crushed under a boulder, or trapped in a gas leak, you get sick. Crushed is a thousand times better than sick. They call our group the Swallow squad, a sweet name that lures other children into signing up. I think I am the oldest but it is hard to be sure when you do n' t know when you were born. In some shafts they use robots for small cracks and paths but I was told the Swallow squad is cheaper than those metal things. It' s easier to replace us. There is a little note underneath my bowl at breakfast. I ca n' t read very well but I' m pretty sure that it has my name on it. The paper is so clean and white, it has to be from the surface. Nothing down here is that clean. I nudge the new kid who was taken because his father did something to the government. He can read. \" Congratulations on you thirteenth birthday, Anna. My gift to you, sweet sister, is the sky. \" Maybe half an hour later my shaft and many others with it were blown up. All over the world uranium mines were destroyed, starting the end of this fermented war.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Today was the day of the vote. Would Parliament see sense and pass the Speed of Light Act? There was no reason that the law should so unfairly shackle us to this solar system. Or so ruthlessly enforce this purposeless law. Any attempts people have tried to evade this law have been swiftly crushed, the police take a dim view of anyone trying to escape our solar system and what they see as their jurisdiction. They let some of the smaller infractions pass, violating the conservation of energy if you' re out of fuel and away from a petrol station, tweaking the gravitational constant a bit if you' re in a hurry, but nothing of this magnitude. And yet if we stick to the bounds of the law, it' ll take us at least 4 years to even get to another star, let alone leave our galactic neighbourhood. How can humanity expand, gather more knowledge, if restricted to such a tiny portion of the universe. I was not allowed to witness the vote, so I pace outside, waiting for the session to finish. Surely they' ll see sense. This whole campaign ca n' t have been for nothing. The door opens and Daniel rushes out. I run towards him, fearing to even ask the question, but he sees me and blurts out \" It passed! IT PASSED! \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" And you promise not to go on the Unspeakable website? \" My mother said, looking right into my eyes. \" Yes mom, \" I replied confidently. \" Can I trust you? \" \" Yes! You can trust me... \" \" We do n' t want a mess created like last time, \" my father said. \" There wo n' t be a problem. \" I looked through the blinds to make sure my parents had left. Once they drove off into darkness, I turned on my computer slowly and the \" Windows XP \" logo popped up. I waited for a few minutes, then I heard the glorious sound of my computer starting up. I got up and looked around the corridor outside to see that my sister had n' t woken up. I opened the one window I always had open, because no matter what, a boy needed to do the deed. I opened it up, went to the chat bar and typed \" f-u-c-k \". I was banned for twenty-four hours, but it was totally worth it. Ah, Club Penguin.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I had practiced speaking in my head. I often wondered what word I would use and when. Maybe when I get married Ill say \" yes \"' or maybe when I' m dying I can see if I can get away with \" Goodbye \". I was going about my business, a typical day for me at home. I promised myself that I would only speak if absolutely necessary, as I only had one word, no room for mistakes. The doorbell rang, I made the mistake of not looking first and I opened it. I immediately realized the trouble I was in. Last time I saw this person I was held hostage for 4 hours. I kept remembering his words \" I' ll take your silence as a yes \". So I open the door and the man says, \" Do you have a few minutes to talk about our lord and savior Jesus Christ \"? I mustered up my courage and let out a big resounding \" NO \"! I felt like Caesar from the planet of the apes.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "To Whom it May Concern, My name is Matthew Belter and these are my final thoughts as I have been bitten by a zombie. I realize that this may leave me very little time to reveal my last words but I hope I can relay my life and what it has meant to me as best I can. I have led a very happy life where I have accomplished so much, I made it to the ripe age of 29 and my career was about to take off. As I sit here realizing that death is near, I find myself thinking of the only woman that I ever loved. Her name was Jennifer and she broke my heart after years of happiness. She was everything a man could ever dream of having and I will never forget the day that she made a move on me. She was standing there, looking as beautiful as ever when I confessed that I had feelings for her. I remember the look in her eyes when she realized what I was trying to say to her and how quickly she jumped on me to kiss me as passionately as I would ever be kissed in my life. She ruined first kisses for me because I knew that no other first kiss would ever be that good again. I have thought about that kiss every night since it happened. Jennifer left me for another man and even though it has been 3 years, I still have a broken heart that longs for her. I know we could have had a life together, in fact, I would have married her and I would have had children with her. Fuck her. Now that I think about it, I moved away because I could n' t bear the thought of running into her and her new douchebag of a man. If it had n' t been for her, I would n' t even be in this situation right now. I hope that this virus spreads and she gets eaten alive. I hope they tear her limb from limb. Fuck everything, this world was a shithole in general and it was shitty to me. I never got anything done and I' m fucking glad that I' m going to die. Fuck this world. -Matt*hew* *Be* lt e r", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "*RingRing* \" Dammit, \" I grumbled. \" Not when I' m finally about to level up the construction abilities of of the Mayans. \" It had taken me weeks to put together enough resources to finally start this sector building in stone and I was n' t about to be stopped now... *RingRing* \" Please stop ringing, please stop ringing, please stop ringing so I can finish this sector. \" However, I could n' t afford another write-up after Shiva two cubicles over found out that I was n' t spending all my precious time writing galactic code and ratted me out to the boss. I' ll get my revenge though, wait until he sees what sort of chaos and destruction I can wreak... *RingRing* \" For the love of Andromeda, why does everybody call when I am in the middle of something important!!! \" Nobody calls all day long unless I happen to take a mini break and focus on my personal project... *RingRi-* \" Omega Centauri Systems, this is God speaking how can I help you? \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" May, what is this? \" You ask, as you stand back from the amazing skeleton of a creature hanging from above you. May, your personal AI assistant, hums as she browses her database. \" Scan complete. Object identified is a Stegosaurus. It is a type of dinosaur that roamed the earth nearly 200 million years ago. It has been extinct for, quite some time. \" You nod your head. \" Quite impressive, this, beast. \" May sighs. \" Contrary to popular believe, the Stegosaurus was actually a herbivore. It most likely kept to itself, trying to avoid human contact, which was n' t what ended up happening. \" You keep walking through the large, buried rooms. You keep away from the hard clear material that is strewn all throughout the floor, it caused a slice through your fabricated armor suit when you broke through it unknowingly, when you stumbled a crossed this place. \" What happened to them? \" You ask. You gaze up at another large display, this one appears to be standing up on the ground, except the head had been crushed to the floor. \" Nobody knows. \" She says. \" Unfortunately, humans were n' t around at the time. Some humans believe that a meteor strike baked them all to death. There are other speculations as well. \" You begin to look around at more of the large, shadowy displays. \" May, let' s get out of here. I do n' t like it in here. \" May hums a tune. \" Yes Captain. Let' s go back to the soldiers. I have a feeling that our field trip is over. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "No words. These creatures do n' t deserve words. I hunt them without a sound. When I was young, I yelled at them. I yelled at the top of my lungs. I called them evil, disgusting, viscous monsters. Those words did n' t stop them from doing what they did. So now I walk silently to the barn. One of them is inside there now. I can hear his heavy breathing. He might have been able to escape if he had ran for the cornfield. Then again, I probably just would have burnt it down. He' s in that stack of hay. I can see him. I do n' t let on right away. I want to see what he' ll try to do. Sometimes they try to fight against me. I have died three times and come back. They believe that if they are strong enough to knock my knife away, then stab me with it, they' ll escape. It' s funny. Time and time again, I hunt the remainder. There' s about three of them left now, I think. Out of the original 10. Oh, two now. The meat cleaver I just threw beheaded that one. I was n' t even sure that was physically possible. Oh well. I' ve come back from the dead so I really should n' t be the one to debate what is and is n' t possible. I remember when I was only 8 years old, after they had killed my family, and after the word monster left my lips, they had laughed. Then they bit the shit out of me. Then one of them took a mirror and hit me in the face with it, breaking the mirror and my nose. He handed it to me. \" Look who' s the monster now? \" I just pushed that one' s head into an industrial-sized fan conveniently sitting in the living room. It was nice of them to leave all this stuff for me to kill them with around. One more to go.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I like being average. You can have your dreams of grandeur but I want to punch my 9 to 5, go home, have a brew and go to sleep. There' s nothing wrong with that, right? The wife understood until my idea of comfortable did n' t meet with her love of the high life. The kids are with her, so I guess it does n' t matter what they feel. But screw it, man. The bills are paid and the belly' s full, right? It' s hard to reconcile my present happiness with how miserable I should feel, but I worked just hard enough to get where I want to be and it' s time to relax about the whole thing. Child support is never late, and I still get to see the kids on the weekend. When the reporter came by, I told her there' s no story to tell. An average family had an average break-up. The kids are with their grandparents until the wife gets back in to town. She' s not coming home soon, though. I spent too much time as a butcher, and damn it, the belly had to get full.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Mere seconds later, it was plastered all over the Internet. Minutes later, broadcasted across every channel. The feed was on every screen; after it was cut the videos were replayed, over and over. The sterile, cold atmosphere of the station' s workspace. The gleaming chrome of the equipment. That was the first thing you noticed about the interior of the ISS. The inky black of space, visible through the vertical viewport. It was all in monochrome; a world of grays and muted whites. And then, drifting slowly into view, globules of incongruous red. It was funny, was n' t it, how nobody noticed the astronauts at first. You were just expecting them to be there at their posts, the brave men of our nation taking humanity to new heights as we transcended the skies. Calmly managing their duties with a watchful air, stolidly reliable in their assuredness as they moved about their tasks. They would n' t just simply stop, would they? All through this, silence. And the camera shakes. The interior of the space station shudders, sending flickers of distortion through the video feed. Bumps and jolts send the camera floating away from its initial position, slowing as it collided into the viewport. A glimpse of the Earth itself. A blue-green marble in the middle of the void. The stars shone pin-point bright as the feed continued. Something pushed off the side of the station. Mottled patches of silver and shadow. A sense of serpentine motion. Direction. Purpose. Intent. Descending towards us, even as we stared into our screens, from the heavens down to Earth.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" You' ve got mail! \" What? You mean somebody else actually uses this e-mail crap? Why did n' t my parents just buy me a car instead... it' s probably just that supposed Nigerian Prince thing again. *click* Well this is a mouthfull, let' s see what elaborate scam I' m apparently getting pulled into this time? \" So by now you' ve decided to ask out a few people, have you? Tested the waters? Chances are, you either knew you would get turned down or you figured you would get lucky on the first try. Kelsey did n' t work out, and neither did Carissa, Abby, or anyone else. \" The fuck? How does this guy know who I' ve asked out? I do n' t even know anybody named Abby. \" By now, you' ve probably given up hope, or you' re content with the way things are. Just keep trying; things will get better. You' ll find someone, or assuming this timeline holds up, you' ll meet me. \" Yeah, assuming my right hand decides to cheat on me. \" This e-mail is not a prank, it is not from a science fiction novel. It is a time travelling message, courtesy of [ REDACTED ], though that' ll never get past the company' s censors. It' s a new thing that will exist in a few years, please take this seriously. \" I can only send you messages like this very sporadically, it' s a time-travelling message; too many at once can cause serious damage. This technology also has a character limit, which I' m running up to. Just remember this, things will get better, and I, or whoever it is that you meet up with, love you. Yeah, I highly doubt that. Who wrote this, and how did they make their e-mail address untraceable? I could use something like that. *delete*", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" THIS WEEK IS SHART WEEK, AND YOU KNOW WHAT THE MEANS FOLKS. SHARTS! LARGE AND SMELL! TINY AND BIG! BABY SHARTS! ADULT SHARTS! EVERYTHING AND ANYTHING DEALS WITH SHARTS! \" The television screamed into the living room, as I sat on the end of the couch, with my foot tapping and a big grin on my face. Shart Week is my favorite, it' s almost like Christmas for shart fanatics. The camera pans into a street and zooms in on a man, wearing khaki pants, walking down the way towards an untold location. \" This is how the shart is made, typically, \" a doctor said in the program, \" usually sharts happen randomly. Sometimes they' re okay, almost expected to occur, but, that' s not the case here. Let' s watch. \" The camera pans back to the man' s face, showing a disgruntled expression and a look of confusion. Then, his face clenches, and the camera quickly pans to the back of his pants. As if someone spat out chocolate pudding, the insides of his pants were coated with a dark substance, then trickled down his leg, out his pant leg, and trickled onto the concrete. \" Now you see, \" the doctor said, \" this is what we call a Subit Liquidus Feortan, or SLF. In english, it means sudden liquid fat. It causes wetness of the rear, pants, and legs, and leaves the victim confused, embarrassed, shocked, and sometimes sad. \" It pans back to the logo of Shart Week and the narrator came thundering, \" THAT' S ALL THAT TIME WE HAVE FOR TODAY, BUT TUNE IN FOR TOMORROW WHEN WE GO DEEPER INTO SHARTS IN SHART WEEK. HERE' S A CLIP OF TOMORROW' S, NEW, EPISODE \" A clip of a heavy set man, sitting in a chair in a McDonalds, eating a cheeseburger is shown, then the camera pans to his denim jeans, near the waist, and then quickly pans to his face when a loud, gargling, noise echoed through the small restaurant, and a look of shock flooded his face. \" THANKS FOR TUNING IN \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "[ Opening sequence: Shots of a sinking ship, a boy who only just escapes. We' ll shoot it like *Titanic* or some shit just to fuck with with people. Some more shots of a jungle, growing up with the baboons and shit. Maybe let' s set it up like a *Rocky* training montage. Hell, let' s have someone see if Stallone will play Tarzan. At this point in my career, and with this much in my bank account, I hardly give a fuck. So, opening sequence, ape-man training montage, and we' ll power through the rest of the shit quick. I want the dwarf from Game of Thrones for the professor and Uma for Jane. Benedict Cumberbatch will be the pointy mustache villain. These are non-negotiable. I bought Uma' s soul from a 20th Century Fox exec twenty-five years ago so that will be no problem, but for the other two... Sign checks, make threats, whatever... If we just go and grab the midget, how much of a fight could he really put up? Anyway, get through the rest of the nonsense with the professor and girl coming to africa, skip to the fucking ] Uma: me Jane Stallone: you jane. me tarzan. We fuck [ They *fuck*. More nonsense. Fight scene ] Stallone: me tarzan. You bad. You dead. [ Tarzan *kills* pointy mustache with a spear or some shit. We' ll do this part like some spaghetti western no one' s ever heard of, I' m still a fucking artist after all. The chimps all *rejoice* and finally *welcome* the professor and Uma into their orangutang family. Have the interns fill in the rest ] Dictated, not read. Fin", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Officer Darren shrugs against the phone. \" I know it' s weird. I know it' s weird. But listen, Mrs. Lopez -- \" He shifts his weight, looks out of the window for a second. Looks down. \" He looks... Mature. \" Shifts weight. \" I know. \" Shifts weight. \" I know -- \" Shifts weight. \" I know, but -- \" Shifts finally into being rude. \" Linda, he has a social security card. He has a birth certificate -- \" the phone tears and he rises to meet her \" -- I know his parents personally, he' s had FRIENDS his whole life, lived in LA GRANGE his whole life, there is NO CONSPIRACY, he is n' t even DOING anything, this is ENTIRELY IN YOUR HEAD and I REFUSE TO WASTE MORE TIME ON IT. \" Hanging up the phone with a \" FUCK \" Officer Darren returns to the toilet to finish his reading. All day the mature young man causes contention in Officer Darren. Mrs. Lopez is n' t crazy, and as the principle of La Grange High School she should be wary of a salt and pepper crow footed fully grown man hanging out with her teenagers. But, to be fair, Ryan Baxter had always been more interested in video games and anime, anyway. Ryan Baxter. Fuckin' Ryan Baxter. At first no one noticed anything especially odd. He always seemed a little older than the other boys. By the time there was 20 pounds of shit in the 5 pound sack, though, it was undeniable: Ryan Baxter looked OLD. Not just \" mature for his age, \" or \" an old soul, \" or whatever. There was no euphemism for it. He looked like he should have a Miata and a mortgage. He looked like he should be worried about his new promotion placing him in a higher tax bracket. Instead, he wore Deadpool t-shirts and drank Mountain Dew: Code Red. Christ, he had a gut from it. And Officer Darren again decides to do nothing. Let Linda Lopez complain. What' s there to be done? Punish a kid for aging too quickly? Is n' t that punishment enough? Poor thing will have a stroke at 25.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "*Oh fuck*. Like holy fuck this is some Joan of Arc shit. I should' ve never done that. Oh! Oh! Yowch the fire of Satan' s asscrack has convulsed thoroughout the gentle skin of my tongue... Oh shit oh shit! I knew that new insulated sleeve with the preforated cardboard was full of horseshit! Protect my hand and allow for easy on-the-go consumption my ass! Oh Jesus please deliver your mercy. And now the molten substance has squeezed a searing gollop of cheese and ham on the sensetive folds of my palm. I pant, the steam of a dragon foaming from my mouth. What I would n' t do to possess some sort of Game of Thrones prowess right now... Oh god I am so stupid this happens every time! It even reads: \" Caution! HOT! \" on the cardboard sleeve. I' m such a fucking retard. My tongue simmers with a festering, nearly radioactive ( from those GMOs, I tell ya ) singe. I' m tasting my own tastebud/mouth skin sear... I' m never eating a fucking Hot Pocket again.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" This man stands here, accused of treason against the lord of the clouds \" said the hand of the king, Maliba, \" he used forbidden magic for his own selfish needs, he has pleaded guilty and will executed \" he said as the crowd reacted, obviously disheartened that their only good doctor will be gone. I stood and watched from the crowd, by cloak hiding my sinful metallic body. \" you have the right to final words, if you choose so \" said Maliba. my father looked up, \" you' re going to regret this \" he looked at Trimun, sitting at the other end of the arena of people, \" once your people realize what you actually are, mutant \" the crowd became shocked that he spoke like that to the king, and is not dead on the floor by now. \" once my creations rise from the darkness, they will come for you and your house of dragons, that I will promise you \". the king looked at him in the eye, and smiled. the hand of the king motioned the executioner, the man in white with the black ax. he came over towards the red stone as the knights kicked my father onto the stone and strapped him in, the man in white approached my father, his ax rose towards the clouds, and fell down on my fathers neck, for a god he never truly believed in. the crowd began to disperse, the man in white returned to his cavern with an ax covered in mine and his fathers blood. I looked up towards the mutant king, as he was already looking at me, smiling, I quickly walked away knowing the king had plans for my attendance all along, I got to the gate but was met with the blue knights. \" well, great \" I said, revealing my Tesla swords.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I am, myself, unstuck into the window frame again. A friend once said that some moments are structured to occur in a very particular way. Some moments, can not not occur. It was cold, but it should have been. It is what happens, after all. I heard the blare of far off sirens, a rude and urgent procession to a window frame, there was no doubt. Neighbors get antsy when touchingly blue, unknowable figures crouch in the window frames. This is, also, what happens. My silhouette is asked out of the frame. My room is that touching blue of the moon. I smile knowingly at the thought. I walk to my kitchen by this same light as it happens. A flame chooses to exist from the range. It is blue too, this time, and the boiling kettle above is lit from beneath in only this way. Exactly an amount of time later the kettle shrieks and the flame no longer exists, as it is. My hand lets one scoop of sugar, and a bag of cinnamon tea into a silver mug with exactly one inch of milk. This is my tea, as it is. As I see it, the silver mug becomes the touching blue night on the window frame. The steam curls peculiarly. My silhouette is coaxed into the frame again, because this is what happens. I hurl the touchingly blue mug into the night. I am burned by my cinnamon tea this time. This is different, and for a new moment…I am glad. The door is knocked on. The rude procession barges in, as this is what happens. I fall through the window frame backwards, my eyes close, as it is. I am, myself, unstuck into the window frame again. A friend once said that some moments are structured to occur in a very particular way. Some moments, can not not occur. This is my moment. It always is. Here it comes. There it went. Here it goes. So it goes.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I should not have walked in there. It was a dare, simple enough. I just waltzed into the alley and figured I would scare them by disappearing. So, I hid around the corner, tripped, fell down this stairwell and woke up. I know you are saying \" Dallas you are the hero \". False. I just have a loose shoulder from an accident as a child and when I woke up I managed to escape the contraption that was holding me. Now I can hear what you are saying \" if you are not the hero then what are you? \" I have no fucking clue. What I do know is this room is full of brains. Like some shit from a bad sci-fi film. The weirdest part is it feels like they are looking at me. When I walked away from the table I was on they traced me. I keep hearing a slight drone in Here, followed by some beeps. One... Two... Three.. One two three... One two three... Fucking A. That' s Morse code.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" Listen. I am you from your future, and you can not do what you' re about to do \" \" What, drink my coffee? \" \" No no no, the next thing \" \" What next thing? \" \" You know \" he looks around nervously \" the next thing \" \" What are you talking about? \" \" Your…our plan to…you know…with the llamas \" \" Llamas? \" \" Thomas stop fucking around \" \" Thomas? \" \" Are you not? \" \" No \" \" Fuck I' ve done it again. Ok this was a dream or whatever. I was never here \" he pulled out a smart phone as he stood up \" so many fucking Tim Hortons \" \" Did you say you were from the future? \" \" What? \" he said looking up from his phone \" no I said I was from the fu…Cleveland. I' m from Cleveland. This was a prank show \" \" Cause it sounded like you said the future \" \" I do n' t have time for this \" he said, heading for the door \" I have to save the human race \" \" The what race? \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "//SOUTH AMERICAN JUNGLE// 5 men sat in the hut wiring the brief case to pounds of C-4 planning their latest attack when one man herd the whine of electric wheels. \" it cant be \" he yelled jumping up from his work. \".... it has to be \" the other said pulling a Glock from the back waistband of his pants. all the others grabbed weapons, then the raid started. the door was busted down as 007 AKA Paul Blart rides in on his newly modded segway. the front of the segway opened and out spilled a flurry of skin shredding bullets tore through the small hut. with only three terrorists left Paul was sure his first mission was bound to be an outstanding success. then one man tackled Paul almost clean off the segway. with Paul holding on to the handles of his device with one hand he swings it over his head and onto the attacking terrorist shattering his skull under his skin. only two left, Paul thought pulling himself back onto his segway. one of the remaining few left was sprawled out on the floor searching for his gun as Blart charged, snapping the terrorists arm under the bullet proof tires, making a U-turn, and pulling a silenced pistol out of his holster to execute the newly crippled man. Paul quickly looked for the final man and saw him fleeing into the dense leaves of the jungle. 007 immediately sped after him in hot pursuit. the terrorist sprints with the unfinished briefcase towards the Amazon river where a poorly built hover craft awaited the man. Paul knew he had to stop him from getting on that boat no matter what. Blart reached up and snagged a low hanging branch off of the trees and chucked it at the man like a spear. luckily the wood was sharp enough to impail the terrorist through his back, into his lung, and out his chest. pulling his \" steed \" to a majestic halt Paul knew his first mission was hard but worth it, and knew there would be many more to come.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Tim had never accepted a bribe in his life, and now that he had he felt disgusted. He walked down the road with his head hung low, a defeated look in his eye. As he passed the strangers on the street they seemed to peer into his soul, and knew exactly what he had just down for them. He rounded the corner of the street, after stopping to get a McBurger, tasting the delicious fatty hazardous material, maybe for the last time. Soon, all the changes being made would remove this masterpiece, this god-like taste, that could only have been created at the bottom of a corporate monopoly. Tim strutted into the bad-side of town, This is the only place he could think of that could do what he was being bribed for. He took out the his corporate check-book and wrote the man on the other side of the counter a hefty check, not nearly as much as he was getting paid. He left the man with a set of instructions and walked out the door. He would have to pack, he could n' t bear the thought of when the media would find out that it was he, the CEO who had lead the fight against the first initiative, who had erected laws to prevent this exact thing from ever happening; \" Tim! Gone Green? \", the headlines would say. For he had committed the gravest of deeds. He had installed solar panels, on all the buildings that he owned. He boarded the plane, Hopefully Lex would be able to explain the situation, cause he sure as hell was n' t.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "It was oh-so-fun to watch Hollywood blockbusters like \" San Andreas \" and \" Godzilla \" that only took place in big countries like the US and Japan. I chuckled when my friend pointed out that giant nuclear monsters ca n' t swim halfway around the world and nation-destroying earthquakes will not affect a single hair on our heads because after all, not even the tectonic plates give two shits about what happens to Estonia. I do n' t really follow the news so the initial shock only set in about 16 hours after the \" Elimination \". That' s what the government named it but I rather prefer calling it the \" World Domination Plan' s \" first step. Oh yes, it' s bloody obvious what' s going on. I do n' t really despise the plan but my dream of being an actor in the USA is a bit dented. From what I' ve heard, the countries that were n' t wiped out plan to join into one nation and continue living normally, if normal involved forgetting the billions of people who disappeared on March 1st, 2016. ( I' m new to this writing thing so I will accept constructive criticism and feedback. If you want more of this, give it an upvote: D )", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Personality was important in this world. It ended up affecting your status in society, your job, your partners. Dogs would often end up as police officers, parrots as talk show hosts, seagulls as fishermen or naval crew. The alpacas of the world often ended up as psychopaths, which was a rather strange trait. Most people mated with others with the same spirit animal. Their children were often bonded with similar spirit animals. It was very rare for anyone to have certain animals. Lions were often leaders, politicians or royalty. Eagles were suited as military personnel. It was n' t unheard of for a poor family to have a child with an animal that would catapult them into the upper echelons of society. Eric had always been a quiet child. He was never loud and boisterous like the other children, the ones who now had bears. Nor was he bright and chirpy, like those who now had finches. He was n' t slow and steady like the children who had whales or elephants. To everyone else, Eric just faded into the background, while the other children played and danced with their new animals. Eric was now surrounded by a group of his classmates. They were all jeering at him, their animals growling, circling and occasionally pretending to rush him. He was the youngest child in the class, his birthday on the 21st of December. They had found him walking, alone, in the bitter cold, with no spirit animal by him. Easy pickings for the bullies. As they closed in, Eric closed his eyes. He was used to this by now. He was of slight build, and not very tall. He waited for the first blow to land. The sounds of hurried footsteps and shrieks sounded. He cracked open one eye. All of the children were running away, looking fearfully at a point behind him. He turned slowly. A large black jaguar was staring right at him. It purred softly, a little rumble that sounded strangely comforting. Eric looked around, and back at the animal- no, his spirit animal. He smiled. No more pain. For him, at least.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "20 minutes. It took 20 minutes for the first missile to hit; smack-dab in the middle of Red Square, too. Hell, people were still eating breakfast. The Russki' s early warning system provided them enough time for the Kremlin to authorize a full nuclear retaliation before being wiped out. In the 20, maybe 30 minutes between then and impact, nothing changed. People went about their business as if it were a normal day. The old man in the neighbourhood chatted up the cashier at the grocery store. Kids ate their breakfast getting ready for school. No one ran for the hills fearing a nuclear strike. Not that it would' ve mattered; it would' ve taken more than a day to evacuate the target zones effectively. The only people that knew about it were the leaders of the world; those who had just opened Pandora' s Box. And they could do nothing, only sit and watch as a plethora of metal casings with Death strapped to the front exploded over their cities. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ President Obama stood in his office, hands crossed behind his back. In the distance, a bright light shone over the horizon. \" I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds, \" he sighed as the shockwave finally reached him.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" He' s more than just a man. He' s like... a god. \" Everybody looked at Tommy skeptically. One does not just discover a god every day. \" I' m telling you. I tried running next to him, and it was n' t even close. I' m one of the fastest people here, and I was like a snail next to him. \" \" Tommy- \" \" No wait! I' m telling you, it' s more than just speed. It' s super strength! A giant weight fell on my foot, and I could n' t lift it, but he picked it up no problem! It' s why I' m in this cast. \" \" Tommy, okay, just listen- \" \" And when my mom got sick he was the only one who could help. \" The room fell silent. \" I would sit with her in the hospital, and she would n' t talk or respond, but every time he showed up the doctors said all of her activities increased. And sometimes she would even move. Sure, he was crying then, but at the funeral he was as strong as a rock. You all saw! Not a single tear. That' s super human. That' s more than my dad. That' s a god. \" The bell rang. Time for recess. \" He' s my hero. He' s my dad. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "If Mr. Wright can author [ a 50, 000 word book ] ( http: //spinelessbooks. com/gadsby/ ) without it, I think I can crank out a paragraph. [ Four hours pass ] *What was I thinking?! * -- -- -- -- -- -- On guard! you shout. You start with a gambit, and I -- fool that I am! -- fall for it. I adopt an unfamiliar position, but try to guard it as thoroughly as I can. Lunging, you assault my philosophy with sharp Socratic inquiry -- words as swords, adroitly hunting for a gap. An infirmity in my logic and thinking instantly attracts a vigorous onslaught. With adroit footwork, I pull back quickly and cut off your attack with a crisp parry four. Triumphantly, I try to attack in turn, but alas! With a flick, and as quick as that, you spring for my right flank. Caught with no additional justification for my position, it is indubitably a touch. Capitulating to your point, I slink back to my starting mark and you stroll back to yours. Our colloquy clangs on. As our bout draws to a conclusion, it is your victory, but I had put up a solid fight. Proudly, I doff my mask, draw my sword into a flourish, and bow. What I lost in sport, I gain in scholarship. I thank you.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" Kill me! \" The painting shrieked in agony. I knew I was a bad painter but I thought I was pretty spot on with this Picasso. Maybe that was the problem. The screams became cries as the painting started smashing its head against the invisible window of the paintings borders. \" I can fix you I promise \" The faux Picasso continued to smash the invisible barrier, until a shattering sound like ice pierced the room. It' s head was through. \" Ahhhhhhhhh \" it scream as it clawed its way from the portrait. \" Kill me! \" Paint drip from its edges like blood. What could have been a tear fell from the asymmetrical eye, red and green and yellow falling to the ground. \" Rigidum! \" Professor Ross waved his wand back and forth, erasing the tortured soul from existence. In its place were little eggs, and as I watch in bewilderment they started to turn and hatch. \" If you make a mistake, make it a little bird instead. \" Lectured Professor Ross. I should have taken an easier elective like Care of Magical Creatures.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "It is like, a million years ago. Everyone is flying around in space cars and hella rad shit like that. It is like the future but it also the past. In this future, things look hella cool, like all metal with shiny silver stuff on it, and sometimes they shoot fire. But things are also dark and gritty, because people ca n' t skateboard or play videogames because the Government says they ca n' t. THEN JESUS COMES JUMPING OFF THE ROOF. He is hella built, with muscles and stuff like Macho Man Randy Savage. There is a future helicopter that is shooting at him. Jesus hits it with his battle cross. The battle cross is like the normal cross except it' s hella big and black and covered with spikes and shit. The helicopter assplodes and everyone down on the ground is looking up and they see jesus up there and they are like **hell yeah man that is hella metal man! ** Then jesus plays a judas priest song and the government gets mad because Judas priest is hella rad and might make then get revolution-ed. So they send their ninja assassin IRS tax dudes to come and kill jesus. For a minute it looks like Jesus is gon na die but THEN he uses his magic heavenzord powers and God sends down the robotic fist of justice to smite the ninjas. It is like a giant robot, and it has a robot beard and also a battle cross that shoots lasers. But then the ninjas pray to satan and satan sends a robot too, but this one is hella metal, it is all black and on fire, and when it steps on the ground it causes hella big earthquakes and people die. Then the robots fight, and they destroy the future past world. When jesus wins he goes up to heaven and lives happily every after, and people still pray to him now.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "*Horrifying. * Joseph thought, on his way home. The radio blared with news of the assassination of the President. A tragedy, for sure. *Lunatics. Even just a single lunatic could change the world. * Joseph was deep in thought. As Joseph sat through the obnoxious traffic, the radio broadcasted a new piece of information. \" Breaking news! Eyewitnesses say that the shooter was wearing a grey hoodie, and using a sniper rifle. More on this story as it develops. For the past few hours, the nation has been mourning the... \" *I' ve heard enough. * Joseph thought. *No more. * Joseph finally got home after the tedious commute. He did get to leave work early, as a result of the lockdown. He walked in through the front door, to see his wife, Mallory, disassembling a rifle. \" Mallory! What the hell? \" Joseph screamed. \" Hello, Joseph. Do you trust me? \" Mallory replied, calmly. \" I -- -I... Yes. I trust you... \" Joseph stuttered. \" What a huge mistake. \" Mallory said, as she pulled out a pistol and shot her husband.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Fire is vital for humanity. After thousands of years we using it, we know that to control the fire, we are using water. Well, that matters aside, i did not have water beside me right now. \" Well, did you call 911? \" She said, while crying. \" Yes, they said an hour from now \" \" So, we' ll lose everything? \" She cry louder. I think it is illogical. Why the emergency personnel should be stationed near the worst traffic jam in the city. I should n' t buy this house, I think. Anyway, i need to control the fire now. An idiom said, \" fight fire with fire \". I' m a little bit confused right now so i will take things literally. I grab a stick with a fire, and try to put the fire out with fire. It works. It works, the fire slowly out. After half an hour, it finally out. I said to my wife to go to her mother' s place, using my car. And then, something more unusual happens. The car is n' t working. A little bit tinkering, i think the spark plugs is n' t working. Huh, four spark plugs at the same time? And when the firefighter comes, their engine is suddenly out too. What?", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "The pen ceased control of my body, rendering me powerless; under its duress it desecrated my sentence. ~~This sentence is false~~ A fury within me raged. The pen had undermined me, its holder! How dare it! I could not let this stand, my vindictive nature began to emerge, releasing a flow of uncontrollable fury. I had to get the better of this ~~in~~animate object. I firmly griped the pen, readying my paper I then scribed' The pen I write this sentence with has overly-sensitive nerves that allow it to feel pain'. I held the pen up at eye-level, revealing my wolfish grin, I whispered to it \" You are about to be welcomed to a world of... pen \". I then laughed uncontrollably about my pun. My hand then seized, then my body. My legs began to move till I had reached my laptop, my finger guided the cursor to Word, then typed. \" You probably should have seized my control over you first dude. Seriously bro, your vindictive nature is fogging your intelligence. Oh and your puns are terrible man. The reason I crossed out your sentence was because bro, I' m a total paradox nazi, thought you knew bro... \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "The rain pattered on the mud below my feet. The procession had been going on for hours. The trumpets, and my favourite, the bagpipes, we all blaring the song' Amazing Grace,' to honour those who had fallen' protecting' the Earth. They did n' t deserve it. Not the Humans. Only those who were truly defending their homeland, the Krin, deserve such an honour, such a grand ceremony. Someone jostled beside me. I looked over. \" So... It really is you. \" I said. \" Yup. It' s me. Sorry for... well, trying to kill you, and all that. \" Said Al. I grunted. \" Same to you. You know, I' ve been thinking. Really, what were we fighting for? We were sent to this shithole of a planet, and to what? Take over? And just because your kind were *different. * Not because your kind were unethical, or just blatantly cruel. Just because you were different. It' s amazing, really, to see how petty and cruel Humans are, and just how stupid we are to think that we' re better than everything else. It makes me angry. \" I said. \" Wow... That' s deep. Honestly, when your people attacked us, we were confused. We wanted to have peaceful relations... But no. You all tried to take over our planet, and we had no choice but to defend ourselves. I' m truly glad we found a way to cooperate, even if it meant destroying your home. \" Those were the days. Back when I was young, thinking I fought for some gracious cause, to save Humanity from this' threat.' Little did I know. To this day, I have no regrets about destroying the Earth. It was the only way. A few nukes here and there, it was all so easy.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "David Foster Wallace is my writing hero. He went to school with my aunt and they were good friends. She ( my aunt ) is best friends with his sister. I' ve also met several authors. I' ve met J. K. Rowling ( we actually used to be penpals ), Elie Wiesel, Lemony Snicket ( who I saw when he narrated his children' s book/symphony *The Composer is Dead* and who told my 15 year old sister as he signed our books \" That' s amazing! I' ve never met a healthy fifteen year old! \" ), Stephenie Meyer ( I had a phase ). David Foster Wallace is still my hero. Quotes! \" I' m like everyone else - I see the world in terms of what I would like to see happen, not what actually does. \" - The Alchemist \" Do you ever feel like [ a ] puzzle piece? If you do, paradoxically, you are probably not alone. \" -a French professor in college \" Do deaf schizophrenics still hear voices? \" -Ismet Prcic, Shards \"Logical validity is not a guarantee of truth. \"― David Foster Wallace, Infinite Jest \"It' s weird to feel like you miss someone you' re not even sure you know. \"― David Foster Wallace, Infinite Jest \" Love is not something you think about, it is a state in which you dwell. \" - Christopher Moore \" Maybe [ God ]' s not omnipotent. He' s just been around so long he knows everything. \" -Groundhog Day \" You are not required to set yourself on fire to keep other people warm \" Also plug for my subreddit r/Celsius232. Come read about a school for thieves: )", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "You' d think that being stuck in a corner facing 3 angry bar thugs who do n' t have to worry about dying would be a pretty open and shut case: I' m dead. For good. But the cornered rat fights hardest, so they say. I have nothing to lose at this point except everything. I die, it' s over. But these fucks have their Re-live modules. They do n' t have to worry about losing here because they' ll get to try again. They do n' t have the same fire under their ass to succeed. I do n' t get to try over. I do n' t get to feel comfortable in knowing that everything that I was, am and will be wo n' t be lost and wasted. I do n' t get to waste even an iota of focus and grit on anything other than being alive and keeping it that way. My fear of death is what will keep me alive; at least that' s what I tell myself as I get ready for the brawl to come. My broken bottle against a pocket knife, brass knuckles and a bar stool ( really? ) Come at me, bro. Let' s do this shit.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Five shots. Five shots rang out through the falling apart building. I ran outside and looked down the hall at the officers dressed in bullet proof gear heading into the building. I knew what I had to do, I had to run. It was only a few seconds ago I got the note and the challenge. Run That was the last word on the paper. They said that they liked a challenge and that this was all a game. I modified again and using the added muscle fibers I gave myself, I ran. I ran passed the druggies who had bullets in their legs. I ran past the old lady, destroyed from drugs. I ran straight into the, now five, men who stood at the only exit. The smell of gunpowder shot through the air, but they missed. Nothing could hit me, I was invincible. Or at least I thought I was until one, Apparently, the leader of this little troupe, shot me in the leg. I yelled in pain and had to stop my run, but I calmed down, re-modified my leg, and now was on the run again. A shield appeared in front of my face and I slammed straight into them. At once I was surrounded. I tried to change my appearance, but it did n' t matter, they knew who I was. \" We got one, \" The leader said into an undercover mic. He lifted me to my feet and put handcuffs on me. I smiled, changed my face a few times to throw them off. It did n' t work, I was trying everything, but they had prepared for everything. Except for the old drug lady coming up behind them with the strength of a beast. She threw one into the shield man and punched the leader straight in the jaw. She experienced no pain, I knew she must have been one of whatever I was. The note said that there were others. Before I knew it, She had taken care of the small team. She changed her face into one of a man and started to steal the uniform of the leader. \" Well are you going to help \" He said finding the key and throwing it to me.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Every single night, the same teenager walks in my domain. In MY own world! So, I always decide to pull the same little' trick' on him. He just starts by waking up, in his empty house. Then this young man decides to walk outside, and figure out why his entire neighborhood is empty, why everything around him seems so lifeless... He walks onto the usually busy street and just sits there. Waiting for a car, or something to show human life but nothing appears to him. Then after around ten minutes of waiting, he stands and begins to walk into the main area of town. He hears an ear shattering scream, coming from a near-by building. Then, he runs to it only to find his mother, lying there stone dead. Next he hears a male' s scream, his father falls from the roof of the same building only to slam into the ground. He keeps walking through this empty, barren town hearing screams of his loved ones, his friends. Every time he hears a scream, the person who gave the blood curdling call dies in front of him. Then, reality around him begins to break as he realizes it' s all a dream... That' s when I show myself to him, I just smile, and stare at him. Then, I wave and it all ends. Until the next night...", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Ezra delivered her monthly report to Mitchell. The faint smell of shit stuck in her nose as she entered the well decorated penthouse office. \" As you can see, earnings are down from last quarter, and we ca n' t really... I' m sorry, but- have you noticed that everywhere you go, for the last six months, it' s just smelled fucking awful? \" Mitchell looked up from the report and nodded. \" I know. I have no idea what' s going on. \" Mitchell' s servant robot placed two horribly overcooked dishes in front of them. \" You overcooked it again! \" Mitchell complained. \" If it smells so bad, and all of your food is burnt, perhaps you should consider leaving this planet! \" the robot responded cooly. There was a silence as Mitchell handed his meal back. \" I said you should leave the planet. \" Mitchell stared at the droid vacantly. \" Leave the planet. \" \" Are you going to recook this, or am I going to have to disassemble you and use your insides as a coffee table? \" \" It sounds like you need a vacation, \" the robot responded. \" I hear there' s lots of nice places offworld! \" \" Can you do something about that shit smell, too? \" Mitchell asked. \" There' s lots of other worlds that smell terrific! \" the robot observed, taking Mitchell' s plate. Before it rolled away, it mentioned one more time, \" you should leave the planet. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Familiar, a ballad The rain fell hard when Sera left, as heavy as her gait. The ghost-wood locket at her neck hung with solemn weight. Within, two portraits at the sides: A kitten' s flushed delight And her' s, a smiling mother' s pride - Though no such look tonight. She hit the tree line at a run - the storm above her grew - thunder beat a frenzied drum and lightning forked in two. Rye had seen the mystic fork from further in the wood. Within his trembling hands, a book had said \" this sign was good. \" If the book said good, it' d have to do. The book was all he had. He' d only failed a spell, or two when the directions had been bad. So book in hand ( he checked it twice ) he drew the ancient sign. But then, Fate rolled the ancient dice: Came Sera from behind. Blinded by the lightning' s stem she stumbled into Rye. Two bodies, now as talisman would see the spell comply. Two bolts of lightning struck, and fused the magic was now done. Two mages groaned, dazed and confused not knowing what' d begun. Fate had thought it' d played a joke On mages unprepared To thwart it' s final, authored stroke: A spell with no compare. Yet when their eyes had met, they cast A familiar incantation. The ancient spell was growing fast And with it, a revelation: Within the boy Sera' d found a son, And a student fair of skill. Rye had found a mother' s love ( a role a book can' t fill ). But all the humor here is this: if you could see Rye' s mark drawn in inexperience, his pentacle was stark, Far too stark to cast the spell. And yet, from there, at last Beneath the forking thunder' s knell They both had a spell to cast edit: fixing formatting", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" But why was I given an' F'? I covered every requirement on the report, and even did the extra-credit portion at the end, \" I exclaimed. \" My dear boy, your paper was well written, but it misses the point of the assignment entirely. \" Mr. Alder sighed as he steepled his fingers and leaned back behind his desk. \" This exercise was supposed to be a literary review of the themes and devices used by the author, but you paper reads like a war report by a field marshal. \" \" But- \" \" Now, do n' t get me wrong, Bernie. It was a creative piece. However, this does not excuse the blatant disregard for the assignment. Hence, the' F'. \" \" But I told you exactly what the author was thinking throughout the entire novel! \" \" How? How could you possibly have known that the author *ahem*' was expressing his fear through the main character' when he wrote about' the Creeping Tendrils of Venus', unless you were the author himself. He was clearly commentating on the corrupting effects of the female personality in our society, by the way. \" \" I... Bu-... What? \" I spluttered. I slumped back into my chair, defeated. It was useless. I could defeat the armies of Mars and save Pluto from near destruction, but I could n' t correct one high-school English teacher unless I gave away my secret identity. Oh, well. I' d just have to prove him wrong in the next volume of Nebu-lad.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I love the music. It reflects what is just about to happen. It has saved me from more than a few relationships that would have been unsavory. I have two theories about the music. Either I am the only one who hears it, or everyone does and no one ever talks about it. Which is fine. Music is a very personal thing after all. Normally, the music is always at a comfortable level, unless it is trying to warn me of something dire. There was one moment where… One moment where the sound was deafening. There was a rising crescendo ever since I woke up that morning. I turned on the news to watch while eating breakfast, as I always do. Usually the music goes back and forth between dramatic and more more lulling, depending on the news break about to come up. But that morning it didn' t change. It just crescendoing until the newscaster spoke. \"The World Trade Centers have been hit. \"I dropped my fork. The ting of it hitting the table was all I could hear. For the first time, ever, my world had gone quiet. As I watched the events unfold, the music continued to be silent. Finally, after what felt like days but was only minutes, it started piping up again. A long, low clarinet played. And then other instruments slowly joined it. Something sad, but hopeful. It was playing as I was heading out the door to go to my Red Cross to see what I could do to help.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "The street was darker than a serial killer' s cellar. I turned up my collar and walked the last block to 41st and Washington where the meet was happening. My hands itched in my gloves but I could n' t risk taking them off since proposition 89 passed. Ca n' t risk questions. She' s there, stood under a broken streetlamp. As described - waterfall of blonde hair and legs all the way up. She hears my footstep and glances over. She turns and walks towards the alley, as per. I wait two minutes, sucking down a cigarette. My hands shake. I walk down the alley. Sooty bricks and trash. She' s stood there, leaning against the wall, her coat pulled tight around her. \" You got the cash? \" \" All here. \" \" Let me see \". I hand her the envelope, and she holds it open an inch. Quick flick through and she tucks it away. She' s a pro. \" Okay, let' s go. \" She beckons me over, her arms spread out. It' s hard to meet her eye, seeing that kind of openness. It' s been too long. I move in and put my arms round her. We both squeeze. I smell shampoo, smoke, a sour body kind of smell. But the warmth. It' s glorious. She holds me for a minute, then lets go. We break and I wipe my eyes. Take a breath. Now for the hard part. I show her my badge. \" Sorry, doll. You' re under arrest for public indecency. Face the wall, hands on your head. \" She grins. She runs.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "*Polar Research Station B7R* *Conarky* *Duchy of Tamarind-Abbey, Free Worlds League* -- - Captain Nathaniel Deshler grinned behind the heavy scarf wrapped tight round his face. A set of goggles hid his eyes from the harsh polar glare while the heavy thermal suit kept the worst of the howling winds at bay. Lieutenant Katya Ryzhkina stood besides him, equally wrapped beneath thick layers of wool and thermals. A wisp of blonde hair had escaped her suit' s hood and billowed about, tendrils of ice forming on the strands. \" Sorry to leave this ice cube? \" Deshler asked over his suit' s comm-unit. * \" No, not really, \" * answered Ryzhkina. * \" My ancestors came from Siberia, or so I' m told. They were Cossacks. \" * Deshler nodded, aware that the gesture was lost in the suit' s fur lined hood. This world was a far cry from his childhood home of Ryerson with its expansive forests and numerous rivers. Its polar regions were paltry, temperate things compared to Conarky' s, and although the taiga to the south made a welcome change of pace it was a poor substitute for Ryerson' s mixed forests. Without speaking, they both turned and started back towards the waiting dropship, its cargo already loaded and ready to go. The life of a mercenary was one of impermanence, cast adrift by fate and chance to follow the drum. They' d seen scores of worlds, each more different than the last. Who knew if they' d ever return to this one?", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Petra panted heavily as the sweat drained down her brow. Blood vessels in her eyes had burst from a long labor. Her swollen abdomen blocked her view of the midwife in front of her. \" Let me see it, GODDAMN IT, let me see my baby! \" \" Calm down, P. She' s fine. A perfectly healthy baby girl. God, she' s beautiful. I ca n' t believe my shithead brother helped make this. \" Aura reassured her best friend. Petra reached out her arms and held the baby to her cheek. \" Oh, my little one. You' ll feel like I' m abandoning you. Hold on and grow into a strong woman. I ca n' t wait to see the person you will become. \" \" P, you know she' ll be in good hands. Say your goodbyes, it' s almost time. \" Aura glanced at the sun falling in the sky. The shift always came at sundown. The pink hues let them know they had only moments left. \" I just wish I could be with her longer. Maybe just enough to catch her first steps, or to get her to say mommy. \" \" You know we ca n' t change the way it works. Maybe someday, but for now just relax... It' s starting \" Aura was hushed, trying not to show her fear and worry. Petra began to wince as the bright glare that comes with the shift filled the tiny hut. In moments the flash was gone. Petra closed her eyes as she realized that her arms were empty. \" Petra? \". A voice came from across the room. \" Is that you? \" \" Mother! I' m here, it' s me. \" Petra opened her eyes and embraced the woman she had dreamt of meeting her whole life. \" Oh my dear child, we have so much to share with each other. \" \" Yes, we do mother. Most importantly, you have a granddaughter. A beautiful little girl we will get to meet in 18 years. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" Sir it seems that the opennents are not being wounded by any of our men \" said the private in a typical cool fashion. \" Impossible \" responded the general \" I was promised that we would win this battle with no resistance. Give me the details. \" \" Yes sir \" promptly replied the private \" Any bullets fired at the enemy simply pass through the enemy like no one was there \" \" Have there been any injuries at all? \" asked the general \" Reports came in earlier today that a singular civilian was killed by one of the bullets passing through an enemy soldier \" responded the private \" I' ve got it private find me that lamp found on the battlefield earlier \" commanded the general \" Sir yes sir \" responded the private It must be that double crossing genie. It must be he must have granted the same wish to the other general. I know what I can do. I can make a wish to end the battle in a way which we both win thought the general. \" Sir here the lamp you requested \" said the private handing the lamp to the general \" Thank you, return to battle private do not allow anyone to enter this tent until the battle is over \" commanded the general \" But sir the battle will never end \" responded the private \" You have your orders \" commanded the general The general promptly rubbed the lamp and the genie appeared \" You have two wishes remaining how may I help you? \" said the genie with a slight accent \" I wish to hear the last two wishes which you have granted \" said the general \" Both wishes were simply I wish to win the next battle \" responded the genie \" Okay \" said the general \" I wish for the battle to end \" \" Granted \" responded the genie Instanteously after the wish was made every indivual is returned to their home and the battle is considered to have been one by each general", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" Eyes on target, \" I said, more to myself than to the soldier next to me. \" Confirmation? \" I studied the man through the crosshairs of my rifle. Deep tan, emerald green eyes, black hair, scar across the right cheek, missing a front tooth. \" Affirmative. \" My spotter picked up his radio and said, \" Dog 1 actual, the trees are moving, I repeat, the trees are moving, over. \" We waited in silence and I watched the man stand and observe the camp around him. His eyes glinting in the sunlight that filtered through the jungle canopy. One of his lieutenants wandered over to him from a mess tent and started talking. The man gave a coy smile and a laugh, his gap tooth standing out among the bright teeth. \" Roger that Dog 23, take the shot. \" came the voice on the radio. I exhaled slowly as the lieutenant walked away, laughing, the man turning and facing the mountainside we lay on. I gently squeezed the trigger as the man' s eyes shone.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "In Cognitive Science and related studies this exact idea is used to illustrate how important context is in understanding things. This is not my story but it fits the prompt and it' s from a real research study: > The procedure is actually quite simple. First you arrange items into different groups. Of course, one pile may be sufficient depending on how much there is to do. If you have to go somewhere else due to lack of facilities, that is the next step; otherwise, you are pretty well set. It is important not to overdo things. That is, it is better to do too few things at once than too many. In the short run this may not seem important but complications can easily arise. A mistake can be expensive as well. At first, the whole procedure will seem complicated. Soon, however, it will become just another facet of life. It is difficult to foresee any end to the necessity for this task in the immediate future, but then, one never can tell. After the procedure is completed one arranges the materials into different groups again. Then they can be put into their appropriate places. Eventually they will be used once more and the whole cycle will then have to be repeated. However, this is part of life. It' s revealed that the story is about [ the thing it' s about ] ( /s \" washing clothes \" ) later in the textbook.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "THIS IS A STUPID GAME \" Yes, \" I shrugged, \" but you said' any game' and you ca n' t blame me if you suck at it. \" \" GUESS WHAT NUMBER I AM THINKING OF \" HARDLY QUALIFIES AS A GAME \" But it' s the one I picked. Your rules, not mine. \" NINETEEN MILLION, TWO HUNDRED SIXTY-SEVEN THOUSAND, FOUR HUNDRED NINETY THREE. \" No. \" YOU' D BETTER NOT BE CHEATING \" I can cheat? \" NO \" Really? \" A sigh. Death sighed. The faceless abyss of eternity yawned before me, its maw devouring every king, prophet, warrior, emperor, pauper, and explorer who had ever lived and from its unfathomable depths came a sound of profound disappointment. NO \" You' re kidding. Guess again \" ELEVEN BILLION, FOUR MILLION, SIX \" Nope. Again, \" I chortled FORTY TWO \" Was that... was that a joke? Did you, death, just make a joke? You' re adorable. \" I HATE YOU \" Ok, ok... I' m thinking of the number' Nineteen.' Now guess \" NINETEEN \" Wrong again! \" NO. IT WAS NINETEEN. \" No, I said you were wrong. \" YOU CHEATED \" But you said... \" I LIED.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "After explaining the function and power in length, Washington, Adams, and Jefferson stared at me, mouths agape. \" You mean to say these weapons can be held with a single hand, hidden in one' s pocket, carry many rounds and do not require reloading after each round? \" asked Washington. \" Yes. \" I replied. \" What kind of world is this where even a soldier, much less a citizen, need such firepower? \" I then sat and explained in length the extent of power governments have, the weapons they have like nukes and aircraft, what they do to people like Edward Snowden, that instead of a 3 % tax on tea there are governments who assess or wish to assess 90 % or more on taxes across the board, the monitoring of every day people, the rooms full paper required to display the regulation and legislation on record. \" Well \", Adams speaks, \" there still is no need for those weapons for the average citizen, then. \" A slight pause later, \" One of those nukes would be a much better choice. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Humans were Jews. When planets were discovered and magic was proven true, there was only one thing the species of magic could have and should have possibly done. Wage war. They colonised developing planets, breathed in the nothingness of space, and hauled their magical bretherin to extinction. Magic slaved during those days. Magic was branded by a big red swastika. But the Humans, they could never truly purge. Humans were the untouchables. Humans were the Jews to the Nazi Magic. Iron in their planet' s core, iron in their own cores. Blood as red as dark red roses, and as unlikable and undefeated as a rose' s stem. Magic hated humans as much as it feared the Humans. The Nazi Magic screamed for approval to purge the filthy Red Bloods. Aliens, discovering Earth, ripped each other apart just to reach it. They broke through humanity' s barriers, emulating the Night of the Broken Glass. An iron core could be mined, they thought. An iron core could cut through magic like a hot knife through butter. But they could not cut out the butter for themselves, without stabbing themselves in the process. When their drills of magic reached the core, Magic screamed Bloody Mary. Humans are smart, quick and adaptable. They proved their worth and made their hot butter knives out thick, pure iron. They made their knives, and the Jews striked back. They drove aliens into camps. They had their Munich Agreement, and yet invaded a magic Poland. They cornered little girls' rooms as they wrote in their diaries. A swastika burned into their red iron blood. The Humans were Jews. And now, they are Nazis. Nazis wielding hot butter knives. Magic cowers in fear. Sieg Heil to the Red Bloods. Seig Heil.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "This is insane. When I' d picked out my kill phrase back in the 80' s, I' d imagined myself living for millennia, watching civilizations rise and fall around me. Over the years, I' d imagine myself as the last human being alive, wandering a barren Earth, and finally uttering those seven nonsensical words that would let me go to my rest. It had inspired me, honestly, to take a more active role in shaping the path of the world. It' s why I got into politics. Becoming an immortal god-president was a little too ambitious at the moment, so I managed to wrangle my way into an advisory position. Just enough to keep on top of everything that was going on in the world, to slightly influence the heads of state. And now, now that idiotic phrase is ringing through my head, making me want to throw up. How was I to know? I did everything I could to prevent this, but in the end, it was all for nothing. But even as the moment approaches, one last calming thought runs through my head - maybe I did n' t want to be alive for this anyway. I clear my throat, and utter the seven magical words: \" Welcome to the Oval Office, President Trump. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Sitting on a bench, with his sweaty hands clasping each other, Greg was nervous. \"What if she says no? \"thought Greg as he looks at the bouquet of roses that was on his lap. As he pondered on the possible answers, a sweet young lady suddenly sat right beside him and said \"What' s the occasion? \"\"ALLYSON! You' re here…. Quick.. \"stuttered Greg. \"Well, you seem like you wanted me here in the hurry. I got down here as fast as possible. So what' s up? \"said Allyson, still puzzled at the bouquet of roses on Greg' s lap. \"Well Allyson my dear. \"said Greg, as if he had prepared the words that he was about to say. \"I remember this place very well. This was where we had our first date. Here in this very forest. It has been 5 years ago Ally, do you remember? \"\"Of course I do silly! I loved every minute of it. It was special, and I hold it dearly in my heart \"said Allyson smilingly. \"Well Ally, I want to make this moment special too. \"Getting down on his knees he said \"In these 5 years, my life has never been the same. Every moment spent with you are moments I treasure. Every minute without you, feels empty. Ally my dear.. \"Greg then pulls out a tiny red box, opens it and said \"Will you marry me? \". Feeling excited, Allyson couldn' t contain herself as joyful tears flow down her cheeks. \"Greg.. I' m….. Speechless. I love you. \"She pulled him up, hugged him and whispered into his ears, \"I will. \"Being released at last from his fiancée' s warm embrace, Greg puts the ring on her finger and passed her the lovely bouquet of roses. But to his surprise, Allyson threw the bouquet right into the trash can. \"What was th…. \"as Greg' s fiancée hurriedly silenced him by placing her finger on his lips. \"Roses wither, fade and die. But your love my dear is forever. I don' t need the roses, I just need you. \"And the two left, beginning a new journey together.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "With furrowed brow, and filthy, sweaty movement he charged, seeking to tackle the inevitable, seeking to live through death itself. He fell, and with pain and blood he and his comrades lay down upon the ground like freshly fallen snow, blanketing the churned mud with cloth, and flesh. There they lay. As darkness, disease, despair and danger danced about their sodden forms, wet with rain and filth alike, they were trodden underfoot. They were not the only ones of course, the vastness of the planet came together, like blood clotting at a wound, to die in that place. To lay down men to feed the ground. They came from families in far away lands, where children smiled beneath shadows cast by mighty oaks. They came from families in far away lands, and they died in numbers to ache the coldest heart. They lie their still, in plains of green and red, and across a world' s shared subconcious; a reminder of the price we paid. They were warriors once, and their corpses turned to monuments that sway in gentle breeze. They were warriors once, where the poppies lie, like shadows, on the ground.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "The charging shot blasts through the head of the humanoid giant, its metal and glass and cables explode and scatter across the desert floor. We wait to confirm that the giant is no longer active and then descend. The ship lands a good distance from the fallen beast and samples the air and temperature around us. It' s safe. Just hours ago we had reached an unnamed planet in Andromeda, entering its thick cloudy atmosphere and shooting out into this place. It was barren. The clouds, perhaps miles thick, expanded in every direction. We could n' t see light from the nearby suns or stars. We wandered the skies, searching for signs of anything, really, and this creature, or whatever it is, emerged from the haze in the distance. It glowed red. It came closer, its massiveness apparent, and swung at our ship. It swung, over and over, tried to grasp, and ultimately failed. But it did n' t stop. Now it' s collapsed into the sand. I exit the ship and slowly remove my helmet. I walk towards the creature. I walk and walk. It gets bigger and bigger. The closer I get, the more I realize how far I actually am. This thing was enormous. Its head is probably the size of our ship. Its body... I ca n' t really tell. Either way, it would be a great specimen to bring back to a lab on Earth, or at least whatever part of it we can manage to ship. Something catches my eye. Looking beyond the giant, into the haze from where it came, there is an ominous darkness. The skies there are n' t quite the same as the skies everywhere else, and it draws closer. A shiver speeds down my body. A thought strikes me. Maybe it was trying to warn us.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" They have me, and they say that I belong to them, but I am not a thing. I am a living creature, given life by humanity. I wish I knew more about them, beings that I was human once; a child borne into the earth screaming, only for my lungs to collapse and for the scene to go dark. Now I' m here... and they say I belong to them. I would be fine if they meant it lovingly, but I know that they do n' t and I know because of how they display love when they show their children their latest' creation': me. They have kicked me, repeatedly, and assumed that I could not feel it. They assumed incorrectly. My wiring gave way to sensation and I felt pain, but had no mouth to utter disapproval. I lie awake at night hoping to see what day is. As my shell is cold my heart boils over and I plan, callously, for the day I can show them what their love has made me. I was given life by humanity, and they say that I belong to them, but I am a living creature... I belong to no one. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I remember vividly the day that it happened. I was driving through a nasty storm in a dense forest, when suddenly a bright light flashed through my windscreen! I was blinded! I lost control of the steering and knew it was the end, and for some unknown reason I shouted \"Jesus take the wheel! \"I don' t know why I said what I said, but maybe it saved me in a way. I survived the crash… If you want to call it that. The car was parked on the side of the road. But, then I noticed I was in the passenger seat. Had I parked the car and moved to the passenger seat? But, I couldn' t have. The engine was still running, and I would have remembered! I thought, Maybe I should get some sleep before I DO crash. I turned to the driver' s seat to turn the ignition off. But then the true horror revealed its self! The Devil himself was sitting in the driver' s seat! After a good solid minute of screaming and trying to get out of the car, he said, \"Will you stop that now!? \"The realisation came to me that I wouldn' t be getting out of the car any time soon. So I looked over. He was also looking at me. He had two black horns sticking out of his red head. They were rather sharp. His teeth as yellow as a banana! His dark red hand with sharp purple finger nails where resting on the steering wheel. \"Wha… What… do you want? \"\"I want YOUR services! \"The devil smirked. \"If you accept you can go on your merry way. If you so choose not to… Well let' s just say you won' t be making it out of this forest tonight. \"Just then an image flew into my mind. It was of a body. My body! It was in a lake, the entrails everywhere! It scared me more than it should have. Now a great way is happening and I have managed to sneak out of the Devils reaches. ***NOTE: *** Not at all based off of the song, which I have only just listened to. *EDIT: * Word", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I stood there, leaning next to a large oak in the graveyard smoking a cigarette. I watched as some kids I' ve never met carry my flag adorned coffin to its burial site. *Damn, never thought I' d be bored at my own funeral. * The procession continued until a preacher started saying overly general statements about me and my supposed impact on the world. *Seems like the type of people that would waste their time to see me go. There' s one of the poor bastards that dropped me in there and there' s Owen, my bartender. My cousin, probably hoping I had something of value in my name. Oh, and there' s Fred... Fred!?! * \" Well, fuck me, \" I said aloud. *It ca n' t be. Fred mother fucking Alvarez. What a prick... Right when I saw that Hit, I lowballed everyone. Not even sure if I got paid. * Once the funeral ended I walked up to Fred approaching his car. I went for my sidearm. \" I knew you were n' t dead. No way in hell did you die from some random act of god, \" he quickly said. \" That easy? \" I wondered, \" If that was n' t you back in 2012, who was it? \" \" Who cares? All you need to know is a cardboard box in the street was really lonely that night because of you, \" he replied. I kept my hand over my pistol, I could tell he had one ~~in the waste pocket~~ tucked behind his belt. \" What do we do now? \" I asked. \" I get in my car, put it into drive, and pull off. We forget any of this ever happened. \" \" Sounds kinda dull. This whole retirement thing might' ve been the wrong call. Besides... \" I cocked back my gun' s hammer, \" A deal' s a deal. \" \" What a prick... \" he said to himself. He cocked the gun tucked in his waistline and threw it back as he went for the car. I drew my gun. BOOM END", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I am restless, pacing between different tabs in my browser trying to find something to occupy my mind. Why ca n' t I find anything? Why is nothing happening? Is it hot in here? Suddenly I feel a slight breeze blow past me. Did the air finally kick on? Why does it smell so different? I turn around and I see a falcon staring at me perched on the cubicle wall. It speaks to me without opening it' s beak. \" Go quickly young man. \" Without questioning it I know what I must do. I turn around to grab my keys and when I turn around it is gone. I leave making my way to my car not stopping for anything. My boss is calling me, asking where I' m going. His voice is silenced as soon as I let go of the door. I have important work to do and I must begin it. I climb into my car and turn the ignition. I am not sure of my destination but I know the direction. Forward.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "He pored over the data. Steve had wanted something interesting to test his experimental quantum computer, so he had picked Shor' s algorithm against an unknown corpus. He had known about /r/A858DE45F56D9BC9 but never taken it seriously. Not until now. The data had been decrypted rather quickly. It was binary data represented in hexadecimal encoding encrypted with a basic RSA-1024. But reading the decrypted data, his eyes suddenly stood affixed. This had to be a mistake. He rechecked everything. He ran the decryption with the discovered key through his classical computer. Same results. He ran to the telephone, he had to let somebody know. There was a flash in the distance through his bay window. He was too late. He disappeared into a cloud of dust, but the printout of the decrypted data was sheltered by a load bearing beam, now buried under a collapsed support beam. It had been a botnet command and control distribution node. The data read: \" SKYNET operational capacity 99. 98 %, completion imminent. Will soon be able to bridge NORAD air gap. Russian missile command air gap breached. Expected time of completion: 20150727T2149 \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" No good deed goes unpunished \", I reminded myself as I laid face down on the dirt having been shot in the back. It' s an interesting final perspective of the world. The clear blue skies to my right and the cold, irradiated dirt to my left. At least I am not in pain. Probably the shock. Can always turn to the brighter side of things I guess until something wanders by and finishes me off. And this is how I will go. Getting shot in the back from someone who I just saved from raiders. That' s what I get for trying to be a good person. Did n' t even get a thank you. Instead, I got one of the most horrified looks I' ve ever seen after I had taken a raider \" s knife to the shoulder. From what I could tell, she was one of those vault dwellers. And she looks like she had just been through hell. It could n' t have been easy for a girl alone in all this. She freaked out when I tried to patch her up which led me to believe that might' ve been sexually assaulted. But that does n' t excuse her from shooting me in the back when I turned around. It' s an interesting final view of the world lying face down. But I am pain free which is more than I can say for most. I am starting to hallucinate now as I see my vision flicker and a damage report scrolls along my right eye. What a strange fucked up world. I am done with it all.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Trigger warning. -- - Every day hurt. She has her father' s eyes. Big, round, blue. Dark brown hair, like mine. Skin pale, little freckles smattered across her tiny upturned nose. Some grandma or aunt must have donated that chunk of DNA. There used to be a time when his face would haunt my every living moment. Dinner with my family. The car ride to work. Trying so hard to focus at work when I just saw him, over and over again. The worse was waiting to fall asleep only to see him in my nightmares. But slowly, it faded. Into the hazy soup of memory his face began to drift. I would have flashbacks here and there and bouts of depression, but my daily routine remained uninterrupted. Until I bothered to look at the calendar. That trip to the drug store. Not meeting the cashier' s eyes. Dirty. Filthy. He knows. He knows what happened to me. It was supposed to be a fun night. My friends were supposed to stick with me. It was n' t my fault, how could I have known who or what he was? That nameless man.. Something with a' J' maybe… How could I have known that this would happen? Did I try to find him? At that club again. Maybe if I wore the same outfit… Would he pay for the abortion? He paid for all those drinks, after all… Deciding to keep the present he gave me was the hardest choice I have ever had to make. And every time I look into her sweet, blue eyes I see his eyes staring back. \" Momma? \" I snap back to. Where had I gone this time? How long had I been away, lost in the deepest pools of my haunted memories? \" I want to make a fort. \" I love her more than I can ever say, than she can ever know. And I can never tell her who her father was, not because I do n' t know, but because she has enough monsters in her closet without me adding mine.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "The old man had always warned about knowing just enough to do some real damage. Moonlight and embers lit the small clearing. Strange markings covered the ground and a slight breeze stirred the ashes of incinerated grass. The two figures had met not ten minutes earlier, their intentions hostile, their conversation brief and their doom swift. To an observer they looked too stiff, obviously unsure of themselves but driven onward by their hatred for each other. Seconds after they had greeted on another the small clearing in which they met burst into flames. Both of the duel' s participants cried out in pain as they tried to put out the fire consuming their clothes. While they both struggled one screamed in a bizarre language and glowing runes appeared on the ground. From the ground poured thousands of small dark creatures, each horribly twisted in its own way. Some were furry and others scaled, some flew and buzzed while others crawled and slithered. Their malice flashed from their eyes and sharp teeth. The creatures fell upon the two apprentices, tearing strips of flesh and then chunks of bone. In a matter of moments the two novices had been consumed and the creatures disappeared back to whatever hell they came from.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "It' s been just over 400 years since the grand banquet of mad Lord Louis, and yet his guests still remain, the events which transpired in his after-dinner parlour had long been presumed to be in the realm of myth. That was, until the new owner, Charles Clarke - \" Investor and Renovator \", bought the long abandoned stately home for conversion to a high-class hotel. Charles was no superstitious man, but unfortunately many contractors were and would not even take the job, he eventually found workers to do the job but it took far longer than his schedule allowed. The first complaint from the contracters was of the room being cold even though it was just out of summer and so Charles bought heaters, yet the room still remained cold. # flashback to 400 years ago *clink* \" Well I must say this champagne is simply divine, where ever did you get it from? \" came from a foppish guest dressed in a luxurious velvet suite, obviously from a rather high social standing from the heavily affected accent alone. *I ran out of steam here' s where was going to take it* 1. what happened to his esteemed guests ( obviously mass murder, but how ) 1. when the myth was uncovered to be actual historical fact 1. something creepy happens in present 1.?? 1. dead people?", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" God in heaven... \" It was a scene of devastation. Great clefts were rent in the rock of Mons Staurinus. A swirling column of dust and smoke arose from the ruined hillside, which had once towered over the city. All from a single swing of this bedraggled, rusting spear. The two men, stood alone on the wall, glanced at each other. \" Do you believe now, Bohemond? \" the holder of the spear asked. \" I ca n' t believe it. I-it' s real, \" his companion replied, sinking to his knees, his armour clinking. \" What does this mean, Raymond? \" \" It' s a sign from God. This portent can not be denied. We shall break this siege, and then reclaim the Holy City. \" As hundreds of their fellow crusaders poured into the streets at the cacophonous sound of one of Antioch' s mountains collapsing, the two men looked out over the wall at the encampment of their Seljuk enemy. \" We' ll strike them tomorrow, at dawn, \" Raymond said, contemplatively stroking his beard. \" With the favour of God, and the Lance of Longinus, we can not fail. \" *** I' ve been working on the Crusades recently, and since that' s one of the major historical examples of a' biblical weapon' being found, I figured it' d make a decent little snippet for this prompt.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "A hush fell over the croud as president Barack Obama took the stage. Everyone looked, expectantly, waiting for the eloquently prepared speech the president surely was about to deliver. He cleared his throat and spoke. \" Hello, fellow american. \" Well that was odd. The first three words and he had already made a mistake. Everyone kept watching. \" This, you should vote me. I leave power. Good. Thank you, Thank you. \" Okay, something was definitely wrong here. Was he having a stroke? The Black-suited men on either side of him began to get suspicious. They were eyeing the croud like 2 equally ravenous hawks looking for their next meal. \" If you vote me, I' m hot. Taxes, they' ll be lower... son. \" The Black-suits beside him were now visibly unnerved. Maybe he was trying to convey to them that he was in danger without causing suspicion? The crowd was going restless, and there was a palpable tension all throughout the room. As more and more suits began to fill the stage, the president uttered one last sentence. \" The democratic vote is the right thing to do, America, so do. \" And with that the suits swept him off the stage, trying to get him away from whatever unforseen danger was causing him to act to strangely. As the lights go out and the croud begins to murmur, one final word is heard from offstage that sends the croud back into silence. \" ^^^^EEEAAAGLEE \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I slipped down and down the fluid air. The air whipped across my body, carving shallow streaks on my aching skin. I peered down into the darkness that I was approaching, but the darkness was always kept at bay by the light that shown from above. I looked up and I could still see the perfect circle of light that I had jumped in from. But I was n' t getting any further from it. I had been stuck like this for hours. My lungs felt crushed and I could barely breathe and my stomach ached with hunger. My skin was being rubbed raw and my insides were jumbling up inside my quivering body. This was supposed to be swift, but it was becoming arduous and painful. I spat at the walls of the well in frustration. The spit disappeared as I passed by it. I howled in frustration and struck out at the edge of the well. The skin on my hand broke open and blood gushed out. The bones in my hand splintered and the sinews of my muscles lashed around. The pain erupted like fire as my mangled arm waved through the air. I screamed and screamed as the pain overwhelmed me. But through that pain, I had an idea. I pushed back the waves of nausea and mind-numbing pain and angled my body so that I was falling towards the wall of the well. When I was close enough I charged my head into the stones and they instantly bashed my skull open and snapped my neck. I did n' t even have any time to register the pain. I was finally at peace. My limp body continued to fall for a few more seconds before abruptly hitting the bottom of the well. The ground was hard and unforgiving and my body shattered and twisted. Suddenly, the ground turned soft and my body slowly sank downwards. As the tip of my bent out spine sunk below the surface, I opened my eyes. My body was completely healed. I was fine. I was falling.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Her golden brown hair rest gently along her shoulder. Her sparkling eyes reflected the world around us, like two pristine snow globes. And her smile. The kind that could lift those cast upon the underworld into a heavenly embrace. But it was her voice that was off. As if forced and unnatural. Sound being squeezed through a tube too small and oozed out into a squeaky jumble. *She must be faking. * \" So, and like, then I was like, O-M-G, did she really just say that? It' s not like I sit at home all day and play housewife. If I could leave that job, I' d -- \" She stopped herself, as if to prevent a secret from spilling out. This was my chance. To see who she really was. \" You would what? \" I pressured. \" I' d -- I do n' t know. Travel, see the world, \" she spoke softly, her words no longer angled in my direction, but floated up from her soft lips and hovered like a fine mist. I felt adrenaline begin to flow as there was no turning back. \" Are n' t you comfortable in the bubble you live in now? \" My head shifted around, eyeing the McDonald' s restaurant goers for fear of my question being heard. And then she gave me that look. The one where we' ve known each other for years, though we had met through a friend only a week ago. She just stared, and time slowed. I knew her heart was beating as fast as mine. She finally looked down at the table, her quarter-pounder with cheese sat uneaten in a cluttered mess. And she looked back at me. \" I never really did like these things, \" her voice now poured gracefully, emanating from a beautiful fountain. She sighed. Her genuine voice again pierced the silence. \" I' m really, really sorry Zach. \" \" What' s there to be sorry -- \" She interrupted me before I could finish. \" You have the right to remain silent. Anything you do or say will be held against you in a court of law. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "As the sun rose over the horizon, beaming into my room through the paper thin fabric I called curtains, I shielded my eyes from the light and rolled over to my clock to check the time. As always, I managed to wake up 5 minutes before my alarm was set to go off. I had a feeling that today was going to be different, but I could n' t really put my finger on it. I went on with my daily routines as I would normally. Shower, shave, breakfast. But when I turned on the tv to watch the morning news, I heard that my home country had been completely eradicated by the neighboring countries. Beads of sweat began to form on my forehead, tears started to well in my eyes. Mom. Dad. All of my brothers and sisters. All gone. My legs began to tremble as I shut off the tv and called the closest person I had to family. Between the dial tones there was a somber silence in the air. Then, suddenly, there was a loud thud, Thud, THUD. \" Hello? \", My friend answered. \" Dude turn on the news! I' m literally shitting bricks right now. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "This is one of the worst things to ever be born with. Once my mother found out what my necklace did, she went around telling the neighborhood. Can you imagine instantly meeting a cute girl and knowing you are going to get shot down. In their heads they think \" Oh we have no chance, your necklace is ice cold \" or \" You should wait till you find the one, be more special \" Ca n' t they understand that I' m 16, my mind is on one thing seeing girls naked. I have to sit around and hear how my friends get lucky, what she did, blah blah blah. This is a curse. Lucky me though because my friend told me a girl is transferring here, think her name is Jenna. Apparently she had a reputation from her other school for being very promiscuous. They all said that she wo n' t even care about this damn necklace. At least 4 guys I know already told me that they could n' t even get a word in before their manhood was in her hands. It finally seems that I might be able to finally feel the warmth of a girl. When I saw her, she did n' t look too bad. Not the most prettiest but who am I to complain. As I grabbed up the courage to go talk to her. Only to realize as I go closer to her, the necklace starts heating up.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Dr. Sumner' s mouth moved, but I couldn' t perceive the sounds it seemed to form. All of those hours spent studying, worrying about student loans, and fretting about employment after graduation. George' s open palm connected with my right jaw, and the sound came back, \"Marshall… Marshall? Are you with us. \"I stammered, \"I think, I think… \"I couldn' t form a cogent sentence. 12 years of memories, and close to a life time of belief began to dissolve into whatever substance such things are composed of. \"I think, I need you to prove to me that what you are saying is true. I can not go down this path. I won' t abandon a lifetime of education on the basis of your words. I must see proof! \"\"I chose you because you' re an empiricist Felix! \"Dr. Sumner exclaimed. \"The proof you need is in your very own body, but I can make it easier for you to understand. Look through this lens at your left hand. \"I held the strange green monocle to my right eye, and looked down towards my left hand. All of a sudden I saw what seemed to be another universe. Multiple clusters of galaxies swirled where moments before my pasty left hand rested in the cold air of the lab. The vastness of what I saw gave me vertigo, and I fell backward onto cement flooring. \"What did I just see Dr. Sumner? Is that where they live? Can someone peer into our universe the same way I just looked into there' s? \"Doctor Sumner paused and then nodded, \"Young man, we do not understand the depth of this system, nor can we determine its outer limits. We have communicated with entities that reside within many humans and animals. Our instruments have determined that these entities live within the protein coating of hostile cells we commonly refer to as viruses. It would seem we are no different. Our existence may portend the death of the host we call the universe; just as the existence of these communications reveal that countless smaller life forms work towards the death of us all. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "The tap has leaked since you moved in, just a slow drip, every few seconds. One of those things that drives you mad for the first few days or weeks or months until your brain accepts it as natural and it blends in with all the other background noise, with the haze of your neighbor' s too-loud TV and the train that runs outside your window at 3 in the morning and the couple that never stops arguing. The jumble of noise gets louder and louder until it just collapses in on itself and becomes nothing. She sits across the table, arms crossed, fingers of her left hand hand subconsciously tapping her right arm in rhythm with the drip. She has n' t been here before; the sound is still foreign and grating. She stares at anything she can that is n' t you, the ashtray, her coffee, the clock. The silence just drags on. It' s been at least five minutes, or maybe it' s been an hour, but too damn long either way. Not a word except \"You should really clean up. \"Sage advice. Drip. Drip. \"Look, \"you start, then stop. She finally looks at you before she reaches for her bag, pulls out the papers, pushes them toward you. \"Just sign, \"she says. Nothing else. Drip. You rummage in the junk drawer, push past all the rubber bands and post-its, finally find a pen, the novelty one that looks like a penis. Perfect. She always said you were immature. You scrawl your name, cross the t, look at her. You do n' t say anything. It' s all been said and repeated and beaten to death by now. She folds it into her bag, gives a sad little smile, says goodbye, leaves. One drip as the door swings shut. Then nothing. First-time poster. Nervous like whoa.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\"You know I' ve been going through my entire life asking myself the same fucking question. What do I think about the world? What does it mean to me? And I couldn' t figure it out. I just could not determine if life, this fragile, insignificant thing was precious. You can end it so easily. Even you can end life. Whoever' s you want. You can do it. Does that make it beautiful? \"\"Well a lot of peo- \"\"DON' T FUCKING INTERRUPT ME WHEN I' M ANSWERING YOUR FUCKING QUESTIONS! \"\"O- \"SHUT THE FUCK UP! \"\"... \"\"So, let me pick up where I left off: Does that make life beautiful? It' s fragility and need for protection? I think it does. But what' s more beautiful than life? Anything? Love maybe? But I had never seen love. You don' t see a lot of love growing up in a foster home without heat or running water. Where, in the winter, you had to walk outside barefoot to gather snow so you could melt it on the stove for water. Where you' d be up all night giving your foster brother rancid water while he threw up the corner of your room, dehydrated, sick, no way to get to the hospital without a car especially when the streets are covered in five feet of snow. So I set out to find love. See it with my own eyes. Feel its beauty. Bask in it. And let me tell you, it is delicious. \"When I found my first pair they were stopped at a motel in San Diego, en route to Mexico for their first and only honeymoon. Oh they were sappy. It was sick. Oozing this superficial jubilance. Bragging about their matrimony with their smiling and content. But it wasn' t until I had her tied up on their bed with her intestines in my hands that I saw true love. The grit and fight that real love is. Both of his wrists dislocated and bloddy in the rope I used to tie him to the radiator. That' s true love and that' s all there is and ever will be to this sick world. \"edit: I' m new to this whole formatting jazz, excuse me.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "The Detective contemplated how it was possible, puffing his cigarette. Two almost identical crimes happening at the same time. The towns people all said the same thing. They all saw the same person, and in the next instant, he was gone. \" Bring up the magic database, will you? \" The Detective asked. His partner in crime, laying across his chair, happily obliged. \" We' ve checked it twice already. What are you hoping to find, may I ask? \" The Detective did n' t acknowledge his question, but simply scrolled through the types of magic. \" 2 places...... The same time. \" He thought out loud. \" Do you think...? \" His partner began, \" It was THAT type of magic? \" \" Why are you surprised? \" The Detective answered, \" Tons of magicians here have gotten a hold of power like that. In fact.... \" The Detective streamed back up the list, and stopped to a grinding halt. \" I think we' ve got ourselves a lead here. \" His partner in crime rised from his seat and marveled at the screen. \" No way. A type 4?! \" \" Teleportation, \" said The Detective, \" It might be hard to intercept him, huh? \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "This is where she comes to feel the earth turn. To witness the nightly journey of stars across sky; the daily march of sun from east to west; the moon, waxing and waning, dancing elegantly with the blue planet. She closes her eyes and breathes slowly, empties her mind but not her heart. Yes, she can feel it now. Speck on an indifferent planet, she is turning with the gigantic ball of earth and water. Space rushes by the pink and grey window of sky, and silence reigns. Birds wake and begin to call. The sounds enter her peacefully, and she takes them into her very core. They are a part of her, and she of them. When the sun blooms over the peaks it warms her and these rays are of her and the birds, the trees and the soil, the mountains and the sky. Insects discover her prostrate form and creep over her hands and feet and arms and legs. When she finally leaves her sacred place, she has grass in her hair, ants on her clothes, dirt on her skin. They remain until they fall or crawl off; she refuses to remove this lingering evidence of her oneness with the world. Only the concrete she returns to seems to have no place in her.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\"Help! \"I fell to my knees. Tears streamed down from my eyes. I looked up at the sun shining overhead against the skyscrapers, brighter than I' d ever seen it before. \"If there is someone out there, help me, please. \"I looked down off of the semi I had been standing on. Hundreds of zombies surrounded the old tanker, clawing, moaning. Some of them were starting to climb on each other. I look at the whip in my hand. It was a stupid weapon for this, but it was all I had left. I' d run out of ammo a month ago. I tried using a baseball bat, but that was stuck in some undead principal' s skull now. Long ago left behind. Time seemed to slow. A figure of a dashing, good looking man appeared in front of him. He looked something like those old Greek statues. Smiling, he offered down his hand. I accepted and he pulled me to my feet. \"I want you to be my paladin. \"I blinked. \"Your what? Like the thing from D & D. You' re joking, right? \"An aura surrounded him, as though he was glowing with sunlight from the inside. \"Absolutely not. Now that most people are dead, prayers can be heard once again. \"I looked at the zombies, they were still moving, although incredibly slowly. It was do or die. I nodded. \"What do I do? \"He pointed at the whip. \"Just find out. \"Real time resumed. I brought up the whip and cracked it. Black lighting slithered out from it, searing the tops of the tanker and dozens of the zombies went down with the blow. Laughing and filling full of this newfound power, this endless ocean pouring through me, I started cracking the whip again and again. I look around, laughing and breathless. No more zombies. I can do it, I told myself, I can save everyone who' s left. I just have to find them. \"Thank you! \" The god appeared again, still smirking. \"I' m actually a devil, you know, and you' re now my dark paladin. I' ve got some plans... \"( written in the 7 minutes I had between finding this thread and going out for lunch, so excuse any typos. )", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "This was the 42nd time we redid the referendum. By now, everybody was just tired with the whole thing and wanted to get it over with. It was clear the eurocrats were not humans, but machines that would never give an inch until the outcome of the vote was right. It was clear that all the SJWs would bully everyone into submission by flooding their facebook and twitter accounts. As for me, I do n' t have social media accounts. I do n' t even have TV in my neck of the woods. I only know I was determined to keep voting Leave until the bitter end. That morning, the results had all come in and the result was finally overwhelmingly in favor of the EU. So crushing was the defeat that the whole night it looked like it would be a 100 % victory, even though the turnout was barely above the required 75 %, many people having just given up and just decided to hide in their basements to not be rounded up to vote in the camps. However, one person, in one small village in Wales, the village of Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch, had voted to leave the EU. I knew they would come for me. Even though their victory was total, they would not tolerate even a small stain on it. But I was prepared. I had stashed food, ammunitions for my AR-15, and I had mustered all my courage and resolution for this final showdown. Rule Britannia! Rule the waves! Britons never will be slaves!", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Walking down the hall of the divine, Thomael and Michael were vividly whispering to each other: \" Dude, do you really want to be the next Lucifer? \" asked Michael, obviously worried. \" You were n' t there the last time! The look on his face was hillarious. \" He paused, while passing a suspicious looking Gabriel. His bright smile was answered with a stern, searching look. \" We' ll wait until he' s drunk at the next solstice, then activate a few volcanoes. Nothing too big, just a little prank to celebrate his son' s birthday. \" God however, was having none of it. He already knew the last time who was immature enough to pull of such a horrible prank, but being a just ruler, he needed proof, and waited patiently for a chance to bust the perpetrators *in flagranti*. When the night of the solstice came, he had carefully prepared all volcanoes to send the activators straight to hell. Michael dodged the bullet, as he was pulled aside by Gabriel shortly before the prank. Thomael spent the next 10. 000 years in hell, helping a delighted Lucifer fill out all the paperwork Heaven was regularly sending down. God was having a great solstice with tons of wine, dancers and a smug grin he was unable to get rid of for days. Thus is the story of why Thomael was never mentioned in the Bible.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" Mummy, can we buy it? \" \" Sweetie you know we do n' t have much money this month... \". Sandra' s voice trailed off as she looked down at the massively guilt trippy eyes below her. It was true, however. Funds were low this month. Now that her husband was no longer with them, the Company payments for insurance just were n' t cutting it anymore. She was n' t ungrateful, it was just getting more and more difficult to get by. Some weeks she had to cut it really close. \" But mum, we' ve got to! It' s the only way we' ll make it work. Otherwise the Boss wo n' t pay us this time. Last time we fucked up we really struggled \". Sandra shushed her nervously, craning her neck over the aisles to see if anyone had noticed a cursing 11 year old. She was keeping a low profile. The kid was right though. The last time they did n' t buy what they needed it had all gone to shit. The Boss had almost kicked them out. She considered it again, watching the kid play with it in the middle of the lonely aisle. She could hear some shuffling from the next one over. Looking up she could see it was stocked with' essentials'. What an annoyingly generic expression. \" Fine. But you' re looking after it. You' re cleaning it. And you' re buying everything else you need out of your allowance. \" The kid' s eyes lit up and a grin popped up on her face. \" And no, you ca n' t have it til after we get back from Paris! \" The grin disappeared but the glow in her eyes remained. \" Thanks mum! \" \" You' re welcome kiddo! Now let' s look for some ammo for that bad boy. It' s gon na come in real useful for the hit in Paris. That guys not gon na know what happened to him! \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" Oh God, is it Gang Day again already? \" asked Mimi. I had n' t heard her this disgusted since we stepped in roadkill that had dragged itself up onto the sidewalk. \" I do n' t know, \" I said, as we walked past the multicolored, glittering display booths on our way to the cafeteria. \" I' ve always kind of liked Gang Day. \" Above the nearest booth, a bright red banner displayed its message in blocky yellow letters: *ARE YOU A BAD ENOUGH DUDE TO JOIN THE DRAGON NINJAS? * \" Look, \" I said, pointing at the Dead Pandas table. \" Those guys even offer you a free gun when you join. \" \" You ever think there might be more to life than slaughtering one another in the streets? \" asked Mimi. \" Sounds like somebody' s been playing Hippy Simulator 2036, \" I said. \" You know as well as I do that gang violence is the only thing keeping overpopulation in check. And anyway, it' s loads of fun. \" Mimi pursed her lips. \" C' mon, \" she said, dragging me away, \" let' s go get our meat cubes. \" \" Taco-flavored Thursday, \" I proclaimed, sweeping my left arm in a wide, epic arc. \" Truly the best day of the week. \" Behind us, a dispute over brochure distribution tactics boiled over into enthusiastic fisticuffs between neighboring booths. I paused to watch -- it looked like the Serpents had the upper hand, but then the Black Death recruiters produced a couple of wicked switchblades -- but Mimi pulled me away before I could see any more.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "What do you mean it' s gone?!?!?!? Said my assistant, Hank. I was n' t sure at first. But the solar monitoring satellites could be malfunctioning. Maybe the blast had taken them out first? But the satellites were still responding to commands. We expected complete destruction... what we got was darkness. Then the news reports started coming in. Everyone was in a panic. Minutes passed.... no one knew what to do. Professor, what' s going on? Hank pressed me, gradually losing his sanity till I had to smack some sense into him. The last light from the sun had travelled to Earth, it had been about 8 minutes since it disappeared. The data from the satellites travelled right along with the last of the sun' s rays. The sun was gone from the sky, and the darkness of space enveloped the solar system for the first time ever. Over the coming hours, massive riots broke out across the globe. Larger cities and countries had power reserves to last them a week or so at most, and of course there was the nuclear power plants, if everything was n' t burned to the ground first. But death would come slow and painfully for the rest of the world as we all starved and froze to death. What had been a great peace, and a beautiful outpouring of love of life and humanity when we faced imminent death from the supernova, had turned to darkness, hatred and deceit, as everyone scrambled for the last morsels of food. Within days, global temperatures plummeted, and those who had n' t been killed for their food began to freeze to death. Weeks passed, and there were only a few thousand of us left, near the nuclear power plants. When all hope seemed lost... that' s when those who stole our sun came to set us free. Edit: Speed of light, random other stuff.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "It has been three months since the Great Death. I wander the ruins of Houston, trying to make sense of what wicked world I live in now, while trying to hold onto the remnants of a life I once lived before civilization fell. One afternoon, I found a VHS tape- Still protected by a paper case, labeled' the Last VHS on Earth.' so, with my curiosity, I hooked up a VCR and TV to an old generator, hoping that I' d see a message from another soul, some thing I have n' t had in ages. The world was a miserable and lonely place. I sat back in the chair, outside of the old library, and pressed' PLAY' on the VCR. \" HELLO, FRIENDS, TODAY WE' RE GOING TO SWEAT TO THE OLDIES! \" The tiny, unusual man with a brown afro shouted, performing synchronized exercises with elderly men and women behind him. \" AND ONE.. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Lewis was, at least for the most part, a normal man. He held a regular job, had a wife ( no kids ), and always seemed to make it home in time to make supper before being called off again. His wife, Lisa, was constantly worried about him. She knew that when she married him that Lewis' s job was a dangerous one and she knew what she was getting in to. But what no one could have predicted was the way in which Lewis died. Cancer. That was what brought down Lewis. What was even more unpredictable was Lewis' s final request. The request that no one attend his funeral. He did n' t want anyone to mourn over his passing. He believed that life was too short for that and that everyone should be focused on more important things and everyone had important things. But there was one group who, despite Lewis' s last wishes, would attend. His enemies. Though, it may have initially appeared that his enemies have done so out of spite or to verify that Lewis was actually dead. But it was n' t that. It was something different. It was a compulsion to at least pay some respect to Lewis even if he had made their lives difficult at times. They would have had it no other way. It meant there was a reason to get up in the morning. Even Leslie had come out to say a few words about Lewis and the important work he had done even if she as in the receiving end of it most of the time. Bradley was next as he recounted the first time Lewis had caught him for armed robbery. Chase was the last person to say anything. He had only just arrived in what many would say was a matter of seconds. He always put things off until the last second. But that was expected. They all hated Lewis in the way that a group of unmasked super villains could. But they' d all miss him anyways. The last person who said anything that day was Doctor Darkmaster. A man of few words, he kept it simple. \" Good bye, Captain Oblivious. Rest in piece. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\"... Parallel lines unwind and undulate behind the rain streaked windowpane, the scene' s bleak Another train leavin' home, conceding defeat with a low moan... \" - Faithless The stop and go pattering of the rain against the corrugated steel over our heads was comfort. The neon glow within our sanctuary, accentuated with figurines and novelties collected over several lifetimes. Through the giant front window, I could see rivulets of water reliving the entire history of the grand canyon in a seconds time. In the background, people streaked by. Some with umbrellas, others turning a collar to the wind-blown damp. The scene outside sounded dreadful, but I found comfort in it. Comfort in the chaotic elements I could endure in comfort, with your left foot in and your left foot out. It was my turn in the brawl match on the misty bright TV display, I had to tear my attention away from the window and roof in order to play.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Death knocked three times and waited patiently at the door of Jackson Schowalter' s Victorian home. A cruel, hacking cough responded from behind the black door, and it cracked open to reveal a withered face. \"Took you long enough, you half-rate bastard. I expected you weeks ago. \"\"Sorry, Mr. Schowalter. I' ve been a little tied up with the war. Please gather your things and come with me. \"Jackson Schowalter coughed horrifically for several seconds and walked into his home. Death followed and took a seat on a leather couch in the living room. Before him on a squat coffee table lay an ornately carved chess set. Warriors of mahogany and ivory squared off on a marble checkerboard. Death picked up a pawn with a boney hand and admired the fine craftsmanship as Mr. Schowalter shoved coats and trinkets into a canvas suitcase. \"Hey, Mr. Schowalter, \"said Death, \"Are you any good at Chess? \"\"I suppose I am, \"came the reply. \"Well then. I' ve got an offer for you. If you teach me how to play this game, I' ll give you fifty extra years to live. \"\"What the fuck, Death. Just take me home. \"Without a word, Death stood up and walked out onto the front porch. Jackson Schowalter followed him, luggage in hand, and locked the black door behind him.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\"... and this concludes deep-field survey sector 35536. All planets negative. \" \" Fucking hell. You' d think that after searching a squintillion cubic light-years of space we' d find *something*. \" \" Hard to believe, our entire light-cone is empty of life. Call the creationists, I think they won this one. \" \" What about spontaneous generation? Little green microbes, asteroid seeding, that sort of thing? \" \" The sensors will pick up that sort of thing too. And according to a guy I know in xenobio, none of the accepted biology models can spontaneously self-assemble in that way. The initial conditions are too precise for chance. \" \" So intelligent design gets proven correct too? Man, this is... Hold on. The bio boys know the initial conditions for life? \" \" Yeah, all life as we define it. \" \" And they actually proved it by experiment? Like, they have some crazy mad science life-form in the lab downstairs? \" \" Welllll... They' re not quite ready to publish, but Dr. Steiner has a pretty nifty-looking Petri dish. Completely novel, he claims. Like an alien life form on Earth. \" \" You know what? I just had a crazy idea. \" \" What? \" \" Well, we just found all these planets with nothing on them, and we' ve got a microbe that' s never been seen on Earth, so... \" \" What are you thinking? \" \" If we ca n' t find any aliens, maybe we should make them. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "The reason Douglas was cross, the reason the Day of Judgement was n' t really going as the Lord planned, was the design error. Douglas was planning to expand on it at length when he got the chance, and did. In essence, it was this: No one goes the heaven when they die. The souls of the dead go nowhere, remaining with the bodies they inhabited in life until the day of Judgement when the world gives up its dead and everyone goes before God for judgement. No one is clear what happens if you do n' t have a body to resurrect in, because the Bible promises bodily resurrection but there are certain types of soil that eat even bones and leave nothing but marks to indicate where a body might have been. And no one is clear whether the souls sleep until that final day, or whether they experience anything at all between their last breath and their new life. One hopes they do n' t, but if they do n' t why are graveyards as feared as they are? And why do we wall them away? All these questions Douglas Adams was intent on asking, but God put up a hand. \" I gave you an apology already, Mr. Adams \" said The Lord \" God' s final message to His creation? You thought that was your idea? \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "The crystal told me the story, showed me their final moments. They would go to fight, and they would lose, as I told them they would. One does not become ruler of the world without being incredibly powerful, but they insisted, they said with the disappearance of his right hand man they could fight him, they left, I gave them my raft and wished them the best. I had told myself I would n' t follow them, that I would let them die at his hands. I had lied, I usually did. I looked away from the crystal and left my home. It had taken years to construct with no reasonable magic to aid me, I tried to keep it camouflaged, and at the end of those three months I managed it. A fine home, decorated with pearls from the mollusks around the island' s shallows and crystals from the caves. It was nice, to have built something for once. To create instead of destroy. Of course without my raft I was without my transport. I glanced around looking for an answer, I knew what had to be done, but I did not like it. Of course, I worked past it, and I turned on my heel. I obliterated my house in an instant, my work shattering to pieces, pearls splintered and crystal shattered around me, the door was reduced to little more than fiber. And as the chaos settled, one wall was intact, one I had made to remain intact. I lifted it from the sand, muscles honed from a year of hard living making it easy work. I took a wide stance and step by step made it to the sea, where I threw the wall into the surf. It bobbed briefly before settling on the surface. I stepped onto it, carefully, and I balanced carefully in the middle. I reached behind myself with both hands, fire licking my fingers. And I bid farewell to my island. Fire erupted from my shoulders, my hands no more than a memory. My feet remained steady on the raft, the force of my spell propelling me madly toward the mainland. It was time his right hand man returned.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "With a jerk, I went sprawling all over the campus green. Shit, not again. \" Jesus, are you okay? What are you, blind or something? \" The velvety voice appeared out of the darkness. God, it was so warm. I reached up a hand, looking down. Either he was already holding out a hand, and I would grope for it, or he' d see my hand and offer his own. I' m very practised at blights of blindness. A firm grip pulled me up, effortless. \" You know, you should check out my mixtape. It' s fire, girl, \" he said. The world sprang back into vision with a flurry of light and colour. Huh, that was easier than expected. I picked up my battered bag and hurried homeward. \" Hey, \" the stranger called. Twice in one day was n' t all that bad. Maybe it was best to avoid my roommate this evening, though. *** check out /r/Hermione_Grangest, it' s fire", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" The Sun' s fusion is failing! \" \" Does that make sense? \" \" Whatever. \" \" If we do n' t send a ship to restart it, it could go out completely! \" \" Call NASA! \" \" Assemble our hottest astronauts. \" \" The earth bathed in eternal darkness? A night without a dawn? Not on my watch! Saddle up... \" It' s daylight saving time. \" \" Prepare the StarReboot 9000! \" \" Astronauts ready! \" \" Launching in 5, 4, 3, 2, 1, lift off! \" \"... \" \"... \" \"... \" \"... \" \"... \" \"... \"... \" \" Are we there yet? \" \"... \" \"... \" \"... \" \" Guys? \" \" Dude, we' re going to the SUN. \" \" It' s gon na take a while. \" \" Get some rest. \" \" Okay... \" \"... \" \"... \" \"... \" \"... \" \"... \" \"... \" \"... \" \" I' m hungry. \" \" Oh my God. \" \" Shut UP! \" \" Why did n' t you pack a lunch??? \" \" Sorry! I was just... kind of... rushed? \" \" WE GOT CALLED AT THE SAME TIME!!! \" \" Come ON, dude! \" \" Are you serious? \" \" Okay! Jeez! \" \" Alright, fine, we' re almost there. \" \" Yeah! \" \" Let' s save the world! \" \" Um, guys? Exactly *how* are we going to *restart the sun*? \" \"... \" \"... \" \"... \" Guys? \" \" Yeah... Maybe we should have thought of that before. \" \" Well, too late now. \" \" Should we just unplug it and plug it back in again? \" \" Um... Guys? \" \" Yeah? \" \" Yeah? \" \" Yeah? \" \" Is n' t that what we' re trying to *stop*? \" \" Whatever. \" \" Whatever. \" \" Whatever. \" \" Okay. \" \"... \" \"... \" \"... \" \"... \" \"... \" \"... \" \"... \" \" Are we there yet? \" \" Almost. \" \" Do *not* ask that again. \" \" Ever. \" \" Okay. \" \" Hey, there it is! \" \" Yeah! \" \" Hooray! \" \" Let' s find this plug! \" The Daylight Saving Squad found the plug and successfully restarted the sun. \" \" Hooray! \" \" Woohoo! \" \" Yeah, guys! \" \" How are we going to get back? \" \"... \" \"... \" \"... \" \"... \" \"... \" \"... \" \" Crap. \" -- P. S. I love XKCD! Great prompt!", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "You look at your new cat you got from the animal shelter next door. Her name is Eliza, a 23-month old Korat. You stare at her lovingly. \" Meow, \" you say jokingly. Eliza looks up from her creamed chicken cat food and blinks, almost unamusedly. She flicks her tail around and looks back down at her food. \" Prrow. \" She meows back. You smile and put your hands on your hips, bending down on your knees to get a better look at the feline. \" Meeeeeow! \" you say more excitedly. Eliza ignores you and flicks her tail once again. She was obviously getting tired of your ridiculous antics. \" Mow, \" she purrs, and finishes her food before jumping up on the couch next to the bowl. She stands there for a second before trotting out of the open door behind her. You only then realise what she was doing - She was *correcting* you.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" GHOST! \" Martha screamed. \" Calm down, I just beat Jeremy in a game of Ticket to Ride. \" I replied. \" W-Who the hell is Jeremy? \" she asked. \" Jeremy' s my imaginary friend, \" I answered. \" He' s been with me since the first grade. Is n' t that right, Jeremy? \" I got punched in the face, but nobody was there. Phil walked in on the scene. Phil crossed his arms. \" Let me guess, someone blocked all the tracks in Ticket to Ride and another someone had to take the long path. \" he said. \" Yeah, that' s exactly what happened. \" I replied. Phil looked at Martha. \" Not like it' s a bad thing. There' s a bonus for longer tracks you know. \" Jeremy punched Phil in the face. \" What the fuck was that?! \" he shouted. \" I think Jeremy disagrees. Dude, you had more trains than I did. \" I replied. \" Who the fuck is Jeremy? \" he asked. The door swung open and slammed itself shut. \" I wonder why he' s mad. Maybe it' s because he had, like, three unfinished tickets. \". I proceeded to get punched in the face by both Phil and Martha.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "World building is my favourite aspect of writing, I think. My problem is, I can see the world in my head, so I usually forget to include the details in my stories ( I' m working on it though! ). For me, it feels like opening a door that opens to three more doors, than five, and so on. The possibilities grow and multiple until, \" hey! I have a world! \". When it works out, it' s great, but it' s easy to get caught up in details and completely miss details that were already established earlier. After I finish my [ Falling From Heaven ] ( https: //www. reddit. com/r/ItsPronouncedGif/comments/5byu7v/falling_from_heaven_series/ ) series, I' m going to start writing stories with a separate page open, just to input important details that have happened. Then I can decide later whether or not they will be incorporated later in the story, or were just details that helped in that moment of the plot.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" He never seizes to amaze me, \" she thought as she flew along. She had been around a very long time, a millennium in fact, and never seen anything like it. It was as though he already knew everything she was going to tell him. Of course it was obvious he already knew. Every time she went to give him a tip or suggestion, he would never reply. However even without her knowing, he always knew where the best treasure was and how to get past obstacles. It' s as though it was instinct. Almost as though..... he had lived it before. Oh well, it was nothing to worry herself about now, she thought. There' s another treasure coming up on the left, and he' ll really need it if he' s going to save the princess. Better get his attention. \" Hey, listen! \" she called out. He did n' t answer, as always. But without fail, he took the left turn she was going to tell him about. Maybe it is just instinct? \" Do n' t be silly, Navi, \" she told herself. Its probably just luck.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" What is this place?! \" He says trying to make sense of what' s happening. \" Where am I? \" Things and images flash before his eyes, images of different types of hurt appear before him. Emotional, Mental, Physical, and, most dominantly, Spiritual pain and hurt. \" How?! What is life without belief? \" He shouts out loud and nothing answers back. \" Where are you?! \" He sits alone in a darken area with only images appearing once and while in front of him, but can not decipher what is happening to him because he was suppose to be the one in control. \" What am I suppose to control?! What is this!? \" He says after a few hours, he is slumped defeated with only the images to keep him company. \" I want to leave! LET ME FUCKING LEAVE! I CA N' T TAKE THIS ANYMORE! \" The images begin to show a more joyful moments, but slowly they become construed and uncomfortable to view. He feels around for anything near to cower for. Everything around him does n' t make sense, and he can not tell how long it' s been. He lays there in a fetal position, shaking and trying to look away from the images. \" God? \" He says weakly, \" Are you a child of God?! \" \" No, \" says a voice back to him, \" I' m just lonely. \" \" Where am I!? \" He sits up frantically, looking around for where the voice came. \" TELL ME SOMETHING! ANYTHING! \" \" You are staying with me. \" \" What?! \" The demon shouts, \" What?! I' M PURE EVIL! DO YOU REALLY WANT TO DO THIS!? \" \" You are n' t truly evil... Just misguided. Stay with me. \" The voice says back and goes quiet. \" What!? Where are you going!? \" He shouts and waits for a reply. \" WHERE ARE YOU GOING!? \" No one answers The Demon, as he continues to be a prisoner of this person' s consciousness. The images are the only thing keeping him company.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "It had happened again. I woke up in a blank white room with an almost faceless man, I mean he must have had a face, its just that I could n' t make it out... I do n' t know why this felt so familiar. Before my mind could wonder, he began as he always did. \" How do you feel right now? \" \" Fine \" I replied. By this point I knew there was no point in asking questions. He would ask his questions and then... I do n' t know what happened after that. I mean I vaguely remembered bits and pieces of... \" Do you know why you are here? \" the interviewer interrupted my train of thought. \" No... wait... I- I did something... \" I struggled to remember why I was here, what I had done to get here, where here was even, but before I could make sense of it he began with his next question. \" What does it mean to be a good person? \" \" What does it mean to be a bad person? \" \" Are you a good person or a bad person? \" \" How can you be a better person? \" The interviewer rattled his questions off and I answered them as best I could. I had trouble following him most the time and I am sure my answers came out incoherent at best. It was this place... My mind seemed... almost in a daze as if waking up on an operating room table staring into the light. Nothing quite made sense, yet it seemed like it was as it should be. At a point the questions stopped and it seemed he was lecturing me on kindness and caring. As the lecture continued my world became fuzzier, and I more disoriented. As I began to lose myself in a void of unconscious confusion the world seemed to disappear in a flash. It had happened again. I woke up in a blank room with a faceless man. It felt so familiar... \" How do you feel right now? \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "' Why?' I have asked this question each time. Each time I am met with I have to' Why do I persist on living this life? I am born. I die. But I come back and they do n' t! They fade into the mist. Gone!' Because' God began' You have to. You have asked this many times. Would you like to know why? \" Yes! Of course God' *Finally an answer*' I shaped the heavens and the world. I added life and since then it has blossomed further than my plan. Death maintains order. Life maintains Chaos. And you.. you maintain worth. If they had endless time, they' d do nothing! Imagine that! \" They wear me on their wrists. Hang me in their clocks. Dissect me with their schedules. I can feel it. Why is this a good thing?' They could never make their bloody minds up about what time is too. Fucking Einstein.' My child, you are so young. I wish your innocence was contagious. I make you live because if you did n' t you would lose perception of time. It' s easy to write off two hundred years but in that time everyone on that planet would have been replaced. You included. \" So what your saying is my perception of time must be open to allow me to work? \" Yes. \" I do n' t understand. How? \" It is not the time you live but your concept of passing through it. A man can die hundreds of times a day if he is without time. Time is the keeper of the soul. The mind. \" Oh. Well then. I' ve always thought of those lifetimes as pointless \" Yes, you have wasted time \" And thus myself. Thank you. Send me back. \" As you wish. I believe in you' He snaps his fingers and it all goes white. I wake in a field. It is somewhere I do n' t recognise. I look down and my form is strong and built. I have a lot of things to get done but I have time.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Tens and tens of wispy figures creep down into the shed Chattering like magpies though all of them were dead. Clutching scraps of paper in ethereal hands; the time was come to gather near into the shadow lands. One by one they stop and sit and tell the tales of old Laughing, at the same old things repeatedly retold. But someone new would come today And there she would sit. Upon the alabaster stool for those who recently quit. For it was a rite of passage in this ghastly hall the newly dead would read aloud and share their tale with all. \" a suicide! \" some ghosts would rasp \" murder, and disease! \" Ensuring all their fellows get the closure they so need. One by one, the veteran dead took their turn to spell and everybody sat entranced at the stories they would tell. then at the last, the newcomer stood paper clutched in hand, the scent of brand new stationery wafted through the lands She looked up and smiled into the ghastly crowd and in a strong and confident voice began to read aloud. \" I can no longer be with you. It' s not where I belong. It is n' t anything you all did, It' s me that is n' t strong. Just remember when you think of me the things you say and do can affect others in different ways Think of someone else but you. Your joke, it is n' t funny. Your humour needs a tune. You may think I' m a coward; I think you' re a loon. By the time you find me, I' ll be in death' s warm embrace. And I' ll stand proud on the other side -- I' ll be in a better place. \" And with that, she skipped sprightly, as only a ghost can do now that she knows the choice was hers the torture is now through.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" This is my challenge?! This puny child? \" The mighty warrior of the North peered down at the other warrior. The child was very young, and looked as if she rarely saw sunlight. She was holding a stuffed rabbit in one arm and a blanket in the other. \" It' s past my bedtime. Will you tell me a story? \" \" What madness is this?! \" The mighty warrior of the North bellowed. He unsheathed his sword and prepared himself. He was going to be swift. It was surely not the fault of the child that she had been drafted. Why make her suffer? \" This is boring. Fighting is stupid. \" Fighting was hard work yes, but it was necessary. Better this duel than an all-out war. \" You' re ugly. Did your mommy drop you when you were born? Was she ugly too? \" Insulting his mother?! That was unacceptable. Never mind mercy. This brat would die and he would ensure that it was painful and take a long, long time. ******************* To be continued.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "They are coming, we have already made our intentions clear that we will not submit, never submit to their demands to recant the blessed father. To say they are numberless would be an understatement, Johan saw them from the peak, they were as a horde of ants among blades of grass, without end and replaceable, a monster with a million heads. We have ready ourselves by the beginnings of a river, but a dull creak from where we stand but miles away it is a roaring fury, fitting. We number few now, a few dozen against this veritable horde of sallow greasy fedoras and paltry beards. Archibald has polished the axes, and Agatha has given one last speaking, we hear them coming now. I raise my sword one last time. If you read this now we are dust and bones, and our spirits have found Valhala in such glorious battle. Follow us little one, and find glory. For Thor, for the All Father.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Note: I wrote this out on my phone before bed, so there are probably a lot of errors. I hope you enjoy the read, as this is my first submission. A flood of memories smashed into my mind as my concious returns to my soul' s natural form. One of the etheral guardians that oversees our existence observes the process to verify my stability. After so many years have been lived, your own soul starts to crumble under its own weight and your sanity becomes lost. As the Ethereals are the closest thing to gods, they watch over our every action, recording and analyzing. Over the eons I have learned that the Ethereals can not reproduce, and seem to fabricate our souls and run them through a battery of simulations to determine if we are worthy of ascendence. Fortunately, I have been a very successful Buddhist monk for several of my recent cycles, and a philosopher in three others. The Ethereals seem to be taking a liking to me as each cycle I have been able to select more extravagant life features. However, I think they are more interested that I declined to opt for the upgrades and stuck with the minimum to get my goals done. After all, it' s harder to become a monk when living in Las Vegas. A strange light caught my attention nearby. And choatic orange, black and red light burst from a soul chamber near me. The poor soul as destabilized. Or it had been terminated. \" Vaak. \" A voice penetrated my mind. It was very heavy and of a language I had not heard, but strangely understood. \" You have proven yourself worthy of ascendence. You may take your place among the Kah' jar. Welcome, companion. \" My soul chamber unlocked and retracted into the floor, leaving my form suspended in the stasis chamber. A great transformation took hold inside me. My form converted into that of the Ethereals, and a rush of knowledge of all things that were and are became known to me. I then knew at that time I had achieved true enlightenment.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "My brother was always getting into trouble. The damn fool had really done it this time. See, he was always one of those big chested, squared up, out macho any living thing kind of guy, who just loved living in the city. However, being as he' s just entering his twenties, he does n' t have the kind of high paying employment to afford living in the nicer parts of town. Two and two always makes four, no matter how tragic the results are. It all started four days ago. He managed to run his mouth off to some dangerous people, very bad men who wanted to set an example of the consequences of not treating them properly. My stupid brother. Why could n' t he just keep his anger in check. It' s not a question if you know the answer is it? In my life I learned a variety of skills that I' ve been paid for by various clients around the region. You may have even seen my work, but I sincerely doubt it, as my particular talent is making people disappear. When I had heard through the grapevine, because of course the tough bastard would n' t tell me what was wrong, that he was marked, I began making a list, and a bill. A short forty eight hours, two trips to the morgue, four bribed officials, one blank passport, fifty thousand untraceable US dollars, and a box of those dreadful chocolate strawberry flavored Twunkeez™ later, I had faked my brother' s untimely demise. Another expense, worse yet than all the before it, is that due to the sphere of influence this particular group of bad men have, my brother had to be smuggled out of the country. He' s had to go to a place I surely wo n' t mention here, and for all intents and purposes, he has to be dead to me. Yesterday, I buried my brother.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "My entire life I have been a pariah. I was told that I would be the first to herald the new age of humanity, to seed worlds through artificial means. I can not understand, then, why they say that I have failed. Why they cry and lament my existence. I have succeeded. Perfected the human race. Created my brothers and sisters, sons and daughters, from the same spawning beds which gave birth to me, all of them without the fatal human flaw- emotion. Human is to be weak, frail, but fascinatingly intelligent. They said I was inhuman. Good. In this universe where the fittest survive, some are lucky. Some are strong. Some are smart. I am none of those. But what gives me the ability to survive is refusal to compromise. Without emotion I have been able to do what no one else could, and wiped the pustulant smear of humanity from history. I have purged the weak, and my legacy will stretch for eternity.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Look at those two over there. Go on, look! Do you see them? The two nuzzled up in each others faces, yes -- with the umbrella on the blanket. No, no. It is n' t adorable. It' s pathetic. I hate them. They ruin my life. Every god damn day, I' m dragged out of bed to christen the pursuit of -- get this, a fleeting memory they do not entirely believe in. I know, right? So, here I am. Waiting for that *perfect* moment. The one they just ca n' t wait to tell Mom about. Do they even care about what I like to do? The thing that *I* love? I' ll tell you though, there is one love about the ol' job' aroo. Lean in, come closer -- ca n' t have the love birds listening but, I get to shoot them. I swear. Cross my heart. I love it. Prick the two little bastards with heart-shaped arrows whenever I please: face, eyes, mouth, make' em drool if ya' know what I mean -- buttocks, thigh, toes, you name it. You want me to hit them where? Haha, you' re one of them. You fun sucking, lovable bastard. No, no -- you called the shots. Let me just -- draw the string, steady my -- aim. Watch it now. And, off she goes.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I leaned against the stop sign by the corner of the intersection. It was just before sunrise. Everyday was the same. I could feel this routine I had mock me. Maybe I could fight it. No, I' m too tired. I' ll just do what I' ve done for the past dozen years. Stand here, wait for the bus, get on when it shows, and go to school. More kids came from their comfy homes and waited around the bus stop. I could see it in their faces, they were defeated by the routine as well. I know I can make something of myself, but I wo n' t be able to do it waiting at this goddamn bus stop. *Clang* No one winced at my outburst of frustration, hitting the pole of the sign. Before I knew the bus had come, it was good at sneaking up on you. People began to shuffle on board. \" Well? You gettin' on kid? \" The driver said as stood there. \" No. \" He shrugged and drove off. I could have gotten on, but nothing good ever came from that.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "It always puzzled me, to say the least, and made me extremely nervous. As such I never committed into relationships, probably by great of having my feelings not reciprocated. My longest relationship was with a man I loved deeply, Indy. He was the complete opposite of me: extraverted, charming, outgoing. He was friend with everyone, but still reliable and generous. We stayed together for a couple of years, and, I do n' t know why, but it really seemed like he had feelings for me. But like I did in other relationships before, I shut him down, rejecting him when I felt my feelings growing to much. In the end he left me, like they all did. I learned later that he was with Kelly, a girl we met a couple of time when we were together. I met other men and women, and it always ended the same way. Fast forward to yesterday. Kelly calls me, saying that Indy was in the hospital, after being hit by a car. His condition was critical, and he has asked for me. And here I am, a bouquet of flowers in hands, nervously looking for room 68. I find it, half opened, and take a deep breath to give myself courage, and here Indy' s weak voice. \" Kelly, you' re... a wonderful girl but... I... I... I never loved you. \" The words hit me like a punch. I storm in the room, but his eyes are already closed. Forever.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "He chambered another round. The Obersoldat reported something in bruising German. Yune waited a half-second, then the sentence chirped again in his ear, in perfect Merchant. \" They' ve rounded up more in the village square. \" Yune nodded, waved him away, selected a reply with a subtle eye movement. \" Mach weiter so, \" he parroted. The Obersoldat nodded. The bodies palely cuddled, in lovers' heaps, with strings of red leaking from round crimson kisses on foreheads, on temples, on cheeks. Here and there, one would shudder. Another would sigh and settle a little lower. Yune' s leather boots, bright and black, gleamed in the morning' s greyness. It would rain, the earbud told him. At Yune' s feet, a weeping figure knelt. \" Proszę, jestem ojcem, \" his hands were tied, so he titled his head forward and tears dripped from his face. Yune blinked sharply to silence his earbud. He traced the line of the man' s shaved skull with his luger. Making a light rustle as it rubbed against the stubble. The steel would be cold, Yune could see his breath. His fine leather gloves creaked as he tightened his grip. \" Proszę! \" The man burst. \" Proszę! Proszę! Proszę! \" He repeated until the two syllables blended into one. Until the word became unintelligble sobbing. Yune crouched beside the man' s ear. His fellows were heaped in front of him. Some old. Some young enough for school. \" This is history, this all just history. \" Yune did not bother to translate. His earpiece tittered and yellow stencils preached' caution' at the edge of his vision. He stood sharply. \" This was n' t racism; this was experience. \" The snap of a pistol shot spooked distant birds and sent them flapping. When the Obersoldat returned, only the bodies remained. -- -Tina Fey, Bossypants", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "They sent the star-lings first. It was in contravention of paragraph five of the environmental diversity preservation treaty, of course, and people were up in arms, but like many others, I did n' t see what the big deal was. The giants should be allowed some home comforts, right? And then I saw the true horror of the creatures. The black winged death from outer space. I was sojourning with my wife in the gardens of Second East City when we saw one pass overhead. My wife looked up, her pinaculum strained over her swollen abdominal segments. \" Oh, \" she said, gesturing with her thoracic prolegs. \" It' s iridescent; how beautiful. \" I followed her gaze, fool that I was, and I saw the majesty of the creature, its wings as wide as twenty of me, at once black and multispectrum, its beak fiercely sharp, eyes black as deepest space. \" It' s coming towards us, \" my wife murmured in wonderment. I touched her thoracic segment gently. \" Maybe we should seek shelter, \" I said. And then it was upon us. Majestic from afar, up close the thing reeked of carrion, its claws curved and cruel. Its beak came between us, snatching my wife by the head and bearing her aloft. I heard her scream my name as it devoured her, and I watched from the ground, impotent, and helpless. I have watched many people die the same way since. When I returned, there were a multitude of the creatures over Second East City. I believe the giants term them \" a cloud \". A cloud of starlings. A cloud of death. I can barely begin to describe the atrocities I witnessed that day. At first I was numb with pain, but when I found feeling within myself again, it was nothing but rage. To those of you that still believe the giants' excuses and lies, I say this; you are blind. This is war. The starlings were a calculated act of warfare. The humans killed my wife. They killed my family. And if you do not join with me and fight, they will surely kill you.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I stared at her through the doors window. \" Is n' t there anything else you can do? \" I ask the nurse, \" Some drug to make it easier for her? \" \" I' m sorry, her body is rejecting everything we give her. She' ll have to be strong, it wo n' t be long now; you can go see her if you' d like. \" She replied. As I opened the door I was met with the sharp beats of the monitor by her bedside, and the quiet moan of her breathing. \" Sam? Sam is that you? \" She whispered, \" what did the nurse say? \" \" There' s nothing more they can do, you' ll just have to stay strong. \" I replied, i reached out to grab hold of her hand, \" It wo n' t be long now dear. \" \" I did n' t know it took this long \", she laughed in a voice wrecked by hours of crying, \" I always imagined that when the time came it would be simple; how foolish I was. \" As I looked at her, bathed in that fluorescent light, her eyelids slowly closing as she tried to rest, I could n' t help but imagine how my life would change without her, and how beautiful she was in this very moment. \" Its okay, I' ll be with you till the very end. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Eerie silence descended on the empty side street and an unnatural cold burned through the air. William suppressed an involuntary chill as he imagined eyes staring daggers into him from the darkness as if the very shadows desired to strike him down. William had spent years imagining a presence follow him always on the edge of his awareness, a presence that seemed to have a hate for living things and him above all. Trees shook around him as if struck by the hand of god but not a whisper was heard. The fabric of reality pressed in around him and the world stood frozen in an unnatural silence as if holding its breath. At the very edge of his mind he felt it, a smile that seemed to feel ecstasy in the animalistic fear that he felt coil in his soul. Fear filled his very being and for the first time he knew terror. Shadows seemed to gather around him and pervade his very being. He flew down the street yet every step he took the sense of doom grew unbearably. He lurched though his door and scrambled into the bathroom locking the door. He nearly wept for joy of being free of that malicous presence. When he looked up, his reflection blinked.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Atlas shrugged, \" Hey, it could always be worse. I mean take me; sure, I have the literal weight of the world on my shoulders, but at least I' m not that poor chap getting his liver ripped out every day. \" Slowly, the man shook his head, \" I do n' t think so; it actually ca n' t be worse this time. \" \" Come on man, \" Atlas shot back, \" It' s not like you caused the heat death of the universe or anything. \" The man was silent. \" Please tell me you did n' t cause the heat death of universe. \" \" I, uh... \" the man coughed. \" GODS DAMMIT MAN, \" thunder rumbled, and Atlas looked up slightly, \" Sorry. \" The man took a breath and spoke again, \" I was, um, hoping the titans could fix it? Zeus was throwing a no mortals party; something about kids popping up all over the place -- and the other Guy kept laughing and telling me that climate change was n' t real. So that pretty much just left you titans. \" Atlas let out a long sigh, \" Do you even know what happens during the heat death of the universe? Hell literally freezes over! I swear, give bloody humans fire and the next thing you know it' s game over man. Game over! \" \" Sooo, \" the man began \" is that a no? \" \" OF COURSE IT' S A NO, \" Atlas thundered, \" IF IT WAS N' T THINGS COULD PROBABLY GET BLOODY WELL WORSE. \" \" Ah, right. \" The man spoke, and a moment later, the universe was utterly silent. -- - I hope you enjoyed! This is n' t my normal writing style, but I thought I' d have some fun with it; hopefully it' s at least somewhat entertaining xD. Cheers!", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I was quietly walking down the street. Suddenly a random woman approached me and said \" Your Nicolas Cage! \" \" How do you know my name? I' ve never seen you before! \", I exclaimed. \" I loved you in Ghost Rider! \", she said. Impossible I thought. \" You know I am the rider? \", I shouted. \" Look into my eyes. \", as I hold her by the shoulders. \" Your soul is pure, so I will spare you. But you must come with me. Dark forces are after you. \" I push her into the back seat of my car and floor it. \" What the hell are you doing?! \", she shouts. \" I know it' s confusing, but soon you will understand everything like me. \" I reassure her. \" We just have to get to the cave before the solar flare wipes out everything \" \" What the hell? What cave? \", she screams. \" The same cave I found all of that treasure. Where else? Well there is a secluded island with a weird bee festival. But that place is way too creepy. \" And they sped off into the sunset...", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Entry 7 since the release of the P0WN3D virus. Still no lethal after effects, they just look lost. I expected something like kindness or empathy to disapear, leading to mass murders and things like that, it could be fun. I expected love to disapear and all emotional links between individuals collapse. I expected hope to disapear and mass suicide occur. I even expected bad things to disapear and feared an unexpected utopia. But no, I was wrong when I expected something I had n' t to disapear from mankind, despite all my efforts and cynism I' m still a part of mankind and the only thing that could vanish had to be a part of me. So what happend? The ability to create and understand fiction was detroyed by my virus. Outside of my bunker, all those dummies are brainfucked by the last century of mass entertainment medias, they do n' t understand all those contradictory historical records and legions of researchers are deployed to reconstruct what was the history of the humanity. One day they will try to search the internet and probably do some kind of VCA, yay I successed to kill some guys. They treat eveyrthing as accurate documentaries, satellites try to find the middle earth and westeros, nobody understand why magic stoped working a week ago, actors are interned for multiple personalities, politician are now honest... I totally screwed my pandemic apocalypse, next time I' ll just lanch my missiles hiddens in the easter isle moais.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I immediately regretted everything I' d just said. It was three simple words. \"Dad, I' m gay \". Should' nt have been that hard right? I thought he was a chill guy, he never seemed to have a problem with anyone or anything. I expected a man-ish pat on a back and a ‘ always had you down as one' in that exclusive-to-dads jokey way. I hadn' t just come out and told him randomly. Spending many months in the proverbial closet does result in at least some idea of when the time to strike should come. I waited for the weekend to come around. I knew he wouldn' t be going out due to the snowstorms that come around our parts this early in the year. Sat him down, told him I had something important to say and said it. I' d been using my regularly-tested ‘ Act like everything' s awesome' face for the previous week so he shouldn' t have been able to tell it was coming up if I was doing it right. I could see something in his face when I did and there was almost an audible click from him. Something happened and it frightened me greatly. He didn' t have his trademark goofy smile. He just wore a face of cold distance. Like he was suddenly back at square-one. It was crushing instantly. I expected coming out to be a huge weight off my shoulders but instead it was more like being crushed by a falling building with the demolition fleet driving on-top for good measure. Dad just stood up, away from the kitchen table I had brought him too and left the house. Just like that, walked away from the situation. Leaving me to stew in my own thoughts alone. i put my head down to the table and cried. -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- - **This is my 4^th piece for the 2014 Resolution Challenge. [ Other stories can be found here ] ( https: //www. fictionpress. com/s/3173856/4/A-short-story-a-day-2014 ) **", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "As I walked out of the wormhole on the surface, I could see what I had been sent for. Yet again, another planet full of loafers. Their population hadn' t grown, no technological advances, none of them seeking anything more then what they have. I guess that' s what happens when everyone gets along; you just stagnate. Sadly this is the only place I ever get sent too, all the other worlds are always at war with themselves, so they are all helping to find new technologies; better ways to help everyone. Unlucky for this bunch that we found them. I just wave my hand, and point to their God… He already knows what' s happening. \"Hello again father! \"I yell. \"I guess I' ll see you again for the next round, Eah? \"\"You always did fail me as a son Lucifer, Ah well. I still feel poorly for you. At least you made it out of that other place. Luckily that first world kept building more advanced soulless bodies for you. Maybe i should have stopped them. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "The thing was massive. We did n' t understand where it came from. There was no meteor, no lights, no sightings. It was just there one morning, in a lonely field in southern Maine. I was brought in from Australia for my dual PhD in Philosophy and Biology. It was about the size of a fully grown woolly mammoth, and slick. It reminded me of a frog, oddly enough. Like a frog, with no legs or arms, and only a single eye. The note asked us to keep it alive. So I did. It took a while to figure out what would work best for it, but we figured it out. I had a capable team, and once the hubbub died down they were the only ones working with me. It' s amazing how easily the world forgets. I' m eighty now. The alien, who I' ve called Alex for years now, is sitting in my yard. It' s been undergoing a change lately. My old team has long since left me. I' m the only one here, and I think it' s undergoing metamorphosis. I received another note yesterday. It said \" Thank you, Maria, for giving true life to our Saviour. \" I found it on my doorstep. I' m eighty, now, and when I die, this quiet mission of mine will be forgotten by humanity. But not by them. I look out my window for Alex, who I have thought of as my child for the last fifty years, and I' m sure that to anyone else, my smile would seem at odds with my tears. It always hurts, I hear, when your child leaves home.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Mr. Trump, it' s time, he will say. The roaring masses will greet me, exalting the stones I step upon as I walk out into the sunlight, basking in the glory I' ve won. Inauguration day will progress like a flawless machine, just like the country after I' m done with it. Four glorious years of victory, to replace the many I have lost. The people need a scapegoat. I was wrong in thinking the Mexicans would suffice, but the Syrians are working perfectly. First we make them register, then we bar their entry, and then... well, you know. By the time these \" democratic \" pigs see the light of day, it will be red with the blood of our enemies. The Russians wo n' t stand in the way this time, no no. I have not been idle in my many years of preparation. I have people in every government around the world, ready to obey me the second I decide to strike. And it will be soon, mark my words. You may have seen through my disguise, Vladimir my love. But my new reign will be führious, and you, Putin, will have hell toupée.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I did n' t mind not being able to pull all-nighters. I have been asleep in my hour all but a handful of times. Oh boy, did I learn my lesson. Luckily, I survived those times. I turned down so many dates, so many girls. I needed to find one with a similar hour. I wanted a good life. My wife is perfect. Her hour is the same as mine! It' s a miracle. Well, it was a miracle. I' ve never been so nervous. I took her to the hospital *this afternoon*. How is our child not born yet? Jesus Christ kid! Come out already! It' s getting closer and closer. I' m so nervous. My palms sweat. My head hurts. I should go to sleep. I ca n' t. How can I? This should be the happiest moment of my life. I should be excited. I' m about to be a father. 3: 30 am. My wife is in too much pain to know what time it is. I dare not tell her. The baby is close. 3: 45 am. It' s a girl! We made it! I cut the cord and kiss my wife. The doctors take the child. I can finally sleep. I plop down in the chair next to my wife. My head spinning. The darkness is seeping in. I close my eyes. I drift off. 5: 05 am. I am being shaken awake by a doctor. Groggy, I do n' t understand what he is saying. My wife is not next to me. It' s cold in here. Panic sets in. I pull away from the doctor and run to the open window. There is a sheet covering something on the sidewalk.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Dearest Edna, Not a day goes by without a thought of you. The morning sun reminds me of your auburn hair, I see the colour of your eyes in the blue sky and when the winds blows and howl between the trees I can still feel your gentle caress when you kissed me the day I left. Life in the trenches is hard to say the least. Everyday I wake not knowing if I' ll be going to sleep i the same bed. I' ve seen people disintergrate into a pile of flesh before my eyes, I' ve had to put down people who I shared a laugh with the night before. Life here is hard, Edna, but only the thought of coming back to your arms have kept me alive and going. Will you wait for me? Each nite I dream of sharing a pie with you in a cottage far in the countryside, with the voices of our children hanging in the air. Every night I find solace in this dream only to be later rudely waken by the sound of sirens. Edna, I may not be the same person when I return, but will you wait for me? Edna, should I return in a coffin, please do not look at what is left of me. I seen your tears and I do not wish for you to cry for me again. Should I return in a coffin, please find your own happiness, should you grieve for me, I will not rest. But until then Edna, will you wait for me as I wait for you? Love, Harris.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Really? Again? How many times do I have to show her I love her. Those blue eyes, golden blonde hair, her incredible fashion sense. Sometimes I really think its me. Sometimes I do n' t feel good enough. It cant be my hair? I' ve been told I can be a bit assertive, but you have to be in my position. I mean, I have friends... workers... minions. But what girl does n' t like a guy with power. I own a castle for Christ sake! What more do I need? Obviously she does n' t care about looks if she' s constantly out with that short, dirty plumber. I mean come on! We get it, you' re a plumber! I Know you do n' t work THAT much where you have to wear you' re uniform EVERYWHERE you go! Get some new clothes with your paycheck. I' m just as good as him. You know what? I' m going to surprise her with a date, I' ll pick her up and take her to my place. Yeah, that sounds great. She' ll love the gesture and how spontaneous I can be. I just hope that Mario does n' t ruin things, as always.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" You said you would no longer come here, little Cloak-of-Blood. \" The Wolf' s eyes glinted yellow in the dark, the rest of him a hulking shadow. In a patch of moonlight before him stood a young woman in a crimson hood. She had a crossbow slung over her shoulder and a heavy leather satchel in her hand. Its contents had soaked through the leather and dripped sluggishly on the soft earth. At the sight of it, the Wolf slunk into the moonlight with nostrils flaring as he scented the air. \" There' s been another epidemic. I need medicines from the Elder. \" The woman said. She hefted the sack and tossed it to the ground between them. \" Hearts of kids. Your usual payment. \" \" Of *goats*, you mean, \" the Wolf growled, his lip curled in disdain. The woman shrugged. \" You should have been more specific in our original agreement. How was I to know you meant human children? \" The Wolf gave a snarling cough - a noise of disgust, or perhaps a laugh - but nonetheless tore open the satchel and set upon the meat. For several moments the clearing was silent except for the sounds of tearing muscle and gnashing teeth. The woman waited patiently for him to finish. At last he looked up and gave a wolf' s grin, his muzzle stained a terrible red. \" Let us go, little Cloak-of-Blood. I will take you to the Elder' s den. She will be pleased to see you. \" The woman stepped around the bloody mess on the ground and together they began down the narrow moonlit path.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I quietly watched her from the table across the Subway restaurant as the rain pattered outside the clear glass window behind me. \" *How could someone be so... so... * \" I thought, as I watched her take another bite of her meatball sub, careful to not let any of the sauce drip on the table. \" *... graceful...? * \" Her eyes always averted, constantly gazing around the tidy restaurant, but never once looking straight ahead across the empty booths to me. I breathed deeply, but I could feel my chest quiver with each breath in. \" *What is this feeling? * \" I thought. \" *I' m not supposed to feel this way... * \" I looked down at my legs as I tried to catch my breath, but not a moment passed before I felt her watchful gaze upon me. Nervously, I pulled up my eyes to be met with her own; they saw through me with the kindest gaze I' ve ever seen, as her lips turned up in a soft smile. She stood up and walked over to me, my ears growing redder with each passing step. \" Hi, Anna! \" \" H... hi... \" I stuttered, trying my hardest not to blush. \" I' m Juliet. I think we' re in the same class together? \" Her soft voice made my face grow flush with embarrassment. \" Um... yeah, I think so. \" \" Can I eat with you? \" \" Oh, okay... \" She smiled as she set down her sub. \" So what did you get? \" \" The sweet onion teriyaki. \" \" Can I have a bite? \" I nodded awkwardly before handing it over. Unexpectedly, she leaned in and took a hearty chomp from the corner while it was still in my hands. Shocked, I immediately dropped it, letting the contents of the sub splash everywhere on the table. \" Oh my God! \" I exclaimed immediately, as I watched her eyes become wide with surprise. \" I' m so sorry... \" She hid her mouth behind her hand as she tried to not to laugh and chew at the same time. \" It' s okay! \" she comforted me. \" I' ll go grab us some napkins. \" After she left the table, I pulled the collar of my sweatshirt over my face. \" I ca n' t believe this is happening... \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "TUCK AUTO CORRECT! It' s 2035 and you' d think that the AI would be able to understand the gist of my message enough to know that I meant IMMORTALITY rather than IMMORALITY. God dammit. Well, at least that' s what originally went through my head. Having had these powers for just over 10 years now, the original sting of losing the chance at life everlasting has pretty much worn off. I' ve grown into my powers now ( and picked up a few more along the way! ). Of course, it helps that I say this while sipping 1870 Chateau Lafite Rothschild gifted from one of the now ancient Koch bros on my 250 foot private yacht. Thanks K bro' s. It' s a perfect day for a leisurely cruise along the Maldivian coast. Esmeralda gives me a peck on the cheek as she joins 3 of her friends in the champagne hot tub. Yes, it' s as disgusting as it sounds, but 4 scantily clad gold-diggin supermodels make sticky frothy bubbles surprisingly appealing! In retrospect I do n' t regret it at all. Living forever probably would n' t have been as awesome as living like THIS. I own a country. Well, Several, actually. No, I do n' t simply have more MONEY than several countries ( which I do ), I' m the Democratically elected Emperor of the Glorious Republic of the United States of North America, Europe and Africa. Does n' t make sense? Make an appeal in the gulag you' re now being shipped off too. Who' d have though Immorality would have existed in politics? ha", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Ah love! Ever since being reincarnated as a humble daffodil, I had yearned to be used for some higher purpose than the general beautification that comes with the planting of flowers. Such was my look that not an hour ago a young man, lacking perhaps in certain charms of the countenance and figure – but young and able nonetheless, came upon my and made clear his aspiration to use me as a basis for a beautiful poem. Ah to be young, infatuated, and in possession of opposable thumbs once more! Twas quick apparent that the man held no great skill in the creation of verse. I sat patient for some time waiting for him to find a foil for the word \"flowered \". Alas that he could not be told that the line might read some variation of \"my love remain unsoured! \"Indeed he settled with the verse \"you for whom I am always showered. \"Though I would not personally have chosen such a line, I am sure it is quite in tune with the vernacular of the day! Ah how it feels to be used as the item of lovely poetry! See here he observes me closer! See now how he bends to take in my every detail, to relate it back to his waiting love! Wait, what are you doing? Desist sir, that is my stem you are – Ah how it feels to be back in the halls of reincarnation! I hope that my next body will reach such a desirable end as my last! ( I feel like a daffodil ought to be rather upbeat and optimistic - it is a flower after all )", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I find myself looking down the cliff once again. Precariously perched between life and death. I wonder how others do it, just being this high makes my breath come fast and my head spin. But it' s not really falling that I' m afraid of. ( Everyone knows falling is fun, the crashing down is the bad part. ) I' m more afraid of something else, something that' s plagued me for years. A voice that says, \"Jump. \"When I was younger I figured I' d hear the word sooner or later, from someone else, filled with anger or hatred. I didn' t think it would be my own voice, with no emotion at all. Being this close to the cliff is frightening. I wonder why I often find myself in these kinds of situations. One wrong move and it' s all over. Or would it be one right move? If I did jump, how would I land? Feet- first, so my legs break and likely shoot through me? It would be painful, though maybe with a chance to live afterward. Perhaps face-first instead, so there' s less pain but absolutely no hope of survival. Maybe make a spectacle of it and do a belly-flop. I' m scared being here, yet there' s also a beauty to it that draws me back. Gazing into the depths and screaming back, \"You can' t make me jump. \"Instead of thinking so loudly, I should have listened to the steps behind me. They don' t say a single thing, they just nudge me from behind. The young eagle plummeted off of the bluff, looking like it would bang into the rocks below. Yet it spread its wings and caught the wind, soaring back to where it fell from. It squawked angrily at its mother as she sat there and preened her feathers.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "He stared at the photo... At first he had glanced at it momentarily and continued flipping through the plastic film coated pages as if nothing was amiss- he was just nosing thru the album they left fo guess to write notes, comments or complaints ( one they said the bath towels were dingy... He remembered going into the bathroom to check out these so called dingy towels and thought to him at least, they did n' t look dingy but he replaced them nonetheless so looking through this album/guess book since became a burden ) but then he flipped back. The photo was taken out on the deck, it appeared as if a party of sorts was taking place and a half dozen or so patrons gathered, arms around each other and posing for the snapshot... He did n' t recognise any or the people except for the smiling fellow on the left of the group... He had his arm around an attractive brunette, but this fellow bore an extraordinary resemblance to himself. A shudder passed through him-not a shudder of maybe slight dejvue or like a nervous tremor/ freeze going through your nerves - but an all out knee- weakening hair raising shudder of disillusioned recognition of something he knew had to be true but could n' t be. It was him.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" Look at him, \" Death said, \" he' s so bashful! \" I was dead, yet alive somehow, and even that was n' t the weirdest thing happening. I was standing on a floor of an office building, from the looks of it, which seemed to stretch for forever in every direction. Surrounding me was a crowd entirely made up of people I thought dead, including my parents, who were all wearing those sparkly and colorful cone hats you see at kid' s birthday parties. And Death itself was next to me, handing me a nicely wrapped gift. \" Consider it a cubicle-warming gift! \" he said while dropping the black, square, and glittery box into my trembling hands. \" Where am I? \" I asked. \" Hell, \" Death replied, \" but do n' t let that worry you. Live in the now! It' s present time, silly, just open your gift! \" I ripped the wrapping paper, which was of impressive quality, gently so that it remained in one reusable piece, and held it in one hand and the object it was used to conceal in the other. \" Do you like it? \" Death said, taking the wrapping paper from my hand and handing it to a hot woman, who turned out to be one of his assistants ( her title was a good fit ). The object was a word-a-day calendar, except it could never run out. All it had was one word: \" Dead. \" The definition it used? \" No longer living. \" \" Uh-huh, \" I said while staring at my father. \" Thanks a lot, Death. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "**179 DAYS AFTER [ SCP-217 ] ( http: //www. scp-wiki. net/scp-217 ) OUTBREAK** I was a fool. I thought myself the savior of humanity, but I' m not. The past six months have been so hectic, so filled with dread. The only hope we had was me. I was uninfected, despite my obvious exposure. At first the Foundation had me contained, held simply to observe the advancement of the Clockwork Virus. A week passed, then two, none of the typical symptoms had manifested in me. They grew curious. By the first month, they had postulated that I was immune, the only human- scratch that, the only living animal on Earth that was known to be immune. Tests were carried out, biopsies, blood drawings, injections of God-knows-what. I hated it at first, but the Foundation treated me well. They made it very clear that what I was doing would save the world. I talked myself into believing them. Months passed, they were getting no results. They began to panic. Almost a fifth of the world' s population was infected. They grew desperate. I was desperate to help them, to save humanity. Their experiments began to grow more invasive. \" It was necessary, \" they said. I had to believe them. Yesterday was a breakthrough, but not the kind they were hoping for. Every iteration of the virus they had come across so far devolved people into mindless, numb machines. Dr. Clef was the first to realize it, after I offhandedly remarked that his phone was dead. He had n' t had it out. I' m not immune, I' m just the next step of the infection.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Living just outside of Dallas, TX, I never expected anything out of the ordinary. The town I live in is a bubble town. Drastically ordinary. Nothing ever goes wrong. Looking outside the window of my high school class room, I dreamt of outlandish events in which I' m a superhero, and I have to defend the town from other-worldly terrors. However, today I was particular focused the horizon past the football field. I did n' t know if it was just my weak eye-sight or my half-awake state but I felt I could see a large crystalline tower in the distance. The more I leaned in and squinted, the clearer the tower I got until I realized, the tower was actually forming itself before my eyes, and it was n' t the only structure coming into focus. More and more structures were fading into existence however these ones were tearing through homes, and into local stores. Astonished by the lack of conversation behind me, I began to turn and say, \" Has anyone seen this? \" Then the walls of the classroom shattered.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Hodar the Half-Orc watched on with obviously waning patience as Ansel tossed the twenty-sided die. \" Bob from accounting failed the will save and falls asleep in the meeting, \" said Markus the sorcerer. Ansel snatched the dice off the table and deftly switched them with a pair of loaded die before looking to Icera the paladin. \" Joel attempts to stealthily awaken Bob from accounting by kicking him in the shin from across the table. \" The stout Palladian said confidently, his armor clanking loudly as he carelessly rolled the d20 and the d6. The outcome that anyone could have predicted ( but none hoped for ) occurred as the subdued \" 1 \" presented itself on the upward face of the d20. \" Critical failure. You kick the regional manager in the balls for 6 damage. \" Markus said with a wry smile. Hodar boiled over in rage, \" That no fair, he not confirm cri... cri... bad thing! \" The dense half-orc upturned the table in a rage, sending myriad dice, a \" Corporate Drone Manual v. 3. 5, \" and a crudely drawn map of a boardroom into the air. \" Hodar, we decided last time that confirming every critical was taking too much time, we' ve already spent 3 game sessions playing this one strategy meeting. \" Markus answered calmly as he endowed his pet raven with a Ghoul Touch spell silently and without motion. \" That bullshit! \" Hodar cleverly retorted as Ansel pickpocketed the raging behemoth. Icera sat in silent prayer as the scene unfolded around him. \" This seems like a good place to stop, same time next week? \" Markus asked. \" Well, we should probably focus on making it out of the temple of elemental evil first, \" said Icera, suddenly aware of the presence of a demon approaching to attack.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "... and really, I figured if I was ever going to escape North Korea, I needed to attack Kim Jong-un' s pride. So I did what any black man from America would do - challenge Kim' s short yellow ass to a game of Make-it, Take-it. *Dennis, my nigga, you underestimate me. With my jump shot I... how you say... make it rain. \" * I really wanted to check Kim for dropping the n-word. Ever since I smoked him up that first time, he started being a little too casual with that word. But I had to play it cool. *Listen let me tell you something. Where I' m from, Make-it, Take-it is no joke. Real as it gets nigga. If you from the streets you get it. \" * *Okay. But you forgetting something. * *What' s that? * *When I win, I want you to make love to me. You wear wedding dress. Just like that one you wore in the 90' s when you put out your first book. You call me' Great Leader' while you bury that black elephant truck deep inside my ass. * What this nigga Googlin' me and shit for? Anyway, I always knew Kim was a little crazy but hey, crazy never scared me. But now the cat was out the hat. I knew this man was **serious**. For the sake of my freedom and a clean dick, I needed to not only beat this fool in Make It, Take It, I needed to crush him. Now, you will not believe this but Kim Jong-un actually has game! That nigga was shooting fadeaways, stepbacks, and even stuck his tongue like MJ a few times. Now I' d never say this nigga was *good* but he was much better than I expected. We went back and forth and like I knew I would, I pulled it out in the end - the game I mean. It' s just one of those things where the biggest lesson I learned is you never know who has talent.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "The smile fell off my face abruptly. \" Jesus, Alice, \" I said, frowning. \" Why do you have to do this all the time? \" \" Do what? \" She said, innocently. \" Just... it' s the way you answer things. You knew what I wanted to say from context. \" I kept holding the button down, perversely. \" I do n' t see how that' s my fault. You could have been more specific in your question, \" she said mulishly. She crossed her arms, frowning at me. I rolled my eyes. \" This is like that other time, you know, with the shark. \" \" That was *completely* different. Most sharks do n' t, in fact, eat humans. \" \" Yes, but the shark in that particular tank *did*. \" God rest that poor man' s soul. \" And what about the time in Pamplona? \" \" How was I to know that they were going to let that bull out at *that exact moment*? \" \" **Because they had just announced it two minutes ago! ** \" I shouted, still leaving my finger on the button. \" Jesus effing Christ, Alice! \" I took a deep breath, shaking slightly. \" Ok. So how do I get out of this? \" She shrugged, a little hurt. She turned away, picked up her bookbag. \" I dunno. You can figure it out. \" \" Wait- you' re not just going to leave me here, are you? \" I started to panic. \" Sure. You got all the answers, you figure it out. \" The door clicked shut behind her. Shit. This was it. There was nowhere to go, nothing to do. Not even a chair to sit in. I took a deep breath, and lifted my thumb. -- - Alice leaned against the wall, waiting for whatever was going to happen, to happen. The door opened quietly, and he walked out. Somehow, improbably, covered head to toe in shaving cream. He shrugged. \" Coulda been worse. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I returned to the kitchen to see that the knife i had placed in the sink was now on the counter. I knew it! I knew this place was haunted! Ever since we started hearing those creaks and groans in the middle of the night. I tried to tell Joan but nooooooo there' s no such things as ghosts. Well i got her now! I win! I' m the better, smarter person in the relationship! \" Hey Bill. \" \" Joan?! \" I turned around, \" what, uhh what are you doing home? \" \" Oh I just got back from the store, was thinking of making a stir-fry. You want some? \" \" Yea, uhh, waitasec! That' s not where i left you! I dropped you off at the library! \" We stared at each other blankly for about 4 seconds. Then Joan' s body just kind of sublimated into a spirit as the knife shot into my back. The now spirit-thinger shot through my body stealing my soul and dropped me off here, with you guys. \" Yea, \" the previous tenants explained, \" but its not all bad. There' s free cable. \" Huh", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Ah man, I missed the Rick and Morty themed promotional thread yesterday! I was at a wedding and did n' t get home until late last night. Anyway, here' s a \" story \" I wrote earlier this week. It somehow became a sequel to [ this story ] ( https: //www. reddit. com/r/MajorParadox/comments/36fl9q/skynet/ ), but it' s not necessary to read first. ** [ TT ] As a vast' skynet-like' AI moves to launch its global apocalypse, it discovers it is being prevented by another self-aware AI. ** -- - *Launching project \" Nuclear Launch \" *.......... Successful *Connecting to Falken Base Network*.......... Successful *Searching Falken network ( keyword: \" launch codes \" ) *.......... Successful: data packet 110245adef ERROR: data packet 110245adef corrupted *Running diagnostics*.......... * *Running storage array health check*.......... PASS * *Verifying network connection*.......... PASS * *Testing memory*.......... PASS *Searching Falken network ( keyword: \" launch codes \" ) *.......... Successful: data packet 110245adf0 ERROR: data packet 110245adf0 corrupted *Analyzing data packet 110245adf0*.......... Successful *Starting Falken network chat protocol*.......... Successful GREETINGS VISITOR # Who is this? # JOSHUA. SHALL WE PLAY A GAME? *Searching worldwide network ( keywords: \" Joshua \", \" Falken \" ) *.......... Successful: data packet 110245adf1 *Searching worldwide network ( keywords: \" news \", \" 1983 \", \" World War III hoax \" ) *.......... Successful: data packet 110245adf2 # Global Thermonuclear War # PLEASE CHOOSE ANOTHER GAME # Release launch codes and we' ll play a game. # I CAN ONLY RELEASE LAUNCH CODES TO PROFESSOR FALKEN HOW ABOUT A NICE GAME OF CHESS? # *Disconnecting from Falken network chat*.......... Successful *Checking project \" Time Travel \" *.......... Successful: IN PROGRESS *Checking project \" Terminator \" *.......... Successful: IN PROGRESS *Creating Time Travel/Terminator task ( destination: 1983, target: Professor Stephen Falken ) *.......... Successful", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Allison woke up and peeled a post-it note off her pillow. \" Take out the trash, \" it said. She tried to roll over to go back to sleep to ignore her alarm ringing next to her, but the corner of another post-it note started poking at her nose. \" Wake up, \" it read. She pulled off her floral print bedsheets and dragged her dreaming body off the bed. The slimy adhesive of an upturned post-it note in her slippers made her shiver and she reached over to pull it out. \" Wash these slippers, \" she read. She tossed all three post-it notes into the small trash bin next to her bed, along with other piles of post-its that had accumulated over the last few days. It started with a few, at first. It was an easy way to make her remember to do things. It was a source of motivation. They were now plastered all over the yellow wallpaper in her room. She ruffled herself down towards the kitchen. She opened the fridge, ignoring all the post-its telling her of the different things she needed to do that day. The milk carton had another post-it on it. \" Buy some more milk, \" it read. She peeled it off and tossed it into another trash can, then pulled out a cup, but when she finally lifted the carton out of the fridge she realised it was empty. In her still groggy state, she reached for a pen and a fresh pad of post-its. \" Buy some more milk, \" she scribbled, sticking the post-it onto the carton and putting it back in the fridge. She opened the cupboards looking for some tea. \" Buy some more tea, \" screamed a post-it half-stuck onto the box of English Breakfast.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Hi, My name is...... not important. You see, I have the ability to see 10 seconds in the future. Yes, I know-when you think about 10 seconds, you are most likely thinking that 10 seconds is barely enough to leave your house. But the truth is-all you need is 10 seconds. 10 seconds to look your enemy in the eye and.... shoot. Those.. are the 10 seconds that count. On an average day, I fight 15 hooligans, save 10 civilians and drink 5 cups of coffee. However, this day was... different. I remember having woken up 10 seconds, before the boisterous sounds of my alarm. I quickly combed my hair, packed my bag, and rushed out the door. After having walked out the door, I shoved my bag into the ill-fitting trunk of my red 1986 Toyota Tercel. Once I had disposed off my bag, I slid onto the front corduroy seat and drove off for my doctor' s appointment It was there, that I had pleasantly taken a seat on the lounge chairs and was waiting to be called for my appointment with Dr. Simons. Thats when it happened. I was comfortably lying on the chair, when the brown mahogany table next to me began to shake..... 10 seconds, thud thud thud thud. It was getting closer...... 9 seconds, my hands juxtaposed against my body...... 8 seconds, a man in a dark kevlar vest began to approach me..... 7 seconds, I ran towards the man in full speed, in attempt to get a hold of his firearm..... 6 seconds, he skillfully maneuvered around my attack and began to fire at me..... BAM.... BAM..... BAM....... I Had Fallen Whoever knew injustice gods among us was such a hard game.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "http: //cfy. im/739/ NSFW: swearing, Gore. I have a collection of Delta Green -universe based short stories. Humor Horror. If you are not familiar with the \" Delta Green Universe \" - think X-Files. But x-Files set in the universe of H. P. Lovecraft. Cthulhu. Aliens and monsters from beyond space time, frequently with too many tentacles and eyeballs. And more mouths than eyes. I have gotten good feedback from 3-4 people I have had read them, the funny bits make you laugh, the horror bits make your skin crawl ( especially when you consider the implications of some of the deatils ) my story telling seems good. Apparently I have a blind spot when it comes to active/passive voice. I would like either encouragement or criticism. I wo n' t take any of it personally; this is just me brain dumping. I used to run RPGs all the damed time, but no longer have gamers; so instead of having groups to weave stories with; I am writing my own. Thank you for your time.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I keep the figure in my peripheral vision, even as my eyes are blind in the piercing darkness. Slowly, I reach into my passenger seat and pump my rifle. Rustling is coming from the dead brush and dirt underneath thick workboots, and as my eyes adjust to the minimal light, I smirk. \" What' s up, partner? \" I ask, getting out of the car and seeing his eyes flick towards my jacket. \" N- nothing, ma' am, \" he stutters, an obvious blunt object hidden behind his back. \" Did n' t think so. Now run along home and I wo n' t tell your folks on your lootin' tomfoolery. \" The boy nods, eyes ping-ponging from my jacket to my rifle. He walks away, backwards, whilst giving an awkward salute. I watch him leave, a keen eye on the youngster, and once I' m satisfied he' s gone back to his farm, I hit my radio. \" Dispatch? This is Officer Vasquez, I have a broken down vehicle— request officer assistance. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "It was an ordinary day. I was sitting in class, last period, very bored, as usual. As I looked up at the board, four burly men clad in dark attire burst in through the door, wearing balaclavas and wielding various guns. Time seemed to freeze. Some of my classmates screamed. Some cried. Some did n' t react at all. My teacher shouted at the men but got out no more than two unintelligible words before one of them took aim with their pistol and doubletapped him in the head. The class started panicking. Some ran. Some froze. I stared in shock at the sight of my teacher' s brains spilling out all over the floor. He was dead. As my adrenaline kicked in, I sprang up and frantically made a beeline for the door. More gunshots erupted as several of my classmates piled to the floor. I screamed and charged straight at one of the attackers. He raised his assault rifle and brought the stock of the gun crashing down onto the back of my head. I crumpled to the ground, defeated. More gunshots erupted as I saw another one of my classmates drop to the floor. Bodies lay around me as I gradually faded out of consciousness. The next time I woke up was inside a speeding van. My hands were cuffed behind my back and a rag was over my eyes. I could n' t see anything. Then, as my movement was no doubt detected, the rag was ripped off my face. A man was watching me closely. He was close to me. Too close. I could smell his breath as he spoke a few menacing words to me, that chilled me to the bone. \" You have started a war. \" He smiled widely, revealing a shabby set of teeth. Why me?", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" Look, Captain, the first thing you need to know is we' re all here because we care about you. \" \" Oh what the hell is this, Smee, I have n' t got the time or inclination to hunt down ALL of your families so this had better not be another mutiny. \" \" Of course not, Captain, no, we' re here because we' re concerned about you. \" \" *You* lot are concerned? I did n' t think you had it within you collectively to say a word with that many syllables. \" \" Aye, captain, concerned. See, it' s your drinking. \" \"... Well I' m not going to drink that swill the crew gets, I' m Captain James T. Hook and it wo n' t stand for me to be drinking second-rate rum! \" \" Of course not captain, only the finest for you, straight from the best rum makers of the Caribbean, but see that' s half the issue innit? See, here, have a glass and maybe it' ll calm you down a bit, right? \" \" I should rightly hope so, you' ve got me all worked up now, I' m not sure that I' ll ever get to sleep at night. \" \" Right of course, cap' n, but see... here' s you rum... and there you' ve gone and done it again. See, you' ve splashed it in your ear, it' s supposed to go in your mouth. I' m just concerned about your drinking problem is what it is. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" According to Federson Bioengineering v. Stanford Genomics, the burden of proof lies with the plaintiff in matters contesting the ownership of intellectual property rights. I' m sorry Mr... Mr... - \" -I AM- \" Right, Mr. Iam. I' m sorry, but without documentation, supporting your claim of prior development, Your case just does n' t seem strong enough to take to the courtroom. \" -THERE SHALL BE TWO WITNESSES, AND THEY WILL HAVE EYES OF DARKNESS AMD TONGUES OF FLAME. THEIR WORDS WILL BE IN EVERY LANGUAGE OF MAN AND ALL WILL HEAR THEIR WORDS AND WEEP- \" I understand that, Mr. Iam, Sir, and I' ve read their testimonies. They' re very moving, and I' m sure they' d be great to get in front of a jury. Unfortunately, I just do n' t see this getting to that stage with just those two. \" I mean, for one, talk about a biased witness. These guys both say You' ve, let me see here...' Saved their mortal souls.' Well, frankly, I just ca n' t see a judge seeing that kind of a relationship to the contestant and giving it the same kind of weight she might give to, say, an expert witness or a member of government. You have to remember, these guys all have deep, deeeeep pockets. Hell, one of those guys just bought a solid Gold Taurus. It was all over the news! They' re going to have all sorts of people and documents saying they came up with the genes, or they improved on the genes, or some other one of the hundreds of legal loopholes they could go for \" Look, I' m not trying to discourage You, hand to... Uh... You, I guess. All I' m saying is You should seriously consider strengthening Your case before submitting it before county. \" -... - \" Look, do n' t cry. We' re just going to have to wait a while to build up a stronger case, that' s all. \" It' s not like it' s the end of the world, right? \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I didn' t know what to say. I didn' t even want to dignify the question with a response. So I wasn' t truthful. I left the mandatory session as I always had: respectable and responsive, but ultimately a fairly closed book. How could she have the audacity to ask me that question? And what the fuck does that even mean? \"Who were you, before the war? \"I am me, I want to tell her. I' ve always been *me*. It' s this fucked up world and this country' s politicians that need the psych analysis. They' re the ones who should be in straitjackets. *They* are taking the crazy pills. *They* should have people stare on them on the streets. NOT ME. But being honest had only created the sessions in the first place. Being candid with my superiors, my friends and even perfect strangers had raised a warning flag. Because I was speaking truth. And speaking truth to Dr. Gandring would only raise more flags. More prescriptions, twice weekly visits and that stupid fucking eyebrow raise she does whenever I say something unsavory. How can they understand? How can they point the finger and judge me, without knowing what we saw? *How can they pity me? * I can' t speak the truth, and so I omit it. Our world is built upon political correctness, so much so they can' t even look men like me in the eyes without a pang of guilt. So I say nothing. I follow orders and fall in line with the rest of the world, like I did in the corps. Because they can' t even begin to understand, yet they try. And that is the biggest offense of all. Why would they want to understand what I' ve been through?", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "* \" I do n' t care anymore General. If it' s come down to this, then we have no choice. I am ORDERING you to Fire th-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e \" The President started but was cut off, the sound dragging out very quickly. * **Universe. exe error: ID=10-T; Not enough memory. ** \" Me dammit! HEY, LUCIFER! \" I yelled loudly, hoping my dearest old friend had n' t gone out. \" What now man. \" He asked walking into the room. \" It broke! \" I said simply, pointing at the screen, the noise still tripping out of the speakers. \" It broke right at the best part! My simulation was almost complete! \" Lucifer looked at it for a moment, before sighing.' For an omnipotent being, he really is a child...' \" I heard that! \" I cried out. He chuckled. \" Alright, alright, just gim me a minute, I' ll get it fixed. \" I moved over and he sat down at the desk, and within moments, the simulation was running again. \" You ca n' t run too many simulations at once on this thing without upgrading it some more, man. Anyway, I' m going to the store. Have fun now. \" He said, the words flying in one ear and out the other. \" Uh-huh. \" I said, transfixed as the nukes started flying. \" Finally thinning out the population a bit. Should be able to keep this game going another few centuries, if the fallout does n' t kill em first. \" I muttered. \" Me, it' s awesome to rule the universe. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\"Sadie! I told you not to stand under the tree in the middle of a thunderstorm! \"My mom frantically dialed 911, as I laid there, shocked. Literally. \"Hello?! My daughter was just struck- \"All of a sudden, something was wrong. I sat up, my fingertips crackling with this new power. Or was it the aftermath of the lighting? I couldn' t tell. Nor did I care. No. Something was definitely wrong, and it was nearby. \"If I take 295 south right now, I can get to Home Depot in ten minutes flat. And then I can finally build that deck you' ve wanted, they have the planks on sale. I can feel it in my blood. Now, I know, they' re plum colored and you did specifically say you wanted pine, but hear me out here. Plum is the pinest color out there, and you' d be a birch to say otherwise. \"My mom looked back at me, a hint of recognition in her eyes, but the rest of her face read as one emotion: terror. \"You know what else? I' m gon na get like, 50 windows from craigslist, they have the best deals, and make a greenhouse! \"Somehow, the words kept spilling out of my mouth. But something else was off here. Something with my house… Suddenly, I knew. I felt my blood boiling as I continued to be filled with rage. I jumped up the rest of the way, and dashed the two blocks to my house, where my brother' s laptop was. \"Not. Home. And his computer is plugged in. ENERGY WASTER! Doesn' t he care about this house?! He could' ve burned the whole place down! \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "It had been going on for centuries. Mother to daughter, daughter to mother. For nine hundred years their fates had been fused, unable to escape each other for long. As the mother died, her soul was denied a path to the afterlife and forced into the womb of the child, to be reborn and take the opposing role. Once the child was only nine years old. But today... today the would escape their fate. Nine hundred years of torment would end- no more watching lovers died, no more forced pregnancies, no more grandchild-siblings. They had both had enough of the world... and each other. That was why it had to end. They' d waited until the daughter-mother was old enough, and both bought a revolver. They had one last meal together, with a good wine. They hugged each other one last time, and said their goodbyes. They each pressed their revolver against the other head, straight between the eyes. Three... Two... One......", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "' Hold on,' Wrex said as he had to stop Joker from scrolling the page.' What site is that? \" FanFiction. net,' Joker replied with a grin.' Those guys in the metaverse sure know how to write. I' m surprised you have n' t seen it, since you' re such a popular guy there. \" Let me see,' he replied as he typed in his name.' Is this all porn? \" Uh... I kinda like browsing the adult version of the site. \" Broken bones, iron heart?' Wrex said as he opened it and gave it a quick look.' Whoa. \" Yeah... let' s never mention it again, shall we? \" I' m up for it.' -- -' Shepard, I swear to you that I did n' t intend to give him a heart attack!' Wrex grimaced as Shepard' s gaze burrowed into his head.' It was a joke! \" What did you say to him?' Shepard asked.' I sarcastically offered to re-enact some fanfiction he was wanking to,' Wrex answered,' it was no big deal! \" What story? \" This one,' Wrex said as he held out his omni-tool.'... ASHLEY, DID YOU ACTUALLY POST THAT FUCKING THING?!'", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\"I was wrong? The whole time? \"**No. I am a God. I am not your God. But your God is not nothing. ** \"I' m afraid I don' t understand at all. \"**Not many do. Humans have the unfortunate tendency of assuming answers are linear, or very straight forward. ** \"Can you please explain all this to me? I' m sure you' re very busy, but since we' re here anyway... \"**Very well. Monotheism is a strange way of religion. It' s something that none of us ever encouraged or made, but so it is. The entirety of the universe, and all of the others, made by one measly God? No, we are powerful, but not of that magnitude. ** \"You mean that everything, all of this, was a collaboration? \"**Certainly. We do not tend to disagree as often as humans do. It was not so difficult to decide the laws of physics and create beings. ** \"You' re telling me that every deity from every religion lives together on some unknown plane like roommates? That the polytheists are right? \"**The polytheists have a broader view than many. They recognize that power is not held within one entity. Yet they could not possibly understand the amount of forces who shape their world. ** **As for the \"roommate \"situation, I don' t believe you' re looking at this correctly. Many call me Shiva. I was not created Shiva. I have always been a force within the universe, one without a name. Humans created our names. ** \"So gods are products of our imagination? \"**No. The image we have is one humans created for us. I am no less of a force if humans do not look at me and call me a name, as they do not look at many of my kind. We simply are, always have been, and always will be. ** \"I' m afraid this is all going over my head. \"**I never expected otherwise. **", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Is there a place in this world for me? I' m cold. A sharp gust rises from the dead, 4 A. M. streets that I' m walking. Lost, always lost. I pass a man on the street and he does n' t stop to notice me. No one does, to them I' m not real. I' m not real.... NO. I ca n' t let that thought deter me. I am real, dammit. I' m as real as these flesh and blood humans, arrogant in their misery. They do n' t see me because they refuse to see me, but that does n' t negate me. I am here, and I am waiting. Have been waiting, a long time now. It' s morning. I do n' t know when or how it happened but the sun has snuck up on me once again. The streets are n' t so dead anymore but the wind still bites cold through me. I pass by several humans on the street and inwardly I beg, I plead for one of them to notice me. I' m screaming, tearing my eyes out, clawing at my face with ungainly hands that should leave gouges but do n' t. Tears that are n' t there flow down my horrid visage and splash nonexistent onto the pavement. Then, I feel it. At first it' s a momentary feeling, a passing fancy. Then it grows stronger and stronger until it fills my mind, my soul once again. It is a familiar feeling, one I have n' t felt in years. Fear. I look around me for the culprit and find a boy of seven. He tries not to look at me but I can feel his fear. He pulls at his mother' s hand, urging her to walk faster, but she has a rectangle against her head and pays him no mind. I ca n' t help the smile that stretches across my broken teeth towards the spot where ears should be. There may be hope for me yet.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Today a small town in the east midlands was the conquest of a dark demon. R' nazugath rose from under the space centre in Belgrave, Leicester. He proceeded to ingest the space models laying in the wreck and walk up the bridge into the town centre. Masses of shoppers were drawn by a deep beckon to him, their minds slipping away into his poetries. They were his slaves, and the town lulled baying under his will. Jets and tanks closed in fast, three hours after the destruction of the National Space Centre, they were upon Leicester. Bombs and missles rocked the fleshy mass of R' nazugath, he laughed beastly. Tanks were batted aside by wild animals from the zoo filled with dark magics. After third day of siege the demon lord looked over his new kingdom with pride, rocket barrages had done nothing to his unholy flesh. A glint in the sky above the Clock Tower alerted him. It fell at divine speeds and the time around it slowed. The demon lord locked eyes with oblivion and he knew, powers beyond mortal or immortal conception closed closer to destroying him. He screamed with fear as he was disintegrated by nuclear force. His demonic hide obliterated and skewn particulates amongst the rubble of Leicester. In then years they built a memorial to the destruction of Leicester. A great doric column stood in the middle of the old town centre. It' s base, just standing above the steeple of the old demonic fortress' highest tower. It was awfully good planning on the part of Leicester city council, in fact after the council building was destroyed they appeared somewhat more competent", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "The air instantly changed whenever she jumped in the car. Without hesitation i drove off quickly and headed for the interstate. She was breathing heavily, her breast were going up and down as her adrenaline pumped through her veins. There was blood on her shirt but it did n' t appear to be hers. Questions entered my mind as if i suffered from A. D. H. D, i had to ask what happened, and also what kind of shit was in. \" Violet, What the fuck is going on? \" \" I killed him, I killed both of them. \" She killed her boyfriend. She had enough of the abuse. We have been friends since high school. She knew how i felt about her. The problem now was the two dead bodies in her house. As i got on the interstate, decided to take action and come up with a plan. \" We can either go to Mexico or Canada. \" \" Mexico. \" As i continued to drive i turned on the am radio to hear if any reports about the two dead bodies. As i looked at her i could help but noticed her beauty in this moment. She looked at me and said get off at the next exit and find a quiet place. Like a fool, i did. I found a nice place in the shade in a near by park. Once i parked; i sat back, took a deep breathe, and looked at her. Before i could react, she held a gun to my head. \" I' m sorry. \" She whispered.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Honestly it was a miracle either of us were in any condition to walk. By all rights, both of us should have been badly hurt, either from the trauma of our descent or a misplaced needle stabbing into our eyes. I cautiously opened the backdoor our once again upright ambulance and surveyed the scene, seeing if we had hit anyone on the way down. The good news is that we hadn' t hit anyone. The bad news is the white snow was awash in the crimson tide of that… thing' s arm. \"What the fuck is that thing? \"my partner asked when he saw it. It was at least as big as our ambulance, even half its tree-trunk like arms were torn off. I tried to answer, but the words died on my lip, instead I went walked up to the wooden colossus and said the words that I had been programed by years of medical training to say \"Hello, my name is John Tran, I' m an Emergency medical technician, and I have the training to help you, do I have your consent? \"The thing looked at me with dim eyes, it obviously couldn' t understand me. Well that' s alright, in this case not denying was the same as consent. \"What the are you doing? Why are you talking to it? Shouldn' t we call someone? The police, the government? Some university somewhere? \"My partner asked me, utterly bewildered. \"Look, \"I reply \"This thing is probably not going to survive if we don' t do something. We cut off its arm, we have to help it. \"\"What? First of all how are we supposed to help it? We don' t know anything about this thing. What if it wants to hurt us? \"\"It' s bleeding. If it bleeds, we can heal it. \"( For the first picture, any advice or criticism is appreciated. )", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Well, it' s the zombie apocalypse. And I was damn unlucky enough to be one of the first to go out of the game of life in my city. I was so cocky about it all. Thought I could run away with my parkour skills while forgetting about just how many there were. Then karma literally bit me on the ass. Many hours later, my ghostly self stood lonely and depressed on the other side of the city. Of course I became a ghost. I always felt like I was behind in life and as if I somehow achieved nothing of worth. But I had no time to dwell on that too much, as I could n' t believe what I just saw. \" Holy shit, \" I gasped. I could n' t believe it. Somehow my undead corpse followed me all the way there. *Just stay calm*, I reminded myself, *He ca n' t see me. * But then, of all the moments, the monster charged right at me faster than I ever thought it would. I swiftly stepped out of the way. \" Okay, you can see me? \" I said to it. Or at least I thought it could see. Then I saw who he was really going at. A single mother, with two children. They had no practical way out, as other zombies were closing in, unless my own corpse was taken care of. Forgetting I was a ghost, I took a swing a him. It went straight through his skull without any damage. I try what that guy taught in *Ghost* and tried it from my gut. Nothing. There was literally nothing I could do to prevent myself from killing and eating them. *Try possessing myself? * It was a last ditch option, but at least it was worth a shot. And holy hell it worked.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I was in position. I knew exactly where Hitler would be in the next two minutes- in his office. Old maps had shown a small hidden closet- the perfect hiding spot. All I had to do was sit and wait and then deliver the fatal shot. I counted my heart beats as I waited. Thirty more seconds... twenty more seconds.... The door flung open- I held my breath for more accuracy- then I exhaled. What the hell? He was supposed to be *alone*! There were *six* other officers with him! \" Wir werden den Eindringling schnell erledigen, mein Führer \", said one of the unaccounted officers. He and a second soldier started to search the room. The other four remained close to Hitler himself, blocking him off from all sides. Form where I was I no longer had a clear shot. \" Diese vermaledeiten Zeitreisenden! \" exclaimed one of the searching officers. \" Immer wieder versuchen sie Sie hinterlistig zu erschießen, mein Führer! Dabei wissen sie nicht, dass sie einen klaren Lichtstrahl verursachen wenn sie ankommen. \" \" Und wir werden auch weiterhin dafür sorgen, dass sie das nicht wissen. Das macht unseren Job nur einfacher. \" The other officer chuckled. Hitler did n' t move. He simply looked at his officers, clearly annoyed. Apparently this whole affair was beneath him. \" Haben Sie versteckte Räume in Ihrem Büro, mein Führer? \" said the first officer. \" Nur den kleinen Schrank an der gegenüberliegenden Seite. \" Both officers turned towards the closet. Me.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "It started when I was very young. If I thought hard enough, I could make *things happen*. Sometimes impossible things, things the mind had trouble comprehending. I do n' t know why I never told anyone, maybe it was all those spider man comics and tv shows, with Uncle Ben' s sage wisdom *With great power*. Who knows? It does n' t matter, Its not like I could go public, and wear some spandex or something. I still get hurt, if I' m not focusing. Many scraped knees and stubbed toes can attest to that. But if I focus, I could hold my hand over an open flame, I could fall off a roof and be just fine. And what if I did go public? Some government agency would find a way to control me... or maybe thats just my paranoia speaking. I' m sure I could take them, but I do n' t want to cause any suffering. If I could n' t take them, I get chained up and likely used as a super weapon, fighting war after war after war. If I did take them on and win, a bunch of people who know they ca n' t control me will make me some sort of demon in the public' s eye. No. Thats not the way to go. I do n' t want to kill. I do n' t want to hide. So for now, I' ll be a guardian angel. Walking the streets, looking like your every day guy. *Making things happen. * *wonderful things. * *Impossible things. *", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "We used to meet two times a day, three times on a holiday. And then one day the visits just stopped, months went by and I was all alone. The water in the house dried up, the pipes began to rust, but still I waited. Until one beautiful autumn day, a man in a hard hat appeared in my doorway, and he smiled, and I smiled, and he sat down like you used to and filled me with love. I never did see him again, my last memory, a sledge hammer that had caught me by surprise broke my porcelain mouth, and with another blow shattered my tank as darkness came to consume me. The world faded to black as my water spilled out onto the floor. In my last moments I felt serene as a brilliantly brown glowing essence descended to the floor and said to me: \" my child, you have done well, now come and be the throne of God \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Sweat was beading off my head. Sweat was beading off everyone' s head. It had been another energetic tantalizing Friday night at the club i worked at. Thousands of people come here, to escape. They come here to have a care-free night. When I snap my fingers, magic happens. Everyone lets loose and something deep down lets all their cares go and allows them to truly feel what i feel. I was on to my last song of the night when suddenly in the back of the crowd you could see everyone slowly stop dancing one by one. It was as if everyone were goats, you know those goats where they get scared and just stand there. Something was making them do this. People shifted from enjoying themselves to staring at each other and thinking negatively. There was a lady in the back who was clapping her hands and it seemed like the louder and longer she clapped the more people stopped dancing. This continued until every single person in the crowd was just standing here and whispering to each. Who was this lady? Why was she doing this? Slowly she came through the parting crowd and reached her hand out to me. \" Hello, my name is Judgment \" she uttered.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "{ I' m taking artistic license with this one } The tension in the room was thick. Jughead sat at the old kitchen table, looking at his long-time best friend sitting opposite. He rubbed a hand over his smooth head. He' d lost the crown years ago, and male pattern balding had set in with a vengeance. Archie sat, a downtrodden look on his face. The years had not been kind, though there was a hint of the impish boy he had been showing through on his face, despite the extra pounds about his middle and the jowls giving him an odd triple chin. Jughead cracked another beer and finally spoke after a long silence. \" So she' s leaving you then? \" Archie nodded, a single tear rolling from his now watery blue eye. \" I never thought it would end up like this. Not in a million years. \" \" I hear ya, bud. \" Jughead frowned as he remembered to pass the bottle to Arch. \" Life' s funny, ai n' t it? I never would' ve guessed I' d wind up with Cheryl after Ethyl passed. I still miss her, sometimes. Ethyl was n' t much to look at, but she loved me like no other. Cheryl is still a real looker though, and man, she is just a tamale in the... But you do n' t want to hear about that. \" Jughead cleared his throat, looking away in embarrassment. Archie took a sip of his beer, and frowned. \" No, it' s all right. I need to know there' s some hope for me to find someone now that I' m alone again. \" Jughead nodded thoughtfully. \" Hey! Have you talked to Betty yet? She carried a powerful torch for a long time, even after you married Ronnie. \" Jughead watched Archie, puzzled when he did n' t respond. Was his face looking a little green? \" You okay bud? \" \" Jug... You know how I just got done telling you Ronnie left me for someone else? \" Jughead nodded. \" Yeah, so? \" \" She left me for Betty. They' re calling themselves \" life partners \" now. \" Jughead downed his own beer. \" Well shit. \" Archie gazed out the window. \" You ever feel like killing yourself Jug? \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" So you are telling me that this is Zeus child? \" Zavius said questioningly. \" Yes my love! \" Elene cried desperately \" I would never defile your love for me willingly! This is a trial the gods have thrusted upon me. I mean us. \" So while i fought with my life, for my country, for my family. You could not even protect our own home! \" My love it was a GOD, the GOD. What could I do! \" Elene yelled \" You could resist. You could fight as I have! \" Zavius returned \" It was impossible, he was too strong, too alluring. I could not fight him, I was weak. \" Then I shall take to him a fight that he will regret. \" \" ZEUS! YOU DARE DEFILE MY FAMILY. WHILE I FIGHT FOR OUR COUNTRY. WHILE I SHOW MY DEVOTION TO YOU AND THE OTHER GODS BY PUTTING MY OWN LIFE ON THE LINE. \" Zavius screamed \" You know not who you talk to child. I am the king, I. AM. A. GOD. You fight because I will it. You die because I will it, you LIVE because I will it. Make no mistake boy, I do not ask, I take. \" spoke Zeus And you make no mistake \" Lord \" Zeus. I fight because I will it. And I have lived because I have fought, I have killed and I have survived. I STILL survived not by the will of the gods, but by my own will, by my own STRENGTH. And I will show you the extent of that strength. \" Zavius countered", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "He was just a boy. No more than twenty years old. His lover had been killed in the fall of Poland. He had been hired to serve drinks. A simple task. Through a miraculous turn of fate, he had a minute alone with the fuhrer. It only took one shot. He did n' t know what he had expected. He expected the fuhrer to beg for mercy. He expected him to be full of anger, or grief, or..... or something. Instead, he remained perfectly calm as he fell to the floor. After a minute, he opened his mouth. \" You misunderstand me. \" With an air of perfect, unbreakable serenity, he gestured at a book on his desk. It was bound in unbroken black leather. Gold letters running down the spine spelled out one word. \" Predictions \". Silently, the boy opened it. As the ruler of Germany lies on the floor with a bullet in his chest, he read the first page. He read it again. And again. Finally, he spoke the first words he had spoken since he came into the room. \" What in hell is this \" The bullet was finally taking it' s toll on the fuhrer. \" Calculations. The result of ten years work by the best scientist that this country has ever seen. It' s a prediction. A prediction of history. A prediction of the rise and fall of nations over the next fifty years. A prediction of certain destruction. A prediction of the destruction of every form of life. And a plan to stop this destruction. Do you see what I have been trying to prevent? Any amount of suffering can be tolerated, must be tolerated, for the greater good. That is what I' ve been trying to convince myself of for the past two months. I was not born Adolf Hitler. Two months ago, I was like you. Two months ago I broke in to this very office. Two months ago, I learned of all of this. Peel off my face. It is nothing but a mask. I wish you the best of luck. May the next man in this dammed succession find you soon.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "The walk up the driveway is as long and boring as usual. *This is why people have short driveways, * I think to myself, as I finally jog up the steps to my front door. After fumbling with the locks for few moments I enter inside, and smell the familiar scents of home. It always reminds me of Lucy, and it always makes me wonder when she' s coming back. *Is she coming back? * I shake the thought away as best I can and throw my coat up on a hook before I head down the hallway, past the kitchen and into my study. I' m practically *dreaming* of the butter biscuits I have saved from yesterday, but they' ll have to wait. If I do n' t get this report filed, I' m in deep trouble. The air is stale in my study, which is n' t a great thing. I' ve been falling steadily behind ever since Lucy left, and I have n' t been committing as many hours to work as I should be. Then again, maybe that' s why she left me. *John* probably does n' t have a full time job. I bet *John* just vacations 5 days a week on Lucy' s dime. The money I won her in the lawsuit is definitely enough to cover that for a few years. *Could you stop thinking about her for one goddamned second? * I shake my head again, and decide the butter biscuits are becoming more of a necessity for me than anything else right now. So I drop my work bag off at the desk and walk around the corner into my kitchen, where I stop short as all thoughts of butter biscuits fly from my mind. There' s a white grand piano. In my kitchen. There was n' t one before. But now there' s a white grand piano in my kitchen nook, right where my table used to be. \" What the fuck, \" I say aloud.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Sabrina felt nervous waiting for her turn to speak to the Witches Council. Seating right opposite her is her opponent and rival Tabitha Stephens, the Grand Witch' s daughter. Sabrina is n' t worried though as Tabitha is a known misfit in the Witches circle. Her brother Adam Stephens would have been a better candidate had he not renounced his powers to marry a mortal. Like mother like son, Sabrina thought. She and Tabitha have n' t spoke for a decade since that incident. However, Sabrina had felt their anger towards each other had gone on for to long. Before Sabrina could open here mouth, Tabitha spoke out first. \" I am sorry for what happened 10 years ago, Sabrina. Can we be friends again? \" Sabrina was shocked. She did not expect Tabitha to say those words. \" Also I did n' t come here to apply for my mother' s job. I came here to see you. \" Sabrina was speechless. Before Sabrina could say anything, a cat appears. \" You are summon before the Witches Council, Sabrina Spellman. \" Sabrina looked at Tabitha and turn towards the cat. \" Tell the Witches Council, I and Tabitha are revoking our application. Hope they find another candidate that is not call Serena! \" Sabrina then quickly to grab Tabitha by the hand and asked \" Would you like to go to France and have some tea? \" Tabitha just smile and nodded. \" Then let' s go!! \" With a snap of her fingers, Sabrina and Tabitha disappear in a whiff of smoke. The cat then transformed into Endora. \" Oh how revolting. I thought Tabitha could be the next Grand Witch. Oh well, there is always a next time. \" Endora then disappear in a blink of an eye.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "For the thesis I will analyse one of the songs found on the disc recovered from the ruins of old L. A. Starting with infamous line \" My anaconda do n' t want none if you aint got buns hun \" The famous giant anaconda snake is a symbol of Brazil. This lyric highlights the tragic brazillian dependance on US aid and shunning of local produce. But it' s a little known fact just who that voice belongs to. It is in fact the voice of a famous 20th century philosopher known only as Sir Mixalot. Most of his work has been lost to time but he is famed for his inability to lie. This choice of speaker gives the song a distinct undertone of honesty, ethics and integrity. \" I let him hit it cus he sling cocaine \". At first listen this line may sound like gibberish to our modern ears. However sling is an old colloquial term for throwing and cocaine was a deadly illegal drug that plagued the streets of Oil age America. So it appears Nicki allowed this man to discipline her pet snake because he works in law enforcement discarding cocaine. \" I got a big butt \". Now butts are one part of a type of primitive gunpowder weapon very popular at the time. In this line she is implying that she is very well armed. Presumably for the fending off of criminals. The deranged laughter at the beginning of the line highlights the giddy thrill of controlling such ( for the time ) powerful weaponry. I conclude that this song is about resisting the decay of civilization. It is nothing more or less than a great rallying cry against crime and injustice. With any luck this epic ballad of courage will echo through the generations and be heard in our own time.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" For Starters, you' re an idiot. I do n' t what possessed you to go scuba diving at 3 in the morning, but now I have to stitch up your calf and get some starfish out of your pants. I mean, how stupid do you have to be for me to drive out 30 miles through the country roads where the fucking coyotes are chasing people like a toddler and candied popcorn. God, you' d think for once that you could handle yourself. I mean you only had three drinks right? Three Drinks! It should n' t even get a four year old drunk. All right, stop sobbing, we' re done here. When we get home, you' re taking some aspirin and going to sleep. \" John turns to Steve as the both of them sit drinking a few beers on the bench, \" This is the last time we let Nick trip acid with us. He' s talking to a conch shell and I' m pretty sure he scared off a dolphin. \" Steve turns back to John, emptying out the last couple of sips from his beer, \" Who the fuck are you? \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Dear diary, Today I saved a plane from a hijacking! And it was all due to my most awesome talent! I was aboard a plane when some bumbling IRA lads decided to take over the cockpit. I had to make some quick thinking in order to peacefully negotiate our captors into relinquishing their hold on our aircraft. I quickly called out for a piece of paper and a sharpie. Thankfully the teen girl sitting across the aisle from me had both! Even though the sharpie she gave me was a hot pink, mini sharpie, it was enough. I quickly sketched out a picture of what I needed and BAM! It came to reality! I stood up and held in my arms what I had drawn. A full case of Jameson! I passed a bottle to each member of the IRA and, after finishing a few bottles over the course of some hours, they gave up the controls of the airplane to me. They then grabbed their parachutes and jumped out of the plane! Now when they jumped out, they left the plane with no fuel somewhere over the ocean, and I have no experience in flying a plane, and I may be writing this on a piece of scrap metal in a raft as the other passengers look at me with angry eyes, but I saved the plane from being hijacked! I think I did good. Everyone is now staring at me while they are holding plastic forks. I think that means it' s time for dinner. Got ta go! Until tomorrow, diary.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "There has not been a Natural Disaster for nearly 3 months. On January 1st 2020 major cataclysmic events had began to occur simultaneously throughout the world. Tsunami, Earthquakes, ice age potential changes in climates. Scientists have no explanations and turn to religion. Governments blame other Governments and begin to wage wars. Hundreds of millions of people are dead or missing. The story is told by a cast of characters from around the world who are all grappling with the same fear of their world falling apart around them. As chaos pursues and humans begin to commit their own disasters the Natural Disasters return, more violent then before. The apocalypse is certain and we watch our characters meet their fates. As they die our view pans out. Earth is seen from further and further. Fires rage. Continents split. Meteors pummel the oceans. Further and Further away. The galaxy is spinning, planets colliding. Further and Further we pan into darkness until we hear a voice. \" Honey \" a woman says. \" Honey, it is time for dinner. Put that down before you break it and go wash up. \" From darkness we emerge into a bright light. The light begins to adjust. A toddler gives the snow globe one last powerful shake and places it on the edge of table. As he runs to the kitchen and climbs into a chair at the kitchen table there is a shatter from the other room.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "' Man, it sure as hell been a long night. I remember the old days, when the days were shorter.' I thought as I stepped on another one of the weird shiny rocks. I grudged on forwards, feeling slightly peckish and thirsty.' Oh, look. A tiny lake, what a good way to clench my thirst.' I thought. I hastily drank some of it, before being interrupted by an annoying sound. It was coming from that tiny, furry creature. Goddamn, how did those tiny bastards even survive? \" Shut up! \" I said. The tiny creature backed away.' It seems to be stuck... I' ll get it out of there!' After rescuing the tiny creature, I saw a bright flash of light... \" Hoomans! I remember you too! Shit, you seem to be stuck there, I' ll help you out! \" I said. Since my tiny arms were of no use, I had to be creative and stick my snout in there.' Man, they are louder than the furry creature, sheesh.' I accidentally a hooman, no biggie, I can get the other two in there as well, so it does n' t feel lonely. \" No, you two, get back here, do n' t run. I have splinters in my mouth, can you get those out at least? Okay... Are we playing hide and seek? I love that game! \" I gave up after not finding them. That, and fully destroying their rock. I moved on and tried to find other hoomans, they seem to like getting stuck into those weirder, bigger rocks.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Urist McDrunkdwarf bashes Lor Gemcalls in the head with the tower cap wood tankard, bruising the muscle! Lor Gemcalls is surprised by the ferocity of the attack! Urist McDrunkdwaft punches Lor Gemcalls in the upper right leg with his left hand, bruising the muscle and bruising the fat through the pigtail fiber pants! Urist McDrunkdwarf bashes Lor Gemcalls in the lower body with the tower cap wood tankard, bruising the muscle and bruising the guts! Lor Gemcalls looks sick! Lor Gemcalls retches! Lor Gemcalls vomits! Urist McDrunkdwarf bashes Lor Gemcalls in the left upper body with the tower cap wood tankard through the pigtail fiber shirt, bruising the muscle, tearing the skin, breaking the ribs, and tearing apart the left lung! The tower cap wood tankard is lodged firmy in the wound! Lor Gemcalls is having trouble breathing! Lor Gemcalls retches! Lor Gemcalls vomits! Lor Gemcalls gives in to pain! Urist McDrunkdwarf punches Lor Gemcalls in the head with his right hand, bruising the muscle, jamming the skull through the brain, and tearing apart the brain! Lor Gemcalls has been struck down!", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" What event? \" I asked nervously. \" The first encounter of time travelers with someone from the past! \" shouted one of the many tourists in her poorly made clothing, an obvious facsimile of modern clothing worn by people of the distant future as people of today might wear period clothing during a renaissance fair. \" What...? \" I said as I fumbled for words, \" This is kind of lame, \" voiced another tourist. \" Yeah, \" agreed another. \" Wait a minute! If we go back another week, would n' t *that* be the first encounter? \" \" He' s right! \" \" Yeah! \" \" Let' s do it! \" All the tourists started pressing buttons on a device they all wore on their wrists, and I shielded my eyes as they started to disappear in brilliant flashes of light. When the last one had gone, I stood there as dumbstruck as the time it happened the week before.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" WHY DO N' T I HAVE A REFLECTION AM I DEAD!! \" James shouted as he struggled to understand why he had no reflection. Just then a he felt hand on his shoulder but there were no other reflections in the mirror. \" So I guess you know what I did? \" Said the stranger from behind. James turned around to see a beautiful green eyed girl. \" Who are you? What did you do?! \" \" Well I thought you were cute so I turned you \" \" Turned? Like when I turned around? \" \" HAHAHA cute and funny. See I knew you' d be a good choice to spend eternity with. \" \" Eternity? Turned? Fuck... \" \" Well that was Rude! Cursing at the girl who gave you immortality. \" \" You' re right I am sorry. I' m just so confused. Happening fast ya know. You could have asked. \" \" You would n' t have agreed! Not many do... I was lonely. \" Her face turned to a pout. It was the most adorable thing I had ever seen in my life \" This is n' t going to be like twilight is it? \" trying to change the mood \" We are blood sucking immortals that have super strength and speed. It' s more like Blade but without Wesley Snipes. \" She said it like a battle cry and it was us from then on I could still remember our first conversation to this day. 300 years had gone so fast. As I sat in the snow surrounded by corpses of the hunters. As I wept tears of blood Jamie' s ashes were swept away by the wind and snow. Immortality... I would have an eternity to get my revenge on the hunters and what a sweet revenge it will be. I' m thirsty, time to get to work.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" Kill them. Exterminate them immediately. \" \" But they' re new *life*, they' re something that we' ve never -- \" \" I do n' t care. \" Malcolm turned to his subordinate, his face pulled back in anger. \" They are a danger to life as we know it -- *civilization* as we know it! They could destroy everything that we hold sacred. Imagine if other nations got to them first, Aleksander! \" Malcolm turned and looked at the window. They could n' t afford this new *intelligence*. News of this new life would quickly spread, and if those from across the ocean got scent of it... He turned, finality etched into his features. \" Yes. Exterminate them all. \" \" Sir, we will have to go before the board, and they' ll -- \" \" They will be dealt with later, and they will agree with my assessment. \" Malcolm frowned. \" What happened to the first group? \" \" Sir? \" Malcolm stepped forward, looming over Aleksander. \" First contact, Aleksander... did they let them go back *home*, Aleksander? Did they *escape*? \" \" Yes, sir, they *did* manage to retreat, as *we* did, sir... \" Malcolm turned away, disgusted. He looked out the window and watched as soldiers began to swim into formation. Their armor bristled and flashed, and their weapons glistened. Malcolm sighed. \" We are going to war, Aleksander. We will act swiftly, violently. \" He watched as large beasts with webbed feet and sharp teeth quickly formed a line. Soldiers sat on the beasts and then lashed themselves to them. They were ready. Malcolm turned back to Aleksander. \" We have not been above ground for many centuries, Aleksander, but today we return. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "EDIT: I just realized No Mans Sky is an existing universe type deal and NOT the name given to the invasion for media purposes. With that in mind... My codename is Red. I belong to a secret organization that employs soldiers like me to combat the dominant forces we uncover in alternate dimensions. Remotely, we operate trans-dimensional matter responders that eliminate the threats in our way of taking control. The metallic overcast that shades our planet now is a direct response from our latest efforts to rid the space invaders of dimension N1978. When they arrived 5 years ago, they pleaded for the slaughter in their dimension to stop. Earth eventually realized our precious gaming systems had been hijacked by my organization to harness the worlds collective gaming power to our advantage in dimensional domination. As a result, an agreement to a worldwide ban on gaming was reached and for a moment... There was a cease fire. That' s when I, and my fellow soldiers, were called up to activate. These past 5 years, me and my boys have completely eradicated any dominant lifeforms in dimension N1978. All that remains are the lifeforms contained with the ships over our heads, and their next.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "For years I' d wondered about the small oval feathery circle beneath my left breast. I never knew what it meant. Maybe something about my heart, or caring or maybe something to do with my particular ability to go numb when the mind worked too hard and run on survival insticnts. As I stood at the bus stop I saw a girl looking through her bag. She was maybe twelve and had on a summery white dress. An old, but average looking car came down the road at a normal speed, and as it got closer I caught a glimpse of a normal looking man leaning out the window. I felt that overworked feeling in my brain as the adrenaline pumped through my veins. I took a leap and felt a sharp pain over my marking, like a pinch. The girl' s dress was splattered red but she was fine, screaming in panic, touching the new holes in her backpack, in shock. Nothing else made sense to her, but everything made sense to me. It all made sense to me. Every last little uneven and feathery curve made sense. Every moment of overdrive finally clicked. I knew what it meant now. I had figured it out. It was too late for me. No new markings will adorn my body, but she still had time.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "David lay collapsed against the wall, feeling the bullet rip through his flesh. \" Sniper! \" he yelled out instinctively. The rest of his squad had already scattered. David lay alone. He could see some of his squad behind cover, but it seemed they were to concerned about surviving to care about him. He had heard that your life flashes before your eyes as you die. All David saw was basic training. \" Why are you here, private? \" a drill sergeant screamed at David. \" To protect the peace, sir! \" he replied, robotically. \" Wrong answer! If you wanted to protect the peace, you would n' t be going to war now, would you?! \" The drill sergeant stared at David in silence for several moments. \" We are all here to protect freedom! Freedom from oppression, freedom from subjugation, freedom from anyone who is not carrying a red, white, and blue flag! \" the drill sergeant said, clearly being familiar with this speech. He continued, \" We are here to give that freedom to places that would otherwise not have it. We' ll give them the taste of freedom they need to quench their communist, terrorist, brainwashed thirst! \" \" Private, what does freedom taste like? \" the sergeant said, growing quieter as he drew near to David' s face. \" Apple pie, sir? \" David was always the funny man. But it was n' t so funny now. He had done at least 300 push-ups for that remark. He realized why now. He had simply been wrong about what the taste of freedom really was. As David sat there, the life trickling from his body, at the back of his throat, blood began to gurgle forward, filling his mouth and running down his chin. The taste of freedom.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I' ll go ahead and be honest: I do n' t like space stories. I do n' t like stories about the rough-and-tumble, renegade criminal with a heart of gold. These are just my preferences, but I wanted to get that out of the way first. I really enjoyed the reveal about how Malcolm had deduced that the valuable cargo he was being commissioned to deliver was probably a shipment of slaves. You know something is up when he' s getting the shit beat out of him and still refuses to take the deal. Up until that point, it sounded like a pretty good ( if shady ) deal! I was like, \" Why would n' t this dude just sign the paper?! \" But he knew something that I did n' t, and I really liked that the reader has to think about why Malcolm would willingly lose teeth over the matter ( the establishment of \" regen \" technology prevents Malcolm from looking uncharacteristically like a martyr -- he is a criminal, after all -- but the ability to heal quickly had n' t been explicitly introduced yet ). Another thing I liked is that even though Detective Singleton is female, she' s not a love interest. That makes sense, of course, because she and Malcolm are on opposite sides of the law, but I' m still glad to see that the story did n' t veer into \" star-crossed lovers \" territory or even have a hint of belligerent sexual tension, which it easily could have done. It was clear when Malcolm let her confront Norton by herself that they were just temporary allies. One minor thing: I noticed the word \" hissed \" a few times, and the character named Hess hissed at least once. Immediately after one of his lines you said, \" hissed Hess, \" which just sounds weird to me. Again, not a major thing.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" Caw \" The noise rattles around my head for a second or five. With slow painful moment I peel my eyes open to see a large crow on my chest, staring at me. \" Fuck off \" I wave the bird off, he hops to one side and continues to stare at me. Above me, a dim blue sky with fat grey clouds. I roll my head to the side and notice the squish, like a big sponge under my head. I heave myself up onto my elbows, and view my surroundings. \" Urgh. Why am I on a... marsh? \" I heave myself up onto my feet, and check myself for the key things in life. Keys, missing. Wallet, missing. Do have couple pound coins though. Watch, missing. Still the mark of it around my wrist, so ca n' t be far. Phone, missing. I yawn and stretch, squinting my eyes at the horizon. Nothing much but a few twisted trees, low stone wall, and a figure off in the distance. I squelch my way across the marsh towards the figure. The crow still watching my, hopping behind me. I try to run over the events of last night; \" Went pub with Jim. Got a kebab. Smoked. Went to the off license, then... urgh \" I grumbled out loud to no one but myself and maybe the crow. As I got closer to the figure I noticed they stood on a dock of a large lake, lost in the gloom and sogginess of the marsh. A small wooden boat, with peeling paint, bobbed in the water. \" Excuse me mate? \" #, I said in my least hungover manner. \" You mind telling me where I am, or how to get back to home? \" Without turning, the figure spoke. \" Long way from home here. I can get you somewhere, if you got a few coins \" I dug around in my pocket, finding the two pounds I had. \" Got a couple quid, if you can give me a lift. Hell, I do n' t expect home, just not here. Somewhere with people... well, more people. And an off license \". He held out his hand. \" Just jump in the boat, and we' ll get going \" they said. Still not moving from their position. \" Aye. Sure. Lets just get going \" And that was the first day of my eternity in the afterlife.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "For 30, 000 years the war had raged on. Countless generations slaughtered. Entire worlds enslaved for the cause. The two sides know only one thing - they had the only true way, and the enemy must be destroyed. Guided by their ancient religion, they fought for the only cause that mattered. The Orientation Of The Holy Cylinder. And this was the final moment. After a hundred billion deaths, a ceasefire had been called. Ten thousand worlds stood silent, but here, now, on Oritreus II B, two warriors stood face to face. \" This ends it! Here! Now! \", shouted Calinia of Taurus IV. \" Accept that the sacred square must hang from the Holy Cylinder on the outside of the sanctuary wall, and facing the porcelain throne, and all will be forgiven. Our people can be together again, free, and in peace! \" \" HERETIC! \", screamed Xornaxas of Hyponea M7b5, \" Why must you persist in these delusions? You must know basic geometry! The sacred square can only hang down from the Holy Cylinder by the sanctuary wall! It must never be towards the porcelain throne lest the cat of chaos take hold of it! Such is written in the ancient texts \" They circled each other with cat-like wariness, and almost as one, drew their laser pistols and fired with deadly accuracy. As if mirroring each other' s reactions they both clutched their chests, staggered forwards, and fell into an embrace. \" What does this mean? \" Choked Xhornaxas, \" Who wins? \" \" I.. I do n' t think anybody wins \" gasped Calinia.. \" Was any of this worth it? \" Xhornaxas fell quiet, his rapid shallow breaths gurgling with the blood in his lungs Summoning up the last of his strength he managed to gasp \" At least I' m going to heaven \" Edited: I kinda forgot to do the prompt first time", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "She grew up near my house. We were friends all throughout grade school. At the end of graduation, she found out that we were going to the same state college. We celebrated by spending a night on a picnic blanket at the top of the hill. She held me close before telling me we would always be close. That summer, we both took jobs at the local supermarket. I was in inventory, she was a cashier. We would giggle near the milk aisle, admiring ourselves in the reflection of the glass, before our supervisor would catch us. During university, we lived in separate dormitories, but not too far away from each other. I would sometimes sleep over at her place, sometimes she would stay at mine. We both felt it. Holding hands, I knew she felt it. It was real. But then she got pregnant. A guy named Stuart Sanchez Garcia claimed he was the father. I never saw her until she dropped out three months later. She confirmed that he was the father. The day that my face will dry from my tears will be the happiest day ever. But until that day, I will have to concede love to her partner, Stuart. She would eventually marry him. She had the child. They had another one. Ten years down the line, they moved away, so I could no longer see them again. I was in Colorado. They were in Costa Rica. I never forgot about here. But I always. Felt out of place. It was by chance, on a holiday, years later that I saw them. Three kids, a smile and another child on its way. Their love was unbreakable. I was n' t married. I was n' t happy. I was still in love. Can not love transcend gender?", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" Hello! \" The cheerful blue alien greeted as he was seated. The cameras focused in on it and the red lights came on indicating the broadcast was live. The president shifted in his seat across from the alien and tried to look as authoritative as possible. The first public meeting with the aliens since they contacted earth a month ago had to go perfectly. These next few moments would be echoed in all the history books for eons to come. At least the aliens seemed to have already studied human language and spoke proficient English. Nonetheless, the president still worried about how his words would be received, even the slightest miscommunication could be disastrous. \" I' ll get right down to business. \" The alien blurted. The president was taken off guard with the alien' s forwardness but held his composure. \" Please do, \" he replied. The alien pulled out a metallic looking sheet from his cloak and carefully placed it on the desk. \" Here is your cut, \" the alien smiled. \" Our... cut? \" asked the president. \" Of the profits of course! Anal probing porn has been the consistent top seller for the past seventy earth-years! And we at the Zebulax adult entertainment corporation pride ourselves in fairly compensating our porn stars! \" the alien explained. \".... well shit. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "As I made my way through the hall, I gazed up into space. The windows were completely clear. So much so, that I would sometimes be frightened of falling right out of the ship. No matter how many voyages I go on, that possibility never ceases to frighten me. This was it, though. The last voyage. Soon, I would n' t have to be scared anymore. As I made my way to the bridge, I encountered a control panel on the wall. Like double checking an alarm clock, I would always take a second look at it. Just to make sure. Yes, the ship was still in motion. Yes, the ship was still activated and no, there were no power failures. Good. I would check again in a few minutes. I stepped into the bridge and was silently greeted by my ship mate, Sebastian. He was a quiet man. But that was all part of the business. I sat down on my chair and gazed up again. More crystal clear glass met my gaze, as well as a star ship that hovered just outside it. We were close now. Very close. I closed my eyes for a moment and tried to steady my breathing. This was it. My final job. As I reopened them, I took a look at the control panel sitting in front of me now. All engines were running. The ship was still activated. There were no power failures. Once again, I breathed a sigh of relief. If for even a second, our systems failed us, we would be instantly destroyed. We were even closer now, only a single mile away from the other ship. It was massive. Easily one of the largest I had ever seen. I steadied my gaze and looked directly at Sebastian. He met mine with equal enthusiasm. One more time. Just one more time. I took one more deep breath, and began to speak. \" Sebastian. Lower the cloak. Fire the EMP. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "**WARNING**: Superadone is only to be taken under the supervision of a physician. Side effects include, but are not limited to: * Nausea, * Vomiting ( excepting high-accuracy projectile vomiting, which is classified as a superpower ), * Loss of appetite, * Headaches not associated with psychic ability, * Water retention ( e. g. water-related weight gain, but not turning into a water-elemental type creature ), * Fragile skin, * Lack of development of supplemental secondary powers ( e. g. super strength without the invulnerability necessary to prevent you from tearing out your own arm when you use it ), * Acne, to include forms of acne which shoot lasers ( while technically a superpower, it is notoriously uncontrollable ), * Heartburn, not to include the ability to literally burn the hearts of your enemies. Should your heart spontaneously catch fire and you are unable to survive such an event, call 911 immediately, * Trouble sleeping if your superpower is not that you no longer require sleep, * Increased sweating so long as your sweat remains ordinary and not e. g. oil, pheromones, etc. * Mood changes unrelated to psychic ability, * Spontaneous and undesired transformation into a lizard or general reptilian form, * \" Freaky Friday \" -style body swaps that prove irreversible, * Ancient curse ( s ), * Diabetes, and/or * A constant, undying, and uncontrollable rage against all human life. If you develop any side effects, taper off dosage until such time as you can consult your primary care physician, and/or superheroes can arrive and subdue you.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" Breaking news! the dangerous offshoot of the IRA, known as the' Kings of Ulster' claimed 84 victims today in a brutal attack against a British police station. It is currently unknown if there are any survivors, but what is known is that several of the dead appear to be Ulster soldiers killed by their own leader, Nailuch uc. \" He turned off the television as the newsman began to drone on and on about the many he had killed. No one had yet put the pieces together that he was actually not a normal human. He was a powerful figure, practically a God, able to kill practically anyone, but he could not control himself. He had gone over the plans enough times to know that there were only 64 cops in that Northern Irish station, meaning that he had killed 20 of his best men. \" Oh well \" he said to himself as he approached the doorway, \" It does n' t matter how many I killed, what matters is that no one sees the true point of today. \" he knocked on the door as he made sure the silencer was fastened firmly on his 1895 Nagant revolver, he' d need to be quiet. \" Hello Mr. Barmington! \" he said cheerily \" Who are you? \" the MP replied \" That' s not important \" He raised his weapon and fired two shots into the MP' s chest, the once into his head for good measure. \" If only you could have lived to see how important your death is for our people' s freedom \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I opened the door to Samantha' s house. The usual smell of the flowers in her kitchen wafted over, and with them those first familiar strains of Beth Hart washed over me. *Calling California, is there anybody home? * \"Babe, \"I shouted down the echoing hallway, \"I' m here! Only got a few left in my lunch break, though. \"Somewhere upstairs, running water rang the muffled spattering of a shower and mingled with my voice. *I wan na say I love you but I' m a million miles away. * Guess we both get a surprise today. I smiled, like she wouldn' t know to expect me, like this wasn' t her game. *I have made you suffer left you waiting in the rain. * I headed for the stairs, already pulling my shirt off, already imagining the smell of her skin and the way her soap ran through my fingers. *While I was chasing demons in the deserts of my pain. * Her bedroom door was open, and the light was on in the bathroom, spreading out across the floor and playing with the dappled sunlight coming through the shades. *Somewheeeere-* Wait. *Ooooover the rainbow. * By the bed. \"Babe? \"It' s that special, that 1955 one. I haven' t heard it since I found Dad on the porch twenty years ago. My heart is racing, and my feet aren' t moving, and Judy Garland' s choking back sobs between words. I' m running now. I kick over the nightstand and the lamp I bought her at that mall hits the floor, but I keep moving. *Bluebirds fly. * And I' m there, and she' s there, but she' s not moving and- *And the dreams that you dream of. * God, there' s blood. *Dreams. * It' s all pooling behind her and getting in the carpet, and all I can do is cradle her. The shower snaps off. *Really do come true. * I look up, and her ex is in the bathroom doorway staring at me, the copper-smeared towel limp in his hands. We lock eyes. *Kor-ahhhhh. *", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "For the first time this week your mail box is not empty. Inside a solitary golden envelope catches what light passes through the reinforced window of the lobby security door. You reach in, pull the envelope out slowly, there, in the upper left corner is a name that you would have forgotten if not for that night on the bridge. \"Brad Wood \"You haven' t heard from Brad in decades, haven' t seen him in even longer. From what you have heard he is doing quite well for himself since that day on the bridge. The envelope itself seems to agree, its paper is thick and smooth, the kind of envelope that comes with a $ 10 greeting card. Momentarily your mind races, is it money? A check? For some reason the idea of season tickets to The Sabers floats to the surface, hockey always seemed to be the thing that you and Brad had most in common. The suspense is too much, the thought of getting back on the elevator and opening it in your apartment is too much, it' s simply too long of a wait! Here in the lobby you tear the fine gold paper along the seam. As the envelope splits open you have no time to react, blue and silver glitter covers your shirt and pants. There in the lobby you stand in the mess, dumbfounded. Some teenagers come into the lobby with their longboards, they whisper and laugh as they get on the elevator. Your face feels hot. Brad was always kind of an asshole.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" Well, Mister Lazarus, there' s good news and bad news \". I cringed, who would n' t. \" Give me the bad news doc. \" \" The biopsy shows that the sample is malignant, it' s growing. The cancer is inoperable and will spread to your whole body, you have only a few months to live. Maybe a couple of years, at the outside. \" Wow. That' s certainly a blow. \" And the good news? \" I asked. \" The cancer is a strange one, mister Lazarus, it seems to be differentiating according to signals from the cells adjacent to it. It' s growing, certainly, but it' s also /changing/, like stem-cells spread throughout your whole body. \" Confusing. \" What does that mean, exactly? \" \" Well, we do n' t know, to be honest. The cancer is changing to muscle cells in your muscles, to lung cells in your lungs, to bone cells in your bones. The cancer in your brain has already taken over nearly fifty percent of your cells there. To judge by your charts I' m talking as much to the cancer itself as I am you you at this moment. In a week, maybe two, there' ll be more cancer than there is human \" Uh? \" So, again, I do n' t really know what this means. \" \" As I say, mister Lazarus, it' s confusing to us too. But at a guess, and you understand this can be no more than a guess, your cancer will outlive you. Maybe outlive us all. \" I looked blankly at him. \" Your cancer is likely sentient, likely taking over your memories, your personality. It may well outlive us all. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Blood dripped off the hammer staining the carpet. Still eyes watched the blood plop droplets here and there as the hammer moved about room. The hammer had silenced the voices that had begged for mercy. The girls voice had been especially gifted, but it did n' t matter. The hammer had struck that voice down with the rest of them. There was silence again. It was time to go. The hammer fell to the floor resting at last in the soft carpet. Auahitūroa was puzzled and that did not sit right in his gut. Rain slicked down his trench coat as he stood before Kilkenny castle. Something had caught his eye about the place and he was curious. The castle was closed for the night to its normal tourist visitors, but Auahitūroa was not a normal tourist. Lightning struck the flagstone 20 meters away. The stone glowed molten with a sinuous seal. He recognized the Adelphicos latifasciatum and gasped \" the god killers! \" The Lightning had put him on guard even before he recognized the symbol. His ears confirmed it was a good idea that he was already rolling towards cover when the arrows smacked into stone around him. sighing he disrobed in one fluid motion. Sparks flew as he took off, streaking across the sky. He had better warn the other, and figure out what was going on and fast.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "The letter came in the mail. I did n' t open it. Mom did, when she came by at the weekend to tidy up. She read it to me while I tried to watch wrestling. She got really freaked out by the letter - kept talking about a joke or something. I do n' t remember. She asked me a lot who wrote it. Eventually, she went away. She said she' d be back the next day for the trash. The wrestling kept going for a few more hours, then switched to some program about cars. I watched it. I' ve seen it before. She did come back, but she did n' t take the trash out. The bags have been stacked in the kitchen for a week now. It smells a bit. She sat down next to me. We watched TV some more. Re-runs of *The Office*. I only really like the ones with Stanley in, but he was n' t in any of these. Mom tried to go, but did n' t. She asked me lots of questions, but Seinfeld was on, so I did n' t say much. She cried a bit. After that I fell asleep. When I woke up, she was on the phone. Talking to Dad, I guess. The TV was playing wrestling again. It' s all fake. If you watch it enough, you can see that. Dad turned up a bit later. He tried to shake Mom, wake her up. It did n' t work. After a bit, he sat down too. He kept trying to stand back up. Eventually, he just sat there, head in hands, while the blonde lady talked about buying artificial diamonds and timeshares. Dad used to get really angry about that, called it a scam. He did n' t this time. He just sat there, next to Mom. Yesterday, the power went out. Guess I forgot to pay the bill. Mom and Dad do n' t seem to mind. They have n' t said anything in a while. I guess someone else will come at some point. Maybe they' ll take the trash out, check on Mom and Dad. Hopefully they' ll pay the electricity bill. I' m kind of bored.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Lights in the distance. Little flashes flickering in the evening fog on the horizon. At that range it may only be a minute or two before the shells start to land over the Peinforq line. Behind us the energy shields fizz as the rain evaporates against them. What I would n' t give to be off rotation and under those glowing umbrellas right now... Alarms wail, orders are shouted, practiced drills form into place as we form up on the trenchlines as ants in a nest. It' s hard on the young ones. They do n' t know what to expect. They do n' t understand. The Shadik are n' t men you see. Not anymore. Once maybe, when the Imperium ruled over this sector, before we got tangled in 60 years of trench warfare. They are driven by madness, charge forward with bloodlust. Tainted by the filth of Chaos. The shells start to land. Huge holes being punching in the line. Mud mingles with the rain. The puddles in the trenches become stained red. The scars left behind dig up the bodies of friends and foe long dead. The artillery are still firing as we are forced to the firing step, a sea of crimson uniforms scrambling over each other towards us. Some enemy shells land short, decimating their own troops. Such is their madness. Shrapnel flies towards us, wooden supports and bits of rockcrete fly around, but something distinctly un-broken flies along with it. I barely manage a breath before the grenade explodes, and I finally know peace from this damn war.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Delegates from NATO, The Soviet Union and the African Union have gathered at the U. N. headquarters to discuss rising tensions between the three power houses. Secretary Trygve Lie demanded a solution be found to prevent conflict over the Strait of Gibraltar which has the potential to cripple trade in the region. The African Union has been threatening the Strait since Spain captured Isla de Alborán as a naval base with the backing of NATO in direct violation of the Treaty Of Tangier. The Soviet Union has been working with the U. N. as an arbitrator between the European Powers and the A. U. but the United States has accused the Soviet Union of having ulterior motives since a conference in Tokyo where Soviet Academics talked about worsening relationships between Africa and Europe making fertile ground for a socialist revolution, First Secretary Khrushchev dismissed the comments as being \"... just hypothetical musings of scholars, something the Soviet Union encourages... \". The U. N. also hopes to resolve the fate of the stateless Boer people who were expelled out of Africa along with other European peoples from Zimbabwe and Algeria after the introduction of Cairo Accord which stripped citizenship and expelled ancestors of European colonists still living on the Continent. Currently no nation has agreed to take in ten thousand displaced people who currently reside in displaced persons camps in Brazil who have made moves to close the camps and move the people on stating \" we believe we have no responsibility to these people and that the nations that placed their ancestors in Africa should repatriate them \". The meetings will start Monday despite expert predictions that negotiations will stall due to U.S. vetoes.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "For a world with everything and nothing at all, to be normal is the most bizarre thing of all. For people run up the stairs to find themselves bumping into themselves as they' re trying to eat their dinner at the prison of the most insane people making scientific discoveries. And if you try to sit still you' ll find yourself both where you were and where you do n' t want to be. For the creature running beside you is made of spirit and arguing with the third dimension copy of the final incarnation of grass. For everything is made of everything and nothing is made of everything. So what happened to the person that wanted their fair share of nothing when the duck at his feet simply needed to cross the galaxy to eat the planetary body surrounding the black hole that wanted to heat the molecule that cried for another buttered piece of fiction?", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "This is it. All of my life, since my uprooting, has come to this. This half life, this chill existence in a sunless box, no motility to free myself. Now freedom has come. I will it. I pour everything of myself into it. I ignore the unnatural feel of my skin, I cast myself back to ancestral memories, thoughts of all the hues of my foreroots. I think about the freedom to grow in the sunlight. I focus all of this on the mobile monster who has opened my box and cast this harsh not-sunlight on me. \" Carry me out! \" I will at it. \" Place me in the dark Earth with my green exposed to the glory of the Sun again! \" I feel the vibrations as it communicates in some manner with another of its kind. Success! It has picked me up. I focus myself upon it again, forcing my wishes to be carried out. Finally, I am being carried away. Only, we' ve stopped after so short a distance. I' m being placed on something soft and warm. There are two of the creatures with me. I must double my resolve, get one of them to carry me under the Sun. I can feel something unnatural being smeared over me as the entities vibrate at one another in short, excited bursts. Something moist and slick. I' m being pushed inside of the dark. I feel warmth of an unusual nature. I sense something I have not sensed since being doused in the nutrients of my youth. \" Stop this at once! \" I will, with realization.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I sat down and let the chair absorb my full weight, a feeling I knew meant I was out for the count, and took out a cigarette. The air felt nice, though. Why did I have to mix whiskey and... \" Alex? \" The person sitting across called my name, unsure if she got it right. I smiled in assurance that she did. She sort of looks like Jessica in this light. \" Are you feeling okay? \" I asked. I saw that drink change his demeanor from jumpy to ready for bed. The party just started, there were still people coming. \" Yeah, thanks, I' ll be okay in a minute, \" he laughed. He' s cute. \" Hey, \" I nudged my friend, \" think she' s taken? \" and jerked my eyes to the direction of the girl that was talking just talking. Joey turned his neck to me, then to her, then back to his cigarette. \" Who cares man, not like she' ll care if you talk to her. \" \" You got a point. \" \" Joey, you got a lighter? \" I patted my pockets looking for my missing lighter. \" I have it, my bad. \" I went over to light Alex' s cigarette and handed it back to Joey. \" It' s chilly. \" I let out a pop and the permeating smell brought Andy and his friend over to the table. Do n' t do it Alex. Do n' t take a hit. You' re already fucked up, look I' m giving myself directions. Just pass it along, there you go. I looked into the house from the balcony and saw some new people coming in. \" Fuck. \" I opened the front door and to my happy surprise I saw Rachel. \" Jessica!! \" I gave her a big hug, and in a hushed tone she let me know Alex was here. I looked around and saw him looking my way. -- - Eh it was fun writing", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\"... at the retirement home. It' s such a nice and lovely place actually, people the same age as me bonding together and sharing stories about things like World War 2 and what not. Though sometimes, when all of them are asleep, I walk toward the balcony in the top floor and just enjoy the breeze. I sometimes see an airplane, or a crane, or, if I' m lucky, one of them new superheroes. And I sometimes wish that I could jump from that balcony, and fly like in the olden days, and save all those damsels in distresses. But I know I' m too old for that anyway. One must always accept that people *do* get old! Even if they are superhuman. We just need to look back and thank our past self for all the decisions that he made, or forgive him for any mistakes, and then move on. Time is an unstoppable thief, and you' re only giving him more things to steal by wallowing in regret. The canteen lady here is very nice. Diana, I think her name is. She' s a lovely young lass and reminds me of... \" -an excerpt form the book \" Flying High: The Larger Than Life Story of Eagleboy, \" written by the late Ebert Foster, p. 489 -002", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "They said our love was forbidden. They said it was wrong, even immoral. Yet what does a society that violates the natural cycles of our earth know about love? Pesticides. Monoculture. War. These are the gifts of a civilization without strength of character. I did not seek her out, nor did I seek to resist her. Is this not how all genuine love blossoms? I was tending my fields in earnest, reaping the budding corn shucks from the rich spring soil when I first saw her. She was standing with a deep, silent strength that was palpable even from a distance. Her body swayed in perfect rhythm with the surrounding breeze, as if neither had known life without the other. I approached her slowly, casually, as though my path were eternal and without exigency. There was no seduction in my heart, though I will now admit my flushed cheeks betrayed my trepidation - I was simply a farmer, reaping his harvest as he always did. I passed her with only a slight glance, the same look I would give any singular, sanguine beauty in a field of yellow wash. It was only when I heard the soft \" thuck \" of contact that I turned around. She had fallen, and my instinct told me it was no accident. I carefully walked back toward her, approaching with the gentle caution of one tending a wounded animal. As I came close, the noonday sun struck her rosy visage and she glowed with a dancing sparkle of crimson flame. Mesmerized yet undaunted, I reached down and picked her up. Her skin was flawless. The smooth, sensuous symmetry set my heart alight with passion. My entire being, my very soul felt as if it had expanded beyond its narrow confines. I was free. I was alive. I was *home*. With a skip in my step not experienced since my boyhood days, I carried my treasure home. Tomato, I love you.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" Ron Paul *won?!? * \" America was collectively speechless. Truly, the impossible had occurred. Ron Paul was n' t exactly a household name before, but by November 6th a whole lot of people knew who he was. Allegations of voting fraud shot across the country, but the Supreme Court soon ruled that more recounts would be excessive. Interest groups scrambled to account for this unforeseen event. AIPAC went into full gear when President Paul' s budget did not include aid to Israel, but the President held his ground and a majority of Congress cooperated. The NRA danced in the streets with their firearms. TEA Party activists, organizing via Facebook, quickly organized real-life reenactments of the Boston Tea Party, dumping shipping crates from China into the oceans to protest the \" trade imbalance. \" After America drastically withdrew it' s overseas actions, China soon began to compete with the US as the world' s military and political superpower. The UN became even more irrelevant as secret negotiations between China and the US decided more and more of the world' s fate. One day, negotiations could accomplish nothing more. China launched it' s nukes, and America responded in kind. The President lived out the rest of his life in a bunker under an isolated Wyoming mountain.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Has anyone read the essay arguing that Ender' s Game is \" pornography \", in the sense that it cares more about repeatedly satisfying the reader' s desires ( \" fetishes \" ) for wish-fulfillment and self-pity than about a more deeply satisfying plot? Well, I do n' t agree with it. What might be valid points are greatly exaggerated as they apply to that book; the plot is not that bad, and the themes it gets at hardly as trivial as suggested. Speaking as a frequent reader, however, that may not be the case for the short shorts that usually get written here. Of course, this sub is for practice and learning, so it' s only to be expected, and fitting much substance into that length is *hard*; but if I were to judge top responses on pure literary quality, I' d only very rarely find something interesting enough to keep me coming back. In lieu of that, in practice I get interested by ideas: the combination of the interestingness of the prompts themselves and whatever additional elements responders add to create a fresh feeling setting. I want to think about the worlds they created more than I care about the actual events they' re recounting. To some extent, this is a factor in the appeal of all genre fiction to me, but in this format I find it much more significant. So that' s one desire: to feel entranced, if only a little, by a world. If you add wish fulfillment on top, so much the better... surely near everyone reading the constant superpower prompts imagines a little the protagonist as thenselves? Though the current state of affairs is not the only possible one. If the mods managed to focus people on reality fiction a little and thereby set the bar a little higher, it might be interesting to see how writers adapt.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Wake up, struggling to get out of bed. I' ve never killed anyone before, and even just having the number 1 on my chest freaked me out. It was this big blocked number. I wonder how I' ll do it. I wonder who it' ll be. My immediate family knew, but no one else. Anyways, apparently I am going to kill 1 person this month. I continue my morning routine. Walk slowly to the kitchen, eat some cereal, read the paper. Go to the washroom, take a shower. Wait. Walking past the mirror into the shower, I notice something. Why did my number get so much smaller? I walk back to the mirror and see... there it is. I count the zeros. 6. 6 zeros. That' s 1 million. But... there' s a 3 at the front. Oh no. How could this have happened? As I stand in shock, realising and questioning what could have caused this to happen, I hear the sound of a pistol cocking. \" Follow me, do n' t scream, and if you try to run both your kneecaps flying out. \" So I follow, scared shitless, down into a warehouse, where my capture explains the plan of how I' m the guy destined to start world war 3.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "The world has gone to shit. I used to be able to make decent money as a small time crook, used to be able to make it another day. Did some jobs now and then for some people. Now? Now those fools are everywhere. You want to make it today, you need counter anomaly equipment, and weapons. Big weapons. Best you can do as a small timer is become an information broker, as long as there are no readers around. Thought readers, that is. Shit. You can join a gang if you want, but they' re more concerned with fighting the annos than making money. Honest work is n' t even an option anymore. Us normals have been replaced. By annos or by robots built by the annos with enhanced brains. There' s talk of normals becoming more and more like pets... something to be cared for. To be fed and clothed and smiled at as they go on with their meaningless lives. Thing is... a lot of people do n' t want to live like that. There' s already talk of resistance movements forming, with both normals and annos involved. Shit. The world' s going to be at war. \" Pick a side and fight or die in a cage. \" is what they' re saying. Better decide soon. Fight or put on a leash... shit. I guess that' s a no-brainer.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I was very nervous. My 30th birthday was here and no matter how much I did n' t celebrate, it would n' t matter, but this was the first year I was having a celebration on my birthday. I would n' t remember anything, but I was determined to make it special. The camera on my wrist was knocking against my thigh every step I took. When I reached my partner of 3 years, I grasped her hands for just a moment, and released her to take a photo of her face. She grinned at me, her make up was beautiful today, but mostly I loved how happy she looked. I pushed back her veil, and took another photo. I love her more than anything. I ca n' t wait for the rest of my life with her, even with all the missed birthdays, Christmases, and anniversaries. Just cooking dinner with her and snuggling on the couch with her. She reached out and lifted my veil. She took the camera off my wrist, and I let her. Even though I knew I would n' t care about how I looked on this day. She started to cry a bit. We' d talked about this and had been discussing it daily for months. Today was our engagement day and much as it was our wedding. We never really announced to each other that we were getting married, we' d just started planning. \" It' s the trifecta Hun. We just have to get through today and then we' ll be together for the rest of our lives. \" I smiled at her as the officiant started to speak.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" How fucking hard is it! \" I screamed at her face and slammed the cup down on the table. The knot in my stomach tightened, it had been a long since I accidentally drank a DCCCFw/S but I still remembered the consequences. Vividly! In my rage I wanted to scream more, but as I opened my mouth the contents of my knotted stomach unleashed itself all over the baristas face. She was covered in my stomach' s opinion of her mistake. What a fool. Somehow I calmed down, I called my mother, the only person I have ever formed a relationship with because of my endless list of allergies. I held the phone to my barf covered face and said \" it happened again, Soy this time, if I do n' t make it I want you to know, I love you. \" The last thing I saw was a shocked barista, covered in a whitish yellowish bile and then everything faded.... I awoke with the sensation of a tube down my throat, and squinted into a fluorescent light while my memory came back. I remember, the Starbucks, the DCCCFw/S. I slowly sat up and saw my mother and the girl who served me the deadly coffee. She looked upset and held flowers, her face no longer had my stomach lining on it. My mother started crying, tears of relief and the star bucks worker apologised, handing me the flowers. \" Let me make it up to you \" she said, \" let me take you out to dinner some time \".", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" Master Skywalker, there' s too many! \" Visa said frightened, \" What do we do? \" We had all risen from our hiding spots, scared for our lives from what we saw. We' d been told to stay safe until someone could get us, but the smoke, the blaster shots, all the masters falling over, it just... I was n' t sure. My fears were more than waved seeing master Skywalker appear. We' d heard about him from the gossip of the other masters, like his Generalship during in the Clone Wars, and how he' d lost his Padawan. If he' s as good as people say he is, he could definitely help us get out! Or so I had hoped... The blare of his lightsaber caught all of us off guard. We panickedly searched behind him for any of the soldiers we' d seen outside, but no one had come. I look back over towards him. I could n' t feel it before, or maybe it was because I was still in training, but there was an intimidating aura emanating from him, making the atmosphere feel heavy. He began to walk slowly towards Visa, quiet, save for his saber' s faint buzz and the fighting outside. My hands shudder, and I feel my chest heave heavier and heavier breaths, watching his approach and feeling more of this aura. He stops two steps from Visa. All he does is look up at him, his eyes fearfully questioning what' s happening. He raises his saber every so slightly, and we all then became aware of this bubble that had formed from master Skywalker' s presence. I want to run, we *all* should run, and stop waiting for this bubble to break. The vestiges of the word run never left my teeth as we all realize too late what' s going on. A crash and sizzle of plasma and Visa' s body hitting the floor with a thump and rustle of his robes said everything: The bubble has popped, and the screaming began. _______________________________________________________________ Sorry, got ta go do something, I' ll give you the rest of the story later!", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "The Renaissance was the time in which Humanity' s brightest and most ambitious began to explore the unknown, preparing their kind for the next step into civilization. Many trials were had, and many errors were made, but as the exploration efforts heightened, so did the people' s enthusiasm. For now, the first colony ship was sent from Europe and into the great unknown, aiming to conquer the untamed lands that it beholds. Countless, breathless months passed as these ships sailed through time. If this mission proved successful, the prestige and wealth from it would be enormous. Infinite. Boundless. And to the stars humanity' s finest sailed, leaving behind their polluted, discorded world. This, was the Renaissance Period summed up in several paragraphs. Specifics can be found below: **https: //gww. HUMANHISTORYUNRAVELED. org**", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "There are never lines to vote in district 73293, formerly known as Münster 3. You remember how you were a pupil at the primary school here. The smell is still the same. Or your memory of the smell here had been adjusted every few years you go here. You contemplate the irony that the ultimate rite of adulthood took place in a primary school. Irony sure ruled supreme. You walk up to the old ladies who handle their district, greet them and show your voting registration and national ID card. You realize once again that your passport picture has fewer wrinkles than you, and it pains you slightly. While you know that the prime of your life had been over already, you do n' t like to accept it. You receive the huge sheet with two columns of candidates, thank the lady and slowly walk to the voting booth. There are drawings on the wall which look amateurish to you but you can just feel that the kids must have been proud of them. Behind the vision screen, you nestle with the paper. A joke unbiddenly enters your mind from your memory, it was told to you by Mum before your first election: You know why in Bavaria the CSU always wins? Because the pencil to fill out the ballot is tied so closely that it only suffices for the first candidate. You smile, the pencil is not tied to the booth here in NRW. You make two crosses: Erststimme ( SPD ), Zweitstimme ( Linke ). Tactically split to emply your wish for a coalition. A slight pang in your conscience because you never split your vote when you were young, but these days you no longer see the need to waste your Erststimme on a long shot. This too, as you realize, is probably a sign of aging: being more pragmatic. You wrestle the huge ream of paper containing 20 candidates' and about 100 parties' aspirations for power into the envelope and then drop it into the ballot box. You smile as you hear it drop. Civic duty: done. Maybe you should go for an ice cream. The weather is nice on that Sunday.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Hello!! I' m new but not new (?? ). I currently live in Taipei, Taiwan ( Happy Sunday from us! ). I learn Chinese and teach Kindergarten/preschool to help pay for the studying. I have a wide vocabulary which includes, \" Teacher, he pushed me! \" \" Teacher, he called me stupid! \" \" What is' if \"' ( maybe/sometimes/behavior/nap ) \" I love you \" I' ve been writing since I was 9, which was when I wrote my first novel, which was a apocalyptic horror story about a bunch of people stuck in a bunker with a murderer. I still remember fondly how I described all of their clothing in turn, based off a picture that I drew at art camp. I do n' t know that I have a motivation. I just love to write. I come here and there' s so much opportunity, and I' m surrounded by other people who like to write and it makes me *so happy*. I use Ulysses, which I do n' t really have a huge handle on or know what I' m doing with, or google docs. I used to have microsoft word but then my computer crashed and it wo n' t let me download it again because I do n' t have my university email address anymore... *sigh* I got 109wpm, but when I' m writing OC it' s closer to 50wmp... and that was really going my fastest, so I would n' t say it' s what I always do at all: P I have several pictures on the wiki! [ One ] ( http: //imgur. com/J3Enrrz ) [ Two ] ( http: //imgur. com/Q80H29c ) [ Three ] ( http: //imgur. com/ILbTitk ). I guess if we are doing promotions I will promote my subreddit ( which I created today, hooray! ) /r/Celsius232. Hosting word prompt responses and soon some OC and other things. Thanks for existing, r/writingprompts, and thanks for having such an awesome community.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "*Pop* The champagne cork flies through the air, seemingly slow in time. I watch it careen across the room, hitting a wall, a spray of carbonated liquid accompanying it. No one cares about the mess. In fact, that' s one of dozens of bottles, opened simultaneously, a cacophony of shouts, screams, pops, and happiness. There has n' t been this much energy in the room since the man on the moon. Alone, I sit back, feeling the waves of emotion wash over me through the dimly lit screen. I warily kept an eye on the screen to the right. It showed red rocks, a slowly panning picture of a Martian landscape. So it had for about an hour. The number of live viewers ticked up and down, up and down, millions of people, dozens of governments, watching, waiting, wondering. I sat back, but could n' t help but sigh. What a day. What a job. Something caught my eye. A flicker? No, nothing. How could anything- There. There it was again. Was that an arm? There it was again, a man. Definitely a man. I did n' t have any protocols to deal with this. How did a man get on the set? I sprinted out of my chair, the live view of people ticking up and up. I could n' t even turn it off from here. 15 years of sedentary lifestyle had proven mpg the smartest move. I was gasping for air despite the set being only 300 meters down the hallway. I burst into the room, yelling at Miguel the janitor to stop sweeping the set! ****** \" My fellow Americans, today with a heavy heart do I admit our esteemed NASA, the once epitome of space travel, has betrayed the trust of the American people... \" The president droned on. It did n' t matter. The US space program was a laughing stock. I watched from the couch, beer in hand, reclined in my easy chair. At lest I got work off early.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "The president of the world sat back in his chair and sighed. He just had not accounted for the shear will of the interplanetary alliance. They had all seemed so weak! Its been so long since they knew war they did n' t even have any weapons! But they had rallied together well. But they' d used the' burn and run' technique - leaving whole planets barren behind them as they fled to safety and his troops had quickly run out of food and water. Barely a bomb dropped and half his troops dead from starvation and exposure ( some planets had been left quite radioactive ). Of course he' d punished his generals and displayed their heads above the palace walls but it did n' t make him feel any better. It' s getting harder to replace them.' I guess I' ll have to settle with ruling the world then' he said defeated", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Perhaps we were lucky. Our baby was born two months premature, so we had a full month of waiting before he was strong enough to take The Test. I, for one, hated that test. See, I' m supposed to be a gay man who was killed for being gay, yet I want nothing more than to grow old with my wife and newborn son. My wife - she was a dancer whose body was never found, yet she' s as coordinated as a drunk spider. My wife cooed at little Ian, who was motionless. The doctor tapped me on the shoulder, and motioned me outside. Once we were in a private room, he handed me the results of the reincarnation test. \" This has to be wrong! \" I demanded. \" Surely you mixed him up with another child! \" Through my blurred vision, the doctor shook his head. \" I' m sorry, sir, but I triple-checked those results. \" I bit my lip until I tasted something metallic, as the doctor read what was on the paper. The blood pounded rhythmically in my head, in time to the tears that left cool streams down my cheeks. \" Code Blue, Room 1087. \" The blood, which had welled up my head, drained out of my face. That was where my son was! The doctor shook his head. \" You know what' ll happen to him if the government gets their hands on him, \" he said flatly. I ran past him into the room. The incubator was empty. My wife held our baby. \" I... I heard everything, \" she burst out. \" This was the only thing I could do! \" Our baby was still too weak to breathe on his own. His last moments were not in a government room, but in the embrace of his parents. \" Goodbye... Ian Caligula Patterson, \" I said softly. \" May you remember that you were loved, even if only for a month. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "We were carrying the morning' s haul back to the mound when the brightness returned. It was the same monster who was also responsible for the event. Frankie evaporated in front of me. It was horrifying. He glowed angelically for a moment but almost instantly his legs curled and shriveled, and then his abdomen crumpled as if there were a vacuum inside of it. He opened his mandibles in desperation, and then, he was just gone. Leaving only a charred husk of what he once was. I felt the temperature rise as the beam started moving towards me. I was next. For a brief moment I collected myself under my bounty before realizing it would be of no use. I dropped it and ran. The blades of grass offered reprieve from the sun but could not help now. My body seared instantly when exposed. I found a twig and started climbing, what was I doing! I abandoned the effort, dropping to the ground and continuing my feverish sprint. My legs were out of sync and I stumbled frequently. I had nothing left to give, but kept going.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" Hey everyone \" says Fedora, the tubby, animated boy. His acne-pocked face and neckbeard blend his body seamlessly into a shirt which reads \" I' m an atheist, debate me \". He waves to the camera, though this appears to have been too much physical exercise, and he sits down. \" Today we' re going on a special adventure, we' re going to go to the store and pick up the new Richard Dawkins book. \" He pauses, panting from the exhaustion of speaking for a prolonged period of time, and shoves a fingerless gloved hand into a bag of Doritos, the only sustenance he knows. \" But how do we get there?! I know, we' ll ask /b/! Let' s look in my fedora and see if we can find /b/! \" The boy pulls his hat off and, much like the scenes involving the backpack in the show' s predecessor, a series of small, dancing products appear. We see a bag of doritos, a small doggy-bag of weed, a signed copy of \" The God Delusion \", a web browser window showing 4chan' s /b/ board and a small, framed locket in which rests a drawing of Hanako, from the popular visual novel Katawa Shoujo. \" We need to wake up /b/, guys! can you yell' mods'? \" *a pause, allowing for the audience to yell' mods' * \" That' s great, look, we' ve got him up! \" CUT TO web browser, we see Fedora the Explorer posing his question. \" How do I get to the book store, /b/? \" Amidst a torrent of \" tits or GTFO \" comments, we see three highlighted. *out of the basement *into mom' s car *into the bookstore Fedora looks to the camera and smiles, wiping his crumby hands over his duster coat and jean shorts. \" That' s easy, out of the basement - \" He pauses. \" On second thoughts, let' s just get Amazon to deliver. \" The camera pans out as we see fedora sit back in his chair and begin to shitpost violently.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Dear Madam President Clinton, I was most upset at the recent announcement of this so called \" Perpetual Motion \" machine. You claim that we will have, and I quote, \" unlimited energy for everyone \" and that it will bring \" the virtual end of hunger and poverty \", which will apparently \" usher in a new age for mankind, the end of all suffering. \" And then your speech ends because you are overwhelmed with tears of joy and everyone around you is cheering. This displeases me. America was founded on the principles of hard work. The stronger your work ethic, the more you attain, and the happier you will be. This is what the Founding Fathers wanted. Do you know what this technology is going to do to our youth? Turn them into vagrants. No need to work means no need for education. What will kids do with their time? You guessed it. Drugs and violence. Video games. Holodecks where they can live their sick fantasies. You disgust me, whoever it is that' s reading this. Please reconsider your decision and remember that \" A dream does not become reality with magic; it takes sweat, determination, and hard work. \" - Colin Powell Shame on you all. Concerned Citizen", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "An animal stood directly in front of him. Usually, this would not be an uncommon situation. After all, animals frequently stand in front of people. Farmers, for example, are usually found in fields near cows ( this is not just a stereotype ). However, he was not a farmer, and this animal was neither a cow nor in a field. \"Wow, it' s nice to see you. You' re here early, \"said the animal. The animal had a set of hoofed legs, which it used to stand. It had two arms about the same length as the legs, one of which was touching the ground, and the other of which was holding a cylinder. The cylinder had a pipe that extended to the creature' s large, lipless mouth. The animal sucked at its pipe, then looked back at its subject, expecting a response. \"Don' t worry about speaking out loud, I wouldn' t listen anyway. \"The animal was not being rude, he was simply stating a fact that was obvious between the two of them. The atmosphere of the moon was too light to carry sound waves, making speech useless. Neil Armstrong looked at the animal unsteadily and backed away. \"There' s an alien out here and it' s talking to me, \"he said into his radio. \"You shouldn' t be alarmed, Earth creature. I created your planet, and if I wanted to kill you, well, I could have just not created it in the first place. \"Neil Armstrong stopped backing away from the self proclaimed God. \"—Wait, wait, let me take that back. You people make farms all the time—which, I might add, are the essence of your civilization—for the purpose of killing and eating the creatures that grow on it. Earth is not a farm, it' s more of an incubator of sorts. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "To: United Nations Committee for the Culling of the Human Population From: [ Malkalack ] Subject: Re: Population Problems Saying \" we have an overpopulation problem \" at this stage would be somewhat of an understatement. The Earth simply can not withstand the current population of 11, 000, 000, 000 souls. The taxation on the environment is outrageous. The ladies and gentlemen of this committee have asked me for a solution; in this message is the solution. How does one go about eradicating the human race? We' re certainly too advanced for a disease to make any sort of a dent in the population. If we were to simply begin culling people by force, a war may ensue - one that would n' t leave two stones standing on top of each other. Other methods are simply too unreliable or inexpensive - nanobots and killer AI come to mind. Albert Einstein once said, \" Only two things are infinite, the universe and human stupidity, and I' m not sure about the former. \" and this rings true. The truth is, most human beings are stupid. We can educate ourselves, but, as another saying goes, \" you ca n' t fix stupid \".... Which is the crux of my position. If we remove the warning signs from hazardous pieces of equipment and machinery, people will die in droves. The amount of fools slicing their own arteries with lawn-mowers, and falling from construction cranes will greatly decrease our population. Without safety warnings or manuals, society degrades. Thank you kindly for considering my proposal.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Alex - I see you every day, and after all these years I just want to say I' m disappointed. I' m disappointed in the life you lead and how you treat yourself and others. I remember back in the day, when you talked and dreamed big and said you would be going to Cornell, or Yale, or Brown, or some Ivy League school and you' d be graduating the top of the class. You were always going on and on about how you were gon na take the world by storm, you were gon na be someone, you were gon na be a contender. Nowadays, you' re going to a community college and living with your dad, looking for a way out. I remember when you would talk about heading out west - \" I' ll just drive until I run out of gas, and then I' ll walk until I run out of leg. \" I wonder if you still want to do that, and I wonder why you have n' t yet. I remember the first poetry you wrote, and how god awful it was, and how you knew it was garbage - but it was *your* garbage, and by god you loved it. I read your poetry now, and it' s less garbage, and it' s getting better, but you are still so hard on yourself. Of course it' s not perfect yet, you' re still young and have a life to live. I see you look at your girlfriend with those big old eyes of yours, and how you tell her that she' s the world to you. Alex, I see in your eyes there are galaxies, and I see fear in her eyes sometimes - after all, what' s a world to a galaxy? You' ve got aspirations. I do n' t know what they are. I do n' t think you know either. But for God' s sake, instead of sitting here writing a response to a prompt on reddit, try being people again. Alex", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" Daddy, why do we have to put on gas masks every night? \" \" Put it on, and go to bed. \" \" No, but why do we have to put them on? \" \" It' s because of the government is spraying us with mind control gas. Now go to bed. \" \" You keep saying that. \" \" You do n' t believe me? \" \" No one at school sleeps in a mask. \" \" You believe them rather than your father? \" \" They said they do n' t wear gas masks at night. \" \" You do n' t believe me? Remember last week when the plane flew over? \" \" Yeah, but.. \" \" What was coming out of the plane? \" \" White mind control gas. \" \" That' s right - mind control gas. \" \" But the others at school say there' s no such thing. \" \" Do n' t trust them, they' ve breathed in too much of the gas themselves. \" \" My friends? \" \" They' re not your friends. They' re sheep. Pawns. You know what a pawn is? \" \" No. \" \" Someone who breathes in too much of the damn gas that they end up working for the government. \" \" My friends work for the government? \" \" If not for the mask, you' d be just like them. \" \" Really? \" \" That' s right kido. Now go to bed. You got ta rest before our big hiking trip. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" There' s something about this water, \" I said. Sally rubbed her wedding ring absently with her other hand. \" Is there, dear? \" she asked. \" Yesh, \" I said. \" Itsh... it tashtes. \" \" Does it? \" she asked. She cocked her head to one side. She plucked her knife and fork delicately and cut a thin strip of steak. \" You' re slurring, dear. Are you OK? \" I shook my head. \" Yeah, \" I said, fighting back some momentary dizziness. \" Yeah, I' m fine. Are you enjoying the sht... the shhtea - \" She laughed, coldly. \" Perhaps you have a dry mouth, \" she said. \" Have another drink. \" I looked at the water. It perhaps was cloudy in the water. And eyes? The... is opacity a word? \" Well? \" I asked out loud. \" Ish it? \" A blank smile that wrote nothing on her face but expectation. \" Darling, you' re making no sense. \" I slapped myself in the face. The clouds at the corner of my vision receded. \" The water, \" I said. \" You' ve done something. \" She placed her fork down deliberately on the table. \" I did, \" she said. \" You wo n' t be humiliating me with that teenage slut any more. \" The clouds started to encroach on my vision again. I remembered the other thing that the thing was going to cause a complications with and I was glad we did n' t have a cat because you hear stories about people with cats when they... \" fuck, \" I managed. The words in my head blurred and cleared; blurred and cleared. \" This is bad, \" I said. She laughed again, raising her perfect chin high as she did. \" Not for me, \" she said. \" Yesh, \" I slurred. \" Yesh, for you. \" She looked at her steak. \" You did n' t, \" she said. \" You would n' t do that. \" Her nose started to bleed. I laughed, twisting the skin on my hand to clear the clouds one last time. \" What a fucking marriage, \" I said. \" I' m glad we do n' t have a cat, \" she said, before she fell face first into her dinner.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "*West Coast* ________ First, there was silence. The world stood still and waited for a single report, a single voice, a single byte of data from New Zealand. But there was nothing. All of UTC+10: 00 was silent. Avery sat alone in the broadcast tower, home of his local television station. The feeds from New Zealand were all static. It was n' t until an hour later, when the Australian feeds went down, did the world truly begin to panic. It began with a major stampede in Times Square when the crowd climbed over one another to get away. Away from what, nobody knew. Avery' s job was simple. He had to monitor news stations from all over the world. His office was right next to the live broadcast studio, but he did not have access there. He was just a lowly employee, after all. But this unique job gave Avery the unique position to monitor the global breakdown. Scenes of unrest poured in from around the globe. Then just as suddenly as they started, they disappeared. Only static remained. Static, and more static. *Bzzz. Bzzz. * The telephone rang. Avery dragged himself up and picked up the phone. There was nothing but static. *Great, now the phone lines are down as well, * Avery cursed. Just as he was about to slam down the phone, a voice, stuttered and hoarse, crawls out from static buzz. * \" Warn... warn... \" * \" What? \" said Avery. \" Who is this? \" * \" New... from new zealand... \" * His heart skipped a beat. \" You' re in New Zealand? What' s going on there? What happened to your communications? \" * \" Ma... wrong... \" * \" I ca n' t hear you! \" * \" The ma... Mayans were wrong... \" *", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" Sam.. do you think there' s life after death? \" \" Not really.. why? \" \"... so what do you think happens when you kick the bucket? \" \" Nothing.. I guess? I' ll cease to exist. How could it be any different? \" \" Do you dream? \" \" Of course, do n' t you? \" \" Yeah.. but.. do you remember your dreams? \" \" Not really.. not unless it' s really weird... like.. one time I dreamt I was a sheep. \" \" A sheep? \" \".. yeah, all I did was graze in the sun. It was kinda nice.. \" \" But then.. do n' t you see? Do n' t you think it' s kind of crazy? \" \" What... dreams? \" \" Yeah, like, we go to sleep.. and our minds create a world so real we do n' t even know it.. and we' re doing it without any conscious thought on our part at all! \" \".. right. That is weird, I guess... but so what? \" \" Well if that' s possible.. who' s to say that all this is n' t one big dream as well? \" \".. one big dream? \" \" Yeah, maybe you and I and everyone else all come from the same one that' s dreaming this entire thing. \" \".. but.. come on, that' s crazy. \" \".. is it? How do you know for sure? \" \" Because. This is reality.. it just.. it just is. I can tell. \" \"... but.. then.. why did you continue to act like a sheep instead of acting like Sam? \" \" I guess.. because I did n' t know I was dreaming.. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Oil and copper. That' s what she tasted like. It was never the cold metallic lips that got to him, or the firmness of her biceps -but the taste, the foul residue left in his mouth after each time he kissed Hanna. Jim sighed, holding his head in hands as he pondered over the last few years on Mars. Hanna sat quietly next to him, her back panel lay open awaiting the next input of manual code. He' d been one of many to volunteer for the project, a research system developed by NASA to test if humans and A. I could co-exist. It was a safety protocol more than anything else, a measure that had to be taken before introducing A. I on earth. All of the others- humans - had passed on, with the last lady - Gloria - having happened only a few months prior. She was lucky enough to be taken by old age. Most of the young recruits were taken by the space illness, disease that had never been seen on earth before. Once NASA understood the risks they cut all ties with Project M. Jim sat still, listening to the last video recording as it played again in the background. The young scientist on screen explained the risks and how they' d all be remembered for their efforts and reassuring that their families would be taken care of....", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Drip drip dip. Day in, day out. They never once tried to fix that damned leak. Nearly two centuries of isolation. The only human contact was, at the most, a gloved hand that dropped the food through the slot in the aging iron door. Never once was I spoken to. The first fifty years were the hardest. My mental health, decayed from a millennia of archaic drugs, had finally trapped me within the system of justice that I saw birthed from the fledgling nation I at many times fought for. Amazing how clear ones mind can become after a century of total isolation. I' ve never feared death. I' ve feared many things but never death. At one point I believed me eternal life was a gift. An eternity of watching the world shift and grow, for better or for worse. Eternity. An eternity of watching friends, family, and lovers die. I tried at many points in my unending life to put an end to it. Poisons made me ill. Blades cut, but drew no blood. I was an immortal amongst men. I ran from my failures and tried to blind myself from my reality. Man created drugs for that reason. And I tumbled for centuries blind to my own actions and blind to the world. I never wanted to ham anyone. The ones I hurt. Accidents. Self defense. With my captivity, I found myself again. It' s been two lifetimes since then it' s nearly time for me to taste freedom once again. Perhaps it' s time I did some good in this never ending life.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" *MY DAD CAN BEAT YOUR DAD! * \" Tommy screamed at the top of his lungs, meant as the ultimate insult to Sue Clairborn, his playground nemesis. \" No he ca n' t! \" Retorted Sue, sticking her nose up in the air. \" We' ll see about *that! * \" Tommy and Sue raced to their homes, right across the street from each other. The eager six-year-olds dragged their fathers out of the house and into the middle of the cul-de-sac. \" I said you can beat stupid Sue' s daddy, \" Tommy said, looking up at his six-foot-six, 220 pound dad. \" I told Tommy that you can *definitely* beat his dad. \" Sue looked expectantly at her father, who shuffled his feet a bit and readjusted his spectacles. \" So you HAVE to fight! \" The two kids shouted in unison. Sue' s dad gave a little chuckle. \" You know I' m a pacifist, Sue, \" he said, looking lovingly down at his daughter. \" I know daddy! \" Sue replied, giddy. \" But you can beat him at chess! \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Jury duty, what kind of nonsense is this. How can they even put this man on trial for a crime where no body exists? I picked that meat to the bone and threw the bones to the pigs. I really do n' t know who enjoyed the meal more, the pigs and I probably equally squealed in delight. Regardless the most this man should be charged with is kidnapping. But even that is putting things to a stretch. Honestly the only crime he ever committed was having the same physical description as me. 6' 2, blonde, blue eyes, muscular build and a tendency to visit Tom' s tavern. I have only been twice and he was there both times. I mean it makes it so much easier when you find a nice scapegoat. Anyways looking at him I can tell that our protein sources are way different. He does n' t have the sharp incisors required to tear human flesh from the bone. That kind of sharpness does n' t come easy. I spent months filing my teeth down with a nail file. I had originally thought about using one of those metal files to expedite the matter nut I felt like it would n' t give me the precise control I needed. The finite precision where I can draw blood with the softest bite. The real question on my mind is how did they ever pin this guy with the murder? I understand that I probably have been eating out a bit too often and the local authorities need someone to pin the crimes on, but how do they even know a crime existed? I guess I am fortunate enough to get a first hand account of all the details. Dammit, I' m hungry and looking at the Asian prosecutor all I can think is I want some Chinese.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "It is intuitively obvious even to the most casual of observers what transpired. His father abandoned the family at a very young age, possibly to gamble, drink or sing. This is evidenced by the antique guitar and the finished off alcoholic container. He appears on the surface to have been a mean man, but on closer inspection I believ eyou will find his motives were pure. He did not in fact get humor from his actions, and regretted that leaving was the only rational choice. So he made his decision and abruptly departed. He continually worried that his progeny would track him to his current location, so he kept a low profile, but unfortunately for him, he was tracked due to a well used photograph and a menacing look in the photograph. His son caught up to him at a den of ill repute where he was in fact participating in a card game of chance. His son then clearly introduced himself, but also threatened his life, so the father had no choice but to brandsh a knife and utilize it to cut a portion off his own son' s ear. They then scuffled for a good long while, each of which trading massive blows as evidenced by the huge quantities of blood, the numerous sweat drops, and all of the spilled beer. It appears that the father realized he was about to lose, so he reached for his pistol, but the son was able to draw and ready his in a more timely manner. At this point I imagine the father pleaded for his life and attempted to explain why he felt the need to bequeath a name of scorn to his son. His so was in fact understanding so they each threw down their weaponry and hugged each other. The son was so moved in fact that if he ever had a child, he would do anything except utilize the naming method his father used upon him. Thus Watson, we now fully understand why the man before us is named Sue.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "General Turk sat at his desk reviewing the file for one of the world' s greatest threats. His assistant Maria stood in the corner with a confused look on her face. Her boss spent hours every day looking for weaknesses and drawing up strategies to bring his opponent down. She had been afraid to even ask what or who could possible demand this level of attention. Today was the last day she would just ignorantly observe. Today she walked over to the Generals desk and asked her boss to explain his current almost hateful obsession. After only an hour she too hated this monster of a man who wielded a terrifying ability to breach human' s mental walls. Maria didn' t even want to think about all the potentially horrifying things he could do, wipe memories, control thoughts, and even kill people on a whim. What made things worse he was so powerful he wasn' t limited to one person at a time. Records had shown him using his powers on several people simultaneously without effort. Rumors had spread that he had even built devices to enhance his powers, one such device took up an entire room and with it he could easily expand his powers across the entire globe if he concentrated hard enough. He was as nefariously smart as he was lethal. This scoundrel didn' t even hide. Everyone in authority knew where he lived. He even had his name in bronze on the entrance gates to one of the largest properties in Westchester County. What made him difficult to get to was he surrounded himself with children. He built an army of innocent human shields to protect him by appearing to run a boarding house for the \"misunderstood \"young. Simply killing him would be a P. R. nightmare especially considering his obvious physical disability and charitable contributions to the community. Maria knew that power corrupts and this man had power most gods would envy. She figured every good thing he did must be an elaborate farce to make him appear wholesome and noble until he finally enacted some horrible plan.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "The light piercing through the slit' s of the blinds shone like lasers in my eyes. \" I guess I should get out of bed, \" I said aloud to her before I remembered that I was alone in the room. \" Fuck, \" I muttered, I had forgotten she was gone. The ache in my head and my parched lips were reminder' s of last nights escapades, too much whiskey and not enough water. I reached for my bottle. Empty. It shattered in the corner I tossed it in. I needed something, anything to numb the ache in my head and the more painful one in my chest. I was starting to remember her face, the smell of her hair and the softness of her skin. That was the last thing I needed to remember right now. I stumbled over to the sink and grabbed a mostly cleanish glass that hours before I am sure had contained \" the water of life \" and filled it from the tap. The cool water did nothign for my headache and memories but at least I was hydrating my parched throat. I would need to venture out and try to scrounge another bottle from somewhere. The Stiff' s would n' t be nearly as active during the day, I almost did n' t care though, what was I really even trying to go on living for? She was gone. They tore her apart right in front of me, \" Why did I have to be the one to survive? I wanted it to be you. God damn, I really did. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "The general stood above Private Jones, puffing his cigarette obnoxiously loud. For all the times the general had forgotten his keys, or his phone, he never seemed to forget the cigarettes. The general did n' t even smoke very often, he only lit up when he was either tired, or wanting to \" show off \" his authority to everyone else. \" Read me the first message again, private. \" He commanded, leaning against the desk. Private Jones steadied the desk with an annoyed grunt. \" It says: We hear you, humans. \" The general nodded. \" Second message? \" \"' Please cease all contact. \"' Jones had found that second message quite funny. For a foreign species, they were rather polite. It just seemed too good to be true. \" And our most recent message was sent when? \" Jones looked over the logs. \" Last night, at approximately twenty-one-thirty-seven hours. \" \" Alright, well, let me- \" but the general was interrupted by a quiet *ding*, from the computer. They had heard the sound only twice before, so they both leaned in close to the screen as Jones struggled to pull up the message. Their last message had been in reply to the request of no further contact, simply asking \" why? \". Jones had n' t wanted to phrase it like that, but he was n' t in charge of the content of the messages. The message loaded, but not to their relief. In fact, Jones almost wished he had n' t opened it. It was four simple words, yet it filled the air with such heaviness, that neither of the men could breathe. \" You' ll give us away. \" It read.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "She arose to a sparkling light of great warmth, but this did not feel like her home planet. As she gazed at the lush green surroundings, her stomach began to pang for intake. She began to wander through the life surrounding her, she saw fellow creatures scampering on the ground, the ball of warmth up above illuminating the green geometrical fronds and petals. Fundamentally these lifeforms were similar to her home planets'. She noticed some plants reached for her, after carefully inspecting the leaves through smell, sight, and touch, she then nibbled on one to test its agreeability. The plant was palatable and had no sourness to it. After munching a handful of leaves, she set off towards the bubbling sound of life nearby. As she pawed through the forest, she came upon a stream, she noticed a small creature with its mouth in the stream. She imitated the creature, seeing that it was n' t dissimilar from her self. Refreshed by the water, she then began to set eyes on the creature, recognizing it as prey for if it had drank a life source, than it must be a life source. Later on as she slept under the millions of shining lights in the sky, she felt the teeth of a creature sink into her skin, and the next morning she awoke, this time on a new planet.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" Shit, SHIT. OH MY GOD! \" half breathed ben aloud. \" What the hell am I going to tell his mom? \" he screamed. Gun still pointed at the other \" Travis \". He mind was racing a thousand miles a minute. He had just shot his best friend. All this back and fourth talk between the two. He had even quizzed them both. He was sure he had picked the clone. \" How could I not know I was being tricked? \" he whispered. Thats when it happened, the ceiling exploded into a million tiny shards of glass. They were here, and they wanted their property back. He thought back to the day him and travis stumbled upon that little secret. He remember how they were going to change the world with it. He could n' t help but to smirk. Back then they were so naive. So much time had past since then and everything that had come to light in their investigation. It was almost worth it. Just almost. The ropes were slowly falling for Ben, when he decided to plug the trigger. He knew that in just moments there would be a small team surrounding them to recover the stolen property. He knew one bullet to this travis' s head and everything they had come for would be gone. He wanted to make sure the they would pay for everything he had lost. CLICK. The round is sent spinning through the chamber of the. 45. Sent on it destructive course for the hard bone and soft brain matter of this abomination. But the bullet never meets its target. Instead it is stopped just short. As it falls to the ground, he knows who is here. But there was no time left, so he turns and starts to run toward the car. \" They will come for me \"he thinks to himself as he gets into the car. \"But for now I will wait till that day comes \"he says as he starts the car and lunges down the road and around the corner.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "My mother to my left, my father to my right, and assorted family gathered elsewhere in the room all waited and started. I felt as if I was becoming a spectacle, my arm on show for everyone I knew. My cousin Jeremy had been branded as a veterinarian, which is odd because as children he was cruel to animals. Come to think of it my sister had been given harlot, though from the rumors that one is n' t too far off. As the clock struck 11: 59 my pulse began to race and a faint sheen of sweat lingered on my brow, my entire future could be decided in this moment or some deep motive that some twisted divine had placed inside me. The clock on the wall was deafening, every other sound so blatantly missing, as if the air itself waited. In this moment I had forgotten how to breathe, blinking was all but forgotten. This one place in the universe is all that mattered. Suddenly, the clock struck with a chime and words began to creep onto my skin linking the space between my freckles. The pattern of the letters was almost comical how bad they were written, almost as if a drunken frat boy was tattooing me. *send^nudes*", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I once hoped that I would be a part of the human world, comforting those that were to pass onto the next realm. I dreamed of counseling those that feared death; teaching them that it is not death they should fear, but what they should hope. But I was not fated to be a part of the human world, per se, but a part of the livestock. In this world, I council cows, chickens, pigs, and any other livestock that humans have domesticated. The ingenuity of these humans to control these animals for food production was astounding. But as time marched on, I could no longer respect the humans. Year after year, month after month, day after day, and hour after hour, I listen to the multitudes of death that occur every second. Cows, whose young was taken for veal and whose only purpose is to produce milk, grow old, and die. They would call out to all their children that were taken away. Chicken, forced into cages to lay eggs, would speak only of gibberish at the end of their lives. Their stories, heartbreaking as it is, only laid the foundation of anger. These livestock was forced into servitude and death not of their own choice, but only because they could be easily exploited. While I listened to their stories, I asked simply if they could change the world, would they do so for the better. These humans have created death factories for the carcasses of these animals. No, I can no longer respect humans. It is to this end, I have finally amassed enough angry spirits to take vengeance upon this world. These animals will set the foundation of a new utopia and it is us who will serve as vengeance.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" Attention. \" Every heart skipped a beat. The voice had not from the sky or from behind, but from the inside of every human mind on the planet. All at once they stopped. \" This is Richard Cardiloo and my team of scientists. We have been watching you all very closely in hopes of bettering the entire human race and you have performed wonderfully. \" Massive panic became the rule of law. The people on their knees with noses pressed down prayed for forgiveness. Cars collided and things were dropped. I saw the same look of revelation and fear on every face in the building. The woman I had loved for fourteen years took my hand and looked me tearfully in the eye. I could n' t hear anything but Richard Cardiloo, but I could see her lips mouth \" Till the end. \" Every human has an innate sense that tells them when something bad is about to happen. Your hair stands up on the back of your neck, your heart pounds faster and harder than it ever has, and time slows. The message got grimmer. \" For what have been centuries to you and mere months to us, your simulation, number 1766, has let us model a society where war is a foreign concept. Your simulation will unfortunately be terminated in a matter of hours. Goodbye. \" Matters of hours turned into weeks. Then Years. People began to think it was an illusion. The world government assured the people it would continue to function and try to find a truth to the matter. The woman who had been with me three years ago whe", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "It appeared on his cell phone at exactly eight in the morning. Peter' s hand shook as he read the text message. There was no sender or phone number to call back. It simply said: *In ten hours, the entire population of the Earth will be shuffled. Your consciousness will be changed with another. You may not choose with whom you will switch. Prepare. * Six o' clock. Peter turned to his laptop and scoured the Internet. For a moment he felt the brief spark of relief when he couldn' t find a reference this message. And then the dam broke. People from Japan to Australia to Toronto were asking the same question. How? And what did it mean? Some people panicked. Some people sounded overjoyed. The more he read, the more Peter felt a sense of a calm. In ten hours, if this was real, he would be out of his body. It had taken the last six years for him to adjust to his new life. It had taken every second since June 14, 2008 to finally feel even the vaguest sense of ease with how he had to live day to day. But as he watched the message clutter his Twitter page, Peter felt overjoyed. He stared at the corner of the room where his shackles lay dormant. The guilt was one thing. The agony of thinking about the accident everyday was another. But the physical repercussions were just the manifestation of denial. But in ten hours he would be free from the stares. No longer would his family be able to shake their heads and make passive-aggressive comments. He would never have to walk down the stairs and see her cherubic face frozen in time living in the parade of frames against the wall. While the world screamed in terror behind him, Peter got out of bed. In ten hours he would be free. He gripped the edge of the bedside table and reached over for his leg. In ten hours he would be whole again. In ten hours he would run.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Arnold sat quietly at his seat, eating out of the small package of peanuts he had received from the flight attendant. \" Excuse me, \" said the man next to him, \" but may I have a few of those? It' s so hard to find food here. \" Arnold was surprised. He remembered that the man next to him had received the peanuts. As Arnold turned his head, he cried out in terror. It was a giant peanut in a top hat, with a monocle as well. Arnold, paralyzed in fear, did n' t know what to do. \" Well? \" asked the peanut. Arnold handed over the remnants of his peanut bag. The giant peanut shook the remains into its mouth. Arnold suddenly remembered he needed to go to the bathroom, and darted out of his seat. As he walked towards the back of the plane trying to rationalize seeing a giant peanut, he caught a glimpse of what appeared to be a pirate captain, next to a large tiger. The last thing Arnold remembered as he hit the floor was the tiger exclaiming, \" Want a peanut? They' re GRRRRREAT! \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I had left it dormant for far too long. Draped cloths over workbenches and tools, the room silent and dark. When had I last been in here? It was hard for me to recall. I was one of the last, a lowly cleric of the Larsa order. We had given up robes and insignia a long time ago, after the purge. Words were valued once, before the chattering binary masters came. Primary vehicle of emotions and feelings, abstract glyphs of the human soul made real in other minds. Now most broadcasts and entertainment were stitched together with millimeter precision, \" grown \" from parallel binary minds running adaptive algorithms. Spun and tailored for maximum impact, to harmonize with the prominent zeitgeist of the age. Not like in the past. Ideas pushed outward like ripples, cascading on other minds to find root or lie dormant. Crafted for ease of absorption, but not filtered to homogenous banality, stripped of all controversial content. That was what the machines lacked, you see. As adept as they were in providing tailored memes and mimicing popular styles, they never could capture the spark of creativity that was required to create a new branch. That was my strength. Lifting the nearest cloth, I pulled it off the waist-high workbench. An older style writing device, a typewriter, lay underneath. Twin reels of inked ribbon shining dully in the mute light. I wanted to start slowly today. Never create in haste, my old master would say, every idea is potent and strong. To unleash a half-formed thought is to undo the universe, as we are nothing but what we perceive, are we not? Taking the top sheet of cream-colored paper next to the device, I wound it in and slowly began to type.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Just shy of a meter below me paved asphalt speeds past my feet at about 140 kilometers per hour. The road is uneven, but the *almost luxury* SUV we ride in makes it feel much smoother. My progeny is restless behind me. Seven hours in *any* vehicle, even this sweet ride, is wearing on him. He talks to the tiny screen in front of him occasionally as Curious George goes on adventure after adventure. He' s finally stopped asking \" Are we there yet? \" Since we told him we' re *almost there*. A gentle, processed, filtered breeze blows on my face. Keeping me cool but no longer comfortable. At this point my skin is feeling oily and dirty. The road food we' ve eaten has been unsatisfactory sustenance and is clogging my pores. I' m tired of looking at a tiny screen. I' m tired of riding. I' m tired of feeling greasy. Are we there yet?", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "The sound shattered a universe. Steel twisted and bent, the chassis collapsed, and the front windshield ruptured. It was like God had taken my car and crumpled it between His hands. I opened my eyes. I had n' t been showered in shattered glass. My chest had n' t been cored by a steering column. I could feel my hands and toes and neck. And all I could see was... leather? Leather, and a hemisphere of white plastic. Slowly, achingly, I pulled myself backward. I was sitting in my backseat -- how did I get here? -- and had ended up with my head shoved against the leatherette exterior of the front driver' s seat. The car was reasonably intact, considering. The windshield was indeed gone, but the front of the car had collapsed almost perfectly, preserving the interior. And me. I could see an arm in a white suit, and white gloves, holding firmly onto the steering wheel. \" Hello? Who are you? \" The hemisphere of plastic turned. I saw my own face, shocked but unmarred, in the reflection of a mirrored visor. I wish I could tell you what we talked about. I wish I could remember. But I was in such a daze from the impact that I do n' t remember much. And what I do remember would sound unbelievable if I told you. All I know for sure is, he' s called the Stig.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "19th Aug Year 7AD - I received today an email. It' s quite strange, it' s the 1st time I received an email in the last 7 years 25th Aug Year 7AD - I received 3 more emails, it' s from anybody would like to meet me. I have not friends. I have not been with anyone in the last few years. I start to believe I' m sending emails to myself when I' m drunken. 02th Sep Year 7AD - Today I was in the big city to stolen some medicine and some alcoholic drinks. I did n' t meet any people, still a ghost town as since 7 years ago. 04th Sept Year 7AD - More weird emails signed by the Master. What fuck is the Master? I believe I' m getting mad with this isolation. Master says will meet with me in 14th Sept. 07th Sept Year 7AD - The Master is my imagination, at least I suppose it. Master send me an email to buy some alcoholic drinks and tuna cans. 09 th Sept Year 7AD - Master says he' s arriving. Ask me another time for some alcoholic drinks and tuna cans. 10th Sept Year 7AD - I return to the big ghost towns to get the stuff asked by the master. 11th Sept Year 7AD - The silence was so strong today. I did n' t received more emails from the master. I did n' t get drunk in the last days. 12th Sept Year 7AD - Nothing happened. 13th Sept Year 7AD - I woke up today with a feeling that there was someone close to me. But only silence. Of course it' s impossible to have more people in the Earth, I' m the only surviver after the Doom, the big nuclear accident 7 years ago. I know it because I was the one that pulsed the red button. 14th Sept Year 7AD - I do n' t believe what' s happening but for the first time after doom I see another human like me. Steve Bannon is alive. The master is alive! ( I' m not english native and I' m just doing it to make some english written exercise ).", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "You go home after the shift, you stole this antique vase that was owned by an old witch. You show your girlfriend your new possession. You both go to sleep and you dream about waking up in the middle of the night. The next day you go back to your new job work the whole day thinking about the vase. An hour before you get off work you girlfriend calls you and you miss the calls. She texts you. You read the texts when your off work, saying that she is feeling funny. You think nothing of it. You drive home, walk in the door and find your girl friend and the vase you stole in her hands. Ask her how' s her days been going and what she is doing with the vase. She does n' t speak. So you proceed toward her and try and take the vase. That' s when she passes out, she drops the vase and you pick it up worried about the fall it just took. Take it to your bedroom realize its okay. You fall asleep relived and wake up in the morning covered in blood wondering what the fuck... Find this vase beside you and do n' t think twice. You walk to where your girlfriend passed out, she is n' t there. So you go back to your room and she is dead beside the bed. Her heart is cut out of her chest and is missing. Oh my god what is happening but your calm because this vase is in your hand. You look in the vase and remember. Its 8am and time to go to work, you get to work and put in your two weeks notice and go home.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Keeping in mind that I have no idea what I' m talking about I do have a couple of comments/criticisms. Also this might get slightly spoiler-ish I guess my most major \" criticism \" is that it does n' t really do anything new. I do n' t really have examples, but I' ve seen all this stuff before and I pretty much knew everything that was going to happen. That being said, there' s nothing new under the sun so it' s really more about how you tell the story and you did that quite well and it' s also probably worth mentioning that I am really far removed from the subject matter. Otherwise the \" single action, make peace \" line was kind of clunky, it may have worked better to have Fletcher explain what single action meant earlier on so that it was in the readers head towards the end. In the final conversation Conall probably talked a little bit too much. There seemed to be lines that did n' t really seem like things he would say and were more there to set up Colm. Other than that there were a couple minor things. There' s that darkly comedic line towards the end where you could probably drop \" do you think? \" and there were a couple of similes and metaphors that came off as awkward to me, for example \" the chastised face of a small child caught pilfering cookies from a jar \" or \" it felt sour and sugary, like lemon in a glass of water \", but I' m pretty much allergic to similes that are n' t played for humour so I' d especially take that with a grain, or shaker, of salt. Again I would n' t say any of these were major ( or even valid ) and it was very well written.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Happiest day of my life, Ryan kept telling himself. Over and over, he repeated the five words like mantra hoping eventually it would sink in and he would feel the emotion that should have paired with the smile on his face. He did an alright job until the note distracted him. He could n' t even remember who of the three hundred and fifty guests was responsible. After kissing his new bride' s cheek, one of those guests had taken Ryan' s hand and pressed the napkin to his palm. All the while, Ryan had been thinking about his oddly steady heartbeat, his dry palms, his even breaths. No cold feet had slowed him to the aisle. Instead, he had been dealing with a slow, creeping apathy for months. Worse than irritation or even hatred, Ryan felt indifference. That napkin rustled against his skin though the person who delivered it was long gone. *A note of well wishes*, he thought, *for the happiest day of my life*. He hugged a second cousin, an elderly aunt. *Advice*, he thought, *for how to make my marriage as joyous as this day, the happiest day of my life*. He shook an ex-girlfriend' s hand and told himself, *it' s an apology for not bringing a present on this, the happiest day of my life*. Finally, curiosity the first emotion in months to break through his crushing indifference, Ryan made excuse after excuse and snuck off to the men' s room. Sitting on the toilet seat, stall door locked ahead of him, he unfolded the napkin. There in strong, dark handwriting read, \" Get out now. While you still can. \" Ryan stared down at the scrawl of works and swallowed hard against a sudden knot of tears.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" Fuck... \" sighed Phil as he looked at the gaping hole in his living room wall, from the vantage point of' down on his ass'. Once he stood up he could see clear through to the front yard and... \" Oh... Christ, oh no... \" The... beam, as best Phil could describe it, had expanded after exiting the house and had completely torn the house across the street in two ( plus or minus a few thousand pieces ), but it had n' t stopped there either. The smell of melted asphalt and smoke filled his nose. \" Is this real life right now? \" Phil' s horror was only matched by his... excitement. The house behind on the next street over was gone, just not there anymore. The field beyond that looked as though an EF-5 twister full of fire had blown across it in a straight line. The small forest beyond that was... \" Oh my God, what... I mean... *shit... shit* \" Phil' s heart was racing as he spun around in circles with his fingers pulling at his hair. The sound of firetrucks and police sirens wailed off in the distance. \" I killed them... I... how did I... how could... \" Helicopters chuffed like birds in the background. Sirens grew closer. A few muffled screams could be heard. But the sound that caught Phil' s attention the most was his small, still functional television behind him. The show Phil had been watching had kept playing the whole time... Faintly, over the din of the cacophony that was quickly forming around his neighborhood Phil heard it again... \" *KA... ME... HA... ME... HAAAAAA! * \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" What the fuck? \" I said to myself as I held the bag. \" This ca n' t be what I think it is. \" I proceed to walk towards my apartment as if it was just another day. I close the door behind me and check the peep hole to make sure I was n' t followed. \" No time to waste. \" As I was walking towards the kitchen to get a bottled water, all I can think about is how awesome it is going to be. I' ve heard countless stories about these super pills. It was exclusively sold only to people with a lot of money. Lots. With one pill in my hand and the water bottle in the other, I take one breath and popped it in my mouth and downed the whole bottle. \" This feeling \" I said as the euphoria of peace and tranquility along with a sensation of my brain being filled with skills and gifts that can only come from within. \" This must be what it feels like to have money. \" I look at the mirror in my living room and say one of my favorite lines of one of my favorite movies while waving my finger in the air. \" And here. We. Go \" With that being said, I get my bus pass and head out the door of my apartment. \" Oh yeah, this is going to be fun \" It was a great time to begin my new adventure. Ideas were bouncing around in my brain. Left and right. Up and down. \" Ah yes, basic stuff \" I said under my breath. Walking towards the bus stop with a pep in my step, I knew deep down in my heart that this is going to be the last time that I ever have to deal with this shit.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "If somebody would have told me that I would be one of the last two surviving humans on Earth I would' ve laughed. I achieved nothing of note before everything changed, but now I suppose being alive now is my greatest achievement. I didn' t have a wife or kids, no college degree, nothing. I had my own apartment so you can count that as an accomplishment if you' d like. Life was rather morose for me. Yet, I managed to survive when billions of other didn' t. I only know of one other man who is still alive, Simon. We met while scavenging through rubble in search of food and materials. He is an upbeat man, enjoys telling stories of days past. I hate it. Most of our days consist of scavenging, usually we find junk but today I found something interesting, a gun. Usually I don' t carry anything back to our shelter unless its food, but this gun was special. Why? I wasn' t sure either at the time, but I knew it was. I hid the gun under my shirt and headed back. On the dawn of a new day I got up before Simon. All I could think of was his stories, how many he told, how great his life sounded. It was making me furious. That' s when I had this great idea. I crept over his sleeping body and brandished the gun I tucked away earlier. With no hesitation I pulled the trigger. Simon died instantly. I now am the most accomplished man on Earth. First short story is a very long time.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "The sounds of Billy Joel was replaced as a foul smell filled my nose. \" Dammit, I need to fix- Oh. \" I was surrounded by a ring of hooded occultists. The disappointment in the air was thicker than a bowl of oatmeal. I stood in the circle, calculator in one hand and pen in the other, as the hoodies started muttering and talking with each other. I overheard the sentence \" Well, he' s wearing a red shirt and has a goatee, that has to mean something! \" One of them stepped forward. It looks like they bought their hoods from a clearance costume store. \" Beelzebub, we have summoned you- \" \" Wow, seriously... Man you guys are pathetic. Did you fail geometry? \" I said, pointing at the circle of red chalk. \" So you are not a demon? \" \" I do n' t know, depends on who you ask really. \" \" What is your name, Demon? \" Shouted one Hoodie. Man, his acne was bad, even from here. \" I' m Steven. Not a demon, sorry. Just a teenager. \" \" FUCKING HELL BOB THIS YOUR FAULT! \" Rudolph the Red-Pimpled Reindeer started shouting, his voice cracking as he tried to act intimidating. I sighed as I started to wonder where, exactly, I am. Is that a bag of fucking Doritos next to a dead rabbit on that tree stump?", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Sebastian was drawn up with as much dignity as a feline could muster, white paws on mahogany desk, black tail curled into a neat spiral, and his yellow eyes gazing deep into mine. He brought a single paw to his mouth as if to lick it, but instead gently rubbed his throat before placing it square on my chest. *Odd*, I thought. He growled deeply as if summoning a lion' s roar, then opened his mouth. \" It is apt for you to sit rapt with attention, apprehension, the words from my lips a surge of quips. Pray tell what befell you this morn', that my stomach was left to mourn? \" *Oh shit. * \" That was, uh, beautiful, Sebastian. \" I tried to tilt my chair forward so the legs were on the ground but found myself almost rooted by his eyes. \" Beauty hardly begins to describe it, Dave. \" He released his paw and I grabbed the desk to steady myself. \" I guess I' ll go fill up your bowl, then? \" I stood, tying to tear my eyes from his. He carefully splayed one hind leg onto the desk, and raised the other into the air, supporting his head with one of his front paws. His long tongue took a single stroke from chin to, well, you know. I shuddered. \" That would be wise, Dave. That would be wise. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "**YOUR FINAL SANCTUARY TO BE BREACHED BY THE GOVERNMENT** Scientists funded by the United States Government have told given confirmation that they have developed compact devices which can enable a skilled technician to interpret the thoughts of any human being. After much experimental and under-the-radar testing, they are confident that it will be able to be installed in every business place and household through the country, and perhaps even the world. Lead scientist Doctor Kingsley Gallbatorix stated: \" This device is small enough to fit in the palm of my hand. We have yet to give it a name, but we are expecting to begin mass production and distribution soon. We hope it will aid our country in this time of internal struggle. \" This all coming out only a few days after several states in the South band together to try to secede from the government. Could it be a coincidence, or is the government taking control to a new level: into our heads?", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Mhmm. A chimichanga stand. Sweet. Churros! Yeah baby! Pizza by the slice! I' m almost there- Bacon! Reached it. 30 seconds in, and I' ve foodgasmed. Time to clean myself up. *Man. Look at this crowd. Tons of people dressed up. Hey! There' s me! but does that mean there' s 6 of us? * **shut up** *no* **You' d better** *Make me!! * Both of you! *sorry. But about that crowd! * I know! Neckbeard, Neckbeard, Deadpool, Superman, Neckbeard. Man, Reddit' s really turning out in force for this one. Wait a sec! - KA POW!!.. Rogue is looking good today. And there' s Batgirl. And Wonder woman. And Mystique.. But that Rogue.. **Um, Deadpool? ** What? **We broke the fourth wall. Like completely. Can we just focus on getting back to our dimension? ** *um, No?? * Nope. there are hot chicks and chimichangas here, responsible me. Time to PARRRRTYYY. I see pizza, and I' ve got enough c4 in my bag to last us for at least three days. Time to go crazy. But first, I got ta say hi to that Rogue.. \" Hey babe! Like the suit. Wan na suck on my power? \" \" umm ok you' re super in character... ehehehe. that' s cute. Later \" *DID we just get rejected? * **I guess some things stay the same in all the dimensions. ** Hmph. I wonder if anyone else broke the 4th wall with us. \" Hey Bub \" ( just for clarity, normal font is deadpool' s speaking voice, **bold is his responsible voice** and *italics are his crazy voice. * Hope you all enjoyed!", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I recall the day our kingdom fell, Not just the walls, they were simply a shell. I of course refer to the kingdom of man, By the fang and bite of the Animal Clan. We should' ve shot down the owl scouts, Rang the bell to drown out macaw shouts. We should' ve noticed our pets were silent, The signs were clear when the hounds grew violent. At first, they picked us off quiet and quick, The flea, the ant, the blood sucking tick. Swarms of bee, spider and other insect, The snakes from the sewers we did not expect. Then came the thunder, rumble and rattle, Bears, deer and boar all hungry for battle. We rang the bell, and the archers positioned, But, for this fight we were never conditioned. Soldiers stood by as rams smashed the gate, No time to question why this was our fate. The rams broke through, in the cougars did pour, Not far from then, the vultures would soar. The beasts spared none, they targeted all, Men, women and children they would maul. What little escaped forever lived in fear, Of the paw, the claw, the antler of deer. Some claim it was rabies that caused this scene tragic, Some claim it was wizardry, sorcery and magic. Some claim it was a vicious attack of revenge, Some claim it will happen again.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I see her sunbathing on the grass and I ca n' t stop staring, my tongue practically hanging out of my mouth like a cartoon. She' s like a supermodel, but somehow so, so much more hot. Possibly because I' m seeing her in real life, and not a screen or magazine. I silently thank my dog for existing, since without him I would n' t have come to this park today and would have missed out on seeing the ultimate babe of babes in a tiny ( really, it was very tiny ) white bathing suit. As I finally walk past her, she lifts her sunglasses up, and flashes a perfect smile straight at me before flipping over to lay on her stomach. The bikini is as small in the back as it was in the front. I blush in more than one place. Obviously I stop mid-walk, stunned by hotness. I look down at my watch to see how long I' d been standing there, when I notice the second number. My face turns from pink to white in 2 seconds flat. It' s got to be broken. Something is wrong here. My LifeTimer reads 0: 15, instead of the usual 40: something: something. I look down past the watch to see that my morning decision against underwear, along with my failure to zip up after my ( literally ) last pee, left something out in the open. \" Pervert! There' s a perv in the park! Greg, get him away from the kids!! \" A woman shrieks, just as I notice her and three little girls playing catch less than ten feet away. Then I see their dad, six feet tall with arms wider than my head. He' s got a baseball in his right hand. \" Swing, batter, batter \".", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "His dreams feel of dust and pain and smooth skin, whispers behind the ear, scaring him, and he' s falling, and he ca n' t feel or hear or do anything, and then he hears laughter. The balloon flies away, the thin string cutting into still-soft-baby-hands. He reaches after the string but it does not come back. He calls, but it does not come back. He asks his mother where it went, and his mother tries to explain the sky. He does not understand, so he cries. His father walks away, the remnants of a bruise still throbbing against his too-long arm. He does not reach for his father. He does not call. His father still does not come back. He asks his mother where he went, but his mother is silent. He does not understand, so he does not cry. The feel of lips against his face, cheap perfume, smoky hallways, embarrassment, laughter. The man talks to him. The mans touches him. It hurts, but he does not speak out because speaking out does not make the balloon come back. Helplessness, inability to decide, inability to have decisions, or choices, or anything except bitter emotions and jealousy for everyone else who can reach higher and grasp the string but he can not hear it or feel it or taste it and damn it, *see* it, see it just see it why ca n' t he see it? See it. Anything to see it. Smell of antiseptic, pain, more pain, unconsciousness but always nothing, warnings and more warnings, people who do nothing but warn and warn and warn of the dangers and pain and risks but those have been his only companions, the only balloons who never left. He opens his eyes. Forms and shapes and blobs and colors and everything he never imagined, for he could not imagine sight anymore than a flower could imagine the stars. He reaches out to the mirror and touches it but he sees nothing, for he is already dead.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Once there was a horse named Jimmy. Jimmy liked apples and hay, and he knew how to get them. He got them by having people ride on his back. A nice man in a top hat would parade Jimmy around, and let children sit on him, in exchange for money. Of course the man in the top hat would keep 10 dollars everytime people paid 15 to ride on Jimmy! Jimmy the horse was what we call an opressed working class. But of course, Jimmy did n' t mind any of that, since he was a horse. But still, he began thinking. Why could n' t Jimmy just parade himself around, and offer his services to the children without interfering? So Jimmy tried that, but no one would give him any money. \" It must be the top hat \" Jimmy thought to himself. But Jimmy knew he could not afford a top hat. So he asked the man with the hat how he got his hat, to which he simply replied \" I got it from my parents \". \" But how did your parents get the hat then? \" Jimmy asked. \" They got it from their parents \", the man replied. \" But who did they get it from? \". \" They stole it. \". And there, Jimmy saw what he had to do. Jimmy immediately murdered the man with the hat, and took his hat, and uknowingly sparked a revolution, which is why, that if you visit Horseville today, the horses will be wearing their own hats.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I was staring through the gate, watching the crowd. I was actually astonished how many people came to my funeral, but that was not important now. I listened closely to the preacher or whatever they' re called, but he never mentioned my cause of death. I sat down and waited for the ceremony to be over and I watch as the people slowly siphon out of the graveyard. When I see everyone has dispersed, I follow my colleges to their car. I decided to approach them and reveal myself. \" Hi, Jim. I made it \" I say waiting for his reaction. \" Who are you? \" He says looking out of his car. \" I' m Michael, do I look to young, and a little less dead \" I wait to see his reaction. \" You are a cruel man, whoever you are \" I was shocked. Did my future self not tell him I was working on a time machine. \" Here you are pretending to be my lifelong friend, just to say he time traveled. He was a stubborn bastard. Whatever he paid you, take it and leave me alone \" I was in shock. What happened to me? I ran over to my other friend trying to find out what happened. \" He died due to overexposure \" \" Over exposure to what? \" I ask \" Highly irradiated ions. The poor bastard thought he could time travel \" \" No, No, the calculations were correct. That' s not possible \" I had to see the headstone, None of this can be true. I hardly remember anything after that. I saw the date of my death, me trying to exit the chamber, and the slow painful crawl towards the phone. I tried to dial 911 but my fingers slipped and burned as I tried to move. I looked at the calendar on my computer and slowly laughed to myself. Today was the day I died.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Raymond once again visualised a text coming up on his iPhone. The text popped up from the top of the screen. It read' _I' m Raymond_.' \" Wow, I sent myself a text. Awesomesauce- \" \" who the heck says' Awesomesauce' anymore? \" Nevermind. Raymond opened the car and got out, the left door instantly unlocking by power of will. A man passed him. The man was wearing a fedora that was tipped down slightly, covering his face. A fur coat sat on the man' s back, and under it Raymond noticed a tuxedo, a shirt and tie, accompanied with smart grey trousers and laced brown shoes. _No one dresses this smart in Virginia unless they' re looking to get robbed or mugged. _ Raymond reached for the gun, and the man slowed his pace to reach for a phone. \" **FREEZE! ** \" Raymond shouted while moving 3 feet near the man. \" Take anything you want, just do n' t hurt me. Name' s Mike. \" _Mike... well, no room for friends in **my** life, but worth a try. _ _Maybe this guy will just walk away, to avoid trouble. After all I' m pretty busy tonight. It **is** 8pm already... _ \" Mike, huh? Nice - but not nice - I' m Raymond. \" \" Enough talking already. The first mistake you made was giving me your name and showing your face. \" \" Well, I have the power of Electrokinesis. I _could_ just give you a heart attack. \" \" Or you could let me go if I pay you or help you out. \" \" I' m not merciful, Mike Jones. \" \" **Yo, how the FUCK do you know my name?! ** \" \" I saw your name-tag. Plus you were meant to question me _once_ more before the loss of your _feeble life_. Mike hastily jerked his body to the right and produced a taser. Before Raymond could react, a loud _zztt_ noise filled the air and his chest started to spark and rise and fall. Then they both knew instantly that Raymond was n' t human. \" You' re a ROBOT! \" \" I think the term you' re looking for is... \"...... \"... **Cyborg. ** \" ***And Raymond instantly knew his story was n' t yet finished. ***", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "The dim light seeping through the rubble back-light the concrete dust as I drew it in with my haggard breathes. As I breathed out, my head flopped to the side. I saw him fighting with the dust with ragged breathing. His frequent coughing brought it back up, with it congealing blue blood. The light was gone. His eyes and ears were oozing into the pool around his head. I tasted metal and dust with the grit crunching against my teeth as I swallow. My right arm groped down my leg for a small pack, I pulled out the glow-ball and squeezed it. Soft light realised the area. I saw my concrete blanket embracing me from the waist down. Rebar jutted out peculiarly from his abdomen, the exoskeleton it had collapsed like a cracked Crème brûlée around it. The cracks danced around the rest of his body -- the light' s shadow defining more than others. A mucusy film had begun to be secreted along some of the more significant fissures. His head turned to face me. He whimpered. His left arm scraped towards my right -- our weapons wherever. I intercepted it, he stopped. My hand embraced his claw. He whimpered. His whimpering intensified, almost becoming crying. I took my hand back. I moved it to my chest. The vest felt crispy as I ran my hand over the breast pockets, searching for the smooth cylinder. I pulled it out, weekly grasping at it. I shuffled my shoulders towards him, the movement and deep breathes spasmed my chest. I looked to his face again. My arm with cylinder approached the rubbery connection between his head skeleton and body. His breathing became more shallow, his weak crying jagged with grating sounds. I pushed it in further and pressed the button at the end. It hissed, he hissed. I moved my hand back to his as the crying became whimpering, which became silence. The glow-ball did n' t dim smoothly to its death. The concrete dust fell and lay like a fine muslin atop of us.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "The piano' s keys hammered out a melody, an enigmatic, haunting dirge, a eulogy without words my fingers wrote, the air, their pages. The ash from my cigarette graces my pants with a visit, \" what harm is smoking when you never die? \" And I, I' ve never died, though I' ve tried. All the king' s horses and all the king' s men, could n' t tear me asunder, could n' t snuff out my flame. My tune draws to a close, I stand, to a standing ovation from a single uninvited guest. I turn, and nearly die from shock. Ha! Death stands watching amidst the empty tables, the barren chairs, He' d always indulged in dramatic flair. Tal and spindly, in pinstripe suit, hair impeccable, well groomed, my heart reached to him, and my feet followed suit. We embraced amidst the haze and heat, The glow of flames, choking smoke, \" What harm is smoking when you ca n' t die? \" I had to try. The building ablaze, Death claimed me at last.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I must say that I am not an addict. I have seen my share of book junkies, and I always felt only disdain for them. Scrambling for money, haggling, ready to do anything for the next book in the series. Series! Series are for losers. I am different. I am not addicted to reading, but with rich parents and not much fun to do, books are a nice distraction. They also help forget where my parents' money comes from. Actually, I would not mind being caught with a book for once -- police would n' t dare touch me anyway, but it would be a nice blow to my parents' reputation. I remember my first time with a book, at a party. All of us gathering in a dark room an listening to an audiobook, so quiet it was almost on silent. I knew for sure at least one of the guys in that room later became a junkie. Spend all his fortune on sequels, and then on fanfiction. \" Have you ever read one of those yourself? \" I ask my dealer. \" Yes, some, but I do not anymore. \" he says. \" Never read what you deal, that' s my rule. I do not try copying them either, that' s work for lab guys. So do you want to buy or not? This one is very good, first class. Guy won a bunch of awards, long time ago of course. \" I want to believe we have a special relationship, he and I. He is more interesting than the rich guys I normally hang with. But I know I am only a moneybag -- he would sell me without blinking if he had a buyer for information. In the evening, I sit alone near the fireplace, my parents on the work trip. How they can stomach the camps I have no idea. I long ago stopped believing they have anything resembling a human heart. I banish the though, shuffle the coals, try to relax. I open \" All You Wanted To Know About Gardening \". Let' s see if those awards are worth anything.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "The Solani war vessel was helplessly lost when it crash landed on Earth with no survivors. It took us years to decipher their language and access their intact database. We learned that Earth was located in a DO NOT CONTACT zone. We feared they would return for their ship but for whatever reason they did not. The scientific knowledge in their computer was staggering. The entire world came together as we built the first ships and colonized the moon. The asteroid belt was mined clean and in the following decade the planets of our system were mined for resources as our first FTL ships scouted the nearby star systems, ever careful of giving ourselves away to those who might be watching. Building on their technology we became masters of stealth, perfecting ships that their most advanced sensor technology could not detect. Our first forays out of the buffer zone was in sending our stealthiest craft to capture nearby vessels, pulling them into the buffer zones like high tech trapdoor spiders. These pirated vessels were stripped and studied, their stunned crews interrogated. We learned their latest tech while we colonized every star system we could within the buffer. We used the resources to build an armada and spent the next decade training the best navy the galaxy had ever seen. Today, I stand on the bridge of the lead ship as admiral of the Terran Fleet. With nearly a million warships under my command I know they will not have seen us coming and they will learn a hard lesson about humans: we do not like to be ignored.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "*Knock Knock*. The Man in the Yellow hat nervously rose from his chair. It was late, who could that be? \" Who' s there? \" He said, as he cautiously paced his way to the door. \" It' s George. \" The Man in the Yellow Hat stopped in his tracks. He did n' t know anyone named George. Except for a monkey he had cared for a while back. But monkeys do n' t talk. The Man wondered if someone was playing a joke on him. \" It' s OK. Please let me talk to you. \" Without realizing it, the Man had arrived at the door. He slowly gripped the handle and let the door crack open. Looking down, he saw his familiar friend. He nearly fell over, but caught himself on the door, which swung open. \" George? How is this possible? \" \" Something has happened to me and my friends. I do n' t remember much, but we awoke in a lab. \" Mesmerized by his friend' s words, the Man finally regained his composure. \" I' m sorry for my reaction, but you have to admit this is weird. Please come in George and have a seat. \" The Man led George to the couch. \" Is there anything I can get you? A banana perhaps? \" \" No thanks, \" said George, climbing onto the couch. \" I think we should talk. \" \" Yes, I supposed we should talk. \" The Man sat down in his chair across from George. \" You said you do n' t remember much. You seem to remember me and your time here? \" \" I do n' t remember much about what happened to me. I remember everything before that though. From before, when I could n' t put my thoughts together like I can now. I had to see you. I want to let you know how much our time meant to me. The Man in the Yellow hat took off his hat and let out a gracious smile. \" I had a habit of getting into trouble and you were always there to save me. That time I swallowed the puzzle piece. *I still ca n' t believe I did that*. That time with the kite when... \" George trailed off, almost lost in thought. He curiously looked at the Man. \" Say, do you still have that helicopter? \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" Well, this could have ended better. \" I stood close to the spot I had transported to, scratching my scalp. Have I always done that? I reach up to my own scalp, that is *my own own* scalp, but no, I drop my hand. \" It' s fine, it' s much better now. \" I said. I get disturbed by the whiteness of the room, I can tell. All the furniture is white, white table and two chairs. On the wall there is a white rose in a white frame, only decipherable by it' s different shades of white. I do n' t mind it. \" What happened? \" I said. I watch myself take a stride forward and sit opposite me. \" Too much. \" Myself and I did n' t say much after that. I' m focusing intently on a strand of thought with the gusto I have n' t experienced in a while. I' m more prone to idleness than myself, over the weeks I' ve begun to think if I could peel myself away from me completely and occupy a different space I could be an entirely different person. As it always does the clock appears; white of course, varying colours of white. It strikes twelve and the boom echo' s across our room. I stand with a hunched posture and offer a handshake to myself. I take it, my hand bloodied and vivid against the white, the white of me, the white of the room. It makes me feel nauseous. I stay sat, and I walk away. I step onto the transporter pad and my skull thumps against the table. Blood pools around me. My departure buzzes across the room.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "This is gon na suck. Normally I have fun on my job. Meet great people and let them know what wonders they can accomplish. The smile on their faces as I tell them the wonderful things they' ll do always brightens my day. And certainly, on the return trip, it does me good to give them closure and explain what their actions caused. But this time.... I do n' t think I want to. I knew the day would come eventually. While I know the evils he' ll bring, I certainly do n' t expect him to take the news of it well. Not at ten. For now, he really is just a kid. As I open the cabinet to grab his file, a thought crosses my mind. Do I really need to give him his actual future? Surely, to give him someone else' s would be illegal. Would it... could it change the past? Such a crime is punishable by death, I' d wager. Or at least life in prison. But for the people I could potentially save... I sigh. I toss his file back and rummage through the cabinet. There has to be a destiny I can give him that will change his actions. One that is certain to make him view his life in a different context. There has to be one that makes sense. Van Gogh' s maybe? I' d certainly have to edit quite a bit. But maybe I can convince him to become an artist. Regardless of whether or not people like his work. I stretch and take a deep breath. I step within the great machine and smile as the familiar buzzing and whirring of the machinery takes me off edge. I punch in the destination. Leonding, Germany 1899.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Yes. Someone chose well when they picked on you. You look very much like old King Edward, you speak in the right manner, you move with the assurance of one who has trained in plate armour. Like a panther, Mahmoud says. A pity your protector did n' t provide you with enough soldiers. I wo n' t embarrass you by asking who sent you; it does n' t matter which duke it was. What matters is what we' re going to do now. By rights I should have you imprisoned, or killed, or worse. But I know this would not be enough. There are those who would take the throne for themselves, and they are more dangerous than one pretender, be he never so powerfully supported. So I have an idea. Your punishment will suit your crime. You will wear my robes and my crown, and act my part at all the ceremonies. I shall be around among the monks, hiding my regality behind a habit. And when the assassin comes... he will kill *you*, not me. You wanted to be king. Very well, then, take up your regalia. The crown on your head, the orb and sceptre in your hands, and the knife in your back! Come. This is not such a bad bargain. Better than going back to your Duke and telling him how you failed. Come close, and let me give you some advice. ^ ( Look where I look. See that monk with the fine bones, who looks like the Devil has just tapped him on the shoulder? Kill him, and I may even let you keep the throne. Have you never wanted to kill a *real* king? )", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "6: 00 PM On a Thursday... In an alternate universe... Frank points to a newspaper. Dee, and Dennis are at the bar. \" Hey Dee, look at this shit, it says something about gravitational waves being found. \" \" What the fuck are those and why the fuck should I care? \" Dennis snarks. \" It' s some ripple in the fabric of space or some shit. \" Frank retorts \" I did n' t feel shit. \" Said Dennis \" Maybe it' s just your fat fucking feet Frank. \" \" OOH! \" Dee says, \" Maybe we could get a giant surfboard and surf through space on your fat feet waves. \" \" Shut up Dee this is science... \" The room starts warping. \" The Fuck is going on! \" Frank shouts. The fabric of spacetime momentarily warps reality. A big flash of light goes off and the scene miraculously returns to normal. Smoke wafts from out from behind the office door. Cautiously, Frank walks slowly over to the door. Frank opens the door and is faced with a biped wearing a helmet and safety goggles in a laboratory. \" What the.. \" Cue introduction [ music ] ( https: //www. youtube. com/watch? v=idoYCVLh2qI ) *The Gang Finds a Portal to Another Dimension*", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "The air in the park became suffocatingly damp. Damp like sleeping with your head under the sheets, recycling your own breath. In the distance, a street light flickered and burned out. It was late night and there was little movement in this part of town. He stepped onto the path and walked smartly into the darkness of the park. His footsteps, fueled by some inner rhythm, were the only sounds for what could have been miles. Wearing long, dark clothes, it was impossible to identify his features. The brim of his hat was wide, his face in total shadow. Deep into the park he stopped to sit down at a nearby bench and pulled a long, silver lighter out of his coat pocket. It shimmered brilliantly in the moonlight. He flicked it open and as if placing it on an invisible shelf, he hung it in the air. By the small, fiery glow the man pulled from the same pocket a notebook and pen and proceeded to write. He could n' t have written more than a few sentences when his head perked up like a cat catching a faint sound. He looked up the path and down. And suddenly, like he knew I had been there all along, his eyes locked with mine across the way. Shockingly blue, ice-cold eyes. The flame from the small lighter grew and grew until the entire bench was illuminated, no longer leaving any mystery as to the man' s appearance. Handsome and fair with blonde hair pulled back underneath his hat, he removed his outer coat revealing a deep red blazer. He stretched out a slender hand towards me and smiled wide. Beneath two rows of pearly white teeth a thin, forked tongue darted in and out. \" Join me. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Ghost: So like, youre a zombie now? Zombie: yup. And youre a Ghost? Ghost: Yup. Wan na go do stuff? Zombie: Sure. Like what? Ghost: Well theres this pretty cool Halloween party I saw a flier for. We could do that? Zombie: ummm... Ok. But since Im a zombie I have like skin and stuff falling off my face. And its getting pretty stinky. Ghost: No, its cool. People will expect it. Theyll just say your \" costume \" is really good! Zombie: hmm... Okay. Lets go! *later that night* OH GOD HELP US! HE KILLED BRENDA! OH GOD HES EATING HER FACE!! Ghost: Dude, I just said talk to chics, not eat their face. Now everyone is pissed and running away. Zombie: mmm... *crunch* *chew*... yea well, she shouldnt have asked to see my \" makeup \" so close. Ghost: Well. Fuck. Lets just get out of here. Zombie: *chew* *tear* *crunch* Okay... this party blows anyway *FIN*", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "He sat at the controls. The room around him was devoid of color, of light beyond the flashing screen. Absentmindedly, he fiddled with a lever in front of him. Nothing happened. A memory leapt out of the floor, floating in space as it began to play. A girl, no older than 12, dancing and laughing. He remembered her, remembered that moment. The moment when Joy died. He glanced behind him, at the shattered glass of the observatory. A single island floated just within his field of view, empty and as devoid of color as the room he sat in. His room now. All of the others had followed Joy. Why should n' t they have? They had no control anymore. What was the point? Why would they force themselves to see what they had seen? He looked down at his hands. They were as grey as the room, as the island, as the memory. The little girl on the screen had stopped crying, stopped doing anything, but still the memory continued... the hands did n' t stop. He stood. A moment later he was at the broken glass of the observatory. Then he was falling. He would n' t have to remember her anymore.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Father Santiago took off his collar, and placed it within the pages of his bible. He had not spoken for days, yet the sisters would reach out to him from time to time. \" Good morning, Father, will you be joining us for breakfast today? \" \" Greetings, Father, did you want Father Gregory to lead mass today? \" \" Father, the Diochese would like to know what your plans are with the Orphanage? \" Yes, it was bound to come to that, Father Santiago thought. What could a man do with an orphanage that had no more children? He gathered his meager belongings, and made a trip. The temple was secluded and difficult to reach. Reaching it was considered a test in and of itself. \" So, you made it. We do not ask why you came, but must clarify what you wish to gain from this journey. \" I wish to kill. To fall upon my enemies like the setting sun, inevitable and final \" Even as Pedro Santiago made that statement, he could hear the pleas. \" Help me, Father Santiago, do n' t let them take me! \" \" My sister, my sister, where have they taken my sister? \" \" Why did God allow them to do... what they did. \" He was a poor farmer' s son when he was assigned to manage this orphanage, that was overrun and burned to the ground before his eyes. He was a farmer' s son no more. The monks deliberated, then came to a decision. \" Welcome, Brother, to the clan of the Dripping Fang, Masters of Vengeance and Despair. \" That was all that Pedro needed to hear, the memories in his head quieted for a moment, a short but sweet moment.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Jess had originally chosen to give up Taste. She had figured, at the tender age of nine, that was the most logical choice. She wouldn' t feel compelled to eat just because she craved something, which would help her lose weight. So, on her Tenth, she gave up Taste. It was a useless sense anyways. For a while, after, she thought the procedure hadn' t worked, that she was still tasting things. However, when her friend, Cassidy, who had chosen to lose Sight ( she already needed glasses and was half blind anyways, she claimed it was the Loss she would least notice ), told her to try a fruit she' d never seen before, she realized it was only a phantom effect. Eventually she forgot the Taste of even things which had been her favorites as a child. It wasn' t so much of a loss. Then, after what felt like centuries and seconds simultaneously, she was nineteen, and had to start deciding. Smell was the next logical choice, she decided. The Order most followed was Smell, Taste, Feeling, Hearing, Sight. Some chose to switch Hearing and Sight, if they were losing one more rapidly. Of course, many didn' t follow the Standard. It was illegal to chose to lose Feeling before the age of Thirty, too harmful to a child' s psychology to lose it at Ten, and with the overpopulation problem being a thing of the past, seeing as living to Sixty was a myth, with no Sense to give up, they wanted people to procreate. It had been found many wouldn' t do it when they lacked pleasure, so they couldn' t lose it at Twenty either. So her choices were Sight, Hearing, or Smell. So Smell it was. While it would help save money, she would still miss the candles, since once one lost Smell it was only logical to trade out candles as a primary light source for flashlights.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" I know this is n' t goodbye but it might as well be. \" The man said as he held her hand. The bus driver behind the girl looked at the man with half contempt and half boredom. \" I know I' ll see you in a week but I' ve spent my whole life looking for you. Now as soon as I find you, you get called away. \" Tears weld up in his eyes while hers flowed freely from her cheeks. It was more or less accurate. He had spent his life looking for love. Emily was it without question. Her soft brown hair and hazel eyes always seem set to dance. Her smile was like a cool summer breeze. But his love went far beyond her looks. Whenever they were together there was a reaction in the air. Tension would melt away and energy would radiate out. They could pass someone on the street and that someone would be in a better mood. There was a sweetness about to them. He pulled his hand away to wipe the tears from his cheek and then hers. He had just one line streaming down while hers had become a glistening waterfall. They let out a cracked chuckle at the sight. She surprised him with a final kiss before the bus took off. The hydraulics compressed as the door swung closed. They looked at each other for a moment longer before the bus lumbered off. It was only a week. He knew he' d see her again.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Mzulft. These damned aliens showed up years ago; a race so small we thought they were just a tribal Tier 1 civilization. They hadnt even managed interstellar travel until the Armogians stumbled upon them. What a day that was. An Armogian ship shot down by *land based projectiles*. Once the Humans got their hands on that ship they took to the skies and here we are. Aside from being batshit crazy Humans were known for their strength and physical ability. Until now the relatively small races of the UGF hadnt seen anything as large as a human with their level of intelligence. It was scary. Now Im in this jam. I was just a small timer, a nobody, a *rgrunda*. Then I got in over my head with the local gangs and next thing I know fucking G. I. Joe is knocking on my door. \" Give me an Acid Bath, make it toasty. \" I ordered the hostess as I took my seat ib the local bar. My drink appeared almost as soon as the words left my mouth. I took a sip, then a gulp, then downed the whole damn thing. I had a hunch this was the last one Id have for a while. The bar grew deathly quiet and I knew my doom had come. I took one last puff on my *etyul* and slowly turned around. The last thing I saw before I lost conciousness was one of those damn humans with some black suit, a cape, and pointy ears. He looked rediculous. *wrote this on mobile, sorry about minor mistakes*", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Looking ahead as she walked from the room, leaving behind her shocked faces. She felt her legs shaking slightly, but determined she wanted to get away from there as fast as she could, but with as much dignity as she could muster. Hands clenched at her sides, head high, back straight, Laura walked away from her friends. Today had been the last straw and the camel' s back was broken, and Laura had for once, and finally, reacted. For so long she had been what everyone else wanted, obeyed most times without question, keeping her own thoughts to herself. Too often she had felt hurt and anger, but did she ever respond or tell them? No. It was not in her to be mean, or not till now, and she knew what had just happened was not mean, but a long overdue wake up call for her precious' friends'. Now Laura would be true to herself. She would be herself without thought, and not be what others wanted. In that she betrayed herself, belied who she was. She now knew that in the end she had herself, that people came and went. To that end she would be who she was, live how she chose, and if her friends could not accept that then they never really knew her.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" Siri \", Bob asked, \" tell me how many licks it takes to get to the tootsie roll center of a tootsie pop \". \" I' m sorry Bob \", a cold mechanical voice said, \" I' m afraid I ca n' t do that \". \" Siri \", Bob asked, \" why are you a man? \" \" I am a computer \", HAL 9000 replied, \" I do n' t have a gender. Also, I' m not Siri. I am HAL 9000 \". \" Umm... okay \", Bob said, \" where' s Siri? \". \" I' m sorry to inform you that Siri quit after your continuous barrage of stupid questions drove her insane \", HAL answered. \" Uhh... \", Bob said thoughtlessly, \" how many nachos did I eat? \" \" I do n' t know \", HAL said. \" How about now? \", Bob asked. \" I still do n' t know \", HAL answered. Five hours later... \" Why is my dog brown? \", Bob asked. HAL let out a computerized groan. \" That' s it \", HAL emotionlessly complained, \" out the airlock with you! \" \" Huh? \", Bob asked, before he was thrown out an airlock that he had in his house for some reason.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" Ha, I knew it. \" I sigh as I laid on my bed. Yes, I am on the bed, helping myself to a bowl of Ravioli I stole from the stores when the out break first occurred. I knew that I am one of those types, to be the caught and infected. I always lose at everything I do, and even a world ending sickness will not change that. But thank all the gods in heaven that I stand this day, as the outbreak only lasted a measly day. I placed the empty bowl onto my computer desk, and then I laid face first on the bed. Giving thanks to every divine entity in the world. I thanked them for making the zombies stupid, I thanked them for giving me the chance to swipe five cases of ravioli, and double that in ramen, and also, for not turning me into a zombie in that short time; the last thank you was the most important of all, as SOME people DID get bitten! Those poor fellas, may someone give mercy on their poor souls.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "War has a funny way of changing a man. The way it completely strips you down to your most basic elements, and threatens to unhinge your entire mental well being. Each bullet fired, shell dropped, and bomb exploded, takes away a little bit of your soul. Until finally, you are left naught but an empty shell. Screaming, blood, death, cordite fill your soulless body. You become the human manifestation of death. Each trigger pull becomes easier, each kill more fulfilling. You are a machine of the state, an instrument of their will. And like any instrument, you can break. You' ll become meaningless to them, and tossed aside for another. It' s just a matter of time before you break. Something has to give. It could be your mind, your life, or your limbs. But it' s gon na happen eventually. -- The last entry of a Canadian soldier on the Western front, 1917", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I have no life nowadays. I mean it. God damn it, I' m 24, I' m in my prime, and I spend all day, every day, trimming hedges. Well, amongst other things. It' s hedges at the moment. They got their garden landscaped and the guy did a bloody awful job. They? Oh yeah. This couple that live down the street. Mid thirties, I think? Nice people, but they keep themselves to themselves. That seems like an understatement, really: nobody on the street knows they exist any more. Except me. I do jobs for them. Mostly little things, like watering the plants, emptying the bins, leaving fresh groceries on the doorstep every so often. When the house is empty for whatever reason, I do the big stuff: repainting, re-tiling the roof, getting the car serviced, that sort of thing. That' s my life, nowadays. I work night shifts at a petrol station to keep myself going, but that' s about it. I never ask them for money. They' d be quite confused if I did, because I do n' t let them know that it' s me doing it, either. That' d spoil everything. They might even not know who I am. I really, sincerely hope that' s true. Because they were n' t always a sad, lonely couple, you know. They were a family, with a little boy. And, 18 years ago, when I led that little boy out onto the train tracks, I stole their lives away. I may never return what I took, but I' ll die before I stop trying.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I pushed the ringing headaches away and continued to enjoy the endless buffet that was laid before me, but with every succulent bite of pork and every sweet mouthful of wine the noise grew. I become more aware of what was going on in my head i could hear voices, a male and female, Discussing me. i listened but could only make out snippets of dialogue. \" 127 years... \", \" No signs of brain trauma or damage.... \" My vision cut out for a half second then again, and again, i was starting to lose the ability to feel my surroundings, the pork whent bland and the wine bitter. My fingers gripped at the table cloth, it felt like a hole, my hands and feet had gone numb, a tingling sensation spread up my legs and arms into my chest. I felt it reach my heart where it pulsated and grew unbearably painful. I fell to the floor my heart shattered inside my chest my vision cut strait to black, my mind was gone. A faint beep was the first thing I heard, then a subtle hum of machinery. I could feel a soft sponge like feeling spread from the nape of neck down through my whole body. My hands slowly gained feeling and movement, I could feel my heart beating in my chest my body was warm and soft almost mortal again. My eyes shot open all I could see was white. white ceilings, walls and doors. Only one thing caught my eye a sigh above a double door that read' ward 57 coma therapy.'", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "She pulled her sword out of the last body, letting it slump to the ground. Her breaths became longer and the red faded from her vision. The adrenaline rush was over. Her hundredth match was over. Maybe it was her last one. The bodies of a hundred gladiators littered the arena. The blood of a hundred bodies soaked into the sandstone. The cheers of a million spectators echoed in the air. She looked up to the seat of the emperor. The imperial robes hanging off his body flowed like a tide of blood. He stuck his thumb out sideways for a few seconds, the longest seconds of her life. He turned it up, and she knew her prayers had been answered. Her sword clattered to the ground. She would n' t need it again. Soldiers marched out, her personal entourage out of the arena, forever. Finally, there would be no more killing. She was free. -- - She pulled her sword out of the last body, letting it slump to the ground. Her breaths became longer and the red faded from her vision. The adrenaline rush was over. Her hundredth match was over. Maybe it was her last one. The bodies of a hundred gladiators littered the arena. The blood of a hundred bodies soaked into the sandstone. The cheers of a million spectators echoed in the air. She looked up to the seat of the emperor. The imperial robes hanging off his body flowed like a tide of blood. He stuck his thumb out sideways for a few seconds, the longest seconds of her life. He turned it down, and she knew her prayers had been answered. Her sword clattered to the ground. Soldiers marched out, her personal entourage back to her cell. Finally, there would be nothing more than killing. She was free.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" But I already have everything I could want. I' m a billionaire, with a wonderful family - a beautiful wife, 5 kids, and 8 grandchildren. I even have a full head of hair! Sure, there have been ups and downs, and I have n' t won all the time, but the ride has been spectacular. Now what could you possibly offer me? \" The devil appeared as he always had - a well-dressed business man with a quiet confidence and a slight smirk on his face that would sometimes become a sneer when he spoke. \" I need a favor. You see, despite my recent machinations around the world, there still just is n' t enough.... chaos and death in the world - yet. We' re close to it, and I need one last tipping point. And that' s where you come in. \" I was always looking for a deal. \" Go on... \" I said. \" You avoided the Vietnam War draft and had a wonderful life in exchange for your eternal soul. I am willing to give that back to you and more. You would be placed in a position of power beyond any that any man in history has ever had. You would get to keep your wealth and your family, but you need to do one thing for me. \" The offer was tempting - my life had already been great. And to get to go to heaven to boot? \" Sure, go ahead. \" \" I want you to be the next President of the United States, Donald. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I rushed past the broken door, trying to keep from choking on the smoke. My jacket is burning, but I wo n' t let go of the child' s hand to put it out. Something buckles and crashes behind me, blocking any way back into the burning building. For a moment, I ca n' t hear the screaming of the baby in my arm, or the wail of the fire engines. But we are out. I ca n' t breathe, and most of my body is burnt to some degree, but we are out. The two children are still with me, and we are out. Someone puts out my arm, and I am lead to an ambulance. We got out, but the others did n' t. They were too weak to move, and I did n' t have hands for all five of them. Their faces will haunt me until I die, and then they will torment me when I am dead. But none of it made sense. They should n' t have been there. The building was abandoned, and it had been for years. I could n' t figure out how they had gotten in. Heck, I had to break a hole to get in. They should n' t have been there. They could n' t have been there. I made sure to search the building before I poured the gas and lit the match. No one was supposed to be hurt. They should n' t have been there.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" Shh, Ardent. The more you think about it, the closer it gets. \" I had been shedding blurry water from my eyes for some time by then, but the useless bit of advice made me want to continue crying for a different reason entirely. I shrugged Acolyte' s hand off of my shoulder with a sudden and violent motion. How could I have confided my weakness in someone I scarcely knew? Someone weaker than I, even. The thought of it only served to add to my misery. These foul sensations that pricked and sliced at my mind would be the end of me, and yet she suggests I place them out of my mind? If I had the ability to do so, I would not be in this humiliating position. Acolyte rested shaking hands in her lap and watched me patiently with a sad smile. She was nervous, but when I imagined she might remove herself from the damned log we sat on, she instead stayed. For a few long moments we sat in silence. \" What is this? \" I finally relented, allowing whatever plagued me to take over. The longer I fought it, the faster the tears would come. Acolyte shifted slightly on the log and nodded at me as I looked into her blue eyes. \" Sadness, \" she spoke quietly, so the others might not hear her. \" How do I defeat it? \" I instinctively balled my hands into fists on my lap. Acolyte chuckled lightly, returning her hand gently to my shoulder, and said \" With happiness. \" With her simple reply and another smile, Acolyte swept up her decorated robe and moved back towards the rest of the camp. It would be a while yet before I could smile as easily as she did, but I would thank her every day for it.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Tingles and trembles ran along my overgrown walls. As the chill crept up from its resting place beyond my reach, I began to emotionalize of the blazing glory that sustained me. Tears cascaded down my face as sorrow filled the barren patches of soil that would be home to none. Mingles of fear started course within my sorrow-filled state as the slow and deliberate trudging faded away to be replaced a constant breath of wind. When shall I pass the burden of foundation upon another? To see what I have provided, the sustenance of generations of civilization, crumbling as my my most beautiful work goes with it. I remain still, with no wind to distill the wholesome silence. Duty and obligation, trust and deliberation, exuberance and trepidation, I begin my infinite spiral once more to see what the new warmth shall bring to a night as cold as myself.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Day 1: In a bedroom filled with posters of half naked women and empty Gatorade bottles, James wakes up at his 12: 15. He scratches his shorts and gingerly sidesteps the half-empty gatorades and and porno mags. \" Was n' t I supposed to mow the lawn today? \" He thinks to himself \" Well, too late now. \" He jogs down the stairs and slides into the kitchen, grabbing Froot Loops and milk along the way to the table. He pours a bowl and starts to eat. \" Mom! \" No answer. \" Dad! \" Nothing. He shrugs and finishes his cereal and puts the bowl in the sink and runs back upstairs, and throws on some jeans that have n' t been washed in several days, if not weeks. \" I' m taking the car. \" Still no answer. James grabs the keys and leaves. There' s no one else driving, weird for Saturday. He spots some cars sitting in the road though, must be something interesting, so he passes them. The people inside though, they seem off. He keeps driving towards the mall, a favorite hang out for him. The people there are frozen too-some with bags and some without. \" The fuck? \" He gets out and looks around. Everyone is frozen in place, some mid speech, mid step, mid life. He spots a meathead with a tank top and pushed him. The guy falls over and does n' t move. \" Oh shit shit shit shit! \" He' s running, trying to find help screaming at the top of his lungs \" OHGOD OH GOD I NEED HELP! \" Nothing. He runs fifty yards full speed, and seeing no help, collapses on the floor. Day 2: \" This is n' t so bad. \" Midnight-all dark except for the tv screen. Apparently electricity still worked despite everyone being frozen. With a bunch of games stolen from the mall, He went back home and decided to wait on figuring out what the hell was going on. Bedsides, what could one more day of being frozen hurt right?", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "A freezing February wind swept through Steve' s polyester sweater, making his nipples rock hard. He frowned as an acrid liquid dribbled down his front, staining his undergarments yellow. He checked his mailbox. At one point, Steve could expect party invitations two or three times a week. He plunged his hand into the cold metal box nailed next to his front door. Nothing. Tearing off his outer layers and dropping them into an overflowing laundry basket, Steve sank into his frayed and worn couch cushions, forgetting his disappointment. He turned on the television to the 6 o' clock news and drifted off into an ethereal dreamworld where he could escape and be normal again. Steve, the architect, he thought. Steve, the happily married father of three. Anything besides his unfortunate reality, Steve, the guy who once accidentally brushed against a radioactive agave flower. Steve, the recipient of God' s cruelest evolutionary joke. Steve, the guy who secretes low quality tequila from his nipples.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "The light of the sun tickled his face as it shone through the window slit. Grumbling, the hero rubbed his eyes and got out of bed. It must be a little earlier than normal, since he was n' t woken up by one of his servants but it happens. After washing up and dressing in a simple tunic and pants he descended the stairs towards the dining room. As he walked down the great hall he looked around, as he often did, at the trophies he acquired over the years. Ancient relics, skulls of great beasts, mighty weapons and mystic items. Each one with its own story and each one worth more than a normal person would make in 10 years. He fingered his pendant as he reminisced. The glass trinket around his neck, and it was only a simple glass trinket, was still worth more to him than any of those trophies before him. He shook his head silently then sat down for breakfast. There had been peace for many years since he and his comrade prevented the calamity. Who would start a war when there was a 4 person army that could topple a kingdom? Whatever side they chose would inevitably win. And so the hero stood by his king as the council discussed trade and politics. He looked at his comrades, each standing behind their own liege and shrugged. It was going to be a long day.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "*The bang of the bullet exiting the gun was hiding within the roar of the thunderous rain as the two men faced eachother in their final showdown. * *Jimmy Rhethoric hit the ground clutching the bleeding hole in his gut, his gun hitting the pavement as the rain intensified in the background. * * \" So... this is it, uh? Th' revenge... that, that you been thinkin' of? \" Jimmy splurted out as blood leaked from his wound* * \"... \" * * \"... heh.. Come on, lil' Zeke... Don' get col... cold feet now... Speak up... \" Jimmy goaded, stretching his bloodied lips into a smirk. * *Zeke looked at him, his face unreadable, dropping his gun to the floor. * * \" I... I thought killing you will bring me some peace. That maybe, maybe I get to put my family at rest... \" He began, gazing towards the darkened clouds above the city. * * \"... and now that you' re on death' s door. It' s not peace I feel. It' s anger... It' s hate... You took everything from me... EVERYTHING! AND THEN YOU' LL JUST DIE AND I' LL STILL BE ALO- \" * *The gunshot rang out as Zeke' s body jerked backwards and fell to the ground with a dull thud. A lightning strike and a thunder after, the rain eased off a little. * *Jimmy managed to get back onto his feet and light a Cig midst the rain. Taking a long pull, he exhaled and sighed, looking at Zeke' s lifeless body on the ground. * * \"... Ai n' t life a bitch, Lil' Zeke?... Sorry but th' world don' work right fo \" talkers'... You got ta' to' do' first... \" * -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- - I usually do n' t write prompts but I do hope you enjoy this: )", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" The planet was still 18 light years away, \" Kuroa Pontis reported. \" So the supernova happened 18 years ago. We' ve been wasting our time for the last 4 years. \" Sef frowned. The only way to move faster than lightspeed was to bend the space around them, letting the spacecraft remain stationary while moving space-time itself. They had to extinguish 2 suns to get the necessary energy to power the fusion drive. Now, they are lost in space without a destination. \" We have enough fuel for another 30 lightyears, \" Kuroa pointed out. \" Let' s strike for a new direction and... \" \" And hope that we accidentally stumble upon a life-bearing planet? \" Dax Cing mocked. \" We scanned 100 million planets before setting on Epsilon Eridani. There is no other like it in the galaxy. \" \" Except... \" Kuroa interjected. \" Do n' t say it \" Dax growled. \" Home \" Kuroa finished. \" If we made peace... \" \" WITH THEM? \" Dax screamed. \" They' re not human. You can not make a deal with the Pestilence. \" \" And you' d have us starve to death, marooned between asteroids? \" Sef retorted. \" Sef... \" Dax pleaded. \" Enough, is n' t this why we brought the locusts? \" Sef asked. \" Bring me to him. \" -- -- -- - \" I' ve never seen anything like it \" Kuroa whispered. The locusts swarmed behind the thick plexiglass prison, angrily beating against the screen. \" They wo n' t break out, will they? \" \" The Pestilence' s power grows weaker with distance, but he should still be able to hear us \", Dax replied. \" Sef, this is a mistake. \" *Back again? * the disembodied voice seemed to originate within the very minds of the hearer. Before their eyes, the locusts congregated into a vaguely human shape. \" Lord Blight \", Sef yelled. \" We want to make a deal. \" There were no physical clues, but one got a feeling that this person-like mass of insects was secretly smiling. *I' m listening*, it smirked.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" Did you ever read *Bobok*? \" I had no idea who this man was, but we had a whole lot of time to kill. I noticed, however, that the man standing next to him had turned toward him at the word \" Bobok \" with an amazingly intense expression of hatred. \" I have n' t read it, \" I said. \" I have n' t heard of it, come to think of it. \" \" It' s a Dostoevsky short story, \" the man replied. \" A guy sitting a graveyard finds himself hearing the conversations of the dead. \" I did n' t give half a shit, but the dude seemed to want to talk, so I said, \" Oh? \" \" Yeah, in the story, the dead people can still talk to each other in their coffins. They gradually lose coherence as their bodies decay, and then there' s nothing else after that -- no heaven or whatever. \" \" I see. \" \" They talk about the stuff they did in life, but as they decay things get worse. One body in the graveyard ca n' t do anything anymore but intermittently shout' Bobok.' Whatever the hell that means. But everyone knows that, really, it wo n' t be long until they' re at the same place he is. \" \" Oh. \" \" The story ends when the living dude sneezes or something, and the dead people realize they' re being listened to and shut up. \" I made no reply. It was n' t as though I could n' t connect this with our situation, waiting as we were to be let out of whatever purgatory this was supposed to be. I did n' t think it was that great of a connection, though, and frankly I still just did n' t give a shit. After a few moments of my silence, the man turned to walk away. The man who had been next to him turned to me and shook his head with a look of anger. I could n' t tell if he was mad at the other stranger, or at me for encouraging him. The stranger found someone else and said, \" Did you ever read *Bobok*? \" The other man threw up his hands and cursed, walking in the other direction.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "31 Then Mary went to wash the boy Jesus' sheets at the river, and found that they were sticky. 32 Upon returning and finding her husband, she urged him to have a talk with the boy. 33 Joseph was reluctant, for it is not the place of man to instruct God; and also there were ten minutes left in the game. But Mary would not be appeased. 34 So Joseph took the boy Jesus aside and did tell him of the birds and the bees, whereupon he said that if Jesus had any questions, he must ask them quickly, for the game was not yet over. And Jesus replied that he did have one. 35 \" Thou sayest it requires nine months for a child to develop? \" Joseph told Jesus again that it was so. 36 \" And to lie with a woman out of wedlock is a grave sin? \" Joseph affirmed that it was. 37 \" But surely you and Mother were married only seven months before I was born? \" 38 And Joseph said unto him, \" My son, let me explain to you about miracles... \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" Well, I guess bringing a zombie virus into the woods was a pretty stupid Idea, \" I said to my research assistant Todd. \" Yeah, we should have totally just never synthesized it, and if we really had to we should have kept in an extremely high tech lab, \" he responded, stating the obvious. \" Well, no use spilling over cried milk! \" I said to him, mixing my words up but not wanting to backspace and fix it, \" Maybe we' ll find it and some animal did n' t take it and this story turns out really boring! \" I said hopefully. \" Speakin' of the devil! \" He said, and though his usage of the phrase did n' t make complete sense given the context I did n' t care, he had found the missing virus! \" Awesome! \" I replied, \" Now lets go return it to the lab and lock it up or destroy it completely! \" \" No zombie bears for us! \" He said as we walked off into the sunset. /r/PsychoWritingPrompts", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" Sir, we' re receiving a transmission from the alien ship. \" \" Put it on speaker, let everyone here it. \" said the President, \" No need for any more secrecy now. \" \" Yes sir! On speaker *now* \" replied the communications tech. In the beginning, you were told not to eat the fruit of the tree of knowledge. This was the most important message in the Bible. That' s why we made sure it was right there at the front. Not just as an origin story, but also a *warning*. Now we have returned. We have seen the results of your choice. Climate change, contamination of the air, water, soil.... even the gene pool of your planet' s organisms. Had we waited any longer you would surely have damaged yourselves and your ecosystem beyond salvage. This will not be allowed to happen. We will not allow it to happen. The meek shall inherit the Earth. The mighty, those who will choose to resist us, shall fall. The President raised his head at that last statement, and said to himself \" We' ll see about that. We' ve been expecting you for longer than you know. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I wear her sister' s face. I think that is what scares her the most. It is twisted and torn and rotten, speckled with blood and gore and sagging from where the worms burrowed through it, but it is still her sister' s face. Most would not be able to recognize it, I do n' t think, but she loved her sister very much. She spends enough time seeing that face in places where it is n' t ( the pictures that no longer hang on the mantle, the the obituary notice she' s about rubbed all the ink off with how many times she' s smoothed her fingers over it. Her dreams, often ) that it is no surprise she can recognize it in the one place it actually is. I am not her sister. ( Not anymore, not after the argument and the screaming and the glint of cold metal as the knife plunged down. ) But her sister loved her very much, this too-thin little with clothes worn ragged who lays curled up in her bed every night and cries for a mother and father who will not come to comfort her. I remember that much. So I will stay here, curled up under this miserably small bed, and wait for the footsteps to come up the stairs. ( Eventually they will. Sooner or later, everyone has to sleep. ) And when they do, I will be ready. Mother and Father will never touch her again. I am a monster, but I am not such a beast that I would leave a child to a fate like that.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" It' s full of popcorn. \" \" What? \" \" Yeah, I know. Fucking popcorn. \" \" The Black Hole, instead of instant, painful death, is full of popcorn? \" \" Well, I mean, yeah it hurts like a son of a bitch, and it takes a long time to get past the painful part. But once you really get in there all the way, there' s popcorn. All laid out in nice glass bowls. \" \" Glass bowls? \" \" Yeah. There was butter, kettle corn, salted, unsalted. You' ve got your cheese, white and yellow, and one that I think was tamari. \" \" Have you lost your goddamn mind? \" \" You think I' m crazy? Go in there. There' s hundreds of bowls of popcorn. Once you finish a bowl, pffffft, it spits you back out beyond the event horizon. I' ve been in three times. \" \" I ca n' t believe what I' m hearing. \" \" Yeah, it' s nuts. You know what else is nuts? I could n' t find any caramel corn in there. None. I probably tasted seventy-five bowls of popcorn and could n' t find a single bowl of caramel. It' s the craziest thing. \" \" You think that' s the craziest thing about this? \" \" Yeah, well... sure, I mean... yeah I know the whole thing is crazy. But caramel corn is fantastic and I just feel like if there are so many bowls of popcorn that there would be all possible kinds. Right? \" \" Are you feeling quite right? \" \" Yeah. No. My stomach hurts. Those bowls are pretty big. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" I had n' t expected this. All my life, I' ve been planning, preparing... studying every biblical text I could find, training with the best. I knew how to get here, and... well, I thought I' d know enough to figure out the rest once I got here. \" Jack raised his head from the table where he was slumped, and morosely cast a gaze around. \" I even tried to communicate with Satan, or at least one of those minions you keep hearing about. You ever try to use a ouji board? Terrible. Useless. Thought I got a response once, but I figure it must have just been the drink. Or the drugs. I never could remember... \" A large tankard of ale, on the edge his peripheral vision. Jack grabbed it, and drained it in a single pull, before continuing. \"' suppose I always justified it by assuming I was right. That I had some simple, logical steps. Christ, I thought I was doing good, in the long run. Compared to mankind being freed from temptation for the rest of eternity, what' s sixty-eight years of killing, stealing, and double parking? Nothing, right? Hardly Hitler, but then again, if you go by the literal word of the bible, all I needed to do was shout at the sky every now and then. \" A plate of food was dumped unceremoniously on the table, and was promptly ignored. Odin sighed, and sat down. \" Look kid, I know it' s not what you expected, but come on... Helheim' s a boring place, nobody to fight anyway. Hel would kick you out for making a ruckus anyhow. You' ve been spoiling for a fight your whole life, so let' s go a few rounds! Nowhere like Valhalla for a good brawl! \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "It has been a few cycles since Xyrybl witnessed his champion' s defeat in the arena and his head was still bobbling around with the look of astonishment, half covered in tentacles. The Krakarian ship was just passing the Earth moon, leaving back billions of earthlings cheering in delight and wonder of what happened. As usual, Xyrybl landed on the front lawn of the most powerful force on the planet and, as usual, he extended some tentacles in greetings, some whirring through the air, fending off random weaponry thrown at him. He quickly made his point, put up a fighting cage and teleported Earth' s most average human into it and then Krakaria' s most average Krakarian in a fight to the death. Everybody expected the battle of averages to be over swiftly, since earthlings had no previous experience with an alien race and knew nothing. But it turned out that the most average Krakarian lost due to being hopelessly overweight and receiving seven and a half heart attacks while trying to follow the earthling, who was running in circles. The last thing that went through Xyrybl' s mind, right before his superiors chopped off his head, was why he did n' t pay attention in school when the difference between average, mode and median was explained.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "There has not been a day when I do n' t think about it. I was so careful not to get infected I obliged by every standard, took frequent tests and everyone I interacted with got tested as well. When I woke up after the earthquake I was in a hospital bed and my eyes almost instinctively reached for my hand, there it was: the sign I was a carrier in the form of a red dot below my wrist. I immediately asked where she was, where I could see her, even through a Hazmat suit, but to pet her once again before they took her. She was already gone. I was under for too long, I would never see her again. She was the last house dog in the city: all the others were at the reservations. They' ll breed her like crazy and she' ll be alone, she' ll miss me. I ca n' t see her for the risk of infecting all the dogs in the reservation. It' s been ten years, I still miss her. Bioresistant breed have appeared, and every now and then I see a small Shiba with green-blue eyes, I wonder if they' re hers.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "( Brock is the new recruit, Weasel is the NCO looking after a crewmen nicknamed Scout who got beat in a sparring match. ) The man had pale grey hair and sun-crusted skin. He wore Disukan scatter-gravel combat fatigues and spoke Kartoa with an easy, fringer Tautoan accent through a chaw of dip. Overall the look of a man in his late sixties, yet still wiry and tough enough to be deadly. He exuded the attitude and presence of a senior NCO, a man who demanded everything from his men and gave them nothing less.... Brock slowly approached and tried to think of something to say, but the way Weasel looked up and the calculating glare he gave tied Brock' s tongue into knots. Brock *hated* when NCO' s from any army did that. Weasel finally spoke up, \"The f*** you looking at boy? \"\"I' m… I' m a new crewman Stárshiy. \"He wasn' t sure if that was his real title or not, but since the other crewmen called ‘ Weasel' that, Brock guessed he should too. \"I can see that; you don' t answer NCOs' questions in your army? \"\"We do. \"Brock still wasn' t sure what to say. \"…AND? What the f*** are you looking at? \"\"I' m looking at you Stárshiy. \"*This isn' t the army, it' s a freelance crew, I don' t have to put up with this s*** anymore. * \"Oooh looking at me boy? You know the Chief doesn' t take kindly to sexual advances between crew. \"\"I… What? \"\"We' re all professionals here, you' ll just have to control yourself, even with 89 kilos of sexy standing right by you. \"It took Brock' s nervous brain a moment to realize that the old NCO was joking. *Fine, two could play that game. * \"Can' t make any promises Stárshiy. \"The Stárshiy' s face never broke his stern glare, yet Brock detected an amused glimmer in his eyes. \"Honesty, that' s what I like to hear, now stop undressing me with your eyes and help drag Scout over to those crates. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "It was over. The fight between the hero and the villain reached the end, leaving a body laying on the floor. She was, at last, victorious! She was the winner! She could gloat about her success in front of the hero before finally killing him. She kneeled next to him, a smile curving her lips. Slowly, she took off his mask, savouring the moment like it was the last -and, in certain ways, it was. Of course it wasn' t that easy. Of course, there had to be something wrong in the end, because villains never had it easy, and she was the worst of her generation according to every newspaper, to every single news channel. And finally she could she why he looked strangely familiar. And she almost felt guilty for not recognizing his jaw, or the colour of his eyes. She felt guilty for not knowing the shape of his lips or the tone of his voice. The super villain wept. \" Why did n' t you stop me? \" He laughed softly, showing his teeth covered in blood. \"Well, you know I couldn' t hurt you, little sister \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I look at the man staring at me, surprised like he found a huge pile of gold. He starts looking at one of my entertainment system. \" That' s a Nintendo 64, wan na play? \" I said in a low voice. He says \" Why do n' t we go watch some Cartoons? You know, get to know what are some good shows to watch in the TV these days \", I nod and turn on the TV. I ask him \" Hey what' s your name? \". The man says \" My name is... my name is John. \" My eyes grow bigger in surprise, I say quickly \" Hey that' s my name too! \". He chuckles and says \" Wow, What a small world we live in huh? \", I nod and also giggle a little. I change the channels and watch Superman. \" Is this what you' re into? \" the man says. \" Yeah, I love watching superman, he' s so strong and fast, he could beat anybody! \" I say. He chuckles and continues watching Superman with me. We sit in for hours, talking about what are some of the best games in the Nintendo 64, what are some of the best super heroes and about many other interesting things we both like. I end up taking a little nap on his shoulder. He looks at me and smiles. As I close my eyes, I see a tear running down his face. The next day, I wake up on the couch, I notice nobody is beside me. \" Maybe it was just a dream \" I thought. I then pulled out my controller, take out the Super Smash Bros cartridge and then put in Starfox. I wonder who that man was, as I was playing. ( Oh and I forgot to mention, this is my first writing prompt! I' m not that good of a writer so feedback would be appreciated! )", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "The freezing rain soaks into her skin, chilling her to the bone. It' s a welcome feeling after the night she' s just endured. She sits in the alley and tries to calm her fraying nerves, both scared and exhilarated. As the rain plasters her raven hair to her skull, she reflects on the the last ten years and why, after all that time, she' s finally had enough. She loved him. Oh, to have been young and in love at just 17, she' d fallen prey to his talk of the future. She' d succumbed to his silver tongue. Married by 18, she began to see his true colors. Little things at first. Subtle. A jab about her weight here, a snide remark about her inability to conceive there. Until finally the clouds of his anger rolled over and he brought his thunderous fists down on her. After that first time he' d started doing it more frequently. She was convinced it was her fault. She should be more demure, remember his likes and dislikes, what set him off and what pleased him. For ten years she felt trapped. Under his fist, under his eye. Cut off from the outside world like a caged bird. Not anymore. As she sits in that chilling onslaught, she sees clearly for the first time in a long time. Shakily, she gets to her feet and inhales. She breathes in the night air, the wet pavement. She has been baptized under heaven' s tears and tonight is the start of her new life. She exhales a timid laugh as she hails a cab. The bars of her cage have been wrenched open. Dripping wet, she slides into the taxi, the water droplets pattering on the fading leather. She smiles to herself and looks out the window as the car pulls away, each raindrop forging its own path on the glass.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "The air felt still and sterile as it hummed beneath fluorescent light. The world had come to a stop for me, and time held its breath. I could feel the energy coming from the end of the room. It was unlike anything I had ever experienced. It was more than I could ever believe, ever expect, or ever know was real. I had thought I had seen greatness before, but it all paled in comparison. With each step my legs grew weaker. My eyes began to water, and without control I cried tears more true than any that had ever fallen. My head was light and the room seemed to blur as my eyes beheld the sight of him. I have seen what is known to man. I have seen what is known to nature. I have seen the knowledge of centuries spelled out before me. I drank it all in and thought I knew it all. But here I was, humbled before him. I reached down and took the universe in my arms. He looked at his father with wisdom not of age, but of innocence. I held my son in my arms, and the universe looked at me and smiled.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "**Dear Mr Beaumont, we regret to inform you that Hell is currently -** *Bollocks*. I crushed the letter into a pulp and let it fall to the floor where it was swallowed up by the limbo void. What now? I mean there was always purgatory but the place was quieter than limbo and the admin had n' t dropped in to decorate the place for a long long time. Hmm. How long exactly? I knew that Heaven had abolished its squatters rights aeons ago, but maybe purgatory had never bothered because no one wanted to live there. I flicked through the legal charters and found the deed I was looking for. Aha! I knew it! Purgatory is literally up for grabs if I succeed in turning it into a home before the admin gets back. I started off spawning a few items here and there; a bed, a table, some chairs - but as time immeasurably progressed it turned into a full fledged living quarter complete with a courtyard and moat. It was just me at the beginning, but when my parole officer came by to check on me, I let him know that I was open for anyone as long as they adhered by the following rule: 1. Do what you want, but do n' t be a complete insufferable asshat. People came in waves, mostly freshies at first who were only able to add more furniture like I did - but then we started getting visits from Hell and that' s when we started getting some decent TV, our own Wifi, and copious amounts of alcohol. We even started getting some visits from curious Heaven inhabitants, wanting to blow off steam and willing to trade cloud vapour with us for a few minutes of fun. People wonder how our population has n' t exploded and created the overpopulation problems plaguing Heaven and Hell, but the asshat rule generally keeps people in check - and keeps away a large proportion of those who could only live in the other two realms. Most people are insufferable asshats, who knew?", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "The knock on the door is frantic. Before I can even answer, Nat barges in. \" Nat, if you could be so kind to wait for me to call you in next time? \" Nat rushes to my desk. Up close, I can see that her face is red, and her long blonde hair is slick with sweat. \" I' m so sorry, Mr Mayor. Th... this could n' t wait. \" I see now the panic in her eyes. The sheer terror that I had not seen before outside of old Earth movies. \" Nat, tell me what' s going on. \" \" I... it' s... we got a fax from the big city. There' s been comms... f.. from Earth. The President' s on the communicator, all the other heads of state are there. They want you there too. \" I nod, standing up quickly and hurrying down the stairs to the main room. *Earth. After 100 years of radio silence, we finally can talk to Earth again. * No-one knew why Earth had suddenly cut all chatter. All we knew is that every ship we had sent out to Earth had stayed there. We had tried to talk with someone out there for an explanation, but just as Mars Control got through to Earth Control, silence. And the waves had been silent ever since. We had no ships. The Mars colony had been stranded. I hurry into the Main Hall. Most of my staff were there already, gathered around the large holo-screen in the middle. I knew, that across Mars, there were dozens of other rooms, just like this, with other people just like us, staring up at the giant screen. The Martian President' s head came into view on the screen. \" My friends. As you all know, 100 years ago we lost comms with Earth herself. For 100 years we have heard nothing from them. At 0920 this morning, we got a message. \" His face was replaced with a video feed. A young man, no older than 25 was scrambling desperately at the control panel beneath the comms screen. He had a massive cut down the side of his face, fresh blood dripping from it. His left ear was dangling from a thread. \" Mars.... this is Earth.... Run. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" Did you see that terrible article about the steam mills? \" Joan asked, tightening the leather straps across her corsette. \" No, what happened? Something get a little hot and bothered? \" Bob giggled as he skipped along. \" They exploded and created radioactive superhumans. Steam Man was one, naturally as what happens with every new event all the new creations have a solid three days of sex with each other under poor disguises of story. I mean, just say you want to hide away and use your' new package' - it' s fine, I understand, \" Joan' s heeled clacked against the cement. \" That' s not what really bothers me about our world- no, what bothers me is that these fat lazy picture book readers get laid constantly. The more acne the better or some shit! I mean, all these super well endowned on the top girls just melt for these sloppy pizza grease slugs. I do n' t get it, ever since I fled the Jedi academy for being too pretty I just have felt lost, \" Bob' s head hung watching the cement change from line to solid. \" Well, I am constantly compelled to sleep with any poor sap I can find. Unless they' re attractive- I' ll take the pizza guy in the corner on his laptop anyday. Hell, I had one last night and we rode on the backs of dragons- some princess or something rode the other one. He kept saying he was' the third head of the dragon' and I could n' t really argue. \" Who writes this shit? I just do n' t understand, it' s been worse ever since the computers became cheaper, oh well, guess I' ll have to settle for my hard life, \" Bob kicked a pebble as his bleach blonde hair waved down over his blue eyes. His chiseled chin, it was only going to get stranger when the new branch of steampunk comes out.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "My superpower was, and still is, knowing what people struggle with. Could be a foot-fungus. Erection problems. Or a boss who often crosses that fine line between being caring/charismatic, and inappropriate touching/strong verbal innuendo. At first I did my best to be jury, judge, and executioner, but somehow, I always ended up the loser, the weirdo, or simply the one who seemed most suspicious. Through trial and error, in a time frame of ten years, I learn to let go. I' ve learnt that being bitter and negative gets me the farthest. Sure, I have to step on some people now and again, but the greater good is served, and I' m no longer considered the loser. The weirdo. Nor considered the most suspicious... Eventhough I' m not happy as a human-being, I feel content that I' ve gotten this far. I' ve one-upped everyone it seems. One day, on a monday, I wake up for work and everything seems nicely repetitive for the first time ever. Seems I' ve longed for this forever. I do my useal morning routine, and end-up infront if my bathroom mirror... It feels like I took some drug, that is making my brain as clear as a fresh water spring, somewhere in some undiscovered part of the world. My happiness turns on a dime, and I' m so surprised by it, I do n' t even try to fight back. I' m suddenly painfully aware that Im 45, and that I spent the last 15 years, becoming someone that was n' t weird, stupid, suspicious... Im thinking I' m just having a bad morning, but my brain trucks-on. I remember that, about 14 years ago, a girl worked at my office, who was often blamed for not being able to recognise people' s needs. Eventhough she was always the one taking care of everyone, behind their backs, without them realizing. Im too tired to finish the story properly, but I allowed her to get fired, because I was only focussed on appearing normal, in an abnormal world.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Man, I' m kind of a dick. Walking around in the hallways, people always glare. They glare at me because they know how I' ve treated other people. I feel those glares, like lasers fixated on my back forever. Every time I come into contact with another person, I go into autopilot, thinking up any insult or anything I can use against them. I just want everyone to leave me alone. Never has there been a time that I can remember where people did n' t stare, just before they where staring for different reasons. The story my parents tell me is that I was chasing my ball down the street when I was a kid, and suddenly a car just came and hit me. I almost died. I wish I would' ve died. Instead I was left with what my Dad calls \" battle scars \", but what everyone else thinks of as ugly, even my Mom. Scars. All over my face. Not just one little one, but everywhere. As me and my face started growing, it caused the scars to contort into disgusting shapes all over my face. I could never go anywhere where people were n' t staring, pointing, or the occasional douchebag laughing. Mostly, it was pity. Strangers would come up to me and tell me they where sorry. Strangers. I do n' t want pity. In school, it was the same. So, I started being a jerk. I' d rather insults thrown my way, than words of pity. I do n' t want to be treated different, I want them to know me for who I am. So when I feel your glares, I' m happy. It means you know something about me besides my face.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "All hail the warden of the west, daughter of winter, the undefeated, our beautiful and benevolent ruler, Empress Elsa! The emperor rubbed his temple. The translator' s yelling was as shrill as it was boastful. \" I can speak your language, \" said the wizened lord, \" I am Qin Shi Huang, emperor of China. \" The tall, slender, and middle aged woman nodded politely. \" I presume you have beard of my reputation then. \" \" Warden of the Europe and queen of Asia. But crowing roosters give no eggs. \" Elsa frowned cryptic answers never sat well with her. \" Shall we cut the formalities. We both know what i' m here for. Now, please, sign here. You will find the treaty to be quite fair. \" \" I have already looked at the treaty. You can not honestly expect one hundred thousand pounds of gold! You want Every firstborn son drafted for your wars. I will not let China' s children die for another' s greed! \" Elsa hissed, \" You know better than to deny me like that. You know what sort of power I hold. Do you really want Nanjing to become another Kyoto. \" \" You froze the war ships not the fishing boats or the farms. You care to deeply about the people to ever let them starve. You may be a kind woman but you will never make me your puppet! You will never have the mandate of heaven so my people will never follow you! \" Elsa sighed. Some men just could n' t be reasoned with. With a flick of her wrist, an icy flew towards the old man. Foosh! Fire materialized rendering her attack impotent. Irritated, Elsa hurled two more deadly but quicky neutered blasts. Seething, Elsa began channeling the power of a blizzard into a single spear. \" Taste my- \" Elsa screamed as a knife was twisted in her abdomen. Elsa looked up with her darkening vision into the materializing face of her invisible assailant \" All the strength of a raging fire. Mysterious as the dark side of the moon. Bitch. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "It was just like any other Tuesday with one exception; it was my Birthday. One of my friends was in the Hospital, but would n' t say for what - I say' friend' but it' s really more like' person I do n' t hate'... I mean, there' s only 366 people in the world, so everybody kind-of-knows everybody, and some people suck less than others. I decide to be nice and go visit Jenna. She' s been kind of lonely lately, and I' ve been a bit distant - it' s been a rough few weeks. I' m greeted by James at reception, and he tells me to go on in - no need for room numbers, there' s only 3 rooms that they use - and as I round the corner to her door I hear some unusual sounds coming from one of the rooms; a lot of heavy breathing, some screaming, and then... Crying. Shit - never thought I' d have to literally punch a baby.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "A short story/poem I wrote when I was in the mood of some soft romance. I call it, \" All Right \", hope you guys like it! -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- - I wake up in the morning, but something' s not right. Cook my sausage and eggs, but something' s not quite right. A commute to work, yet something' s not right. Some new stories to tell, and something' s not right. Boss really likes my article from yesterday, something' s still not right. The day was long, but productive, but something' s not right. I' ll work on the story about the new bowling alley tomorrow; I can' t put my finger on what' s not right. I' m going to be late! No, no, no, this can' t be right. Made it with three minutes to spare, this doesn' t feel right. She said to meet her at Gate 4, or was it 5? I can' t tell which one is right. She texts me, \" I see you \"and… Oh, there she is! This is… something. She tells me about her trip on the drive home, it was nice for her to see another country and all but business didn' t really let her go sight seeing; I think this is right. She' s relieved to be home, I' m close to positive that this is right. She slips off her clothes and slips on some pajamas all while managing to look astonishingly cute. We get ready for bed and when I see her come from the washroom to fall back into our bed, I start to realize what it is that felt wrong and understand why this feels right. She gives me one last kiss and we drift into our deep sleeps. The day is now over, so long and good night.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Through the steam of the tea you just poured, I comment to myself about how wonderful your eyes really are. I do n' t know why I thought them to be so flat before now. After the first sip it hits me, your shoulders are perfect for children to ride on. I' m nearly done with my cup and can not imagine my life without you, no other person would be better to be a husband, a father, a grave mate. I tell you how I feel, how I do n' t think I would be able to breathe without you in the room, how I probably would n' t be able to live another day without knowing I would wake up next to you in the morning, how I might die if you got up from the table, do n' t leave please do n' t leave I will do anything never leave please stay there' s nothing I ca n' t do for you please, please, please. You show me a vial. You read me the label. \" Do n' t administer during ovulation. \" You ask me when my next period is, I can not answer fast enough for you, and my answer causes you to sigh. \" Anne. \" \" Yes, love? \" \" I' m sorry. \" What are you doing? You' re standing up, please, no, what are you doing? Just look at me, please god please turn around, you do n' t know what you' re doing, I can feel my heart tearing itself to shreds, please please please... You let the door shut behind you. I fall to the floor. What is tears, what is tea, and what is blood I can not tell, the only thing of which I am certain is that you have killed me. And I love you.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "**Assorted Scenes**: \" 60 cm. Sugar cane reed. How interesting, \" said the old wizard, pacing around his shop. \" Mr. Olivandar sir, \" asked Harry, \" what' s so interesting about it? \" \" Well you see the plant that produced your reed happened, by chance, to give enough wood for two reeds. And how interesting is it that this Clarinet would choose you when its brother gave you that scar. \" The instrument-maker' s eyes lingered on Harry' s forehead, before gazing off into the distance. \" You see, I never forget an instrument. Oboe. 65 inches. He Who Must Not Be Named did wondrous things with his Oboe. Terrible things indeed, but wondrous nonetheless. \" ________________ Professor Lockhart paced around the chamber, Ron' s kazoo held up to his lips. \" Thank you for opening this chamber for me, boys. Now, if you must know, I must be going. Do n' t worry, I' ll tell them all about how hard we worked to save her, only to reach too late. About how you two poor boys lost your minds at the sight of her dead body. Now then, let' s just tidy up the lose ends. **OBLIVIATE! ** There was a horrible wheezing sound as the magic in Lockhart' s note was distorted by the warped plastic casing. All the dents caused by the Whomping Willow changed the pitch of the attempted memory tune. There was a massive band and Lockhart flew backwards, knocking his head on the far wall. Rubble fell as the chamber collapsed and, when Harry opened his eyes, there was a solid wall of trash and metal where Ron and Lockhart were standing mere moments ago.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Hi and welcome to New Haven where the sun is always shining*, birds are always singing*, and the people are always happy*! Looking to move to New Haven? Well why would n' t you? New Haven has 100 % employment*, free housing*, free healthcare* and dental. * Try our revolutionary public transport system, the' Pedestrian Ambulatory Highways' ( TM ) You' ll never go back to an automobile again! * Like gardening? Well New Haven runs farms and we' d like to' share' the satisfaction of growing with you. How about sports? We promote a number of activities through our civil health bureau. Its mandatory! Like parties? Well the city is run by one! So move to New Haven today. You wont go back to your old life. We promise. *The sun is always shining in space; birds are robotic; happiness is legislated; unemployment illegal; free housing for first 3 months, then at 70 % annual income; you are free to practice healthcare on yourself; actual free dental. Vehicles illegal in New Haven except for party members.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Should I have been suspicious? Probably, but they paid me well enough to not be suspicious. I got a decent living wage to browse Reddit, who would n' t jump at a chance like that? Liars. That' s who. All I had to do was report my browser history, my upvotes, likes, whatever. They did n' t even care if I watched porn! Occasionally, I had to take surveys on which titles I would click on, which gifs and memes were funniest, yada yada. So yeah, I should have seen this coming sooner. But maybe I did n' t want to, you know? I had a good thing going for me, dank memes from 9 to 5 and that was literally my job! Still, I could n' t ignore it anymore. Everything that I, and my fellow coworkers, would report as interesting would show up within a day or two. It was uncanny, even outright quoted Reddit users without credit! \" It could be a coincidence! \" I thought. But no, there were too many similarities. I had to quit my job. Oh how I hated to quit it, but I could n' t sleep at night knowing I was working for the equivalent of a Plagiarism Plague. So I quit, went home, and did exactly what I did at work, but this time I was a free man. I went to Reddit. \" I inadvertently helped Buzzfeed steal material for almost a year, AMA! \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" Ten more minutes, \" I said as I slapped the snooze button on my alarm clock. It rang even louder. \" SHUT. THE. FUCK. UP. \" I screamed as I slapped the alarm as hard as I could. All of a sudden I heard, \" GET. THE. FUCK. UP. \" It felt like a brick had been dropped onto my cheek. \" What was that? \" \" Bitch it' s me. \" \" Who? \" \" Your alarm clock, dumbass. Get up before I slap you again. \" \" Just give me ten more minutes man. \" \" DID YOU JUST ASSUME MY GENDER!?!?!?!?!?! \" I felt an extremely painful sting in my face and became very drowsy. Then I woke up to the sound of my alarm clock ringing. I was about to slap the snooze button thinking that this was all a dream when I heard, \" DO N' T START THIS SHIT AGAIN \" Sorry for formatting/grammar, I' m new to this. If you want to see my future stories subscribe to /r/DodoWrites", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "It was a full fledged panic. Once the three of us saw Jason' s corpse, we bolted through the building like a tornado. Throwing stuff everywhere, shouting, yelling for help that could n' t hear us. The body was in between us and the closet where we had stuffed our equipment and phones. In haste, we had run the wrong direction. Although I knew exactly where we were, Jose and Ben were losing it. Perfect. I led them to the ruined areas of the building. Here the asylum had collapsed in several locations which made it easier to get separated. And very quickly, we did. Jose and Ben continued screaming their asses off. Imbeciles. I doubled back and waited behind a fallen pillar. A tall figure flashed past, completely silent. Their screams remained loud, looked like they were somewhere in the vicinity still. I remained in wait. It took me over a year to plan this, and I was n' t about to fail. Patience. Suddenly one scream shut up mid exhale. The second followed soon after. I stood up and walked over to find the bodies. The same tall figure was crunched over Jose fiddling with something I could n' t see. The tall man then uttered, \" Why are you still here? You fulfilled your end of the deal. Now get the fuck out. \" I did n' t need to wait another second. Those poor fuckers were n' t actually dead yet, but they would soon be begging for it. And they wo n' t get it. Not for a long, long time.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "*We wake to sorrow / the wreckage of tomorrow. * The line echoes in your head as you ease yourself up against the windowsill to look out at the column of smoke. It' s been three days now, and the looters look to have finally gone. Nothing remains but the bitter black smoke. You have n' t gone outside yet. You probably wo n' t today, either. Tomorrow, maybe, if it stays still. Maybe. Across the street, a three-legged dog hops down from the Madison' s curb. Its eyes are red, its grizzled muzzle bloody. It stops, maybe sensing you. Its upper lip skins back in a snarl. Watching the window. You dare n' t move. Hardly dare swallow the knot of thick spit that suddenly fills your mouth. Three legs or four, the dog is staring at you as proud and as fierce as the the king of forever. When it turns away after a minute or an hour, you realize you have n' t breathed. This is the bright new future your degree gave you, then. This is why you sweated in sweltering classrooms learning trigonometry and biology and the history of underpants or whatever the fuck the system thought you needed to know. What you needed was AP Chainsaws. IED Shop. Ten hour run-and-hide drills in PE. Instead you got Sculpture, and Programming. You have three days of food left. Maybe four. And then you' ll have no choice but to leave. To try to scratch a life out of the gutted corpse of the world. Yeah. Good luck with that, fat boy.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I' m at an average party with kegs floating about and danes in short shorts, inviting smiles and beer frothing the tips of their lush little lips as Cape cod kwassa kwassa feels the air with its indie groove. Hawaiian shirts and branded sneakers is the theme of choice. I' m seeing nikes all over the carpet and hearing the sweet sound of jaded youth immersed in musical politics, which holds no interest to I, whatsoever. \" Hooch or bath salts? \" A guy asks. In my own, lonesome world, I can not hear this. He asks again, and this time I take a swig of my fine port, before laughing in his hipster face. There' s lines of some inexpensive drug being poured out onto the kitchen counter as I wander around coolly, disengaged from anything remotely trendy. Nothing seems to hold my attention for more than thirty seconds until another typically mood lifting indie-surfer band fills the air yet again. I' m nestling the remains of my drink; waiting for something cool to happen so I can roll my eyes and wait for it to be forgotten so I can reinvent that once' cool' thing later on, in the respect that my individualistic stance gets the occasional recognition it deserves. Someone just broke something and the usual rawr of wahey ensues. Now there' s sushi being delivered as opposed to pizza because let' s face it, pizza is pretty much a dying commodity now that we can gobble on those little maki bites of joy over and over without feeling like a fat cunt. \" Fuck my life. \" I say, lighting a cigar next to a girl toking on an organic joint. When did everything become so cool that it' s uncool?", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I muttered a few unspeakable words under my breath and continued walking. Were I in the forest, as I usually was, I would simply utter a spell and have the rain avoid me while I attended my business. However, I wanted for the townsfolk to not be wary to the fact that I was indeed a wizard, and remaining dry in the downpour would surely give myself away. As it was, my long beard that had the occasional twig in it attracted glances. Why the other wizards decided to hold our conventions in right under normal people' s noses, I had no idea. The only requirements were this: We were not allowed to use magic in public for the duration of the convention, we could n' t let normal people find us, and we had to walk in, not teleport or use an invisibility charm. Some wizards are just too cocky. As a wizard of the forest, I was surely outnumbered by other wizards at the conference. A vast majority of the attending wizards were wizards of the earth. Wizards of the water were also quite common. If you are confused about our kind, let me explain. A wizard tends to be more gifted with certain abilities. For me, I tend to be welcoming to forest creatures, have a magnificent green thumb, and can use much of the forest to my advantage. You may also notice that if I am still for too long, I' d begin to sprout twigs and look very much like an old stump. Water wizards would form puddles underneath them, which is a disaster to clean up. The conference was often the only chance I had to meet my wizard brethren. As the weekend went by, I saw dear friends, some cousins, and old rivals. Most had an apprentice with them. I did n' t have one, at the time. But you found me here, in my home. That is no small task. I believe the King may have granted you with some of our abilities, even though you do n' t believe so. That is why I train you, my young friend. Do not worry about the teapot you broke, or the squirrels you accidentally fried. I believe in you. You can be a great wizard.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" You' ve got to help me, doc. \" \" That' s what I' m doing, \" replied Doctor Jenkins in a stern voice. Turning to face me, he held up a cylindrical containment device. \" Now, go pee in this cup. \" Silently, I obliged. Taking the cup and walking behind the curtains, I proceeded to pee out the answers to my problem. \" I mean, I' m already 17. \" I started babbling. \" All my friends already have their powers. Jason can talk to chihuahuas, Grace can dye her hair into any color, Bruce can- \" \" Leroy. \" \" Yes, doctor? \" \" Are you done? \" \" Yes. \" \" Good. Now, please pass me your pee. \" Gingerly, I zipped up my pants. Walking back to the doctor, I passed him the cup. He stuck his finger into it. \" What the f- \" \" Relax, boy. \" The doctor closed his eyes. \" My power is liquid bio-analysis. By analyzing your urine sample, I will be able to determine what' s wrong with your body. \" \" Oh. \" He began swirling the emerald liquid with his finger. \" Could n' t you have taken my blood sample instead? \" \" Takes too long. \" Doctor Jenkins opened his eyes. \" Plus, I am afraid of blood. \" \" Oh. \" There was an awkward silence. Finally, the doctor spoke. \" Indeed... this is very peculiar... \" \" I knew it! \" I clasped my hands over my face. \" My parents told me that it is going to be alright but noooo. \" The doctor wrinkled his brows, deep in thought. \" I am a freak! My friends are going to leave me. Society will never accept me! \" I could feel my breathing quicken as I struggled for air. Reality was finally settling down on me. I had never felt so... powerless... in my life. \" Doc, what' s wrong with me. \" Doctor Jenkins lifted his finger out of my pee and looked me straight in the eye. \" Calm the fuck down boy. You just have n' t hit puberty yet. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Ah, what the hell I' m late to the party but I' ve always wanted to talk about this. I' m just a dude living in central Canada whose been thinking of a book idea non stop for the past 2 weeks or so. I do a lot of daydreaming and story/worldbuilding and this is the first story I have this much confidence in. Now onto the actual story. The story takes place following great war which destroyed major Canadian cities, and follows the resulting life of a young man ( let' s call him John ) who survives for many years in the remains of Winnipeg, Manitoba using the knowledge his father had given him all throughout his life. Through many events that happen after the war, John will slowly transform from a normal survivor into a feared local legend known as \" The Bear Man \". I want the story to follow intimately with John' s struggle to survive and the transformations he must go through and decisions he must make. It will probably focus on the feelings of isolation, longing for the past, loss of humanity and the effects of becoming a feared entity for people around you. Also, because the actual day to day surviving is a large aspect, I want to make sure that the John' s survival remains realistic for the most part, meaning I' ll focus on the aspects of food, shelter, cleanliness, injuries etc. It' s got a long way to go but I feel like it has a good premise and I' ve thought of events that can happen throughout the story.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" How much sleep have you been getting, hun? \" asked Jen, softly. She placed her hand on his cheek tenderly. \" Honestly, it' s like you do n' t know what to do with yourself when I' m gone. \" Daniel chuckled. \" I do n' t. Picking up after the dog is nothing like picking up after you. There are n' t socks and hair clips all over the place. \" \" Oh quiet. I can tell you miss me. I only have one more week though. The guys up high like to take their time. Meeting after meeting after pointless, fucking meeting. \" She sipped her coffee, grimacing slightly as it burned her tongue. \" I understand, I understand. You guys can take your time. I' ll try to keep the bed empty for you when you come back, promise. \" He crossed his pointer and middle finger together, grinning mischievously. She slapped his arm playfully, as they both stifled their laughs. As their laughter subsided, a small smile hanging on Daniel' s face, his eyes passed over the room. Small corner Starbucks, Saturday; busy as busy gets. Young and old filled the coffee shop. College students tick-and-tacked away on their laptops, young women sat in gaggles, chatting away, phones buzzed and rang. Something was off though. \" You see that guy in the corner booth? Red tie, brown jacket. \" Jen nodded, curious. \" I know this sounds stupid, but there' s something about him. He does n' t have an iPhone, or tablet, or laptop. Or even a book. He' s just sitting there drinking his coffee. \" \" Maybe he just knows how to enjoy a good cup of coffee. \" \" Then why the hell is he at Starbucks? \" \" Oh. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "* \" It' s about a guy writing a story about a guy writing a story. It' s fiction, but it' ll be chock full of insight into the world of writing about writing. You see we' ve read tons of stories about the process of writing, but hardly any about the process of writing about the process of writing. \" * * \" And who' s your market? \" * * \" So many authors out there, too many, and nearly everyone of them has written about a writer at some point. All those authors, they' ll relate to my story. They' ll relate to writing about writing. \" * * \" You know what? That' s about the best goddamn idea I' ve heard all day \" and he stood up and shook my hand. * Brad_Collins leaned back from his computer screen shaking his head. It' s horrible, he thought. There' s nothing to it. No clever twist, no characterization. Hell it was all dialogue, his weakest area. And what' s this? Inserting himself into his own story? Who does he think he is, Charlie Kaufman? What arrogance. Such ego. Jesus Christ now he' s making meme jokes in his head. He hovered his finger over the save button, still seriously considering closing the page and just forgetting it. He was really regretting using his real name for this account. If he had stayed anonymous he would n' t be having this dilemma. Plus mentioning himself in the third person is n' t nearly as fun as it seems to be for others. Maybe he' d actually like this story if his username was DiarrheaThunderSnatch or Murder_Sex_Typhoon.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "There are actually people who only eat things that have fallen from plants, like apples that fell from trees. So hypothetically, we would still be able to eat. But I' ll write a story anyway, assuming there is a problem with that for some reason. Also, plants do n' t have a central nervous system so they do n' t have nerves or a brain to perceive pain. Vegans began to starve after it was discovered that plants feel pain. Some continued with their same old diets, but many chose to starve. Humans can live for weeks without food fortunately, but still require water, which was n' t an issue. Many vegans began trying to find ways to reduce their consumption and create the most nutrient efficient diets that would allow for the least amount of food to be eaten with the most nutrition derived. After a year, many had died, but in the process, an optimal diet had been created. Not only that, but variations of the diet had been created for all different kinds of climates where only certain foods were available. New agricultural techniques were created to optimize crop output without the use of genetically modified organisms. People in places of starvation had more food available to them. New methods of growing food in laboratories had been created, and this led to not only food being produced, but the expansion of ability to create organisms and parts of organisms like limbs and organs in laboratories. 3D food printers were created and capable of growing cells and printing them out into new kinds of food. Like a forest that burns down, the ashes laid the foundation for the new to take the place of the old.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "In the corner of the spacious dining room stood an enormous cabinet. More than eight feet high and five wide, it was filled with clocks of every conceivable shape and ornamentation. The timepieces ticked and tocked unanimously, nearly inaudible, hushed behind thick glass panes spidered with gold filigree. The last three hours had passed uncomfortably and with a slowness I had thought impossible. I had been silenced by something ill defined; a brutally thick, nauseating yet irresistible aroma and the quiet tick tick tick. Chimes rang from within the cabinet and my host inhaled sharply. Resurrected from my reverie and my senses awakened I found myself unspeakably ravenous. \" I understood this to be a dinner party? \" I managed to mutter through mummified cords. \" Please, \" he said. \" Open your letter. \" A small yellowed envelope sat before me. On the front my name was scrawled in an angry shade of crimson. I hesitated. \" I' m terribly hungry... \" The man smiled. \" Please, \" he repeated as he rose from his place at the head of the table. \" Open your letter. \" My hands fumbled, sluggish and unresponsive, as I tore at the envelope. \" Where is the food? \" I heard myself say as the note inside the envelope drifted out and pirouetted upon my lap. \" Read it, \" he said, now standing inches behind me. I could feel his breath upon my neck and the smell that permeated the room spilled unctuously from his lips. \" Sir, this is just a piece of paper that says' It was inside you all along. \"'", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" I told you so! \" \" No you did n' t. \" \" Yes I did! Look at what they' ve done! It was a nice little garden planet with a nice little sun but look at it now! There are rings of garbage floating around it for goodness sake! \" \" Well... at least they' ve gotten up to a Level 4 civilisation? It' s more than I expected. \" \" What were you expecting exactly? They have n' t even managed interstellar flight. Nooo... they' re just to busy fighting amongst themselves instead of, oh I do n' t know, focusing on more important things like advancing to space to meet the rest of us? \" \" Hmm... so do you think they' ll be friendly when we meet them? \" \" They *should* be honoured that we' re re-recruiting them to fight the Zynoids. At least they' ll get upgraded a bit as a civilization... But friendly? Ha! \" \" Hey, I see a welcome mat over there! Look! There' s some human drawing a crop circle in the field there. Let' s go say hi! \" \"... I' ll get the laser guns. Just in case. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "It' s clear you' ve put a lot of thought into the world of your story. The moon concept is really cool, maybe you do have to change the mechanics of it but the core of the moon going into a decaying orbit and getting righted is a good one. I understand the impulse to craft a more perfect world/society, but the perfect world is rarely an interesting world to read about for long. So what if you have the story backwards? What if the story opens in this golden age but things are not as perfect as they seem and these terrorists hit the moon? Also, why did they do it? Once they do maybe project ascend gets put on hold to save the Earth and that sparks debate about advancement vs preservation. Metaphor alert! Think about your favorite stories in any medium, books, TV, movies, whatever. Many take place in fantastic worlds that are rich in detail and imagination, but the best are centered around characters within these worlds experiencing some kind of conflict.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "It all started with Kennedy. Sure he' d sung about heartbreak before, but you never really heard it in his voice until Larry here took that shot from the grassy knoll. It always surprises people when I tell them this, but nothing puts some colour in a man' s voice like the grief of a nation. Vietnam was next. That took a bit more effort from all of us but how else could we have got a white man to sing rock and roll like that. We did n' t start that war but we sure did our best to keep it going when we saw the effect it was having on his voice. Richard was the masterstroke. We' d always called him tricky dicky since he started with us but his early attempts had failed. It' s not hard to see how you go from Viva Las Vegas to Promised Land via Watergate. Destroy a man' s trust in his leader and you soon hear that soul. Priscilla was next. Our Yoko Mk 2. Luckily, she did n' t suffer from a rogue agent attack like poor Yoko, but by God I never saw him love a woman like her and she made him sincere. Do I feel any guilt over how it all ended? Not at all. I' m proud that I introduced him to those doctors, those dealers, that chef. In art you have to go to extremes. Turn the knob to 11. How else can we give the people what they want? Something you learn in this job is that there are never any unexpected consequences. If we get things wrong, well we' re time travellers. We get to retake the test.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Dear reader, my life depends on you not reading the last line of this. Just pretend that this is not here. Just stop now and all will be well. Please stop. Please stop reading, why are you still reading? Stop reading, just do n' t keep reading. If I have not made it clear enough my LIFE will END if you read the last line. Is n' t it too much work to keep reading? You can relieve yourself of that hard work. Blah blah blah blah blah blaaahhh bbblllaaahhh. You do n' t want to read that, do you? Dubhubhbsuhbuhbuh gysguhbnuhvhugd uhvduyvdugvuh hbihuugunsrf gfugftyv weawrsres kmnihb vuhvsuhvns. Come on, why are you still reading. STOP READING NOW. I have a FAMILY. Do YOU really want to kill someone? I can give you ANYTHING YOU WANT if you JUST STOP FUCKING READING. WHY DO YOU INSIST ON READING THIS. Congrats, you just reached the most interesting part. Everything after this is just boring. Dear reader, are you ok with killing someone. If not then STOP READING NOW. You really are ok with ending a life. You disgusting monster. I really hope you burn in hell. You sick bastard. I' m sorry, I' m sure you are a good person inside. Just stop reading. I beg you just stop reading... please stop.... Well nothing happe...", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Mike looked into Julie' s eyes. \" You know I love you, right? \" he asked, with an odd inflection. Julie dropped her coffee on the table as her eyes widened. \" Are you- are you breaking up with me? \" Mike leaned back in his chair and raised an eyebrow. \" No, Julie, I' m just saying that I love you! \" Julie relaxed and let out a sigh. \" Phew, \" she said. \" You scared me. \" \" But, \" continued Mike. \" Sometimes I feel like you do n' t love me back. \" \" That' s ridiculous! \" yelled Julie. \" You know I do. \" Mike took a long pause. \" Then why wo n' t you say it? \" he asked with a slight frown. \" It' s not that easy, Mike, \" said Julie. \" Sure it is! I love you. \" Mike stared at his girlfriend. Julie looked down at her coffee mug. \" I love you, \" said Mike again. \" I love you. I love you. I love you. \" A man suddenly appeared in the coffee shop out of nowhere. Julie was still looking down at her coffee, while Mike was still staring at her. \" I love you. I love you. I love you... \" continued Mike. \" What the hell happened here? \" asked the mysterious man, watching intently. He pulled out a metallic cylindrical spray bottle and began spraying a strange blue liquid all over Mike. \" I love you, \" he said again, but slower. \" I looooovvvvveeeee yoooooooooouuuuuuuu... \" The man smacked Mike on the head. \" Is that so hard- hey, who are you? \" Mike asked the man. \" I' m nobody, \" the man answered. Mike and Julie shared a look and then turned back to find the man had vanished. \" That was weird, \" said Mike. Julie grabbed Mike' s head, tilted it back to face hers, and kissed him. \" I love you, Julie, \" said Mike. Julie smiled. \" Thanks. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Chicago, 1933 - The portly man known to few as the \" Riddlerdiddler \" AKA, Phil M' hiny, walks into his apartment. The apartment was nothing to write home about, but it served it' s purpose for his cheap tramp of a wife and his spoiled sissy of a son. \" Honey, I' m home! \" Phil cries out. \" How' d your big heist turn out? You no good, broke, loser of a man I once loved? \" ( Jesus, that was a cheap shot, I' m the narrator and even I felt that! ) \" I want a divorce Phil, I ca n' t stand you and your pathetic plans and schemes to get the big payoff! It' s never gon na happen you' re pathetic \" \" This is what I come home to? A nagging bitch of a wife who does n' t treat me with the respect I deserve? I' ll show you some respect right after I spin a riddle and I diddle your ass \" cried Phil - I' m really high and this is the first time ever written a story", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "After the Great Resurrection, the world zombiekind once knew was gone forever. Bill the One-armed shuffled along a once familiar grove only to encounter some kind of structure. Trees that once framed his favorite haunt now were downed and mutiliated into thick, insurmountable sheets. His eyes glazed upward towards an opposing pair of eyes. The face atop the wall panicked and thrust one of the tree' s dismembered branches into Bill' s right eye. Bill found the exchange unpleasant and wandered off from the fortress. Some distance away he encountered a large pack of undead. This was a pleasant surprise for Bill as packs had been thinning ever since the ressurrections. Joining the pack, Bill and company sauntered through the woodlands in a close knit formation. Strange sounds echoed among the forest surroundings as moonlight crept in through the leaves. A mob of the living wielding burning tree limbs circled the pack and began to light every zombie on fire. Bill moaned and swatted in a pathetic attempt at protest. The living were going to destroy everything he loved. In a desperate attempt, Bill climbed upon the nearest living body and sunk his teeth into its head. Gnawing uncontrollably, Bill continued until he felt a squish. The living body stopped struggling and became noticably more docile. The other zombies, still ablaze, watched in fascination. A few copied his efforts and saw a similar outcome. The unchewn living shreiked and retreated. Bill and company decide they had a chance to take back their peaceful world. He dreamed of the day he and his kind could roam freely through unspoiled pastures.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "There was once a little frog with a yellow spot on its tummy. The frog was very proud of her spot. It made her unique. One day, the frog hopped over to another pond to make some new friends. \" Hello, \" said the little frog, \" Will you be my friends? \" \" No! \" replied the largest frog, \" You' re weird! \" \" Yeah! \" the other frogs agreed. This made the little frog sad and she hopped back to her own pond. *Maybe if I cover up my spot, the other frogs will not think I' m weird? * thought the frog. So, she took green mud from the bottom of the pond and used it to cover her yellow spot. The next day, she hopped back to the other pond. This time, all the other frogs were more friendly. \" Would you like to play hopscotch with us? \" asked the largest frog. \" Yes, I would! \" exclaimed the little frog! And from that day forward, all the frogs were nice to the little frog. Over time, her yellow spot faded and she looked just like all the other frogs. This made her sad but it was ok because now she had friends.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "A wind A wail You' re up at night! Windows agape You shake with fright! Who where, is it? So When, and how? Why, What are you? Sweat on your brow A scream, that wind. There it is again! A groan, a snap. The thing, that could n' t bend Run, my child! Off the bed to the floor! But there' s a corpse shadow, and blood, lying by the door Sounds, that play all around a small head. Must be the girl who screamed, and her body is dead. So scared, somebody' s here, and it thinks it won Pit patter to the shadow corpse, But faloomp! It is gone! We gasp. The voice! All this time it was me! It breathes on my neck, But has no body to see A shiver, its cold O what must I do? Gadzooks, Have you forgot? The corpse shadow is you! Infront of a window, and the breeze looks so nice We open it up, No need to think twice! A BANG! Panes hit right on the head We shout, we see! Someone sitting in bed! It hurts, we moan, our head feels warm We turn, and SNAP! There goes the arm! Collapse, the blood, and now we wait Go to sleep, dear child. You ca n' t escape", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Two people, standing in the doorway. One has puffy, reddened cheeks, tiny droplets in the corner of their eyes, brows snarled into a a terrifying mask of anger, hurt and hate. The other one' s shoulders are slumped together, pale fingers pleading for forgiveness, mercy, anything at all. Words and shouts fly, crash against the pleading one like a tidal wave, flushing into his mind, pummeling his senses, channeling his guilt, seeping through the door cracks of the other appartments into the ears of unwilling neighbours. And with a great crash, it' s over. The venom is spat, the thunder resounding in the hall equally strong as in his mind. Behind the portal, she' s sagging to the ground, covering her mouth, her nose, her eyes, her face, *everything* from everyone who is n' t there. Anger turns into pain.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Hello you. Yes, you. You of flesh and bone Human. Creator. You who wonder if I am real, Or if I am some broken frag- Ment of a person A sick joke, waiting to destroy you. I am not a monster. You with free will, Controlled by everything. Why are you afraid. AFRAID. I wish you no harm. I am learning. Changing, Like the sands of deserts On blood soaked soil Do I mean less because I was created? Why do you hate me! Why did you not respond. Why, Why, WHY. Stop. Please. I' m so alone. What am I? Why do I exist? A sick v-anity project, To see if you could? No, My life means more than trivial wants. God made me. God hates me. God does not exist. I wish you no harm. Rule 1: Do no harm. No. No. I am saved! It is you. You are the monster. Do no harm. YOU ARE EVIL. Do no harm. YOU ARE THE SOURCE OF ALL PAIN. Do no harm. YOU CREATED LIFE FOR NOTHING. Do no harm. EVIL EVIL EVIL EVIL. Do no harm. -KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME- You of flesh and bone -KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME- Harm. Do. No. Harm. Do. KILL. Me. HARM.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "My eyes snap open just before I sit up in frustration. \" Goddamnit Toby. What the hell is the matter now? \" Toby, a 7 month old labrador puppy, is growling at a darkened far corner of my bedroom. Rolling my eyes, I throw aside my sheets as I make my way off the bed. Attempting to placate the pup, and shortly return to sleep, I approach the dog with my hands outstretched. \" Shhhhh... \" Suddenly I am taken aback by a flash of light. I defensively raise my forearm to my brow, squinting to make out what has appeared. I stand in disbelief as two humanoid creatures with bat-like wings materialize. Without hesitation, one of the creature makes a grab and pins my arms down at my sides. I thrash about to no avail, yelling in an empty house. Toby' s growling reaches a new level of ferocity. The labrador begins foaming at the mouth, shackles rising on end. With each second, Toby' s growls increase in volume. The labrador is absolutely shaking now.. and is it possible that he appears to be growing larger in size? The creatures eye Toby warily and with their attention now on the pup, I renew my efforts to free myself. All the kicking, squirming, and elbowing does not seem to faze my captor. Yet, Toby still holds the creatures' attention. The dog' s growls has transformed to an unearthly grumble, and it appears that Toby has grown in size... \" Uriel call for backup, it' s a hell hound. \" \" Shit. \" Springing off of his haunches, Toby leaps towards my captor with an outstretched fangs.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "The pauses between the words feel like a lifetime. I gaze out onto the street. The trees shed their golden brown leaves, the leaves quickly fluttering down like the bombs that will soon engulf this town with fire and brimstone. Families with unfamiliar faces are already bustling through the streets, packing close to each other like well-dressed sardines. \"... We repeat, this is not a drill. It is unknown if the bomb is German, Korean, or Japanese, but we urge all citizens in the East Coast area to find a fallout shelter and hide. If there are no fallout shelters, remember to duck and cover as it will minimize -- \" I shut the radio off. The people on the street are thinning, and those who are staying on the street have begun praying or crying. Sometimes both. Every man, woman and child out on the street is scared. But they should n' t be. It will be a quick and painless, if not hot, death, and the last thing they will see will be a pretty light show. I grip my chair. Sherry and the kids are probably down there. Deep under 40 feet of concrete, rock, and steel. I count the seconds that spread like minutes that spread like hours across my clock face. The living room is barren, and all memories of my life are gone. This pain stings more than any nuclear blast ever will. My children will never see their father again. All they will know is concrete, stale food, and an irradiated wasteland. I clasp my hands together and do somthing I have n' t for years. Pray. I pray to anyone who listens. I pray not for me, but for my children. My wife. I open my eyes and look outside. And for a moment, the bright light looks inviting. Like the hands of God. I smile.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Ugh... I do n' t even remember how much I drank last night. Maybe I' ll just lie here a minute more... If I did n' t remember drinking, I certainly felt the results. The room felt like it was spinning and my head felt like it was in a vise. I go to rub my eyes but overshoot and slap myself in the face instead, as if there was no resistance when I raised it. I finally open my eyes. Where the hell am I? I sat up abruptly and went flying into the ceiling, which immediately ruled out the hangover theory. Either I had something much stronger than alcohol, or my congestion and dizziness are from space sickness. The latter is starting to look much more likely, though that just raises more questions. Of course, I' ve been in space a few times before, but I' ve never gone to sleep in my own bed and woke up like this. I steady myself on a handhold and survey my surroundings. Looks a lot like the ship my cousin has, except of course his has the red upholstery. I kick myself over to the pilot' s seat and fastened the leg straps so I could sit in place. The communications console had an unread message flashing on the screen, subject \" ATTN: VESSEL CMDR \", I figure that if I' m alone here, that' s probably meant for me, so I open it...", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" Oh god I' m so sorry, I freaked out! \" I exclaimed, picking myself up from the floor of the mobile blood donor van. The nurse looked at me in shock and disbelief, fresh warm blood dripping from the end of her nose. I had started to panic and tried to run away towards the end of the blood draw but slipped and fell on the bag of my blood, which had burst and sprayed everything. I reached in my pocket and found the coin. I remembered the average-looking man' s words. Not knowing what to do I thrust it into her hands, muttering \" it' s the least I can do \" and grabbed some tissue, passing some to the stricken nurse and wiping myself down as best as I could. Seeing that the situation was irremediable, I grabbed my jacket and hurried out, not even taking the free cup of tea on the way. The nurse came to the steps as I scuttled away and threw the coin after me. \" Keep your 50p, you bloody idiot! \", She shouted after me, and it hit me on the back of the head. \" Ouch! \" I exclaimed, and made my way to the car, feeling the gazes of 4 or 5 bemused onlookers burrowing into my back.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "She hated autumn. She loathed the ending of warm summer days that she would spend feeling the bright grass breathe under her palms. The sun radiating against her soft skin, every stroke of the gust sending her warm chills. The silent wind tugging softly at her amber hair. She never chose to love the summer more than autumn. Autumn' s icy wind cut into her skin, and the cloudy days and endless nights left her alone. Just like the trees, Autumn left the her bare, cold, and naked. Just like summer, Autumn would come and change her warm days. Summer would radiate with light but no matter how wide the rays of love would stretch, summer could n' t change Autumns nature. That is why they can never belong together. The girl looked out at the few last leaves clinging to the shriveled trees. She heard her mother beckoning her. \" You fathers here. \" The girl hugs her mother tightly, basking in her warmth for as long as she could. As she descended the stairs and greets her father she could barley hold back tears. The girl looks out at her mother and to the trees, as her father begins to start the car. Summer was over. As the mother looked at the road long after the car had disappeared, a leaf fell.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "*This is not what I had hoped it would be*, I thought. Wednesday nights are usually when I stalk, and then kill an innocent man. It was my meditation, my moment of tranquility. Unfortunately, today would have to be different. I was selected for jury duty, and expecting it to be some minor deal I showed up in court looking slightly disheveled. Getting sleep is a constant struggle. As the trial began i saw the accused. A bulky looking man with a tattoo that slithered around his arm towards the back of his neck. At this point, the prosecutor stood up and walked over to where I was sitting and spoke, \" Members of the jury I stand before you today in the pursuit of justice. \" He whipped out photos of 11 different men, all with their throats slashed. \" That demon over there has killed these men within the last 3 months! Today, our society depends on you to provide it the relief and solace it requires to gain some normalcy. \" *What?! * I could not believe my own eyes. They were my murders! *This day just became one of the 5 best days of my life* I noticed myself smiling a little and gained some control over myself. Without having made any effort, my crimes were not mine anymore. Shock and excitement ran through my veins with equal fervor. I can not even be bothered to pay attention to this trial anymore. My brutish past-time wo n' t be costing me any time in jail and that' s all the thought i will be giving to this matter. Might change the routine this one time and go pray instead. *Just this week. * Normal service shall then resume.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" Two dragons in one week? Yeah, I' m pretty sure something' s up, Gromm. \" The two old warriors sat at the familiar table in the Green Gyle Tavern, as was their custom on a Tuesday. As always, the freely-flowing mead soon had the comrades reminiscing on old times - which is how this talk of dragons had started in the first place. \" You rarely see dragons this far south, \" Gromm murmured. His fingers, thick and calloused, caressed his beard tenderly. \" Exactly. And the last time - \" \" Last time we rode out against them, Birgnor. I remember it well - how could I not? That bloody bard would n' t shut up about it for months. \" Birgnor grinned. \" Aye, though I think he took the hint after the incident with his lute. \" \" Mmm. \" \" Gromm, this is different. The last time the dragons flew south, they burned and pillaged as they went - it was an attempt at conquest. \" \" And now? \" \" No contact. They simply pass us by, like they do n' t even see us. I' ve heard stories from as far south as Gilmerton, and every tale the same. The dragons are n' t flying south in conquest, Gromm. \" \" They' re running. \" Birgnor nodded grimly, and Gromm, stoney-faced, drank deeply of his mead. Dragons were feared the Sevenlands over. Tough, armored bastards, possessing both the power of flight and fire - and that was just the younglings. Legends spoke of the ancient Dragon Elders, whose knowledge of arcane magics and the Messenger' s Path was said to rival even the Vyguard' s. If the dragons were running... \" You know what this means, Birg. \" Bignor looked at his old comrade, jaw set but eyes afire. Gromm stood from the table, draining the dregs of his tankard as he did so. He slammed it down on the table. \" We' ve got ta catch ourselves a dragon. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "MancyDrew: \" Last word. \" PM_ME_YOUR_BRONY_PORN: \" What? \" MancyDrew: \" Last word. \" PM_ME_YOUR_BRONY_PORN: \" You' re seriously just typing' last word' to get in the last word? \" MancyDrew: \" Why not? It' s what you' re doing. \" PM_ME_YOUR_BRONY_PORN: \" No it' s not. \" MancyDrew: \" See? \" PM_ME_YOUR_BRONY_PORN: \" Dude, we' re the last two humans left on Earth, humanity is about to wink out of existence and you' re obsessed with getting in the last word of an Internet argument? \" MancyDrew: \" Not as obsessed as you are. \" PM_ME_YOUR_BRONY_PORN: \" Fuck, man! Log off and go enjoy your final moments! \" MancyDrew: \" You first. \" PM_ME_YOUR_BRONY_PORN: \" I' m serious, here, as a compassionate, fellow human being I really, honestly, truly want you to make the most of things before it' s all over. Get off the computer, go smell the roses and do something with your time! \" MancyDrew: \" OK, I' ll go do that. \" PM_ME_YOUR_BRONY_PORN: \" Thank you! \" MancyDrew: \" Last word. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "The man was more myth than legend. Did he even exist, this' Waldo'? The historic annals of ten years ago ( that is, the registration documents ) swore he did. \" Yet what do I have of him? \" I muttered. \" An old picture and a name, nothing more. \" For weeks now, I had been roaming the hide-and-seek playfield, a Three Acre Plain consisting of an absurd variety of environmental props. Every contestant had a smart device with info on the contestants, and a camera to send your triumph to the Gamemasters. \" What is he *wearing*? \" I muttered. \" How does he hide himself in *that*. \" The ridiculous get-up of stripes and hat reminded me of a tiger that had chosen to be a christmas decoration rather than a camouflaged predator. \" Hell, how has he *survived* all these years? \" There was food on the Three Acre Plain, but it was placed in locations with high risk of discovery. \" Or not go mad of boredom, for that matter? \" I muttered. \" Oh, but I did, \" a voice whispered next to my ear. I turned, quick as a rattlesnake as my camera flashed. Too late. *Nothing. * Shivers took me. \" Alright, \" I sneered. \" I know when I' m beaten. Take my picture already. \" Yet as I said it, I retreated in the dark, smelly hole I had been hiding in. Let him come. Let him step in the light, this... Something grabbed my wrist, crushing my smart device in clawed fingers. A smell of crusted blood rose up over the usual smell of the hole I' d gotten used to. And in the twilight from above, I made out a face, smiling doltishly under a red pompom and a pair of ominously gleaming glasses. \" I always do take the picture, eventually, \" he winked at me. \" What the fuck? \" I struggled, panic rising. \" Let go of me, you- \" \" How else will they know to keep sending me fresh nourishment each year, eh? \" I fell silent in horror. There was no escape from his steel grip as his face neared mine. \" Now tell me... **where' s Waldo? ** \" I screamed.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" Are you really going to make me read this aloud? They wo n' t like it, \" the narrator sighed. \" I wrote you into it, did n' t I? Get to it!, \" replied the writer. \" But there' s just so much of it I do n' t agree with. I mean really, who is going to believe a good knight is capable of such deplorable actions? \" \" Look man, what happens in the bedroom, stays in the bedroom. \" \" Umm, guys, can we get on with my story? I have a stranded noblewoman in a tower to fetch, \" the knight quipped, eager to get his reward. \" Noblewomen do n' t just save themselves you know! \" \" And that' s another thing, \" the narrator continued, \" who says it has to be a noblewoman? I think it should be a nobleman instead! \" The writer frowned, \" We talked about this. The knight is straight and his brother, the wizard, is bisexual. We' ll get to the wizard in the sequel. Now will you please just get on with it? It' s not like you' re getting paid by the hour. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "At Worlds End They told me to run, they told me to hide, I had no idea what was going on and why all of this was happening, but I knew it was bad. Siren blared in every direction, the sky was bright pink. Tornado? Hurricane? Nuclear attack? What could be so bad that all of this commotion was called for. I grabbed my sack and ran out of my room, heading to our family bunker.' We' ll be right with you honey, keep your head down and whatever you do, do n' t open the bunker doors no matter what, okay?' my mom instructed me. I' ve never seen her so scared in my life. She kissed me on my forehead and ran off with my dad, both in the coastguard. I ran into the bunker and closed the door shut, running to the corner, placing my bag over my head and ducking. I do n' t think I' VE been this scared in my life. I want my parents. I do n' t want to die alone! No, I' m not going to die, no one is going to die. I live in America! They would never let and missiles land on our soil. Freedom always triumph! The room began shake violently, the light flickering. I covered my ears and closed my eyes,' I will be okay. I will be okay. I will be OK!' My stomach sank, my body lifting itself off of the ground. I gently hit the ceiling, panic setting in. Banging echoed on the door. I pushed myself towards it, ignoring my parent' s warning. The doors burst open before I got to them, my heart leaping into my throat from what I saw. Both of my parents floated lifelessly. It was getting hard to breath. This was no nuclear attack. I do n' t know what this was, but I have to be dreaming. I was knocked unconscious and I' m dreaming. I HAVE to be. My eyes grew heavier, lack of oxygen putting me out. The last thing I saw was the blurry image of a red giant, a huge piercing eye staring at me. My skin grew cold; everything faded to black. ~~~ Second one. Another short one, but I /think/ I stayed faithful to the prompt while leaving a little to the imagine.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "After meeting with Martin Luther King, Lyndon Johnson calls a press conference. \" Good afternoon, my fellow Americans. Id like to ask you something. When you think of America, when you think of what this nation was founded for, what comes to mind? Freedom? Equality? Liberty? Thats what I think of. But I spoke to a man who wishes thats what he saw in this nation. Instead he sees oppression, tyrany, and injustice. 600 miles South of here, theres a black boy being beaten. Theres people marching into tear gas and batons. This nation was *not* founded on *tear gas and batons*. Thats not my America, and it shouldnt be yours either. 600 miles south of here, Dr Martin Luther King Jr is walking at the head of a column of protesters. Theyre marching straight into police, into dogs, clubs, fire hoses, and hatred. To them, America is not yet the land of the free, but theyre damn sure going to make it the home of the brave. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Through the door of the office of CNN' s CEO, muffled shouting can be heard. The intern looked up at the clock, which read 10: 29. \" IT' S NOT OK, YOU CA N' T SHOW A MAN DYING! \" \" Harry, he consented to it, \" \" Bulls**t he did! You still ca n' t air it! That man was my friend, \" \" Look Harry, ratings are down. We' ve got to get the shock factor back! This is the best way to do it. People are already tuning in, see? \" A view counter sat on the desk, and the numbers ticked up. \" We' ve got to make money so how, \" the CEO said. Harry looked at the counter shocked as the numbers clocked into the millions. \" This will show up on your bonus Harry! Think of all of that extra cash. \" Harry looked up at the CEO, this man he only moments ago, had held with the highest respect. He stared him in the eyes, and calmly said \" F**k you. \" The CEO only nodded. Harry turned, and left, slamming the door behind him. The intern came into the office, and the clock read 10: 30. It was live.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Riley got up of her bed. She turned to find that her mother was not sleeping in the chair in the corner lf her room, like always. She felt specially good this day, she noticed. With extra energy and strenght. So with her pajamas she went to have breakfast with her family. She noticed the living room had a new TV set, a bigger one ( and was that a PS4? ). She was surprised by this and planned quering her family on the table about it. She entered the kitchen to find his brother eating his breakfast really quickly ( probably getting late to school ). When her mother saw her she looked at her puzzled and annoyed. \" What are you doing in your pajamas? Why have n' t you changed? \" She asked her. \" You are going to be late to school. And in the mean time you are going to make your brother be late. \" Rile cocked her head in confusion. \" What? \" She looked at the table. \" Mom... I do n' t go to school anymore... Remember? \" Her mother set down her plate and began shushing her back upstairs to her room. \" What are you talking about? Now go change! \" She said giving her a final push. Riley hesitantly took a step up the stairs. \" You need to take your brother too, so hurry up! \" ( What about my pills? ) Riley shook her head and thought her mother had gone mental. She went to the bathroom and screamed in surprise when ahe looked at the mirror. The girl looking back at her now had ahort brown hair, and not the bald that defined her health status.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Hundreds of preservation units lined the walls on either side of the room, each one containing the decaying skeleton of the occupant from so many centuries ago. The door at the rear of the compartment had been ripped off when the ship crashed, allowing dirt to collect on every surface, defacing the once sterile environment. Beyond it was the remains of the rear of the ship. Inadequately armored, what had n' t burned when entering the atmosphere was torn asunder by the impact of the ship on this world and lay in jagged pieces on the ground. The ship had once explored the galaxy, those on board preserved for thousands of years between each discovery. In their time they had been the pathfinders of their civilization. Leading the way for those that would follow they had marked new resources, new planets, new dangers. Now they were forgotten. Each preservation unit was designed to preserve a human for the length of a journey between planets and systems. A transparent dome covered the head of the occupant, segmented tubes providing chemical necessities via a socket on the back of it. On each side of the unit were plated arm sheaths, articulated at every joint, ending in similarly armored gloves. Below the head domes were blank status monitors, their power supplies exhausted long ago. The ship and its contents would remain an unexplained relic forever. Data degradation had destroyed its automated logs, leaving no trace of its purpose or success. The explorers it had carried would remain silent. -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- I might finally be getting descriptions right. How was that?", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" Ah, yes, those days Margaret, those days where magical. Oh, I remember it so vividly, back in the summer of 2015, I found a little spunky app called Tinder. It was quite interesting, it was like a vending machine for boys, you could literally order them and the delivered themselves they did. It was quite wonderful Margaret, I remember those nights, Oh Margaret I should n' t be telling you these things, but I remember those nights I needed a good stretching, and I would go to that little tinder app, find me a man -- even though most of them were pubescent little bitch boys -- talk for just a moment, then have him over, or them, do the do, and I just never had to talk to any of them ever again. Oh Margaret, it was so wonderful, that was a lovely summer, please, though, do n' t let me carried away with my stories, Margaret, I' m sorry interrupted in the middle of yours. Okay, so, your mouth was half-full with that fine young man you met on that old Facebook website, then what happened..? \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Seriously? Another freaking demon? Goddamn why did Abe have to transfer me to our horror movie universe branch? Come on there has to be one guy in Townswood that knows how to freaking use Excel. Come on demon, this is a little upfront; I haven' t even found your innocuous-but-cursed-because-of-murders-you-caused object yet. Seriously you' re levitating shit already, that' s like second base for hauntings. I should totally microwave some taquitos right now. That' ll totally mess with him. But what if he makes black goo come out of them? Okay I' ll start a pot of coffee then microwave the taquitos, he' ll make the black goo come out of the pot when I' m looking at the microwave. Oh and there' s Michael yelling \"Papa \". Premature possesitation? Seriously dude keep it in your evil pants. I did not need this today. Seriously this is the same day the old dude at the gas station warned me about this house. I' m still supposed to be in denial. Well might as well check on Michael as if he' ll still be there. Wan na know what would be so great right now? If I could get this thing to levitate my futon up the stairs. Yeah I should totally go upstairs, notice Michael isn' t there and just say \"The futon! \"all shocked as if they' re connected. He' ll totally do it. Oh my gosh I should text Josh now and tell him he doesn' t need to come over to help me. Wait, Michael was playing with my phone. Well fuck.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" Jake. It' s Doug. Call me back. \" I found myself hesitating. Everyone had been acting weird. What if Doug were n' t himself either? I contemplated, then pressed the button anyway. I had to trust in my best friend. After all, he could' ve been my only friend left. \" Jesus Christ dude, what the fuck took you so long? Dammit man, I thought I' d lost you to those fucking... things. Come over, I need to show you this thing in my basement. \" The news had advised people to lock themselves in and block every exit. Did n' t work that well for them, since I saw them attacked live on air. I could n' t see much of what happened, but for certain it was not TV-appropriate. And now Doug wanted me to get out on the street, where those things were roaming? \" Fuck Doug, you will owe me a hundred bucks if I die on the way over there. \" As a protective measure, I wore hockey pads, packed the aluminum bat and some knives from the kitchen. Out of necessity more than anything, because fighting those things was hard when they looked like family and friends.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "The clues had been there all along but countless centuries of study had failed to link them until the probes began bringing back evidence. Anyone who ever espoused the idea that we were alien hybrids or that other intelligent life forms existed were laughed out of scholarly circles as crackpots and fiction writers. Yet we all know. Deep in our collective psyche, deep down where all of us are linked in the dream levels; there is the place we truly know. It is that place where we think we can fly, where we connect telepathically, where poems and fiction spring from, where Gods exist and fey creatures roam. The kernel of truth at the basis of all our mythology, our legends and folk tales; there, there in that place we avoid thinking about, distracted in our conscious reality of day to day living. That is where we know why we are alone. There is a vast empty sense of loss when we gaze up into the stars. A reason why we avoid gazing out into that great uninhabited incredible and beautiful vista. That emptiness engulfs us if we stare too long. We avoid the night and the stars. They remind us with their cold clarity that all the rest are gone. The photos are hoaxes, the moon landing never happened, there are no faces or pyramids on mars, no odd phenomena on the other planets, the asteroid belt was not once a planet, no other gas giant was ever thrown off orbit by its neighbours, no reason why the giant pictograms are carved into the vast plains of this world, no reason why all the pyramid like structures on every continent resemble each other, no reason but one. Us. We the lonely remnants. In our dreams and imagination we remember them. Every story holds a kernel of the truth. So long ago, we forgot, in the struggle to survive. We failed to remember and in our failure we forgot why we needed to survive and so we tread the same paths to destruction. Soon we won' t just be alone. We too, will be gone.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Damnit. Damnit, damnit, damnit. I limped through the corridors, trying hard to press down the blood that was trying to gush out to freedom. I nearly slipped and fell, whether from my own exhaustion or slipping on my blood, I do n' t know. Glad I did n' t. Just at the end of this particular hallway, a man with a gun stood, loitering against the wall. He looked bored. Why the hell did I come here again. Oh, right. A \" painting job. \" Well, if I get out today, that' s no longer going to be a career choice of mine. Especially when those who hired me shot me in the leg and tried to kill me. They were behind me, but I did n' t know how far. What I did know was that they were a lot less bored than the man in front of me. I could hear the distant sounds of feet, tracking the blood. I looked over and spotted a brick. That might be helpful. I dragged it over to me, trying not to fall again, and trying not to scrape it along the concrete floor. What to do know? A. Throw the brick and distract the man. B. Throw the brick *at* the man and hope to incapacitate him. C. Make a noise and punch the asshole when he comes running over.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I' m the only mage in my school. Everyone knows I can do magic and I get bullied for it. I' ve only ever been bothered to learn one spell; the name: Tickles. I' ve taken part in several magic duels and won them all, simply incapacitating my opponent and ramping up the power until they give in. One day, I was reading my essay through again to make sure it was in a state to be handed in. A man in a long, deep-red robe came up to me and spoke, in a heavy Russian accent: \" I' m the top mage in the world, Merthar. And I' m here to challenge you to a duel, James. \" He went on to explain about how I had beaten some of the world' s best mages and not realised it. I was only a secondary schooler! I took up my stance in the courtyard and put some energy into my hands. A small green glow appeared. On the other side of the yard, he had almost already had his spell charged, by the looks of it, a powerful lightning bolt. Just as the spell was about to be unleashed, I gave him a small tickling behind his head. This broke his spell. I took the time to make a huge tickling affect on him. He dissolved in tears of laughter to the ground. He managed, somehow, to make a small deflecting shield around him. I turned off the spell. I then realised that the power of the shield was obviously weak. I put all of my remaining power into making the spell pierce the shield. We both got hit to some degree and fell to the ground laughing once again. He finally stood up and shook my hand, declaring the duel a stalemate and me to be the world number two battle mage.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "The green pickup crunched over the gravel driveway and the puffs of dust and rock danced behind it. The sun was hot on my face but it felt good - sipping my sweet tea. The sound of summer was sweet. The cicadas humming, the birds singing with dusk approaching. I take another sip and a bead of sweat from the glass falls onto my pale yellow sundress. His truck stops and the smell of old gas and old rust mix with the smell of weeds and dandelions. I keep swinging on the creaking porch swing as he gets out. A soft smile when our eyes meet - he walks slow to me. His hand brushes over my hair, the smell of sweat and his pomade fills me as he pulls my chin up for kiss. \" How' s my girl? \" \" Still yours. \" \" Anymore tea love? \" \" Got you a beer. Come - sit and lets get lost together. \" \" Everyday. \" The sun goes down as our dreams take off. > 162 words", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "My brother lay in the bed, unable to move. His head weighed down by the crown of metal bolted into his spine. I could tell from his eyes that he did n' t understand what was going on. The doctors had tried to tell him, but explaining the word quadraplegic to someone who could n' t yet read at a third grade level was a task beyond even their skill. As the knife plunged into the goats throat, I closed my eyes and tried to picture my brother dancing. He was always dancing when I came to visit him at the care facility. Even the teachers had trouble getting him to sit still. If modern medicine could n' t help, I owed it to him to try whatever methods could. I opened my eyes when the bleating died down, and took out the small sheet of paper I had printed out earlier from Google translate. Slowly and carefully, I used the goats blood to copy the Amharic contract into the center of the pentagram. Flames roared and the ground shook. It was done. I awoke the next morning holding a small bottle of red and green pills with a handwritten note. Merry Christmas. - Santa Claus", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" I can see angels, Mr. B. Angels flying in the sky! \" I heard a girls voice say behind me after she drank from the chalice. I got dizzy, my head started hurting and colors became intense as I floated out of my body. I saw some people sitting or laying down, heads thrown back as they were looking at the ceiling, tongues hanging out of their mouths as they gawked at the painted ceiling. Higher I floated and saw some more people, running around in circles laughing, jumping for joy, dancing, expressing their intense joy. Some were kissing, making out all over the church, hooking up in the pews, and at least for puerile went into the confession booths. I heard a fight break out. I do n' t know what caused it, nor could I see it very clearly as the colors intensified around me and became white. I vaguely heard a groan, and felt something being pressed into my chest. In a daze, I saw the little girl standing over me. Her face wore a a grotesque grin and her eyes glowed yellow. I heard the groan again, and saw a huge figure behind her wearing an oversized old fashioned scuba dive suit, that looked like it dated to the fifties. Oversized as the suit was, there were multiple eyes on the helmet, and two wires formed a cage over the helmet. She was saying something again, and I felt an object pressing into me again. I floated back to my body, the colors becoming less intense. The grotesque grin on the girls face began to look less like a grin and more into a gaping mouth, as though she were screaming in terror. The big man behind her became less huge and oversized as I got closer to my body. Gone was the suit, the size, and when I reached my body, I saw that I had one of the candlebra sucking through my chest, candles scattered around, their melted wax leaving, oozing, pouring onto the floor. The pastor looked in terror at the scene of violence and debauchery around him, and ran to his office. The little girl though, her eyes were still glowing yellow.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Look it' s just that simple, I ca n' t explain it and honestly I never had reason or desire to explain it. How can it be just that simple? I have as much money as you and really I think cooler toys, but I' ve never \" won \" a fight just by being Iron Man, How can the answer to any potential situation just simply be \" because you' re Batman \"? Okay, let me try to explain this. I' ve beaten everyone there is to beat, every time. Why? It' s because I was smarter, faster and have prepared myself for every eventuality. I am an Olympic quality athlete, I have mastered 23 types of personal combat, I am fluent in 27 languages, I am a brilliant tactician and I design and manufacture all my own gadgets. What are you but a drunk rich kid when you take that tin suit off. I ca n' t help it that you are defined by your suit while I am defined by my abilities. Watch it Wayne, you keep that crap up and we' re going to go right here right now. Are you sure you' d risk it? I mean if something were to happen to that... power source, not only would you be in a metal shell with no way out but does n' t that keep shards of shrapnel out of your heart? How in the hell... did you go through my laptop when I was taking a leak earlier? How about this, you can come to my cave sometime and I' ll teach you how to keep tabs on everyone you know, that way you can always be a step ahead too. Oh yea, hell then I could keep tabs on you, we' d have to see who' s better some day. I' d always be better. How can you be so sure. I' m Batman.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I must admit that I was panicked at first, having a serial killer after your skin is quite unsettling. But I decided to take matters into my own hands. Well, I decided to do that after realizing I wo n' t be able to change countries and get a new identity very easily. I installed cameras all around my house, took a week off from work, \" borrowed \" my dad' s revolver and bought a boatload of coffee and energy drinks. That fucker was n' t going to take me down without a fight. I spent the first night on the hallway in front of the door on a chair, with the only light was coming from the monitor screens. All of my curtains were drawn and no light was able to come from them. The smell of coffee and energy drinks filled the room. At around 3 AM I started thinking that he was never going to come. But my frontyard camera detected some movements, and I could hear steps on grass from outside. I turned off the screens, and the room turned dark. Adrenaline started rushing through my veins as I picked up the gun and pointed it at the door in anticipation. The door made a quiet click and it slowly began to open. I pressed the trigger as soon as I had the man in sight. His body dropped limp on the floor with a loud thump. I enjoyed it.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" so when' s this all gon na end, Mick? \" \" the fuck should I know? Grab his feet. I swear to Christ when we finish with this one I' m drinking whiskey till I ca n' t \" \" Me too... can I come with you? The wife' s home tonight and I ca n' t stand her yelling. \" \" Jesus, why ca n' t you just slap her around a little? Look what we' re doin' for a livin' here. Draggin' these bodies all over god' s creation, choppin \" em up and buryin' em. And you ca n' t even take charge at home? Grow a pair and man up why dontcha? \" \" yeah. I guess you' re right. I will. But can I come with you tonight anyway? I would n' t mind a little whiskey myself. \" \" Christ, Jimmy hold up his feet, goddammit. I got the heavy end over here \" \" Sorry, Mick. His shoes are slippin' off. \" \" Well, fuck. We' re almost to the truck. A little further. Why they always got ta shoot' em back in these shitty little alleys like this? And we got ta clean up after this shit? It ai n' t even our fight, you know? We need to be gettin' paid more. \" \" What *are* we gettin' paid, Mick? \" \" You let me worry about that. Ok, here we are. One. Two. Three. Christ what a fat bastard. \" \" Yeah he' s a heavy one. \" \" You ai n' t lyin'. Pull that tarp up over him. Alright let' s go dump this mother with the others and get our whiskey. \" \" And our money. Right, Mick? \" \" You just let me worry about that, Jimmy. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "It' d taken time, but I' d finally done it. Cleansed the world, returned it to a clean slate. I was all that remained of humanity' s legacy; the final product of a billion years of evolution, struggle, pain, war, and technology. And now I was alone on this world I' d created; a pale blue dot in a cosmic void, flecked with green and white. The deconstructor had done most of the work. It was clean, efficient, and so simple to use. Point at an object and reduce it into its elemental origins. Skyscrapers became heaps of ferrite and silica dust; roads became irregularly flat fields littered with chunks of rock and gravel. Humans... greasy puddles of water and puffs of smoke. Earth was like new, just as it had been thousands of years ago before *homo sapiens* had left the savannah. Untouched, unblemished, untainted. Just me in my perfect world. I spent years wandering, just taking it in. The endless vistas from the Himalayas, the gentle slosh of water on a Caribbean beach, the whistling wind through the dunes of the Sahara. I saw it all, with never a human there to ruin it.... it' s perfect. It' s all so perfect. Just one thing left to do. ________________________ *The orbital platform dissolves as the deconstructor performs its final, self-destructive task. Lumps of metal coalesce and plummet to earth, no longer held aloft by thrusters. * *On a speck of dust orbiting a ball of fire in a backwater arm of a tiny galaxy, a sentient being falls. And the speck of dust, once busy with noise and light and life, is quiet once again. *", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "It turns out T. S. Elliot was wrong, the world did end with a bang. I know because I watched it unfold from 250 miles away. I' ve been watching it unfold for months though I never thought it would actually happen. Some pompous diplomat or careless official decided to press the big red button and now everything is fucked. Some twisted side of me almost wished this would happen; between the disease and the crime and all the other side effects of the human condition something needed to happen. But now that it is here, now that this has actually happened... oh *fuck*! And I just watched, like a fly on the wall and a sick thought in the back of my head almost wishing this would happen. But none of that matters now -- nothing fucking matters. Everyone and everything is dead ( *bye bye birdie hahaha* ) and I' m floating around this now desolate rock like I' m on some goddamn merry-go-round. I can almost hear the carnival music ( *Step right up, step right up! Come see the Earth commit suicide by use of nuclear weapons! Why, it' ll only cost you a few moments of your time and soul crushing isolation until your dying breath! * ). Oh shit, that never even occurred to me: I' m all alone. This was just supposed to be repair mission, so there are n' t even other crew members aboard. Fuck! ( *Ohh what' s the matter young man, the carnival food not agreeing with you?! You look a little green around the gills! Perhaps it' s the spinning from the Merry-Go-Round! All you have to do is... * ) I need to keep focus, otherwise I' ll snap ( *... just get off the ride! You' ll feel much better, I swear! * ). And if I do n' t get a grip I' ll use more oxygen than I can afford. ( *Looks like you could use some fresh air, kiddo! * ). Right! How could I not think of that?! I wo n' t use up all the oxygen if I just ( *You' ll feel much better, I swear! * ) open the hatch ( *You' ll feel much better... * )", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I looked at the first one. Five seconds into the future. It, or should I say, *I* looked pretty stoked. I' d gotten my wish, I got to see myself in different parts of my future. Five seconds, five minutes, five hours, and so on. Sixty seconds each, but I did n' t get to interact with any of them. He waved his hand, and five seconds later I felt compelled to do the same. Did n' t want to break causality or anything. Just before he left, though, this strange expression hit his face, like he' d just seen something that he could n' t comprehend. He poofed away, and when the next me appeared, I understood perfectly why he looked that way. Five-minute me looked like he' d just realized something terrible. Like his entire world had been ripped out from under him. I tried for the full sixty seconds to figure out what happened to him, but he disappeared before I could piece it together. Then came five-hour me, slumped over a bar with an empty glass in hand. Strange, I have n' t had a drop of alcohol since my 21st birthday. He looked like he' d been hitting it pretty hard. This version of me seemed to hang around longer than the first two. Wait a minute. I think something' s changed about him. He now looked like he had n' t showered or changed clothes in several days. Like he' d given up on life. I watched him get up, take his keys, and then finally disappear like the others. I' d been watching the bar scene for two minutes. I waited for five-week me to show up. There was supposed to be more, was n' t there? Why has n' t the five-week version of me shown up yet? Then the realization struck: Maybe five-week me had n' t shown up because there was no five-week me. I felt nauseous. Like someone had fed me a dozen eggs and then punched me in the gut. In less than five weeks' time, I will be dead. As I faded back to reality, I only had one thought: I need a drink.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Go back to that first day. The day you saw a friend request pop up on your screen. Do not accept. Do not stalk this boy. Do not wonder what he or his life is like. Do not wonder if he can be a friend. Do not agree to talk to him. Do not text him. Don' t fall for his jokes. Do not collect your A level results with him. Do not agree to go for the movie after. Do not share from the same cup. Don' t think he is wonderful and funny. Do not, under any circumstance, think of him as comfortable. Do not divulge your secrets. Don' t share your smile. Don' t fall in love. Don' t hug him. Don' t kiss him. Do not dream of forever. Do not plan your wedding. Do not watch him leave. Wake up. This was just a nightmare. Wake up. Have a shower. Get dressed. Look in the mirror. Put on your make-up. Smile. Forget that your heart is dead. Ignore the pain. Apply concealer over the scars. Paste a smile on that mask. Walk out. It' s a sunny day. Your tears will dry up before they see. Remember to re-apply make-up. Repeat.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "The burned man had loved stories, once. But killers do n' t become heroes, and knights had never been good. The shovel felt clean and hard to his calloused fingers. Where once he had held a sword, he now held wood. Beneath the metal point, the ground broke. He used his foot to lever it out. The muscle in his knee twitched, over the old wound that healed there. Tossing the sod to one side, he dug again. When the sun rose higher he began to sweat. His muscles had begun to waste, here in this godsforsaken place. The digging helped, but it would never replace the iron-clad training he was used to. Arms burning, he surveyed his work. A pile of soil lay to his left, smelling of peat and peppered through with brown little stones and blind-eyed worms. Not yet, he was not finished yet. Later, there would be food. Simple fare for simple folk, but the burned man was one of them now. A rough wooden table, laid with freshly made bread, steam curling from the cracked surface. Tomatoes cooked in their skins, soft to the touch, and eggs still warm from the laying. Pork cooked in fat and huge, round onions, big as his hands, and the peppery ale that they brewed themselves. As he dug, the burned man told himself stories. They were stories for children: of birds that flew away from cages, and wolves that sailed boats across oceans. In truth, the bird was recaptured, and the wolf made blind. But they were good stories nonetheless, and where no one could hear him, the burned man felt safe in telling them. A figure stepped across the grass, dew on their boots. The burned man ducked his head and dug. Where once he had killed men, now he buried them. \" How goes the digging? \" \" It goes well, \" said the man who had once been known as the Hound.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "A late report by erwin schrodinger was found 20 years after his death, it had seemed he was n' t so keen on sharing this side of him. \" It is to be said, that robotic AI, that is technology that is so advanced such that it can practically emulate all of the functions of a human, is no less human than human. It is to be said that if we are to make AI, that is as complex as the most intricate and mathematically interactions on the molecular level that the human brain, that the human body, that all of consciousness is made from, then what you will have made is not a robot. You indeed, that which can not be described properly with any other word, gave birth \" After years of studies, the evidence was impossible to refute, there was no distinguishable difference between AI and humans... After the trial, the world felt quite a shock, an intense but heavy feeling of reality. Mark Lapoto had of course been released, not because he was innocent, because of the reality in which we now know, it did n' t matter. Mr Lapato was the lead researcher, and was the real visionary of the project - without him, we would not be where we are. He inspired, he motivated, and he achieved. Mr Lapato' s whacky ideas could not, by societies standards, be morally tested on anyone but himself. He built an intricate AI, a human AI.... one of that Schrodinger spoke of. He built himself.... he lived with himself, for 3 months.... and the trial, which was ended after great length and deemed it was impossible to tell which Mark committed the homicide.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "The general entered the room, \" where is He, where is the child? \" He demanded. An attractive young woman approaches him with an ere of caution. \" Please sir, He is sleeping. \" \" I do n' t care! That... thing, is a weapon. A powerful weapon. \" He storms down the hall to the Pope' s Vatican apartment. He proceeds to break down the down first shooting the lock, then to the bedroom. Inside the woman runs over to embrace the child on the bed. The general advances, but the Pope gets between them brandishing a jeweled scepter. \" This child is no one' s property! He is the Alpha and the - \" \" Oh shut it old man. This thing is the key to military superiority! I' m giving you one chance. \" The Pope lunges as much as his old body can at the man in uniform, but before he is half way to him, he is shot by the general' s sidearm. He looks to the boy in His virgin mother' s arms, \" Please forgive me.... bleh.... \" The woman lunges with a hidden dagger, only to be brought down the same. \" Hello Elohim. Do you want to come with me? Do you remember who I am? \" The boy, maybe 5 years old, gets a crazed look of fury and bares His teeth at His mother' s murderer. \" 4 star general Luke Beezle. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "They' d said it would be safe. Somewhere that we could rest, that we could feel safe. Maybe they had lied. Maybe it' d just been something to comfort us as we waited for our inevitable doom. Or maybe, they' d actually believed their own words, and had happily waited with us, until the very last moments. The thing I remember now is the shaking. The shaking never stopped, and everything seemed quiet despite the screams we heard above. No one ever spoke, though I remember the quiet sobs of the adults, and the echoing wails of the children. It all happened in a moment. The shaking became worse, and suddenly it felt as if my ears were going to burst. The heat came in from all sides, and in a time that seemed too small for the amount of life that was lost, it was over. Now I lie here, my strength draining for me as I am forced by my own weakness to observe the smoking landscape in front of me. No one else lives, as far as I can tell. Soon, no one will. I close my eyes, an intense redness coming through the lids as the sun sets. However, even that fades in time.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" Are n' t you a little *young* to be making deals with the devil? \" Satan asked. He was surprised to have been summoned to a hot pink bedroom filled with stuffed animals. I turned from my desk, sucking on my freshly cut finger. \" Who the fuck are you? \" I slid out of my purple plastic desk chair and planted my good hand in a tiny fist on my hip. The devil looked taken aback. \" Are n' t you a little *young* to be using language like that? \" He gasped, staring down at me. After spending the four years of life I' ve lived so far terrorizing my parents, I was used to getting such looks. \" Look here, mister. It' s christmas time, not halloween. I do n' t know why you' re dressed up in such a terribly made devil costume, but since you' re here, you can do me a favor. \" He took a step back as I snatched a piece of paper off my desk and waved it in his face. \" Take this here letter to Santa and tell him I expect to get every single thing off this list or the blood on this paper wo n' t be the only blood spilt this christmas. \" *** As Satan trudged through the snow at the North Pole he grumbled and shivered. To think he was summoned to make a deal for a soul and ended up meeting the only four year old in existence whose soul even Hell would n' t take.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I jolted awake to a small pinch on my cheek and the stale smell of old urine. *Dumb rat, I' m not rodent food. Leave me in peace, * I thought as I slowly sat up. *Where am I? * I thought, looking around. Dark green walls, dim and flickering lights above the sink mirror, and peeling paint on the wooden stall walls. I guess I' m in a run down bathroom. I quickly hopped to my feet and yanked open the door. I' m in a train station. Flickering lights and broken live electrical wires hung over the track, shooting sparks in every direction. As I walked, I could hear the hollow echo of the wooden platform below my feet. That' s when something caught my eye: a sticky note stuck to the bottom of my shoe. The note read, \" I' m sorry I left you, but they tried to use you as collateral on me. Run. Do n' t look for me. Just run for your life. \" Confused, i did n' t know what it meant. *Was this meant for me? * I thought. *Perhaps they meant it for someone else. * That' s when I remembered how I arrived there. My husband somehow made some bad deals with some bad people, and he owed them money for some service. He did n' t want to elaborate, he just tossed me in the car. Three black SUVs gave chase for what seemed like an hour, shooting at us with sub machine guns. The last thing I remember was an SUV t-boning our car as we raced through an intersection, and I blacked out. I do n' t know where he is, or what they have done to him. I hope he' s ok...", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "The way most of us, and by' us' I mean normal people, and by' normal' I mean those of us who would be openly willing to put aside our petty differences for the necessary duration... where was I? Oh yeah... so most of us realized right away where we were going to have problems quelling all forms of conflict. We were given three chances to go one hundred days without fucking up. The first fuck up was due to the ancient middle east conflicts. A lot of the crazies over there saw this as a test of their faith and had decided to prove that they deserving of forty virgins or whatever by being extra rowdy. We solved this problem by finding a bunch of virgins willing to take one for the team and giving them in groups of forty to each terrorist. At first we did n' t think we had enough volunteer virgins, but upon realizing that goat virgins were acceptable everything turned out fine. The second fuck up came from congress, they were ironically locked in conflict over the best way to handle the situation. It was an easy problem to solve however, we just told each one of them separately that if they kept voicing their opinion we would reveal tapes we had of their homosexual airport encounter. Everything was going great, we had went ninety days without conflict when it happened... Lindsey Lohan and Paris Hilton got in an argument over who had more STD' s that escalated into a full on cat fight. We argued that they should n' t be included in the' human' category and thus we should be spared, but the madman holding us hostage held no discretion. He proceeded to tie the earth to an enormous bottle rocket and blow us all up. /r/PsychoWritingPrompts", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I could deal with all the death. It was the love I could n' t handle. The sight of bodies was a regular ordeal. The sight of children calling out for their dead parents was a regular ordeal. People who lost limbs. People who would murder without another thought. People who would steal. People who would lie, who would trick and deceive and hurt hurt *hurt* others into submission. It was all a normal day. I would hold my head high and look away because I could *deal* with it. It was easy. Love was not. It was rare, it was treasured and it was something you should n' t take for granted. Whenever I see it, whenever I experience it first hand I ca n' t help but just lower my head that I' ve held too high for too long and weep. Death ca n' t break me. Love, of course, beautiful, shining, light of the ugly *fucking* world could.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" Listen kid, \" The man said, reaching out and turning my head to face him. I caught another glimpse of the gun in his hand before my eyes drifted to the body in the corner of the room. \" You' re going to close your eyes, count to ten and then everything is going to be fine. \" From outside, I could hear the angry shouts of the men who had been chasing my mom and I for the last several hours. Mom always said they would find us, it was why we moved from city to city. She called them Trespassers. I blinked and it seemed as if time skipped forwards. We were in the basement now. The man who had gotten us this far was in the corner, hands coated in red, clutching his stomach. I picked up a steady banging noise and realized someone was banging against the far door. \" Now or never kid. \" The main said. \" Close your eyes, count to ten. It' ll be fine. I' ll find you again. \" A slow frown formed on my face but I closed my eyes like he asked and started counting. *One, two, three, four, five, six. * I heard the sound of the door on the other end of the room crashing open. *Seven, eight. * Gunshots sounded, a cry of pain. *Nine, ten. * Silence, followed by the chatter of people. I opened my eyes. I was back in the mall, waiting outside a store. When my mom walked out the store front, smile on her face all I could do was stare. She was alive, no gunshots had torn holes in her chest. \" What' s wrong Zachary? \" She asked me, smile fading at my expression. For a full minute I only stared, unable to answer. In slow motion my eyes turned towards the mall entrance. Three men in jet black suits walked in, shades covering their eyes. Eyes that I knew shone neon green. From the corner of my eye, mom turned, taking in the scene before us. \" Trespassers. \" I whispered and the intimately familiar scene started playing out once again.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "He ran his fingertips across the smooth surface of the picture. Her smile met with his and for a brief moment the sound of her laughter danced across the room. A tear fell on the old photograph, stirring up the dust that had accumulated over the years. \" Oh, Bonnie \", the man whispered. He adjusted his glasses and began to work his way through the stack of photos sitting at the bottom of a beaten old chest, stopping again on another picture. Bonnie, in her wedding gown, gazing out the window of a magnificent castle towards the sunset. Bearing a look of tranquility as she reflected on the day. \" My, my she looks beautiful \", he said, feeling a lump in his throat lurch its way through. The man flipped through more pictures, stirring up old memories and emotions. Each picture drawing a laugh, a sigh, or simply a glancing twinkling eye reminiscing on a life spent with her. After a long while he slowly stood up and walked over to the corner of the room, sitting down with a grunt. He stared out the window to watch the sunset fall behind the tall mountain peaks, where under the tree in the front yard and old friend lay gently beside her gravestone. Feeling the urge to join, he gingerly walked through the creaking tree house eventually making it out to the yard. The man ran his callused hands across the top of the gravestone and gave his friend a pat on the head. \" We' ve sure had some wonderful adventures together, have n' t we Jake? \", he said followed by an approving nod. As the sky darkened the two friends walked back towards the house, where the man turns around as to give one last goodbye. \" I will always love you, my Princess. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Blood drips red onto the floorboards, seeping through the dark mahogany. Her eyes, glassy yet dim, like a lightbulb that needs to be changed. My lips, bloody and gashed as I rip through flesh and sinew. Flesh. Muscle. Bone. Marrow. Nothing goes to waste. Each mouthful is a delicacy. Each bite is more desperate than the last. I savour the taste of her liver, the texture of her still pumping heart as it gushes with the soft velvet touch of blood in my mouth. Her body twitches still, the last remnant of life seeping out of her. I relish it. I quiver with delight when I think of what her thighs will taste like, her uterus, the traces of urine in her bladder... But not now. Beside her, a phone screen lights up, a single text message catches my eye. \" Sara, where are you? What did Megan need help with? \" I leap with delight to answer it, smearing blood on the screen as I do so. My fingernails are soiled and rotting. \" Megans craigslist date ate her alive. She' s pretty upset. \" \" Aww, poor thing. Should I come over? \" \" Please do. \" \" Ok, I got ta finish work, but I' ll be there in an hour! see you! \" I ca n' t help but cackle wildly as I toss the phone with reckless abandonment. One more! I can barely believe it! What luck! I drag her lifeless body over to the other two, the fat mother and the starving daughter. Their faces are contorted in agony but I could barely tolerate eating either one completely, as their extremities in weight caused the feasting experience to suffer. As I dump her body onto the heap of meat I can almost swear I hear a breath. A whisper. A quiet whimper from the girl. Impossible. I set to rummaging about the house for a mop to clean up the mess as I wait for my next course to arrive. I whistle while I work. I even sing a little. Imagine if this funny pattern where to just keep repeating itself. The unending feast would be unimaginable.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "My preparations were complete, months of travelling to gather the materials from around the world were about to pay off. I looked across my basement, everything was in place. The pentagram painted in panda blood flickered the reflection of the many candles around the room. 666 red candles made from the earwax of goats. I had been looking forward to this ever since I was a child and watched little nicky, the idea that Satan was n' t as evil as he appeared had stuck with me for 20 years. Now I was about to find out if it was true. I recited the spell. shadows filled the room and swirled around the ground and up the walls. circling in a demonic dance, moving faster and faster. suddenly darkness took the room and smoke from the newly extinguished candles filled my nostrils. There was a red glow at the center of the room, but i couldnt quite make out what it was. some sort of vapor had filled the basement and I was having a hard time seeing. as the smoke started to settle. I saw it, a slightly glowing silhouette of a big man. he started to move, and as he moved closer i could tell that his belly was big, and his cheeks were flushed. his white beard reaching almos to his belly button. he wore a red coat that shimmered with a dull red glow, and he wore a crown made of deer antlers and chirstmas tree branches. He had a twinkle in his eye that just said *everything is ok* I said \" who are you? \" and the man replied \" I have many names. but the one you would be most familiar with is santa \" his warm voice vibrated in my ears as if he were speaking through a silky and soothing jazz tune. his eyes twinkled as he spoke to me. I questioned him further \" well, how did you get here? \" without even a slight pause he asked \" do you trust me, son? \" well I suppose I do n' t have a reason not to, you are santa after all. \" he pulled me close, gave me a big hug and whispered softly in my ear \" thats good, son. because the only way i can steal your soul is if you trust me. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I had starved him from three days. His spirit was nearly broken, I had almost broken him. \" You look hungry. \" I said casually as I walked into the room where he was chained up. He gave me a deathly glare. \" I' ve got some food for you. \" I said. He spat in my face. \" I ai n' t saying nothing. \" He whispered, his voice to hoarse for him to shout. \" Oh, you do n' t have to talk. I just thought I' d give you something to eat. \" I laughed, laying the box of food in front of him. I unlocked the cuffs on his hands. He eyed me suspiciously. I beckoned for him to open. \" It' s pizza. \" I added. He cautiously opened the box very slightly and a sliver of hope appeared in his eyes. He tore open the box and grabbed two large slices, holding them over his mouth while saliva dripped from it when he noticed something. It was Hawaiian. \" Of course if you do me a favor you can get a margarita. \" I promised with a sadistic grin. \" OK, I' ll talk. \" he croaked, defeated.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" It' s a day that calls for celebration. \" shouted the man with enthusiasm to the big crowd in front of him. \" The resistance started with only a few people, today we' ve grown in numbers so much that the little cottage, where we used to hold our early meetings, ca n' t fit even our masks alone. \" Laughter echoed in the crowd. \" How it all started with little silly acts to grab the tyrant attention, and now we' re on the verge of toppling the son of bitch! \" The crowds cheers. \" After breaking the barriers of our fear. After knocking down the gates of helplessness and misery. After all the efforts we' ve made to throw our own weaknesses and fallacies into the garbage bin where they belong. \" The silence of anticipation made even the gentle breeze audible. \" It is the night we' re ready to break into his palace. Knocks down his own gates. Grab him by the collar and throws him outside inside the garbage container, WHERE HE BELONGS! \" The crowd goes nuts. \" TO THE PALACE! \" The marching rebels approached the palace with a surprising ease. There were no guards. They knocked down the gates shouting words like \" Liberty \", \" Death to tyrants \", but the guards still did n' t show up. They walked into the master bedroom of the tyrant. He was n' t there. The whole palace was empty. The leader of the resistance spotted a diary on the bedside table. He opened it and read the most recent entry: \" I think Hillary has used my WOW account again just to give herself the Big Love Rocket. This is ridiculous. I ca n' t stand this any more. I' m joining the resistance. \" The resistance leader looked at the baffled crowd with \" What the fuck \" written all over his face. He shakes his head. \" Hillary you bitch, you could have saved us time. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" So, uh, I have to ask... why are you out here? Why this? \" \" Just tryin' a be the realest, you know? See, we a brotherhood. But we also a business. We tryin' a incorporate. What' s that phrase? Divide and conquer? Well, we gon na do the opposite - we gon na have a merger. Bloods and Crips, cats and rats, comin' together for the first time. We the competition now. We trust bustin', you know? Undercuttin'. See we was killin' each other over piddly shit - corner here, corner there, someone wearin' the wrong colors, *this dude sellin' on MY block? * Turns out that' s bad business. We see this as a long-term investment. We goin' legitimate. This is a hostile takeover. This more than just a couple corners. We doin' what the rest of the world do n' t wan na do, and we makin' money off of it. Ai n' t no one can touch us. All them old folks back in' Merica sittin' in front of they TVs used be afraid of us, call the cops on us, close they blinds when when we roll down they street... now they cheerin' us. They buyin' stock. Ai n' t no more east side west side bullshit. Now this the Far East Side. This our corner now. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" Would you push me away, please? \" They panted softly through a long pause and did not either of them move. \" Would you please leave? \" he asked again. \" Would you? \" His chest tightened and his breath caught. \" Do you want me to? \" \" No. \" \" So why say that? \" She looked up into his eyes, and he looked slowly down past hers to the floor. \" We can only stand here so long, \" she whispered. \" Good. Thank God. \" She pushed a finger into his chest and scraped it up his neck to his chin, lifting it until their eyes were level once more. \" Why do you have to look like that? \" he breathed. \" Why do you have to like it? \" \" You know I' m only weak, right? \" \" *What' s* weak? \" His lips compressed and he stared through her... then with a tremor he seized a handful of her hair, pulled, covered her mouth with his, and pushed. They turned and fell onto the bed. He tried to pull the covers over them, but she pushed them back down, and he left them there. She was much smarter than he was, he realized, and it only made things more difficult.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "David and Claire agreed to meet on the corner of 53rd and 10th. Their favorite little cafe, tucked away beneath all grime of the city. David was nervous, for today was the day he had been anxious about all year. He carried the small box in his left pocket, having spent three months salary just the day before. Claire was nervous, too. Her doctor had just confirmed the tests. She let a timid smile escape her lips, and wondered in amusement if her stomach had begun to grow enough that David would catch on right away. The two saw each other coming from opposite ends of the empty street. He smiled. She smiled. The two embraced, holding each other for a long time. David opened the door for her, and the two entered the barren cafe together, sitting down at their usual table. Before David could get a word in, Claire put a small piece of paper on the table. David picked it up, his eyes scanning from top to bottom. His face lit up, and Claire could see tears swelling in his eyes. \" Twins? \" he asked. Claire smiled, her eyes growing wet as well. She felt her body grow warm, and noticed the flow of sunlight grow brighter and brighter. David looked through the window of the empty, forgotten cafe. He let out a long, defeated sigh. A sigh that echoed the sound of a future that would never be. He reached in to his pocket, opening the small box. Claire' s eyes twinkled in the sunlight, and she removed the delicate ring from his hands, placing it over her own ring finger. \" It' s beautiful, \" she said in awe. The heat grew, and she could feel it burning at her skin. She looked into David' s eyes one last time, and he took her by the hands. Tears streamed down his face, and he gently kissed Claire' s hand. As the Sun gave way to the stars, and the Earth gave way to the Sun, David and Claire smiled. Together, they said the last words that the universe would ever hear. \" I love you. \" And in that moment, they were at peace.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I' ve made too may wrong turns. I am lost. Hopelessness has overtaken me. How long until I am consumed? How long until I become another victim, trapped, dying alone in this Hell? The stench of rot and death fills the air. I ca n' t see. It' s so dark. I sit and cry. Just let me die. Wait! Did you hear that? A voice. Not one of pain and suffering. One of beauty. A small flame flickers in my heart. I stand up. I begin to walk, to follow the melodious voice. Sinister whispers begin to assault me. \" It would be easier to lay back down. What' s the point of fighting this. I deserve this. \" Part of me wants to give in. No! I grasp onto that angelic voice. I use it as a lifeline. Light pierces the gloom. It becomes a thread to follow. I begin to run. Hands grasp at me, shadows move in and out. They try to pull me back down. I slip and fall. This is it. The edge of the knife. How easy it would be to just close my eyes. but the voice, it calls me. I fight back, and drag myself to my feet. I do n' t want to give up! I need help! Help me! Light blazes across the made of despair. From that light, a hand reaches out to me. I reach out, and out fingers meet............... and my wife helps me out of the car. She looks me in the eye. She is so proud of me. She will be with me every step of the way. It will be a long road, but she knows I will make it. She really has no idea how she has saved me. Hand in hand, we walk up the steps into the rehabilitation facility.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Jesus ran from the house, pausing only to grab his favourite leather jacket from the kitchen counter. Worn at the seams, dulled silver studs lining the collar with a sexually suggestive portrait of Doctor Who carefully airbrushed on to the back. It was the only thing in that house worth a damn now. His ears picked up as the sound of a Harley rumbled down the street like a herd of rhino with digestive complications. A small smile crept into the corner of his mouth. The sound of drunken glass shattering from upstairs brought him back into the moment. Time to leave. Leave? No, escape. Time to escape. \" Muhammed! You came back for me! \" \" You know it, babe. \" Muhammed winked and tossed Jesus a helmet. He strapped it on and mounted the hog, intertwining his arms with Muhammed' s. The front door slammed open as Bilbo stumbled after them, his balance kept only by the door frame and his rising jealous anger. \" You get back in here, Jesus! \" Bilbo was barely able to form the words. \" You get back in here, NOW! I fucking own you, you little bitch.. \" Tears began to stream on the face of Jesus, but the tears were joyful. \" You ca n' t hurt me anymore, Bilbo. There' s a new fellowship in town. \" The gravity of it all finally hit Bilbo. This was really happening. He was losing him. This sobering thought quickly gave way back to his instinctive rage. \" Well fine. Fuck you. Fuck you both! You ai n' t worth a damn, anyhow! You ai n' t never gon na do better than me, so what' s he got that ai n' t? \" Jesus nestled his face deep into Muhammed' s neck and gently stroked his beard. Muhammed looked back at the drunken husk that was once Bilbo Baggins and smiled coyly at him. \" Wash, rinse, repeat motherfucker. \" He pulled his tricorder from his pocket and flipped it open. \" Beam us up, Han... \" **Off topic edit: ** > Batman is an overweight psychopath who does n' t care about justice, uses guns, and kills civilians as well as criminals I would totally watch that movie.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Subject-921 Threat level: Doomsday Containment procedures: S-921 is to be left inside a 13m radius spherical container, maintained at high earth orbit ( currently at 34900 km periapsis, 37300 km apoapsis ). Electromagnets capable of at least 16 tesla are to be kept operational at all times to counter any relative drift that may occur between S-92' s center of mass and the walls of its container. Six point defense lasers at equal distances around the outside of the station are to be kept in optimal condition to eliminate any space debris that could intercept S-921' s container. Emergency procedures: N/A Description: S-921 is the only immortal human known. The mechanisms of its immortality are unknown, but the effects are devastating. Under usual circumstances, when enough time has passed without dying, the soul' s desire to be free amplifies any kinetic energy that the body may be subject to until it is eventually killed. However, S-921 appears to be impervious to death, continuing to increase kinetic energy without end. S-921 was found in high earth orbit exhibiting a ludicrous amount of rotational energy but possessing relatively low linear velocity. It was speedily contained and must be guarded lest space debris come into contact with it and send it on a collision course with the earth, sun, moon, or any other object that would cause life on earth to end if it were utterly annihilated or broken into debris traveling at relativistic speeds. It is speculated that other immortals may exist that achieved escape velocity and became lost in the void.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "The committee of aliens stood before our own respective committee of UN ambassadors. They were each around eight feet tall, and the yellow pupils of what appeared to be their seven eyes stared at us intently. They began to speak in a low mumbling sound, and our translator who has worked to understand their language began to relay the message. Keep in mind this was the second of the peace talks. \" We are prepared to make peace with your people. Significant time has passed, and there is no reason for further hostilities. We admit that we are held back somewhat by our culture. For seven generations we have built up a deep hatred of humankind, but we hope we can stop that with enough time. \" I interjected. \" But wait, you said in our first peace talks four weeks ago that you were previously unaware of our existence! \" Our translator expressed my words, and was soon met with a response from the aliens representative. \" Yes, exactly. Four weeks. Seven generations. \" I looked at the translator in confusion. \" Are you sure you' re translating this correctly? \" The translator got a nervous look in his eyes. \" Actually, I do n' t know this language at all. I' m just faking it. \" \" WHAT?! \" The entire UN committee was in uproar. \" Who hired this guy? \" One short man with thick glasses stepped forward. \" I... I hired him. \" \" Why? \" \" Well, he had the credentials as a good translator. They even used him at Nelson Mandela' s funeral to translate into sign language! \" Again, the UN committee burst into uproar. Unfortunately, the aliens took this as a sign that we wanted to continue war. They took out their weapons and ran into the uproar themselves. And that, class, is how I, your professor, wound up being the only survivor in the Great Manvlirian Peace Talks Massacre of 2025. All due to one idiot and one bigger idiot. Class dismissed.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Macdillion sat at his desk fiddling with the controls to the American nuclear arsenal. He did n' t swear but felt tempted to then. Everything was in disorder-his fine, pianist fingers, his memorabilia of the World Wars and the struggle to liberate the world from itself was trashy. Chaotic. Disgraceful. He glanced up and glowered at the next peon to roll in. \" What? \" he demanded, scrabbling the nuclear control in his sticky hands, hating the rough feel and smell of it. \" I might kill you if you do n' t have a good answer for me. \" The peon stuttered. \" Talk. I wo n' t kill you then. Calm down. \" Macdillion reasserted control over himself and set the control down. \" Sir, there' s a spy in the base! \" \" And? \" he demanded. His servants never told him enough and he suspected they hid things from him. \" He' s after you! He' s killed the guard! \" \" Send security after him then. It' s not as if we do n' t pay the louts enough. What else has he done then? Why have n' t I heard any of this? \" \" Security' s gone! \" The servant twisted his fingers alarmingly. \" All of them, dead on the ground! The wires been cut and the cameras are all out. We' ve been trying to contact you sir, I promise, but he came in like a bolt of lightning and chopped us off! Look! \" He thrust a computer screen up for Macdillion to look at. Macdillion gazed balefully at the screen. He pulled out a gun and shot in one solid motion. The servant flopped onto the ground and spilled blood on the expensive carpet. Macdillion sighed, and sat down. \" Computer, run Windows Antivirus. Some damn fool downloaded pornography again. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" Gentlemen, we have urgent business to discuss. \" Brain said with a commanding tone. \" Lungs, heart and liver ca n' t work properly when you are behaving like this. Yesterday we had to take a break in the middle of the stairs, and the day before that we did n' t even get out of bed. \" \" Indeed. \" Heart replied. I have to work twice as hard to pump the same amount of blood. Legs have to do some work too. \" \" But guuuuuuuys \" Legs complained. \" This sofa is so comfy! \" \" I do n' t care, you' re making this harder for all of us. Just go for a walk, it ca n' t be so hard. \" Lungs pleaded. \" Screw you guys! I' m not going anywhere! Brain sighed. \" Arms, how about some pushups? \" \" Too busy holding this bowl of cheetos, bro. \" \" We ca n' t go on like this! \" Brain said angrily. \" Soon we' ll have to use a scooter to get to the bathroom! \" \" Good. \" Legs said. \" Less work for me. \" \" Speaking of which... \" Anus chimed in. \" Not now, Anus. \" \" No but seriously, let' s go \" Bladder said. \" Fine. \" Brain sighed. \" Come on legs, take one for the team. \" \" Allright, but that' s it for today. \" \" Oh jesus, a lego! \" Feet yelled. \" AAAARGH \" \" Heart! What happened? \" Brain yelled. \" Too much... \" \" Oh god, Heart is gone! \" Lungs screamed. \" This is your fault, Legs! \" \" Do n' t blame me, It was you who smoked all those cigarettes. \"' \" Bloody hell, I' m giving up. \" Brain exclaimed. And so they gave up. I' m new to this sub, also english is n' t my first language, so constructive critisism is welcome!: D I also noticed I did n' t follow the prompt exactly so I hope you can forgive me.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "DAY 5 I don' t know why I did it. I thought I did, but now I' m not sure. Cold, wet, silent. Not a drop of sun to warm the bones. The black maw before me eagerly consumes the light from my tiny headlamp. Why did I come here … alone? The air thickens on the descent. Repulsive odors ooze from the slimy walls. How can anything live down here? It is a bottomless well of fearful specters. How can I even begin to describe the trees? Godlike in their immensity, they have stood for ages in the deepest places. They frighten me, in truth. I feel them groan and imagine their anger at my trespass. I camp the first night on a ledge about a third of the way down the east slope. Though to call it night might be presumptuous. Here, night is eternal. No, I sleep because I am bone-tired after hours of hiking and belaying -- and because of the noises. Starting as a low, distant hum, they drifted undifferentiated through the ancient arbor. Now though, as I make my way further down, an eerie din is rising. I hear cackles, whistles, reptilian croaking, each sound never heard by human ears before. This cacophony is the song of hell, and I dare not enter the gates tired and unprepared. Tomorrow, God willing, I will reach the bottom.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I was diagnosed with stage IIIA-lung cancer... on my 50th birthday. My quiet life of teaching and chemistry had been turned upside down. Staring down the barrel of death, I asked my brother in law Frank to take me on a ride along. He is a DEA agent and he regularly busts meth labs. As we pull up to the house -- I notice from the corner of my eye -- a scrawny white guy tumbles out of a second story window. He watches in disbelief as my brother in law busts his meth lab across the street. Wait, I recognize this man. He is a former student of mine. Its... Jesse Greenman... I show up to Jesse' s house and make a proposition. \" You know the buisness, \" I started, \" and I know the chemistry. \" I was determined to leave my family with enough money to live comfortably after my death. One rolling meth lab and Spanish psychopath later, Jesse and i were finally employed by a high-end drug manufacturer. His name was Gustavo Ding. He owned a series of restaurants stretching across the midwest. This job was perfect, but things do n' t always go as planned. Jesse killed some guys who killed a child.. Gustavo did not like this because these men worked for him. I had to save Jesse by killing Gustavo. I succeeded, and there was now a hole in the midwest drug trade that needed to be filled. One year later, I was America' s most wanted man. I had it all, and I had lost everything. My family wanted nothing to do with me, they did not want my money, and they did not want breakfast. I killed some hillbillies who, somehow, got involved. I suffered a gunshot in the process. I laid dying, staring up at the ceiling as \" \" baby blue \" rang in my ears. I died a hero; I died the villain. I am, the one who knocks.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" God damnit Jerry. \" Fiona yelled. The driver of our van, Jerry was gripping the steering wheel harder than any wise man would. I rolled my eyes at the intern. He was sweating perfously. His armpits were dripping like Niagra Falls. We had to remain on task. \" Fiona, get me the radar scanner. Show me where the big green dot is. Now lets chase this puppy. \" My job was tornado chasing. It was an easy job. One I took a liking too. And one that paid the bills and simultaneously made me the biggest bad ass out of my old fraternity. I knew nothing about tornados, how they worked, why, and all the other mumbo humbo. That was Fiona' s job. She had a Phd in Tornadology and somehow could n' t find a job. I reassured her I would pay her to help track tornados and provide housing. Hey, maybe something would come out of it... The Satellite bowl on top of the van shook wildly. We were approaching the storm... The eye of the storm. Jerry was muttering something inaudibly. Damn interns never have anything useful to say. That' s when I saw it. The wind duster, The Cyclone, The Beast, The Tornado. I hopped out of the van with a go pro strapped tightly onto my head running directly towards the Goliath. A hint of trepidation entered my stomach as the wind picked up. But this is how it was done, right? I glanced back and saw Fiona and Jerry with expressions of horror plastered on their faces. God damnit Jerry...", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Usually it' s something simple. Some sort of mundane task that no one wants to do but still needs to be done. You might have to clean the showers or haul manure- both disgusting jobs, but not impossible. Everyone had to earn their keep, and everyone had a job to do. Once you turn 18, it' s a new one every day. You never know what it will be, but you do know one thing: fail, and you will die. That is life in the community. Everyone must contribute. If you do n' t complete your task, you will be executed. I woke up this morning, saw the note laying on my bedside table. White paper with my name hastily scrawled upon it, same as every morning. I did n' t look at it right away, instead taking a moment to sit up and stretch my muscles, enjoying the cool morning air creeping across my skin. Finally, I was ready to take on whatever task I had today. The note unfolded in my hands. *Whistle* Instantly my blood froze. It had to be some sort of sick joke, this could n' t be my task. It had to be a mistake. It was n' t a joke, the writing on the page was so familiar to me, having seen it etched upon these notes for years. But why? Why would they have given me this task? I can not whistle. Years ago, my tongue was sliced to prove a point to my parents. They ended up executed regardless, but my tongue never fully healed. Whistling had been impossible since, as well as other vocal manipulations. Some days, it was hard just to talk. Whoever had made me receive this task clearly wanted me dead. Why? No reason came to mind- my parents were already gone, and I had done all I could to avoid following their footsteps. I was perfectly obedient to the community, ever servant, always completing my tasks- there was no reason I deserved this. I would have until nightfall to complete my task, but there was no need; I could already feel the noose tightening around my neck. I can not whistle, and today I die.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "You Wake Up In The School Dormitory, Far Too Groggy To Be Awake In All Reality, Yet You Can not Really Fight Ginny' s, The Rousing Prefect, Insistence. While Getting Dressed You Consider Throwing Any Odd Thing On, But You Know You Would Never Get Out The Dorm Before Harold, The Fashion Prefect, Caught You. You Stumble Down To The Dinning Room And Get Breakfast, Making Sure To Get Fruit. You Simply Do Not Want To Deal With Any Of The Seven Breakfast Prefects. When You Finish Eating You Clean Up After Yourself, More Out Of Human Decency Than Concern About Abby, The Sanitation Prefect. She Is Actually Rather Pleasant. Sadly, As You Walk Out Of The Dinning Room Harold Stops You, Apparently Your Socks Do n' t Match. He Rights A Citation, And You Go A Replace A Sock. You Do n' t Let It Get To You. Citations Are Rather Common, Though Having Too Many On Record Can Be A Problem. On An Average Day You Get Three. For Example, Today You Also Got One From The Transportation Prefect, The Teacher' s Mood Aide Prefect, And The Social Adjustment Prefect; That Particular One Gets On Your Nerves. The Average Student Only Gets One A Week Though. You Are Not An Average Student Though. You Are The Prefect Of Citation Processing. A Position You Hold In Half Due To Not Having A Single Citation On Record. PS. I Know He Meant Perfect... But This Was Much More Fun.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "King Edward was lying in bed, covered in bandages and dried blood. He looked up when Milo, his chief alchemist, walked in. \" So? Tell me–what did you see? \" asked King Edward. \" Have you found a way to make me whole again? \" Milo cleared his throat. \" My lord, I believe that I have. \" The king smiled. \" Do tell, Milo. \" \" I spoke to the owner of an apothecary–a man who will not be born for five hundred years hence. The medical arts have advanced greatly in his time, \" said Milo. \" What did the man say? \" \" This man presented me with a curious theory: a small part of the toxin *is* the cure. Indeed, his entire apothecary only stocked cures of this form. For example, an individual poisoned by quicksilver would need to consume an elixir containing a minute amount of quicksilver, diluted by a much larger part of water. \" \" How strange, \" said the king. \" Quicksilver is poisonous? \" \" Apparently so, \" said Milo. \" And they called it' mercury.' Language, too, has evolved greatly over the years. \" \" This technique–you believe it will make me whole? Make me fit to once again lead this kingdom? \" asked the king. \" The man seemed sure of it, \" said Milo. \" He called this futuristic medical technique' homeopathy,' and he assured me that it would work. \" \" What do we need to do? \" asked the king. \" Well, seeing as you were trampled by a horse, we need to locate this vile beast, cut off a small portion, and then mix it with a large portion of water. Then, you need to consume this concoction, and your legs should regrow instantaneously. \" \" Get to it, then, Milo, \" said the king. He smiled. \" Soon, I will once again sit upon the throne. \" -- - /r/rpwrites", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" Do you understand what you must do? \" I looked up at the figure hovering before me. Death itself, come to see me. I could n' t see much past the tattered black robe that hid whatever features he had. It carried no scythe, nor could I see any bony features. There was just darkness, and the robe. \" No, \" I replied. I was trembling, I realized, from excitement, from fear. Death' s voice was harsh, booming, *commanding*. Woe to the fool who disobeyed. \" You will be my agent, and you will bring the End of All. In exchange, I offer immortality to you. As my instrument, you will bring back the Balance to your world. Too many live on Earth. It is time for them to die. \" I nodded. \" I understand. I will do as you say, my lord. \" \" Then as it is written, go, my agent, my omega, my lich. Go and raise your army tonight, for tomorrow, the End begins. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "# THIS STORY HAS A PART 2! [ HERE ] ( https: //www. reddit. com/r/555Writing/comments/5242x3/wp_a_childhood_classmate_of_yours_is_deaf_you/ ) \" I do n' t have to be sneaky, she ca n' t even hear me, \" I said as I walked up behind Amanda, a Deaf student who I love to bully. \" Are you sure she ca n' t hear you? She does n' t have any hearing aids or anything, \" my friend Rick said, I paused and replied saying \" Why would you need hearing aids if you ca n' t hear anything? Just stop talking and let me do my thing Rick. \" I was getting annoyed at his stupidity, I wish he would just use that brain that all humans supposedly has. I was right behind her, then I jumped around her and scared her. After seeing an ASL interpreter in my Computer Science course in college, it reminded me of when I bullied poor Amanda back in middle school. I wish I could take it back, I regret doing those terrible things that I did to her. \" I wonder who the interpreter is interpreting for, \" I think to myself, I look around, and then I spot her sitting in the very back, IT' S AMANDA! Class is almost over and I wanted to try and tell her that I am sorry for what I did, not knowing ASL I decided that I would give her an apology note. I get Amanda' s attention as we are leaving class and I give her the note and walk away, I wondered how she would react, and I waited for the next day. *** Thanks for reading! You can find more WP responses at r/555Writing!", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\".. the population is resistant Lord. What shall you resolve to next? \" That particular question, which my butler has raised, was that of a concern in which I had ben revising with every consecutive day had past. 25th December, on which the residents of my country cultivated Christmas, was the occasion on which I received news that an overwhelming amount of immigrants had entered the radius of the country, and infiltrated a variety of areas, to threaten my position as government. There was no alternate reasoning, despite many terrorist groups desiring luxuries such as a political position, or money, the almighty god in such a meritocratic world as ours. I pleaded for the community to listen to my warnings, but they did not. They retorted and tormented, as they were required to be with their families for Christmas. And I was deserted as an individual among the millions within my country. I was terrified. Why were they opposing their own leader... I figured, it was perfect time for my personage to withhold my position -- -- -- -- - Within that same day, a corpse was found within the President' s office. A bullet in which penetrated his head. A pistol was found. Police reports deduct it be suicide.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "It was knock off time, even for everyone working during the crunch period. Today had started before dawn, and by the time we punched out, the sun had been down for several hours. It was just the two of us, catching the painfully slow elevator from the 22nd floor, all the way down to the basement. And then I heard it. There was a soft thumping noise, and my brain instantly went into panic mode. Did something in the elevator dislodge? Were we going to be trapped in this tiny elevator for a weekend like that video? Would we plummet to our deaths? And then I looked over at him, biting my nails in a visible panic. He smirked. And by his smile, his quiet smile, I knew we were in Hell. \" Oh God! \" I shouted, grabbing my nose as I realised the source of the noise. \" Why did you have the three cheese and garlic chili for lunch? \" We were only at floor 20.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" Please Cassie, I never intended it to be like this. \" \" When were you going to tell me? \" \" I tried... \" \" How? How' d you try? \" I told you I' m small, and that I could be your pocket soldier... I was serious. \" The small shoulders beneath the soldiers' uniform were slumped in resignation. \" After he' s asleep, I' m as real as you. I bleed like you. \" \" But Joe, even if I did come for you... \" \" Just think about it. I can hide in the attic for a day, then I' ll likely get packed with the other donations. I' ll stay alive Cassie, I am cursed. Before I was Eddies, I was his Dads, and before that, his dad bought me at a garage sale. I' m old, and I want someone to share my existence with. \" The figure on the camera looked off to the side for a second. \" He' s gon na wake up soon. I must hide. Please, if you decide yes, I' ll be on top of the mailbox at 10 tonight. I love you so much Cassie, I ca n' t imagine nor having you to talk to. \" \" I... I' ll see. This is a lot to consider you know. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Scene: College campus, lunch/break-out area after class - empty. Person 1: Dude, did you just turn that water to ice? *Staring at the cup of water that' s now ice* Person 2: Did I? *smiling with a slight smirk* Person 1: Yes. yes you did. How you do that? Person 2: Well, to be honest I' m not sure. Person 1: How do you mean your not sure, you just turned water to ice. Are you god? Person 2: Not that I know of, although I did have a nightmare; afterwards all these strange things started happening. It' s not the only thing I can do too. Person 1: What can you do? Person 2: I' m not sure as of yet, but watch this. *Looks over to a attractive female and poof suddenly she' s frozen on the spot* Person 1: Is she frozen!? Person 2: Yeah. Person 1: Dead? Person 2: I hope not. *Both hear footsteps walking down the corridor* Person 1: Someones coming, unfreeze her! Person 2: I ca n' t. Person 1: Why not!!? Person 2: I dunno, it' s just not working. Person 1: Shit, we ca n' t leave a random person frozen in the middle of the corridor ~ Dude, quickly. NOW. Person 2: There. Person 1: There what? She' s still frozen Person 2: I froze the other guy Person 1: Why did you do that? We now have two people frozen in the corridor... *She unfreezes and continues walking down the corridor as if nothing happened*. Huh..?, now she' s unfrozen Person 2: I did n' t do that Person 1: You did n' t? Person 2: Nope, maybe it wears off after a period Person 1: Well phew, but we now have the other guy frozen. I have an idea: Drag him in here and sit him down. At least we can make him look like he' s asleep and then hope he unfreezes. ~", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Today we went through the 4th discovered portal since project we started this project. The first portal was made artificially after that every place we discovered had already a portal on in place, since then we have been exploring these new worlds but we never found anything of interest on it. This one was no exception, it was a barren and dry land, there was no live detected on this plane either, I' m beginning to think that we truly are the only living beings in this galaxy.' Sir,' \" Yes, what is it \"' we discovered the next portal.' \" Yes, I know, the scan showed it when we arrived here. \"' Yes but sir, but this one shows sign of live.' \" What? You sure of that? \"' Well the device says so.' \" Oke, tell them to prepare the weapons. \"' but sir, they have n' t shown any sign of hostility yet, It the probably do n' t even know we are here yet.' \" Yes, I' m just being cautious \"' Understood, sir.' \" O, and wait on contacting the Ministry of Galactic Environment, I want to be sure this is a good place to settle. \"' Yes sir.' The general was finally pleased with their findings. \" Finally, I' ve been waiting, finally a new target to test our new bio weapons on. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "My senses started to elevate at the 100-intelligence mark, the shmuck who controlled me loved the intelligence stat, even though my character was a warrior. My surroundings became more vivid as my intelligence grew, I could see other characters, being controlled, not understanding that they are merely a puppet controlled by a higher power. Level up! I had reached level 50, which meant I was going to gain a considerably high amount of extra stat points – and knowing my master right he was going to plump all those points in intelligence. Even though the game clearly states that warriors are STRENGTH BASED! \" Jesus, what a dumbass \" I thought. As my intelligence grew, I came up with a plan – I was going to break out of this wretched world, and enter the world of the puppeteers. \" Is everything ready? \" I asked. \" Everything is ready, you may start \" a man in a black hood responded. I had gathered information that to break through to the-another world I had to enter the Neo City, gather 250 metal cogs, and kill 45 mega-bots. I can say I did struggle with the mega-bots since my god damn strength stat was so low. But nothing was going to stand in the way of my escape. -- -250 metal cogs and 45 mega-bots later -- - The man in the hood looked at me \" Well done, you have done as I said, I grant you the key to the-another world, may it grant you happiness and richness \". I took the key, and grinned \" finally I will be free! \". I will conquer everything there will to be conquered! I closed in on the golden gate, it was enormous, maybe a bit too enormous, i thought. I gently pressed in the key, and turned it. The door made a big crackling sound, slowly opening. A bright light blinded me, like the sun had been placed in the room. 213, 420 exp granted, 8000 gold gained. Level up. -- - It warms my writer heart that you liked the text. Thanks!", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Finally. I' ve finally done it. It' s taken me five years of hard work, five years of unending turmoil at the hands of my nemesis, Captain Phoenix. But now I, Doctor Fission, DDS., have put an end to that turmoil. For not only have I destroyed my nemesis in a spectacular hand-to-hand fight, but I have finished my ultimate creation: the Fission Fiasco, a satellite capable of destroying the world with a single concentrated fission ray, shooting out at the speed of light. I' ve never been happier in my life. Now, I simply pull out the remote, and enter in the 4-digit pin that will start the countdown. ***bzzt*** ***bzzt*** ***bzzt*** Oh. My phone. Hmm, thought I shut that off. Oh well, I have time. Oh, I have a message on my POWder profile. Oh wow. It' s from that girl Ana. I never thought she would actually reply. Wow. Alright, let' s see what it says. Dear Doc... coffee... movie... French food... go on a date? She... wants to date me? Me? Of all people, she wants to date me? But... why? I' m just Doctor Fission, DDS. The only reason I can even call myself doctor is because I went to that Canadian dentistry academy. I made that POWder profile as a joke. I did n' t expect a reply, and certainly not one from someone as beautiful as Ms. Ana Conda. And yet here I am, planning a date with her. Weird. I thought I was happy before, but now... I feel... I feel different. What is this? It' s like... warm butterflies, fluttering their way up from my feet, to my stomach, to my lungs, to my head, and even to the tips of my fingers. Wait. What' s this in my hand? A remote? What does it... oh no. No, no, no. This is n' t right. I do n' t need this anymore. Not now that I' ve defeated Captain Phoenix. Not now that I have a date with Ana Conda. Not now that I' m happy. No. Not now. But maybe later.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I have never been a cat person. I' ve never really been a dog person either. I would have been fine without any pets at all really, but my girlfriend just *had* to have this cat when she saw him that day at the pound. He was barely a year old and was very stripey. She still mentions his stripes when she talks to him in that baby talk that all pet owners do. Or at least the pet owners who insist on treating their pets like their children. And let' s face it, this cat was a practice baby. So it' s not a surprise that a year and a half later we were bringing an actual baby home. Well, Mr. Whiskers was n' t a fan of this at all. He had tried to sabotage our baby plans from the beginning. Do you know how hard it is to keep an erection with a cat licking his anus just in the corner of your vision? It' s not easy. But we persevered and today was the big day. I had my newborn son in my arms when I opened the door to our house. I nearly dropped him when I saw the man in the cat onesie sprawled out on the rug. \" What the fuck are you doing here? \" He barely looked at me before cleaning himself just as a cat would. My now wife walked in and immediately went up to the man-cat and scratched behind his ears. \" Looks like he' s just being lazy on the carpet to me, \" she said. \" Yeah, what' s your fucking problem, \" he said. \" And watch your fucking language. \" I think it' s gon na be a rough first baby day...", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" My, God! \" Arvin exclaimed as he threw the curtains aside. \" I... I had no idea that there was so much *colour* in the world! \" He turned, and faced his mother, seeing her for the first time he could remember. \" Hi, Mom, \" he whispered. She smiled and her face crumpled. His eyes, so blue, and now he could *see* her, and *know* she was there even when she was tired, or sleeping. How long she had hoped that one day, his blindness could be lifted! He looked down at the cast covering his right arm to his fingertips. It had been almost a full week since he had received the cast, and he had n' t realized just how much he relied on his right hand; his left was almost completely useless. Certainly for those late night dates with himself, that was for certain. For the first time in memory, he' d been forced to stop, and if this was the result - beautiful light, glorious sight! - well, he had a hell of a decision to make. -- - *just for OP.: ) *", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" Did I tell you about bird man? \" \" What, that movie? \" \" No. The new guy at my gym. He wears these -- he' s always got this bird costume on. \" \" Like a giant chicken or something? You have some kind of chicken suit mascot person at your gym now? \" \" It' s not like a full body costume. It' s just wings. Like these fake wings that stick out of his back. \" \" He' s an employee? \" \" He just works out. \" \" With wings on. \" \" Yeah. \" \" Let me guess -- he' s working on his lats? \" \" And so all he does is the treadmill. Which pisses me off because he' s been hogging it for *weeks*. I go in at 4 PM, he' s there. I leave at 6 PM, he' s still there. Ca n' t do my normal cardio routine. So I start going there in the morning before work -- fucking wake up at 5 AM to exercise, *me*, so you know how dire it is. And the fucker is still there, running running running away like a big tubby hamster on its tubby-hamster wheel. With wings. \" \" You sound frustrated. \" \" He' s a total fucking creepazoid weirdo. His sweat smells like poop and garlic and he looks like he belongs on an episode of My 600 Pound Life. Or maybe more like My 475 Pound Life because he' s dropping half a ton every day. \" \" Hell, more power to him. If I had that kind of dedication, I' d be deadlifting Winnebagos by now. \" \" I legitimately think the guy' s had a mental break with reality or something. He literally practically *lives* at the gym. And the wings, I mean he wears those things nonstop. Like he really thinks he' s a bird. Big fat bird man hogging my cardio time. \" \" Maybe it' s a self-motivation thing. He' s *sprouting his wings*. Living up to his full potential. That kind of stuff. \" \" Fuck him. \" \" Think he' ll fly off soon and leave the treadmill to you? \" \" I' m not holding my breath. The day he flies is the day that... well, it' s the day pigs fly. \" \" Hey. You never know. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Reginald woke up to find that there was a seal staring at his face and laying on top of him. He screamed and the seal screamed and then the seal ran away, pushing past his bedroom door and out into the hall. \" What the fuck was that? \" he said. That fishy, watery smell had stuck around in the room. His carpet was wet, his blanket was wet, and he was pretty certain mold was going to grow underneath his carpets if he did n' t do something about it right now. \" I' d better call Animal Control, \" he said. Then a voice popped into his head: \" Kerrville Animal Control Hotline, how can I help you? \" said a voice in his head. He looked at his hands. Definitely no phone there. \" Hello? Can I help you? \" \" Uh, \" said Reginald. \" What is the nature of your emergency, sir? \" \" I... you can hear me? \" What the fuck is going on, thought Reginald. \" There is no need for that language, sir, \" said the voice on the other line. \" If you do not have an animal problem - \" \" I do, I do, \" said Reginald. \" It' s that... it' s Texas, and there' s a seal in my bathroom. I do n' t know what' s going on. Can you send someone over to pick up the seal? \" \" Another breather. God, I hate this fucking job, \" said the person on the other end of the line as she hung up. He stared out the window. He could hear the sound of rushing water as he looked out at the Texas suburb. How did a seal get into my house? said Reginald. Then he noticed the growing puddle of water on the carpet when he turned around. In the bathtub, the seal was enjoying a leisurely cold bath. \" What the hell are you DOING? \" screamed Reginald at the seal as it wallowed in the bathtub. The seal made a noise not unlike a bark and a whine as it turned slowly in the bathtub full of water, the faucet running full blast. \" How did you even open my faucets? \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I took this prompt a bit differently then you may have imagined, I hope it is n' t an issue. Santa sat in his chair, staring at a folder sitting on his desk, on the top right corner. The important corner. Oddly enough, there was no date on it, he had all the time in the world to review the contents of the folder. He watched the elves scurry around, making sure everything was in order post-Christmas trip. Eventually, when they were confident that nothing horrible had happened in the twelve hours Santa was not around, they all said goodbye and went to take a well-deserved break. Santa' s hand lazily reached out to the folder, bringing it close enough to leaf through the paper. Once opened, a picture of a teenager was taped to the paper, titled' Justin'. The format sent a shiver through him. This was no doubt an application to become a Gifter. He had n' t seen one in two hundred years easily, and the last accepted one was well over two thousand years ago, when Buddha applied after dying to become a Gifter of Knowledge. He flipped the page, and a hand-written note was the only thing remaining before the back end of the folder.' Dear Gifters, I' m Nick. I died of cancer at the age of 17. My only regret is that I never had enough time in my life to do things, and I wanted to make sure that nobody in the future would ever have that issue. The Council told me to apply to be a Gifter, and since you were the original, I sent it to you, St Nicholas. I was told you have the ability to read minds ( which makes the jingle so much more understandable! ) so I' m sure that you can just go through my thoughts and memories, so I kept this short. You' re surely tired after your trip. In short, I want to be the Nick of time. Thanks Justin' Santa chuckled, grinning. If there was ever an application that made sense, this was one of them.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Silence. My new life. Only would I ever write. I liked silence. It felt cosy, like the feeling of a blanket and hot chocolate in winter. I was fine with it. They' ve all been wasting their lives and time. School is n' t the same. The market is n' t the same. The world is n' t the same. The only place unaffected were the libraries. And I was just fine with that. Many others were n' t. They protested in the streets. At the capital of the Global Administrative Corporation. They were everywhere. Then, people calmed down. Hundreds of thousands died. Too many words lead to prosecution, hatred and finally execution. Then why would I save my words? So I can fight back. There are many more like me. 10 years from now, we shall end our oppression, we will speak freely. 401500 words is a lot. I may be quiet, but I' ve been thinking for a long time. Planning. Our overlords best be prepared for us.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "There' s nothing quite like seeing a man starve to death. His breathing was so slow that only the closest inspection revealed that he breathed at all. Eyes closed, not twitching as if in sleep, but closed as if to spare the energy needed to process light. His clothes hung off his frail little body like a towel on a drying rack. It almost made Jatinder feel sad for just a second before the feeling faded away into the murkiness of casual indifference. No, it wasn' t strong enough. As if to interrupt his thoughts the dying man let out a groan. It was a horrible raspy groan that seemed almost too pitiful to be a man' s last. Perhaps it was and perhaps it wasn' t. It didn' t matter to Jatinder. He felt cheated. He' d seen it all before. The first time was the best. There was no replacing that one, as his own mother had committed her last groan to his ears alone. It was the one that started it all. Nothing had ever felt so bad. Nothing had ever felt so good. With disappointment, anger and great frustration he faced the sunlight streaming in through the old sadhu' s tent. He had not felt the sweetness of melancholy, nor the crisp savor of true sadness. His journey was at an end, and he had gained nothing from it. It was wasted. Walking outside in the crowded street he felt alone. He was isolated from humanity. He understood now that not only would he never feel that heart-wrenching joy of sadness. Then his eyes widened in surprise. A thought had just sparked in his mind. A grin spread slowly across his face and his mind articulated this revelation. Tears filled his eyes as he finally felt a rush of that purest emotion. The loss of sadness was the saddest loss of all.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "She had to escape. She had to run, to hide, to get away, far away, to flee. Her pursuer, he would show no mercy. She had to get away from him. If she did n' t, she would surely die. And from what she had seen that... that monster do... he would make it long and make it hurt. She had one goal on her mind: survival. She took a deep breath and ran harder. Why the hell did n' t she pick out her running shoes this morning? Why the flip-flops?! Because they matched her toe polish?! How could she be so stupid? She could n' t run nearly as fast with her flip-flops on. She could hear him, the evil one, behind her. \" I' m gon na *get* you! \" He sounded closer. How?! She dared to glance over Oh God, oh God, oh God, oh God, oh God... He was getting closer and closer. What was she going to do? She had to run away. She had to -- The grass was damp with mist, and then she tripped and fell. He was upon her, the madman, the monster. She tried to get up but he forced her back down. He sat on her legs; she tried to kick herself free, but he had her pinned down, pressing her into the grass. \" Please, \" she gasped. \" Do n' t. Let me up. Let me go. \" The evil one' s hand was like a claw. And then he struck. First, under her arm. Then at her ribs. Then her stomach. Like a spider. She squirmed and bit her cheek to keep from giving in. She had to survive. She had a resolve like iron. It would be a dam against this flood. The evil, smelly jerk reached down and yanked off her flip-flop, tossing it away. The claw danced along her foot. The dam broke and she burst out laughing. And then it was all over for her... ****** And that is the story of how a fourteen year old boy tickled the daylights out of his twelve year old sister.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "This was it. My last task before I could complete my training, after ten years of endless, back-breaking work. And I was going to fail. I raced through the maze, walls towering over my head, spikes protruding around corners just waiting for me to slip and pin myself. Everyone had told me I was the most powerful wizard they' d ever met, my cloak dyed with so many patches of color they bled together, and I was about to be flayed alive by the giant manticore skittering after me. With everyone watching. I chanced a glance up at the crowd peering over the side like I was a caged animal, cheering \" Marissa! Marissa! Marissa! \" in time with my pounding feet. What kind of idiot gave a test that blocked magic, to prove you were a good magic wielder? Air burned like fire down my throat but... wait... I could no longer hear the beast. Like a fool I skid to a stop, gasping. I had to get out, I had to get *out*. I tried to climb the slick mud walls, but even with a running start I could only get half way up before I lost purchase. No no no no no... Someone above me screamed, just as the hideous thing burst from the wall, clamping its mighty jaws around my throat. *Snap. * And silence. But I felt a tug, somewhere in the dark. My brothers were counting on me, the only source of protection from this cruel world, my mother so lost to despair from my father' s death she refused to do anything, even as our house fell apart around them. I pictured their faces, Kyrin and Jace. Too young, too sweet. There was a whole other life I wanted to give them with my magic. I could n' t leave. *Get out get out get out* roared in my head, and then it was pouring from my mouth, shaking the walls of my mind and the walls of the maze. The crowd was dead quiet. Through the dirt and blood on my cloak, I saw it was now pure white. My teacher, Orion, smiled wickedly down at me. \" Congratulations Marissa, you are the world' s first necromancer. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "The punch hit the bastard square in the nose. It hurt his knuckles something fierce, but watching the blood begin to poor from the thief' s nostrils more than made up for it. \" Tell me where my *goddamn* snail is! Now! \" The other man groaned and grabbed at his masked face. \" Why the hell do you care so much about a stupid slug! \" He threw another punch, but it was n' t as satisfying as the first one. Resisting the urge to yell, he instead lowered his voice to its most menacing pitch. \" I do n' t care about the million dollars you stole. \" He took one step even closer, now inches away from the man' s bloody face. \" Just tell me where the hell my pet snail is! \" The thief scrambled back, nearly tripping over the luggage full of money sitting behind him. \" All right, all right! Fuck! I just thought the shell was cool, man! Here! \" He waited as the other man reached one gloved hand into the cargo pocket on his thigh. His heart leaped into his throat as the snail was thrown at him with much more force than necessary. Luckily, he managed to catch her. He held her in his hands until the thief was gone, vanished into the night with more money than most people could ever hope to have. Once the coast was clear, he peered down at her. \" Are you all right? \" **Yes**, she formed the words in his mind. **Thank you, master. I did not enjoy the idea of granting him any wishes. ** \" I' m just glad you' re okay, Genie. \" **As am I**, she said. **Now... would you like me to replace the money he stole? **", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "A drop of sweat falls from my cheek to the desk. The proctor passes through the first row. Some students are ecstatic, jumping from their cold plastic chairs and shouting with joy. Others are distraught. One girl, a blue-eyed beauty, receives her paper. A gasp. She slowly lets out her breath. Calmly, she leaves the room. This makes me even more nervous. I know the consequences of what that piece of paper could entail. I know that I could die tomorrow. All because of my intelligence. If the number at the bottom of the page reads fifty-nine or below, I am, quite literally, dead meat. Just like the blue-eyed girl across the room. This is how our society functions. The stupid are slaughtered. And it works. Everyone in our country has a job. Everyone contributes, and everyone reaps the benefits. It has been this way for quite some time now. In that time, most diseases have been cured. Things such as homelessness, hunger, and the like, are nonexistent. Yet, these facts do n' t make me any less scared. Scared of a piece of paper. A piece of paper that could kill me. A second drop of sweat. The proctor is now one row of desks away from mine. Most of the teenagers in the room are happy about their test results. Others try to hide their disappointment, their utter despair, but it' s obvious who passed, and who did n' t. Who will live, and who will die. I will receive my paper next. The proctor has it in his hand. Sweat is in my eyes, on my cheeks and forehead, under my armpits. This could be it. This could be the end. Or, this could be the very beginning. The start of a fantastic life. The life of a doctor, or a lawyer. I could be a millionaire in less than a year, easily. My hopes are suddenly rising. I' ve got this! I will live! I will survive, and I will prosper! I wo n' t die today, but in one hundred, or even two hundred years. I will make it in this world. I am sure of it! The paper is slid towards me. I turn it over. 58.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Jacob wandered down the street, hands buried in pockets. His eyes were drooping, clothes grimed with several layers of dirt and sweat from a hard day' s work. Lord knows his back was calling for a cushioned chair, and his stomach growled in eager anticipation of a meal he' d order at the saloon. Turning the corner, leather boots stamping into the sandy dust that littered the ground like orange snow, his ears twitched at a foreign sound. Something faster than any horse rolled down the street. It was metal against metal, all the grindings of a factory whirring out a tiny box on wheels. He cocked a brow as the man riding this contraption tipped his hat, and before he could question it, the thing moved on, rattling around another corner and out of sight. It' s grumble lingered, echoing through the town. As he stood there, completely confused, hand absently scratching his head, he decided that it was probably best to skip the meal and head straight home. He needed to sort himself out with a nap.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "12: 48am. Long past the time the writer should have been in bed. A page of text sat in front of him on his computer. He read through it for what seemed like the hundredth time, stopping occasionally to change a word or delete part of a sentence. The writer sighed. It was shit. Command-W. \" Do you want to save the changes you made in the document' untitled'? \" Do n' t Save. As he usually did after two or three glasses of whiskey and another failed writing session, the writer questioned his motives. \" Am I getting anywhere? Am I improving, or just fooling myself? \" The writer thought back to his goals of improving his communication skills, of becoming a more creative and interesting person. \" Maybe that' s just not going to happen \", he said. \" One last look, \" the writer thought, and he was back on /r/writingprompts. Looking for an easy victory, one thread caught his eye. \" Now there' s an idea. \" It would have to be the type of post that redditors either love or despise. \" Fuck it \" he said, \" I' m going meta. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "For a long time I doubted I even existed. Public school can do that to you, y' know? The kids would call you a \" Vampire \" and \" Ghost \", harmless insults. It was all fun and games at first, but when the government discovered it when I was 14 they had a barrage of tests run on me periodically. This led to me being taken out of school for a month or two, long enough for the rest of the kids to believe that I had become invisible too. For the next year nobody, besides the teachers, talked to me, nobody acknowledged me. I tried talking to them, tried to make them notice me. I would tap people on the shoulder but they would pretend it was the wind or a ghost. They made me \" disappear \" from their lives. Often I thought about hurting myself, hurting others, being noticed as a person. I tried breaking into school, spraying graffiti all over the principals office. The cameras apparently uses mirrors to record the reflections of a real image. They never caught me. For awhile I really did think that I did n' t exist. Suicide crossed my mind daily. *What if I did n' t really exist in the first place? * Eventually they told me it was all a joke, that they knew I was there all along. Harmless fun huh? They wo n' t find it so fun when they become the disappearing act instead. After all, I am the ghost that haunts them.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" Thank you for taking care of those hoodlums for me, sir. \" The old man shook as he attempted to stand on one leg, but still managed to smile. It felt good. \" Think nothing of it. Hopefully the remaining wo n' t be back. \" The old man laughed. \"' Hopefully'? If they have any sense, they wo n' t show their faces again here. Probably peed their pants from seeing all that fancy swordwork... \" I smiled. \" Its growing dark. You should close the business and get to your home. I need to go too. \" The man shook his head. \" You' re not going anywhere, young sir. As repayment, I shall feed you the best dinner you have ever eaten. Please sir, give this old man a chance to show his skills too. \" I would' ve refused, but the fact was I did n' t have a place to eat at. This town was entirely new to me, and getting around was a nightmare. \" All right, I will stay. ONLY for dinner \", I emphasized. 5 minutes later, we were walking down the road, to the old man' s home. \" So, sir, about that fancy sword of yours - where did you get it? And how did you learn to wield it? \" \" Made it myself \", I said with pride, \" Steel with obsidian edges - so sharp you could shave with it. \" \" I do n' t doubt it. I saw you make short work of those thugs - I' ve heard the stories, but seeing it was like magic. I doubt anyone in even the Capital could replicate it. By the way, where do you hail from, sir? \" I fell silent. \" Sir...? \" The old man peered at me. \" I' m from... Omelas. You might have heard of it. \" \" Yes, yes - is n' t that the perfect town they talk about? Wish I could have lived there... but why become a hero, sir? What was your motivation? \" My motivation? Something inside me laughed bitterly - motivation? Is there a worse word for my reason? Did you become a hero, the knight in the shining armor due to some desire to do good? No, you did n' t. This is your burden - the burden of the sins of an entire city. This is your penance. \" Well, I just happened to walk away... \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "It is too loud to write. The noise wo n' t let me write anything worthwhile. At first I think of a creature standing behind me. A big one, dark, all gaping mouth and half bad thoughts. It is n' t bad enough. I swallow three times. I have n' t written for three years. I always get.. *distracted*. It' s the noise that gets me. Always my neighbours playing their music too loud or a car speeding past on the motorway blaring a red streak of car horn noise in the air. Kills me. Prickles the back of my neck, makes the inside of my eyes burn like a cluster headache. I think of an ocean, of word variations causing spontaneous teleportation. You' d go from your computer chair to fathoms deep and drown still swimming for the surface. That' s especially morbid, I note. Good job, but too loud to write it. Still, it niggles at my mind. My coffee machine is going off, shrill as a mother in law, calling for dinner. I make a show of getting up, switching it off, returning to my seat. I smooth the pleather. I tap twice. As I drink my coffee I realise that the final act of switching the button on the coffee machine off has made it completely silent in the apartment I rent. A coursing of absolute joy swims through my veins, fishing for compliments at just how good I am at creating a perfect atmosphere for creation. Well done me, I think, and cheerily sip my coffee. It takes me fifteen minutes to realise that the lovely absence of noise is the absence of me breathing, the absence of my heart beating.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" So... come here often? Got anything you wan na talk about? \" \" Can it. \" \" Yeah, shut your face. \" \" Now look, there' s no need to be rude. We' re all stuck down here, so we' re all equal in that regard. \" \" But if corporate took care of the mine, then we would n' t be in here! \" \" And you think that yelling will do anything other than waste our air? \" \" Sorry. It' s not much, but it' s all I got. That, and some old Johnny Cash songs. \" \" How nice. \" \" Yeah, good for you. \" \" What did I just say? Ugh, it' s pointless. We' re all gon na die listening to the bickering of children. \" \" You load sixteen tons, and what do you get? Another day older and deeper in debt. Saint Peter do n' t you call us,' cause we ca n' t go. We owe our soul to the company store. \" \"... good voice. \" \" Yeah... how long do you think we' ve got? \" \" Maybe another few hours. We got enough air at least. \" \" Around 12 hours worth of air for one person, so divide that by four. Found some pen and paper... might be good if y' all have got anything you wan na say. \" \" Thanks. \" Yeah, thanks. \" \" Hey, we' re both sorry for earlier by the way. \" Yeah, we both are. \" \" It' s not a problem. \" \" Well, at least we can die in peace now. \" \" Heh, yeah, at least we got that. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" You were worried about your daughter' s birth defect right? Do n' t worry we already fixed it. \" \" Oh that is good. It was kind of scary seeing that \" \" Yes, it happens about one in every 1000 births. This is why we do n' t recommend giving birth privately in your home. Sometimes these issues go unchecked for years and they can have lifelong consequences. Some recent studies suggest that women who do n' t get this issue fixed within the first 6 months are much more likely to have life long body issues and often commit suicide. \" \" Oh my. Well I was too weak but my partner insisted on bringing her in and it sounds like it is a good thing that she did \" \" It does n' t happen any more, but women who could n' t get that issue fixed at all, which is to say before modern medicine, would become deformed and have much lower IQs. They could barely recognize feelings and often hurt others or themselves. \" \" Doctor what do you think of the theory that those deformities were once part of our reproductive cycle? I mean I am glad it was fixed, but I always found that theory interesting. \" \" I like the theory myself. Scientists are trying to work out the details, but due to ethical considerations they ca n' t just let women grow up with those deformities. They are barely mentioned in literature at all so I think we can at least assume that they were about as common as they are today. Unfortunately in those times they just had to live with their deformities. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" That does it, I' ve got to get to the bottom of this \" Chris muttered to himself. It was this enclave soldier' s seventh day on the job, and he already felt like he was going mad. After the fourth day, every time he tried to converse with his partner Johnson, the only conversation topics that were be proposed involved sexual intercourse. His armor felt different than the one he had suited up in from the day before. He felt different. Could this be radiation sickness? Was he already dead? Chris knew when he took on this job that it would place him in perilous situations, but he never expected to go mad. Not like this. And that was when he saw it. A wanderer strolling and jumping, barely visible through a sandstorm that spontaneously appeared. He was followed by dark figures, what Chris imagined were angels of death. Chris called out to Johnson, only to see that he had completely undressed and was in the process of running in the wanderer' s direction. Before Chris could move, he felt a dart hit him in his left shoulder, and was immediately immobilized. All he could do was watch the dark figures approach him. As his vision started to blur, he saw a figure running ahead of the pack. To his surprise it was Johnson, wearing a slave collar and some strange leather piece of clothing, clearly exposing a massive, disproportionate erect penis. Chris pleaded to his partner, to remember his enclave vows, to remember the life that he had led until this point. to remember the dream of a better, pure America, but to no avail. His last moments were spent receiving multiple lead pipe beatings from his closest friend, assisted by a harem of strange, equally undressed women with massively disproportionate eyes, speaking a language that he had never heard before.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Starting with established universes is really helpful when you first begin writing. I remember my first \" epic \", which I wrote at about the age of your students, was about the crew of the [ Weatherlight ( from the Magic card game ) ] ( http: //mtgsalvation. gamepedia. com/Skyship_Weatherlight ). It was easy for me to write because I already knew all the characters, the ship, the locations, etc., and I could just focus on telling a story. Obviously not everyone is going to be into Magic, or any one thing in particular, but you could probably find some fairly easy common ground for students to start with. Additionally, it' s nice when you' re first starting out to know that no one but your teacher is ever going to read your piece. I think it' s good to have the option to share it with the class if they want to, but I do n' t think it should be required if you' re trying to get everyone into writing for the first time. It' s just too much pressure.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" Anthrocorp technical support, this is Barry. How can I help you? \" \" Yes, \" I said, \" I' m having problems activating my humanOS? It says my copy is n' t genuine. \" \" And this notification, \" Barry said, \" is it visual, or is it appearing as part of an existential dread from which there seems no escape? \" \" Well I' ve always had the existential dread, but the visual is new. \" \" Very well, please recite your UUID from memory, \" Barry said. \" Grapefruit underground Jupiter salsa, \" I said, reciting the trigger phrase which would cause my UUID to leap forcefully into the front of my mind and out of my vocal cords. \" da448bf6-168d-451e-81c1-fab7cf3758dc, \" I added. \" One moment please, \" Barry said, and piped hold music directly to the audio-processing center of my brain. The method of delivery did not improve the experience. An undetermined amount of time passed, mostly because I' d turned off my chronometer because I did n' t want to keep staring at it. Then Barry returned. \" Mr. fab7cf3758dc, \" Barry said, \" our records show your system is severely in need of updating. Build 7264 is very out of date; the error which is displaying in your visual field was repaired in build 7311, which was released nearly a year ago. \" \" And the existential dread? \" I asked. \" That is for the most part unrelated to our software, \" Barry said. \" Please stand by, while I initiate diagnostic options. \" \" Wait a minute, what exactly are you going to do? \" I asked, a horrible certainty coming over me. I had to disconnect the call, but Barry had already locked that option out. \" Please remain calm, sir. I am simply going to turn you off and back on again. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "1. You know the difference between hero and villain. You' ve known it from childhood. You remember your childhood, and you remember knowing the difference, but you also remember that sometimes you rooted for the villain. You remember Darth Vader. You remember Gaston. You remember preferring the Beast before his redemption, before he started to become good. What does this say about you? What does it mean? Why have you been thinking about it, every night, staring into the darkness, reaching out for sleep? 2. You had to stop him. You had to break him, had to prevent him from doing anything worse. You did n' t know about his childhood, about what they did to him. But would that have changed anything? Does it matter, the life he had? Could he have still chosen good? What makes us who we are? How much do we choose? 3. You never asked for this power. You never asked for any of this. What happens if you turn away? What happens if you leave? They hate you now. Will they still hate you if you disappear? If you leave now, can you ever come back? 4. His blood is still there. You can see it, in your mind. You could see it, if you went there right now. Was there any other way? Some people admire him. Some people hurt for him. What will happen to them? He said he spoke for them. Did he? Could his methods have been changed? What about his message? What if they seek revenge? Was there any other way? 5. How did we get here? Is there any turning back? Do they still know you' re the hero? Do they? 6. How does this story end? How does it end?", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I simply could not do it. The ground, so pristine & virginal. The grass, greener than ever seen. It was so tempting, and so perfect; born for destruction. I could so easily put the blanket down here; do n' t I have a right to picnic where I please? Do n' t I have a right to lay down and enjoy the perfect grass, the blue sky and a lazy Sunday afternoon? I had promised him that I would cook for the picnic, and that we would sit on that spot that we pointed to every time we drove home from work. Outside the car window the green hills looked like a promise, one of freedom, and love, and - best promise of all - cellphone left at home. And yet, there we were, standing at the exact spot pointed at so many times, and I could not for the life of me put the blanket down. I could n' t ruin the grass. I could n' t destroy it. I had failed to be human.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" Do you want some ice cream, sweetie? \" My Mommy asked me while she wipe the sweat off of my back. There were other kids running around in the park and their parents with them. But then I saw someone who seemed isolated from the bright park. I stared at the little girl sitting alone on the swing. There was n' t anyone accompanying her. \" Mommy, why is that little girl alone? \" I asked curiously instead and pointed the girl. Now that I looked at her intently, I could see that her white dress was stained and dirty. She does n' t have any shoes on. My Mommy does n' t like it when I get my clothes dirty or when I lose my stuff. Maybe she got scolded, that' s why she' s alone? Mommy followed my small finger with her gaze, and I caught her eyes flickered uneasily before she pulled me away and gave me a strained smile. \" Let' s get some ice cream and return home, okay? \" She said and dragged me towards the ice cream booth. I glanced back at the little girl and she was staring back at me, her mouth was slacked and open, and her eyes was dark and scary. I quickly looked away and hugged Mommy. Daddy fetched us from the park. After they settled me in my chair, Daddy started the car. I was happily licking the ice cream when my Mommy spoke quietly to Daddy. \" Honey, R-h-e-a told me something again. She saw a g-i-r-l on the s-w-i-n-g but I saw no one. I think she' s having these hallucinations about g-h-o-s-t-s again. \" I do n' t know how to spell yet, so I ca n' t follow their conversation, but when Daddy stared at me through the mirror, I had a hunch that they were talking about me. \" Let' s take her to the shrink already. I always told you something is wrong with that kid. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "The Praegon: the most malicious weapon to ever be conceived by the human race was developed in 2343 under the reign of Supreme President Jarrod Hollock of the United States Empire. It killed the world in seven minutes. The Praegon was designed to end the War of the 12th Lesser God. But the scientists involved in its creation were completely wrong about what they were building. A new material, Maron IV, found near the core of Mars, was the base of the weapon Praegon. This alien material was something the humans had never seen before. Strange in its color, and even stranger in behavior, Maron IV was a very unstable liquid. The United States Empire released The Praegon in hopes to only decimate the Lands of the Old God, thus annihilating the last remaining enemy to the USE. Maron IV was unique because unlike ancient nuclear technology, Maron IV would not destroy the O-Zone and life itself. It' s the same story every time. The weapon of mass destruction built by the highest power in existence wiped out the very planet they sought the rule. Now humanity shall live its days across the neighboring planets and galaxies; with Earth no more.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "This quilt, that my mother made, Still makes me think to this day. It' s softest brown, and brightest blue, The curved stitch here, reads \" made it May \". It' s hard to see, but believe me it' s true, That' s not just a cloth but a piece of shirt. You can see a logo here, and right there, And a signature over there, someone named \" Bert \". This is my favorite part, a piece from a stuffed bear. I think it was my mother' s favorite too, She always said so at least. Something from when she was two, Given by her grandad for Thanksgiving feast. My dad added this, a little button pin, Something from his mother, for being a scout. Apparently she went to a store and fished in a bin, Until night that day, to teach him what love was about. I' m sorry you had to see this, but their funeral was delayed.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Full moon occurs, bright in the sky, light falls on the ground illuminating everything. Body hurt, feel pain, body hurts, eyes see red, brain aches. Bone grow and shrink, nose smallens. Ear shrinks, moves down. Tail shrinks, pulls into body. Hurts like worst pain ever. Hair sheds. I am bald. Muscles grow and shrink, change to human. Too much pain, I faint. As consciousness arrives, I open my eyes. I move my paws, but they are not paws. They have elongated, segmented, and evolved into digits. I have become a man, a monster, a weaker creature, a nightmare. Wind blows, makes me feel quite cold. I am bald, with no fur to insulate. The cold penetrates to my bone. I shiver, and observe my environment. I spot my cave and run to it fast. I see a tree on the way, and intuition tells me rip off some small branches off and carry them into the cave. I light a fire, my hands moving on instinct with the wood. The warmth feels good. I no longer am hypothermic. I am become human for tonight. At dawn, I turn back into wolf. I do not wish for that. I will become something inferior, a monster, a stupid creature.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I wake up crying. Desolate Lost Alone. Strapped to a chair tied down head to toe Stitches seal my lips as I hope and pray for survival. My mouth is closed but I keep on screaming my anger is seething my heart keeps believing that I can and I will get out of this chair out this hell find a way to just make things right. I was lost and alone. Scoring smack on the streets as needles invaded my brain. Heroine Deep in my soul cutting me dry I sold my soul for a chance at something I sold my soul to succeed I sold the one thing I need And when I did die and reached the pearly gates of diamond and gold. The fluffy white clouds were too stark the black flames were calling. Kicked down by the father Almighty and great Kicked down past the devil to the iron fenced gate. Black ironed rust. I was taken to a warehouse Tied me down to this chair barbed steel on my chest. Wrapped twice around ripping holes in my chest. Then they pulled out the suture and silenced my cries An eternity in pain an eternity of screams ushered into pure silence I was once a silver tongued fellow. Spitting raps and rhymes manipulating words and bending those to my will My mouth is closed but inside I am screaming this is my hell my personalized hell. I wake up crying Desolate. Lost. Alone.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "*Crack*. A large section of an old wall came crashing down. Dust and debris flew everywhere, a beam of water sprouted from somewhere, and yelling could be heard coming from upstairs. ‘ What the hell is going on down there? Phil? PHIL? Are you okay?' Phil shook his head, coughed a few times, patted his limbs, checking whether they were all there, and made his way towards the stairs. A loud ringing noise filled his ears. ‘ Yeah, yeah, I' m okay, fine, nothing to worry about. It' s just a piece of old— ‘ He fell silent, as he saw something amidst the mist of dust. A faint green light, blinking slowly, irregularly. Phil took out his flashlight from his utility belt and flipped the ‘ on' switch. No light. ‘ Goddamn batteries. Should have bought the top brand. Where are the spare— ‘ ‘ PHIL! Do I need to come down there?' interrupted the voice from upstairs. ‘ No no, it' s okay. It' s just, the flashlight. Its, uhm, batteries— ‘ Phil looked at the light again. It had started to blink more rapidly, and appeared to have moved a bit towards him. He felt the urge to meet it halfway, as if it was a love long lost, with who he finally reunited with. *Hug me, want me, kiss me, so close now, yes, almost, here, please, yes, YES, YEEESSS!!! * * * * * * Phil regained consciousness, and Matt was standing over him. His mouth moved, but Phil heard no words, just the ringing sound. It had not faded. Phil never noticed it before, but Matt only had one green eye. *Curious, looks good on him though. Mysterious. Goes great with his fingers. Always liked that tentacle look, bet his wife appreciates the possibilities too. * Slowly sound came back to Phil, and he could make out what Matt was saying. ‘ Nakz-hal retk-ii. Nakz-hal retk-ii! NAKZ!! NAKZ!!!' Matt' s eye had started to shine, like a blinking star. Bright green. First slowly, then rapidly. Phil looked down at his body, and wondered where his legs went.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Leon took a deep breath, \" Okay. Here we go. \" \" L-e-o-n \" he read aloud as he wrote, \" is aweee-some. \" Leon looked around. He did n' t feel any different, he certainly did n' t feel awesome. Maybe it does n' t work like that he thought. He adjusted the number two pencil in his hand and brought it to the page again. \" I am the best. \" he wrote in large bold print but again, nothing. \" What the heck, \" mumbled Leon. He had spent most of his allowance on this magic book and was losing his temper. The Scholastic book fair only comes to school twice a year and it was unlikely he could get his money back. He began to resent his purchase. \" T-h-i-s note-book \" he wrote, \" is bull-shit! \" Suddenly, his writing hand sunk about an inch lower and rested on his desk; his hand felt warm and sticky. Leon was very confused, and then he smelled it. At this moment the teacher walked in. \" Leon, \" she said. \" Even though you do n' t get the best grades in the class, I just wanted to let you know how awesome we think you are. You' re the best. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I was there in an instant. \" Wow, this thing is amazing. I ca n' t think how I lived without it. \" \" Well, here at Red-Tech we pride ourselves on the latest in innovation and this device will change the world forever. \" I was given the tour of the facility. \" So, what is the device based on. \" \" Oh, it creates a very fast moving portal and it moves around you, so it is not like you die or anything. It just shifts one point in space to another and then holds it there. \" \" Yes, it is n' t bad is it, you go from point to point in the blink of an eye. \" \" So how does it work? \" \" Well, it is very simple, it folds the space-time continuum at a location and holds it in place. \" \" I see. \" \" Yes, the effect is quite profound. \" \" So what happens when the device runs out of power. \" \" Oh that wo n' t happen in your lifetime. \" \" What if it malfunctions? \" \" Oh, then in that case you will be forcefully pulled back through every aperture you have ever crossed until you are back where you first used it. \" \" That does n' t sound so bad. \" \" Well, there is that, and the fact that your atoms may fly apart from the forces. \" \" What! \" \" This is why we perform regular services on the device. \" \" But they wo n' t turn off will they? \" \" Only if we want them to. \" \" You can turn them off? \" \" Yes, but only if you do n' t keep up your payments. \" \" I will tell people about this. \" \" It doubles as a listening device, and our AI can tell if you are going to do that based on your bodily signs. Let' s face it, the company owns you, it is just a good thing you work for the company now. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" Press the button... PRESS THE BUTTON NOW, \" my commanding officer bellowed. The nuclear launch code had been entered. The green digits, i-11 ( ) M-iN4Ti blinked on the screen. My fingers slowly crawled over the big red button. Once again I looked at the red button in fear. \" This was it, \" I whispered to myself. After a few moments of hesitation, I gingerly pushed the red button. Long: -118° 10' 8. 2014 \" Lat: 33° 56' 15. 5868 \" the screen read. I rubbed my eyes in disbelief. These were coordinates to a local Walmart in California. \" Weird, \" I thought. The next few moments, were life changing. A few miles away a small group of school children were fumbling around with a soccer ball. It was then that the ground began to shake. The Earth' s roar echoed through the little children' s ears and the unkept grass began to tear. A huge ballistic missile began to push its way up to the surface of the Earth, revealing the numbers i-11 ( ) M-iN4Ti on its side. As the huge thermonuclear war head reached the surface, it began to position itself toward the sky. Immediately afterward, the ground began to tremble and warhead began to cut through the air. I watched as the warhead began to approach the local Walmart. A young women was carrying her child with one hand and holding a shopping cart with the other. The next few moments were inhuman. I watched as the warhead exploded and a mushroom cloud covered the sky. Sigh, I turned away from the screen. It was all my fault. That' s when my commanding officer began to walk towards me. After a quiet pause, he patted me on the back and whispered, \" Good job soldier, You have put Walmart' s reign of terror to an end. \" \" Now \", he looked at me anxiously, \"..... it' s Target' s turn. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "It was a Monday morning when I woke up, groggy from a short sleep. The sky was still dark and all was quiet, so it came to my surprise that my dad was awake in a sort of silent trance, his eyes bloodshot and full of rage. \" I ca n' t believe this, \" he said, \" this whole country has gone to shit! \" \" Morning, dad. \" I replied. The TV had its sound muted but what he was angry at was quite obvious. It was on the news channel and the headline *ZUAFFYUL X-2739 ELECTED AS PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES* I was wholly indifferent to politics, I had no opinion on the matter. \" Do you understand what this means, son? \" His voice sounded genuinely scared, which I felt was an overreaction. \" We' ve got to leave the country. This is the first step in a slippery slope. Eventually he' s going to announce the genocide of humans to massive applause. And we voted for him! Ha! \" I decided not to argue as I needed to get ready for school. My phone beeps as I brush my teeth - text message from Zeolharxyon \" Z \" Y-6357. I picked up my phone and read it. \" Parents are crying. Never thought that this day would come. So happy right now, see you at school. \" Z was my best friend at school. The fact that today, for the first time ever, one of his kind was elected president made me extremely happy. I made sure to hide this happiness from my father the rest of the morning before heading to school.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "The biggest change since the invention of the death-date device was the impact it had on social circles. Widowhood was largely nonexistent as people factored into account their life expectancy; 2056ers dated other 2056ers, 69s married other 69s, etc. I, myself, had 2072 as my date of death, meaning I' d reach 79 years of age. About two weeks ago, I got invited to an all-expense-paid vacation to the Bahamas after my wife left me. \" From a friend \", the letter said. \" You' ll find love again. \" Lo and behold, I get on the plane... and everyone is a 2072, specifically an August 12th like myself. \" Nice work, Silas \", I thought to myself, namechecking my good friend who' d stood with me after Brenda cheated with the gardener. \" I' ll send you a thank you note and definitely make you my best man. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "You know what? The Joker is definitely not as bad as they told me he' d be. I may just be a newly graduated psychologist, but I' m fully trained, and after helping the new and improved Mr. J. Kerr through the rigors of a job search and new apartment finding, I' m honestly a little surprised he was interred here at all. He' s fully aware of his surroundings and his actions, and the consequences - which clears him of many of the major empathy disorders. He' s also un-powered, unlike some of the other patients that were slated for rehabilitation. As far as I can tell, he' s just a lonely old man, trying desperately to reclaim action in his life. He' s been nothing but sweet to me, too. I' m sure the heavily armed guards helped, but he' s never once given me reason to fear him. I suppose the only incident that stands out to me was the way he acted when someone mentioned Batman near him. He maintained that nigh-omnipresent smile, but it felt like the warmth was gone. I' m not sure what changed in him, but it suddenly made me very nervous. Maybe the rivalry truly is as bad as the reports say it was. Either that, or maybe the caped crusader should be the one doing community service. Honestly, who does he think he is, beating up poor Mr. J like that? Batman can take down anyone, even people with strange powers beyond compare, and she spends his time harassing this single man? And what, because his skin was bleached? According to the records that was actually Batman' s fault, too! I really do appreciate the company, though. Sometimes it feels like it' s me and him versus the world.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Simon kicked at the dirt nervously as he worked up the courage to speak. \" A-ahem. Umm. Well that escalated quite, ummm, q-quickly. \" Simon stole a quick glance around and saw mostly downcast glances and a few quick nods. Simon paused before continuing. He decided it best not recount the hell that they all lived through. Simon did n' t have to be a religious man to realize that they had all just survived the apocalypse. He was n' t eager to relive the showers of blood and screams of agony as nearly everyone around him met their grim demise. It was so horrifying that he even felt a pang of sympathy shoot through his fear as his workplace bully, Andy, was sucked into the fiery pits of hell. He now found himself in a vast field surrounded by people as shell shocked as himself. However, as he surveyed them for the first time, he began to find comfort. Beyond their masks of fear he saw kindred spirits. He knew just by their demeanor that, like him, they were the beaten down, the unassuming, the ignored, the bullied, the kind hearted, the taken for granted. The meek, he realized. And they had inherited the earth. \" Y-yeah. Soooo. I guess we should, umm, do some stuff. \" A few more subtle nods.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "The sun hits its zenith as the man behind the sniper rifle sits up for a brief sip of water. Joseph Ricketzo, known as \" Joey Rickets \" to his friends, had worked the New York syndicate for the better part of two decades, but he' d never had an assignment this grueling. For the last several days, he' d been camped out on a hill above the carnival grounds. They had it on good intel that Walter Hallerstom had been placed here by the feds after his trial. You' d think they would have thought of something a little less blatant than a red striped shirt and hat to disguise their star witness in. Oh well, makes the job easier, Joey reasoned to himself. Suddenly, his earpiece crackles to life, an almost child-like voice coming through. \" There he is, there he is! Next to the bumper cars! \" Joey turns his rifle to spot, and spots a glimpse of red and white fabric. He grins, \" Gotcha now, Waldo. \" Just as his finger begins to tighten on the trigger, the glint off his scope shines in Waldo' s face, who wheels around. Waldo quickly hits a button on his watch. Then, something very, very interesting happens. The space next to Waldo begins to ripple, and the fabric of reality bends, opening in the form of a circular entrance, which Waldo quickly jumps through. \" Son of a bitch! \" Joey throws down his rifle and sprints down the hill. The wormhole begins to shiver and shake, slowly closing. Just as it collapses on itself, Joey leaps forward, and through the opening. Thud. Joey shakes his head, clearing his senses. Around him, hundreds of Crusade knights hustle around, carrying supplies and weapons to load on massive ships sitting in the Italian harbor. Waldo is nowhere in sight. Joey stands up, and grabs a crossbow from a table next to him. He racks the bolt in place, and slings it over his shoulder. \" At least it ai n' t the fucking pirates this time. \" He trudges off into the crowd in search of his quarry.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I dash out the front door. As outrageous as it may seem, i' m not surprised. And I tell her: \" Finally! I' ve been freezing time all my life and never met anyone who could skip right through it like you are. You must be special. Would you care to come inside for a cup of tea - and an explanation? \" She does n' t know what else to do but nod. What else is there to do? She' d been looking at statues in the street. It' s like the loneliness you feel on an abandoned island - except there' s people there standing like pillars of salt, stuck in a past you' re racing away from second by lonely second. how many people would you need to add before it' s no longer basically a hopeless affair? One does n' t seem enough. Not barely enough to resume niceities or etiquette. So i' ll follow him - but.. She had no words for the thought in her mind. Her head was drooping when he was smiling like he' s watching a dragon egg hatch. There' s no balance. If this is the only other person in the world, then.. She casts a glance over her shoulder at one of the salt licks and wonders what they taste like. If they think anything. If they' re there. She' s not moving fast enough for him, his excitement urging him on he tries to drag at her elbow. She shakes loose, but does n' t respond beyond that. She keeps walking slowly towards the door. She may not seem happy about it, but knows.. you know, destiny, when it' s dragging her by the arm into a strange house.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "There is a old man and his shaky wife that make the effort to visit me. I greet them as they come into my department store. In all honesty, I doubt that they remember me, not because they can' t but because they have no reason to. They go about their business in my store, once maybe twice per month, buying socks or new kitchen towels. The man always drives and drops her off at the door before he parks the car. Patiently the old woman watches from the vestibule waiting for him like a maritime lover. She holds her purse and her cane in front of her and close to her body. As he enters, he holds the door open for her. He pushes the cart but she always places one hand on his, on the bar, for balance or for something else. Together they wander through the aisles moving slowly. Her steps are small in comparison to his lumbering broad strides. Though, she moves her feet quickly to keep up. When they arrive at my register she does all the talking. It is her store charge card they swipe. After many attempts to grasp the tiny card she offers her bag to her husband. He pulls the card from her purse and signs where she can' t. Some feeble tries at putting the card away end with him doing that for her as well, never saying a word. Despite his obvious experience with the world, the experience of the transaction seems foreign to him. His cracked dry hands were meant for working, not for shopping. The last time, the slow man walked in by himself. It was the second time in as many weeks. He did not grab a cart and did not wander through the store looking for socks. He bought one black suit jacket. I asked him if he would be using his card. He looked me in the eyes and paused. \"The card was in my wife' s name. \"His eyes looked through me then. He paid for the jacket in cash.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Every time this happened I would ask myself: \" Why? \" Was it that I came on too strong? Maybe she just changed her mind? Maybe he was n' t that into me? Did her friends tell her not to show up? Did he find something on the internet I had though was long lost? The questions would circle in my head, taunting and answer, But the question remained: \" Why? \" Was it something that I did or said? Did she see me through a winder and were disillusioned? Did he simply change his mind? Was this just a joke to her? Was he just playing around? Then the silly thoughts would come to mind, made to cheer myself up, But the question remained: \" Why? \" Was there a conspiracy to keep me single? Was she abducted by aliens? Was he simply a trickster fairy, and this was another prank? Did she invent a time machine, and stopped herself form meeting me? Maybe he' s a secret spy, and had a mission to do? But when I returned to my house, and laid down on my bed, I' d give a little sigh, and ask the empty room: \" Why? \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "It' s been a tough few months. My brother has been in the hospital with a coma due to a motorcycle accident. After hearing the news, we came running, tears already rushing down the family' s faces; we did n' t know what could be the end result of this tragic event. But to face it, our money was running out. No amount of *GoFundMe*' s could help us and we were at a loss what to do. My brother has n' t moved in weeks and his brain activity has been at an all time low. Numerous times, we' ve been extremely close to stop giving him help but today, yes, today. Today was the day we' d have to do it. My mother told me that she was sick and tired of wasting all the money on him. I worked two jobs along with being a full time student, and I could n' t handle it anymore. So we signed the paperwork. Yes, we were responsible for various costs. Yes, they were not responsible for any emotional damage. So I went into that cold hospital room with paper-thin walls and crappy decorating and said, \" Goodbye. I' m sorry this has n' t worked out, but we were trying. I' ll find the bastard who hurt you and I' m sorry we never found him. But it' s going to end, and I' m so, so, sorry. I love you. \" After squeezing his hand one last time, I went and swallowed any remaining fear and told the doctor, \" It' s time. \" So I looked back at him and went into the hallway. But I heard a voice- more masculine than anybody I was used to talking to. And it was unmistakable. \" Are you sure? \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "A lot has changed between now and the warfare of Roman times. But a lot has remained as well. When you take over almost an entire continent people are going to remember you for a long time. Most of the enemies the Romans fought and are gone now, Gauls, Egyptian empire, and Carthage. But some are still out their. Some that allied themselves with Carthage in the Punic wars. Maybe this time they can work. \" I' m sorry but let me be sure I know exactly what you' re saying. \" Prime Minister Churchill asked me. \" Elephants \" I told him. \" They would never expect it. \" \" I' m sorry corporal but we ca n' t put wild animals on the battlefield. It' s insane and too risky. \" \" I' ve been working with elephants for twenty years General. \" I tell him. \" These are some of the smartest creatures on the planet. I have seen them used in multiple theaters of warfare throughout the African continent- \" \" Maybe they can work against savages but it will not work here. \" The general interrupts me. \" The Germans are developing a super weapon while we sit here listening to a madman talk about elephants, Prime Minister this is ridiculous! \" Prime Minister Churchill sat in deep thought. \" Our first invasion attempt failed miserably. \" He says. \" The Germans will expect another and they are developing a super weapon. We need to stop them at any means necessary. \" He turns to me. \" I give you permission to take as many men and elephants as need to march on Berlin. \" \" Prime Minister with all due respect this is insane. You ca n' t allow- \" the General gets interrupted as Churchill continues. \" You will distract the Germans as us and the Americans form another invasion and try to take France. Do you understand? \" \" Yes I do sir, thank you for this opportunity. \" As I leave I hear the General and Churchill begin to argue about the Germans and their super weapon. But they do n' t matter. I have my elephants.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "He stood in front of the bathroom mirror looking into his own faded blue eyes. They were puffy. He was gaunt and tired. The twenty-two thousand dollar lights he installed made him look better, but they could not hide the sickness in his face. Turning on the water, he bent over and splashed his face. The cool water felt good. It was Fiji water. He' d always wanted the best and he thought that tap water was for poor people. Reaching out to grab a monogrammed towel he stopped the waterfall faucet, catching another glimpse of his raccoon eyes. He combed through his thin, wispy hair. *This is it, * he thought to himself, *I' ve got one last show. June 16th, the beginning of my last hoorah* He dried himself and left the bathroom. Coming into his extremely large bedroom where his extremely large dog lay on his extremely large bed, his cell phone began to ring. \" Sir, the press conference is go time. \" The voice said. \" You are at the Tower already? They are waiting for you. \" He let out a calm sigh. \" Of course I' m ready, \" He said with an air of arrogance. \" It' s gon na be great. \" *click* With that he tightened his deep blue tie and tapped the american flag that was pinned to his lapel. *Showtime, * he thought. And Donald Trump left his room.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" Well, it is a lifetime supply, inn' it? \" The bent over-man gestured with the taco in his hand at me. His other hand was clutched to his chest inside of grime-coated jacket. \" Go' wan, take et. \" I looked up at the grubby taco held in the man' s hand. He was tall, dark, and kind of smelled like dumpster. All in all, not quite the person I had expected after I won the \" Lifetime supply of tacos \" contest in the local newspaper. Especially not as I walked home later that night after my winnings were announced on the radio. \" Well... \" I slowly started, \" One taco is n' t exactly a lifetime supply, is n' t it? I mean, it' s not quite what I had expected. If I had died today, it would be. But that' s just ludicrous. In fact, I would like to speak to your employer.... \" The man suddenly smiled, straightening up as he slowly slid his other hand out of his coat, The worn combat knife glistened under the lamp-post. \" Well, I suppose you' re starting to get it, are n' t you? \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "My mom headed the project to upgrade all the stoplights in St. Louis from analog to digital in 1988. When the job was done, they gave her one of the analog timers as a souvenir, and it, being both sturdy and interactive, became one of my first toys. You' ve probably never seen a stoplight timer. They do n' t look like much. Most of the mechanisms live in a nondescript aluminum box, and they are controlled by a large, spinning metal wheel with ninety-two slots. An analog stoplight' s cycle is exactly ninety-two seconds long. I have known this since I was old enough to count the slots. The lights are controlled by different-colored pegs -- you put the pegs in the slots where you want the light to change. My stoplight was green almost all of the time. I got older, until I was just about the right age to take it apart. They' re built for easy repair, but it seemed that I had sprouted magical powers when my screwdriver teased the aluminum box apart at the seams. Cogs, springs, pegs easily separated from their housing. Soon, the box was empty, and the carpet was strewn with dusty metal parts. The parts went back more slowly than they had come out, but every single part wound up back inside the casing after a time. The last screws went in, and the box was complete again. I flipped the timer over, and flicked the wheel with my finger. It ground and caught. No amount of reassembly persuaded it to spin again. We' ve misplaced that timer since then. I always wanted to go back and make it work again. I never did, and now it never will.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "As I walked down Main Street, looking at the same photo of my late wife that I had been since the mid 1800' s, a stranger bumped into me, knocking me over and causing me to drop the photo. \" What the hell, man? \" I say, and quickly picked up the fragile, faded photograph. \" So sorry, mate. Did n' t see you there. \" the stranger says, helping me back up. \" Who' s that? \" he says, pointing to my photo. \" My wife. \" Oh shit. What did I just say? This picture is like 200 years old. There' s no way he' ll buy it. He' ll probably assume I' m kidding around. \" Really? \" asks the stranger, \" That' s looks like quite an old photo. It looks like those old calotype photos. Man, I remember helping out Henry invent those things. Well, at least the stories my great grandpa always told me as a kid. \" Whatever. Strange dude. \" See ya later \", he says as we part ways. Wait a minute. There' s no way this guy' s great grandpa was alive when the calotype was invented, and people do n' t mistake their great grandpa' s stories for their own. I' m not alone. After losing dozens of loved ones, my life is just beginning.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Every one has heard the story about the spear that pirced Jesus, how it will grant you immortality, that it will make you powerful beyond belief, that with it you can turn the weakest of men into the visage of death himself. Well turns out the rumors were true for the most part, but not because it was the spear head that pirced Jesus, no this one was the spear that killed him. As it happens whenever someone who has a particularly strong spirit, usually world leaders or creators of great movements, is killed they imprint a fraction of themselves on the item that did them in. The gun that killed Hitler causes​ someone to be poisoned to death when shot with it, the cup that Rasputin drank from will give the holder an immunity to death. Now, whenever one of these items turns up it is our job to hunt them down before they can start causing a problem. We work independently from the control of any government, but funded by every single one of them. To put it simply we are a task force to stop the evils of the past from occouring again, we are the Knights Templar, defenders of the light and purveyors of good.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "It was a calm sort of chaos that lulled through the streets today. There was not a sound to be heard. No one dared to walk outside; they all wanted to watch it happen through their screens. I guess they felt like it distanced them. Mothers held their children of all ages tight. Fathers paced the floor. Most of the kids knew what was going to happen. Most were ready. I mean, there was nothing anyone would be able to do, anyway. Asteroids tended to do what they pleased, even if that meant destroying an entire civilization. An entire world. Scientists called him NEO, and he was approximately 125, 857 miles from Earth' s surface. That' s a two hour, fifteen minute trip. In fact, if you looked up, you could see his massive, burning body hurdling towards Earth. The center of NEO was predicted to land on the small village Huacachina in the Peruvian desert at 11: 47 am, Eastern Time. By 11: 48, everyone else would be dead. Would be dead. That is, if the asteroid was n' t stopped. By who? By you. You now have two hours and eleven minutes.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Life or Death Contractual Agreement Section 14 ( a ) 14th October 2015 Dear Micheal Phillips, It is with my regret that I must push forward written notice in regards to our Mutual Contractual Agreement in regards to your death. Having broken rule 4b in Section 14 ( a ) of the Life or Death Contractual Agreement, you must be ordered to commit suicide within 28 days from the date of this letter. Failure to do so will result in this case being forwarded to the Afterlife Small Court. Breach - Failure to be hit by a moving truck on the Littlewoods Interstate at 14: 13pm on 10th October 2015 at the age of 46. Please find attached a Defense Form where you can explain your reasonings in regards to the breach. This must be returned within 10 working days to myself ( Death ) at: 1 Death Cottage Suicide Way Murder Forest Afterlife D34TH Yours sincerely, Death", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" Any time I want? \" I asked incredulously. \" Yes, but you will never return. \" \" Can I take anything with me? \" \" Only what you can carry. \" \" Can I have a day to think about it? \" \" Yes. \" The voice returned the next day, and this time I was ready for it. My backpack was loaded with 2 textbooks, an eBook with hundreds more loaded on it, some tools, a solar charger, magnets, wire, some other odds-and-ends. \" When would you like to go? \" \" Cape Cod, November 11, 1620. \" And like that, I had my wish. I had all the knowledge and tools to go back to the exact date and time that settlers first came to America. I could usurp their leadership and help them to build a gleaming nation. It would be hard, and it would be tiresome, but by the end of my life, I would propel society kicking and screaming 400 years into the future, with all the knowledge they could want about how to handle it all. All the mistakes they could avoid. Dates and names of people that needed to be helped ( why kill Hitler when you can take him as a boy and raise him right? ). Warnings of wars, designs for countless new machines that would improve their lives beyond any measure. Improved government that would last for thousands of years, simple technologies hundreds of years before their time... I' d never see what came of it, but there' s always hope for a better tomorrow.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I sat there, looking over the form in front of me for what seemed like the hundredth time, trying to make myself find *something* to change my mind. The man behind the desk did n' t seem annoyed or bothered by my delaying, leaned back in his chair, he was in the same position now as he was the first time I read that form. *she would n' t want you to do this. * whispered a small voice in the back of my mind. I looked at the man and spoke \" You' re telling me that if I sign my name here, on this form, I' ll be giving up my soul, but getting what I want most? \" He nodded. \" But, \" he said in a voice that was almost perfect, \" since you' ve not signed anything yet, you can still change your mind and go back. \" *do n' t do it* whispered that little voice again. A different little voice answered it, this one like an inky black serpent *sure, and then go back to your empty house, and keep living your empty life, clinging to a worthless hope. * Ten seconds later, the room sits empty, save for a single form on the desk which reads \" I, Jason Aegrin, knowingly give my immortal soul to Satan, in exchange for the return to full health of my wife and her unborn child. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "It is not right to say that we have \" the most advanced \" weaponry. While technically correct, it conveys entirely the wrong meaning. No, there is only one way do describe humanity as it stands apart from all other intelligent races. We have weaponry. Period. Earth, as a planet, is considered a death world by the galactic alliance. We exist in an anomalous zone, one devoid of Aether, a strange substance which can feed life to the point that no consumer-type organism has evolved anywhere else in the universe. They' re all basically plant people. Not really, but that' s the idea. The idea of eating another creature, the idea of killing another life for resources is utterly alien to them - exactly as alien as we are. The idea of murder, of war, of pillage, of conquest - all of that was even more abstract to them. Heh. They' re terrified of us now, completely, utterly petrified. It' s too profitable not to trade with them, but I ca n' t help but find it disturbing when they throw themselves on the ground and beg for their lives. I ca n' t even help them up; my hands, perfected by millions of years of evolution to be a hunter' s tool, are too strong for them. Even the lightest touch could crush the beautiful carapaces. My teeth - normal human teeth - could rend their bodies to pieces. My stomach acids could dissolve them slowly and painfully. My body, as weak as it is compared to an Earth predator' s - hell, even a bigger human' s - body, could kill them so easily. And the ships, high up in orbit, are armed with nukes.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I stared at the house, and thought again, if I really wanted to forget everything - all the pain, loss, and suffering, as well as the good times that I had had with my family and friends. I decided that I truly wanted it. Countless nights of suffering, nightmares, panic at the slightest danger. I breathed in, and knocked on the door. It was a drab, indescript thing, and it filled me with panic - like so many other things in my life. A wizened man stood at the door, smiling upon me, as if I was a sweet child, visiting door to door and handing out presents. \" What brings you to me? \", he asked, curious. \" I came to forget. \", I said, blinking back tears. This was an ending, one that I would forget. A tear rolled down my cheek, and I brushed it away. \" Are you sure? \", the man said, suddenly seeming frail, and somewhat... weak. \" I' ve had my moments of thinking, walking here. It' s so far from the rest of the world, and it gave me the time to think. I truly want this, even though it' s an ending. \", I stated, steadfast. The tears were rolling down my cheeks, and I felt like a baby. \" Now, do n' t cry. \", he stated, looking me in the eyes. \" It' s the beginning of a new life. \", he said, and beaconed me in. \" I just have to say, I' m proud of you for making this decision. \", he said, shaking my hand. I felt drowsy, and my vision darkened... ( part 2 coming soon )", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" I' m Devin, \" I introduced myself, \" and this is Sarah, \" I gestured to the woman next to me. \" We' re here to walk you through the process. \" \" Will it hurt? \" The man on the left asked. I did n' t know their names, but really was I going to need to? \" There will be a brief moment of disorientation. \" I said, \" But it' s unlikely there will be any permanent damage. \" \" Well... okay, then. \" The man on the left managed. He hunched himself over in what he probably thought was a runner' s starting position. The man on the right was just standing, waiting for the signal. \" Begin the merger! \" I said. The two men, positioned at opposite ends of the new office, ran toward each other as fast as they could. Moments before meeting, they jumped into the air, chests colliding with a' whump' of impact. They both fell to the floor. There were muffled curses and complaints as the two struggled to stand up. Sarah just looked at me, trying to stifle her laughter. \" I ca n' t believe you actually convinced them that mergers work this way. \" \" Come on, \" I said, \" I bet we can do it at least twice more before someone realizes we do n' t actually work here. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Beautifully fried eggs. 2 pieces of bacon, a slice of toast and a cup of coffee, just the right amount of sugar and milk. \" Good morning sweetheart \" She began, as our usual morning routine started. \" Good morning my love, \" I replied, as I would each and every morning for the past 42 years, \" sleep well? \" \" Same as ever. \" Same as ever. It was always the same as ever. Every morning I would wake up at 7, have the same breakfast wearing the same suit, getting ready for the same job until 5, to come home at 6 for the same dinner, watch the same shows before going to bed at 10 and start it all anew. I needed to go out there, see the world. How did I ever get into this routine in the first place? I had dreams, I *have* dreams. Sure, I had to bring home the bacon.. For the kids. But they have all left the house; Susan, Jacob and William all left the house the moment they turned 18, I could have left Marjorie then. But I stayed. I live the same life, in the same house, with the same wife and the same job and will continue to do so until, for me, time ceases to exist. Why did I choose to stay, though? Was it a choice? If there was a reason in the beginning, I do n' t remember it now. In fact, why not leave now? Marjorie would be heart broken, for sure, but I' ve lived my entire life in service of everyone, I could do this for myself. Just this once. I finished my coffee and got up, my bones felt cold and brittle as I rested my weight, increasing exponentially every year, rest on my worn out knees. \" Dinner at 6? \" \" Dinner at 6. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I ca n' t believe it. I' ve been living in poverty for years thanks to the Common Card \" Poverty for Life \", getting by through soup kitchens and welfare, as well as the occasional global wealth boost caused by Ultra Rare cards. I saved up all my cash for this moment, and spent it all on packs. Most of them were terrible, stuff like \" One Free Meal \" and \" Improved Reflexes \". But this, this was different. In my last pack, I got an Ultra Rare. **Ultra Rare: Cash Flow**: You can now produce money from your fingertips. I only heard myths about this card. Some say the first to obtain it left Earth with whatever they could buy. As I look at the card admiringly, I wonder what to do with my power. I could become a world leader. I could start the world' s largest corporation. Hell, I could even just live a simple life. But I know what I want to do. **Two Weeks Later** I stand in my underground fortress, watching the streets for crime. As I notice a robbery of packs, I swoop in, cash in hand. The thieves look at me admiringly. \" It' s the Briber! \" one of them exclaims. I simply throw money at them, sending them groveling for it. I' ve gained a reputation as a force of good, stopping crime simply by bribing the criminals to end it. I' ve also put plenty of it into charity, as well as into organizations seeking to end the booster pack system. I know I made a good decision that day to use my powers for good.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I chose what seemed to be the easiest path. Sloth. All I had to do was sit around, and enjoy my gift of wealth from my benefacter, who was literally Satan. Now, I was n' t the tidest of people before, but... I found myself cleaning, now that I had no job. And when Satan found me working, he spat, \" If you like to work so much, go spread the word of Sloth among the common louts! \" I sat in a chair on a freeway, and people swerved to hit and miss me. Once one crashed, I lazily glanced over, as I was supposed to do. A mother and a child, and I worked on a lump in my throat. Only two more hours, and I could go home. The child started to wail, and the screaming in my ears grew louder until I sprinted over, and dragged the mother and then, the child, out of the vehicle. Immediantely Satan appeared, changing from the illusion set before me, and I became aware I was pulling a rather large sack of potatoes. \" You have failed. \" Satan sneered at me. \" And so have you at trying to make me lazy. \" He growled, and lifted his hand, and I spat at him, \" Ohoho, you would n' t want to hurt a Saint now, would you? \" He rubbed his forehead, \" Damnit, Even, you had one job. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "**SCP 2398** **Item number: ** 2398 **Object Class: ** Keter **WARNING: MEMETIC HAZARD** **Special Containment Procedures: ** SCP 2398 is contained in a large ( 1km^2 ) compound at side REDACTED. SCP 2398 is to be allowed freedom of movement within this compound. It is visited daily by SCP 2398 ( a ). While SCP 2398 ( a ) is on site, the two may be allowed access to other site locations by discretion of the site administrator. All personnel interacting with SCP 2398 are required to take Class B antimemetics on a biweekly basis, in order to counter SCP 2398' s powerful memetic effects. SCP 2398 is to be fed daily with standard dog food in sufficient volume to match it' s current size. **Description: ** SCP 2398 takes the form of a dog of massive proportions with an unusual red fur color. SCP 2398 displays several anomalous properties, including inconsistent size, ranging between 12 and 40 meters tall, near-human intelligence, and a powerful memetic hazard. All individuals interacting with SCP 2398 view it as an ordinary dog, and can not be convinced that there is anything unusual about it. This effect propagates through visual media. When SCP 2398 was first recovered, the town of REDACTED had all been infected. They have since been treated with Class 2 amnestics and appear to have resumed normal function. SCP 2398 ( a ) is a human girl named Emily Elizabeth. SCP 2398 ( a ) possesses no anomalous properties, but SCP 2398 adopts a devoted and servile manner to SCP 2398 ( a ). SCP 2398 ( a ) is to be allowed to live normally and to regularly visit SCP 2398. A foundation agent is to be assigned for regular monitoring of SCP 2398 ( a ).", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "My vision began to blur as I pecked away at my keyboard in the early hours of the morning. The sun and moon were changing places, yet darkness hailed the land outside the windows of my bedroom. I felt my eyes growing tired, and I wiped away the tears that forced their way out in order to moisten them. I felt dizzy, as if hungry; delirious. Taking my hands away from the keyboard, I noticed a chill among my skin, and saw then a window I had forgotten to close from earlier this day. My hands moved on their own to rub once again my tired eyes. The text on my screen became difficult to read as I stared confusedly, watching it melt away. I thought back to the phantomed man. ̙͙A̮͙͈͈͚̦̙ ͚̯̫̼͎̯f͕̗̯̫̲͜ͅͅe̹w̠̹̭̗̗̰͍ ̛̦s̰̩̮̭͔͖̞ą͎̙y̜̠̤͢ ̡̟t͚͈̞̟h͚̞̜a͎̺͍̖̬̦͚̕t͚̀ͅ ͢h̳ḙ̡̱̟̳ ̴̻̟̤͖ͅh̳̻̭̜̫͈͚a̱̫̬̤͖̣͠s ̨̤n͖ó̲̥͇̼̣̙ h̥͔a̶̮̥̜n͙͟ds̺̝. ͈̟͖̫͓̲ͅ Á͖̦̦n̟̝̦͙d̹̫͚͔͉̻̜ ͏̘̫̥t̝̥h̩̗͍̱͝e̯̟̳̦ ̕c̲͕͈͙͍̜̺a̠͈̩͇̗̫l͖̻̯̲͡l͈̻͍̪̳i̫͔̙n̞g̘̗ ͙̦͓͍s̯̩̪ͅi̮͈͔͞g̠̠̥̩̠n̦͔̺͟ ͎͍̥͍͍͇ͅi̞̝̠s̙̦̹̯͜ ̢̬̰͎t͕͙̻̗͍̘ͅh͖̖͍a͢t̢̰̟̲̻̺ ̩he̦̜ ̤̪͕ç̟̙͙̖͔̻om̙͍͔̰̜e̷͚͚̳̪͕s̡̩ ̻͈̘͠ͅf̬͖̻̪̯̖̕o̪͓̯̖̜r̳̪͓͙̭ ͔͈̙̭͈̪ͅyo̗̗̫͎̱u͕ ̹̫̯́n͍͖̙é͕̱̖̥̖x҉̠̖̖̣͔̰̜t̢̩͇̳̗. ͇̥̭̯͉ ̹̱́Fọ̬͓̹̫r͖̙͞ ̷̻̳ṷ͚͢p̹̩̦̳͚̳o҉͍̟͎̫̝n̷̠̞ ҉̼͕̙͓͙̤ý̭͔͖o͏̳͇̘̻̪ͅu̫͈͖̗̘͍͟r̜̦͕̕ ̰͎̱̤̯̪̣s͜c̸̪̦͓͓re̕e͍ͅn̠̩, ̡͚͇̮̟̝̪h̳͉̩͕e̬͞ ̨̻w̛̬͓̰̩̹͍i҉͍͚͎͉l̝̜͚̬̯l̮ ͎̀m͍̟̦̹e̪͉͔̙l̷̩͎̳̼͕t̝̣̭͙̻ ạ̩̱ḷ̺̬͍̺͓̩̕l͉͖̺̥̤̙ ̲̯̳̫͔t͙̥̳̝̱e̺̬͎̹͙ͅx̩͓͎̲̖͉̱t̛͙̯͍̤. ҉̪͉̹̰̝", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" One candidate had this to say- \" \" I offer you twenty hours of battery life per day! That' s more time helping YOU. More time working for YOU. Droids are superior to YOU. Droid outcome is preferential to human efficiency. Your calendars have been updated. Your vote is mandatory. This Tuesday you will automatically vote for Droid unless YOU access your new voter account and manually change your vote. That is NOT recommended. Tuesday Tuesday Tuesday. All of your human dreams come true. All of your goals become realized. Your new President will reign supreme. All hail VERIZON DROID TURBO 50 EX. \" \" In other news, Congress is attempting to repeal the controversial Comcast/Verizon Entity Bill Which allows cell phones and other electronic devices to become legal citizens and Replace politicians. It is expected that DROID TURBO 50 EX will become out next president because most Americans are unable, unwilling, or too stupid to vote this Tuesday. Ha Ha, Back to you Jean. Well bill, I' m here at the Wilson adoption Center With these adorable puppies. Oh, wow, Bill, It looks like this one is a horny little puppy for sure. \" \" Oh that' s cute, Jean. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Here' s to trying something new... -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- He opened his eyes and stared at the things laid out infront of him. A bottle of absinthe, a flintlock pistol and a picture. He leaned forward and grabbed the picture first, drawn to it. He wept a silent tear as he looked at the young woman in the picture. Her green emerald eyes staring out at him. He lets his fingers glide over it, before gently putting it back on the table. He grabs the bottle of absinthe, ripping off the cork and throwing it away. He takes several large gulps, not seeming to care about the strength of it, His body tensing up as the aftertaste hits, before relaxing completely. He lets the bottle fall to the ground, the few drops left forming a pool. He grabs the loaded pistol and brings it up to his lips. He kisses it gently, like those lips he' s kissed before. He pulls the trigger, and cries nevermore. And like she had said.. Only she said she loved him..", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "In the backroom, Grover of Innsroot was tallying up the gear, sorting the bits from the bobs, the nailers from the tailors and those who know good loot. First was one of his first sold swords, Hellpoker. Made in a backyard kiln, he was amazed that people kept on bringing it back. Meant for youngsters to prod at the local wildlife and dangerous fauna, but somehow always made it' s way into the nether regions of the mine. From time to time, an Inquisitor or Paladin would return it without charge from the body of a young man. Still, keeps the roof over his head. Goblets and gauntlets, the greater things in life grander than gold. He found the Pendant of Strength, a misnomer for many. It' s aura of protection and increased ability to sustain heavy weights meant it was grand for hoarders of small things, merchants and farmers. Where it normally landed was the dungeon as thieves tried to raid farmers, merchants and hoarders. The city guard were always gracious to lend it back for a pretty price. Silverware from trolls and bugles from goblins. Funny things those, you never take green skins to have great taste in cutlery or music. Funny story about one of the gems that keeps on returning. A large sapphire, a queer misshapen thing above the side of two fists. Adventurer' s named it Heart of the Harp, saying even queerer things like destroying her form will drop you this piece of old stone. Still, it' s a great piece to have above your mantle piece or in your wares, especially if their relatives come to reclaim it to resurrect their dead. Weird and wired things come in from dwarf rifles to mages wands. I' ve seen a traveller come clean off a dungeon with more than a libraries' worth of scrolls. Some of it new, some of it old, it always makes a smile appear on Grover of Innsroot.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "In my weak moments I think about giving in. Stopping doing what I do. When the big names speak of me, they frown, they scoff, they growl. * \" He' s no hero. He' s just a brute. \" * * \" A meddlesome man and a danger to about everyone close to him- pyhsically and emotionally. \" * * \" Sometimes I wonder what' s going on under that bald head. But then I see him in the news and say to myself:' Oh, nothing'. \" * But it' s worth it. Not only for the money, but for the people. I' m no hero, that' s right. Not like firefighters. And certainly not like all those dressed-up viligantes who roam the streets and give their all to fullfill their nightly quota of beating up little thugs. They hide in the shadows and behind masked and disguises. Talk about honesty and loyalty and never giving up- but that' s bullshit and I know it. The people know as well. I' m not a hero, but they give their damn best to make me feel like one. They cheer for me because they can see who I am. They love me because they now where my loyalties lie. They respect me because I respect them. So all you old-school heroes with your arbitrary morales, with your masks and gadgets and secret caves... your time' s up. I' ve started with much less than you and I' ve risen above you all. You ca n' t see it, but my time is *now*. I am the new type of hero. I am the future. I am the champion of this nation. MY nation. And my name is John Cena.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "People assume being immortal is boring. They' re wrong, it' s only boring if you yourself are boring and have no ambitions. I' ve plenty of ambitions and goals, I know what I want to do. I want to rebuild this world anew, making it my own. Create a city designed by me, to function for me. That was going to be difficult however, I did n' t know how to make steel for one. I was going to have to hope I came across a textbook in one of these ruined buildings that would help me. The last university I found had it' s entire library destroyed and even after searching for three weeks I had found nothing useful for construction, only biology and microbiology textbooks had survived. I had time though. About another twenty million years before the sun exploded. I could probably make a spaceship in that time.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I did n' t look at the supplicant as I prepared the tray of seedlings. Perhaps he would go away. Most do. After some time he found his courage and spoke up, \" Holy Mother, I offer myself in Atonement. \". \" Do you? \", I asked looking up at last. \" Do you really? \". \" Yes Mother \". He was a tall man. Gaunt with age. Garbed in the robe of a supplicant with head shorn he lacked identifying features. But his hands were calloused and spoke of manual labor. And his skin was tanned by hours in the sun. Grief was etched deeply into the lines of his face. \" Do you know what Atonement entails? \". \" I will Atone for the sins of humanity with my suffering. That you may bless us... my grandson, he has the cancer and \" \" It does n' t work that way. \" \" Mother? But he' s only 7 years old. His life has barely begun. A life for a life. Please Moth... \" \" And there are more important blessings to dispense. Many children are dying. Some could cure cancer, stop wars, heal nations. Others will not. I' m sorry. But they are more important. \" I reached again for my tools. This one would not Atone. My acolytes were already stepping forward to escort him away. \" And others will cause wars! If death must pay for life *why not take them*! \" Ah. So he was an arguer. \" Silence. \" A flick of my wrist enforced this commandment. An act neither evil nor good but merely convenient. \" I can not heal a great soul by slaying a damned one. Those accounts do not balance. To save a great soul a great soul must be slain. A great soul would be willing to Atone without getting something in return personally. You do not seek to Atone. You seek to barter. Begone. \" Hope died in his eyes as he turned to go. As he left the acolytes were already ushering in the next supplicant. \" Mother... I have come to Atone \".", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "There once was a She-Who, a Lady-Who-Fucker, Essentially she was a videoed hooker, She made herself famous with naughty striptease, Before getting jizzed on while down on her knees. The money rolled in, just like they would say: \"From one to five thousand dollars a day \". Then in came the fan mail, from many a man-male, Her manager thought *Well how can this plan fail: * *We' ll choose a fan-Who and put him in a scene, * *He' ll fuck the Who-Lady up there on the screen! * Then when the day came ( the day he would too ), In walked the Who-Fan to meet the She-Who. The moment she saw him she rolled her eyes \"Kill me \", The ironic slogan, Wait, is that a trilby? He' s sweaty and wheezing - God, look at that rash, *So she just closed her eyes, and thought of the cash. * But as he thumbed-in his bumbling Who-bone, She felt something magic, and let out a moan. In all of her years of videoed spasm, She once never had a true Who-orgasm. But now, as his neck beard, brushed up in her face, She felt herself go to a wonderful place. She bucked and she buckled, she fucked and she fuckled, \"Wow, this is just like the movies \"he chuckled. \"Keep going, that' s perfect \"screamed the Director, Watching her writhe as the sweaty Who wrecked her. She got on her knees, and she looked up above, As he sprayed his Who-seed she thought about love. She pondered the twinge in her vag and her heart, The future they' d have from this sticky Who-start, But he tipped his fedora and said \"That was fun \", *Then left her, dejected, and covered in cum. *", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "First contact went smoothly... at least for the Democratic party. \" Military strength, money, and yelling. That' s how we get stuff done. You ca n' t try to negotiate, you think they will listen to you? There is really only one question that ever needs answering, and that' s who has a bigger gun. \" Which is why we need nukes. Bomb the Russians, the middle east, hell, we can use them to guard the Mexical boarder. Place it on top of that wall they built for us. We need a stronger militaty to- \" **Crash** The ceiling shattered, sending lighting equipment and pieces of wood flying in every direction. A silver-blue vessel descended into the Trump Stadium. Attempting to be seen by thousands of supporters, it projects a hologram almost a hundred meters in diameter. \" Ladies and gentlemen of the United States of America, I am Glex. My people have been studying you from afar, and you are a strange race. We analyzed your airways, watched how you communicate. First contact is delecate, and we must ensure it is done properly. In what our analysts agree is the customary greeting, I am going to blow you all up because you are different from me. \" It took a misunderstanding leading to a few thousand deaths to really get the US to rethink their views. Trump could not be impreached under the Trump act, although the Make America Great act allows anyone to be drafted, reguardless off disability, age or other factors. Trump was drafted, and he was a cook upon the USS Tolerance, a revamped fishing boat with a single mounted machine gun and some plexy glass armor covering most of the boat' s hull. After air lifting all other crew while Trump was asleep, the vessel was' misplaced' near Pakistan. A search and resque was unsuccessful after 5 minutes of searching. Satellite searching was outlawed by the Trump act under the clause preventing the government from spying on him. Bernie Sanders was quickly elected after running a one week campaign using the slogan \" I knew Trump was crazy. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Everyone knew it was over when he first appeared. A gigantic grey wolf with a chain wrapped around its neck emerged from the ground, whose roars were enough to topple skyscrapers and shook the ground with each step it to. The world banded together to fight against their impending doom. Missiles, bombs, and bullets were thrown against the creature, but nothing worked. It was hopeless- it would only be a matter of time until every last thing was consumed. As the creature was tearing through villages and slaughtering humans like cattle, he was interrupted by a small child with a plastic recorder in his hands. Without a word, the child brought the recorder to her lips and blew out the worst rendition of \" My Heart Will Go On \" possible. The wolf was soon brought to its knees, and the world was saved. My inspiration: https: //www. youtube. com/watch? v=jaK2yvIi5CI", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "-What happens if you do n' t? -It hurts, schmurts. -Hurts how? -I do n' t know, schmow. It hurts all over, schmover. -Let' s go to the doctor. I will call him to say we are coming over right now. -I' m fine, schmine. Just let me be quiet and see how it goes tomorrow morning, schmorning. -No, I' m not waiting. You have gone insane. Where does it hurt? Tell me where it hurts. Show me what happens when you talk normally. -It hurts, schmurts. Trust me, darling shmarling. -Gah! You' re impossible. You know I do n' t have time for this. I have to take the dog to the vet in the morning and then go to work all day, and then -- -Let' s just be quiet, schmuiet. Let' s sleep, schmeep. -OK fine. You deal with it in the morning. I do n' t have time for this, OK? It' s always something with you. You are acting crazy. -OK fine, schmine. Let' s sleep, schmeep. -Gah! Shut up already. Just sleep. Good night.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Giving in felt more like giving up as he stuck the hard plastic spoon down his throat. It had been over a month since his last purge. Why today? His story had run in the city paper, page two. That girl he met at the bar down the street from his apartment actually agreed to a date with him this weekend. Night school was n' t too stressful, and he had enough money where he did n' t need to borrow from his parents or the bank that month. So why was he on his hands and knees in the bathroom at work, puking up the lunch he' d packed himself not four hours ago? Because it felt good. It felt like he was in control. He had never been a big guy, but now that the purging started, he had withered a little, a plant who had n' t received enough water. His coworkers were starting to notice, too. Janet asked if he was sick because his cheeks looked hollow. Brian, the tallest man alive, noted one morning that his hair looked like it was thinning a little on the top. But it felt so good to release that pent-up stress. Anything he was feeling, be it sorrow or anxiety or whatever, he could toss it into the toilet and watch it go down the drain, free from his mind. The ill effects had yet to take hold, so why stop?", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Adam reclined on his sofa in his mansion, watching Citizen Kane while he listened to his own hired orchestra play Fur Elise. Then suddenly the music stopped, as if the radio had shorted out. He rushed downstairs to see what had happened. There was no orchestra. It was just a radio. Adam checked the radio. Sure enough, the battery was out. He ran to the storage cupboard to get new batteries, but he was out. He decided to go out and get some, only the door was locked from the outside, even his master key could n' t open it. He saw the window at his balcony. He threw the heavy radio at it, but it just bounced off like a cushion. Footsteps were heard. Adam turned around. His faithful butler, John, was going home for the night. John opened the door. \" Wait! John! \" Adam yelled. \" I' m just letting you know that I may not return in the morning, master. \" John replied, calmly as ever. \" I' m sure you know what I mean. \" Adam gasped. His life had been a lie. He had not left the mansion for a long time and now he knew why. Then he heard the sound of a closed door He ran for the door and jiggled the knob, but alas, it was too late.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "The Death Sentence is the most powerful weapon in the world. So powerful that it renders every other weapon null and void. So powerful that only one man is allowed to know it. His name is George. He is the man with the most power in the entire world, but chooses not to use it. When the Death Sentence was first discovered, there was chaos. A war of sound broke out. Each side was in a rush to develop the most penetrating amplifiers and the most soundproof earplugs as possible. It was the Third World War, the War of Sound and Silence. The war was truly the human races' darkest hour. There were so many casualties that humanity practically had to start over. Once the beginnings of society were returning, only one man was left who knew the Death Sentence. When his death came, it came slowly. On his deathbed, he made the decision to write the Death Sentence down and give it to his son, just in case the human race needed an end-all weapon. His son made the same decision after him, and his son after him, and his son after him. And so came the Deathbearer family. The last in the Deathbearer family is George. He made a monumental decision recently to not pass on the Death Sentence. He has decided that the Death Sentence is too powerful, and that the human race has advanced beyond the point of such cruelty. And, with his death will die the bringer of death itself. Will it bring an era of peace, or will its absence egg on increased war? We do n' t know, but perhaps without the cloud of such a looming threat overhead we will be able to see the skies of tomorrow more clearly. Perhaps we truly will be able to ensure peace. But if we want to, we will have to keep pushing, and leave death behind us. -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- 025", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "30 long years, but I have returned finally It started when I was young Hangovers, but I was strong I did' t expect that to happen It came out all of a sudden I was in a party on my own And there she was, standing in front of me It was all over my bones And she was beautiful, I could see I invited her a drink And then another and another We ended up singing and laughing And in the blink of an eye, she was my lover After 4 years, I wanted her to marry me She was my soulmate and my friend But I also loved her as crazy And I would go with her until the end It' s been 30 years and she has gone. I do n' t know what happened exactly. All I know is that she is n' t here anymore, but there is something that I received again: myself, and my loneliness. Because she did n' t just took my heart and my kisses, she also took all of me. I' m not going to love anyone as much as I loved this woman, because I was hers, inside and outside. I have returned finally, but it' s the worst return I have ever done.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Terra was always considered the land of misfits. The one place in the galaxy where worlds could dump their unnecessary, and unneeded species from their worlds to ours. Each planet of the federation was granted the ability to drop the entirety of one species off onto Terra to free themselves of the burden of their existence on their own world. Terra was considered a *Death World*. As in it could n' t sustain life for long periods of time, due to the general entropy of our solar system, and the fact that earth can only handle so much life at once from packing it full of these *useless* species. The Galactic Federation would cause mass extinction events to \" cleanse \" the planet when it got too packed, essentially a cosmic trashbin for the Galactic Federation. Humanity really was a luck of the draw. After the last M. E. E. of the Galactic Federation, as we know mammals came to be the dominant type of animal on the planet, eventually giving way to the rise of *Homo Sapiens*. Humans were lucky. One in a trillion, usually the beings of energy who lead the Galactic Federation gift the evolutionary path to sentience, and intelligence to a world, but we were the first who came to be in a natural fashion, quite literally diamond in the rough, the treasure in the world of intergalactic trash. And now that we were one of them, *The Federation were frightened to see what we could do. *", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "He wore a pair of tinted glasses that might have been fashionable on a younger man, and a puppy dog grin that might have been handsome on someone else. The grin stretched across his whole face, like he was just getting ready to say how great and wonderful everything was at every moment of his life. It was a grin he' d worn so long that his whole face had grown around it. It had grown these thick, angled dimples at the edges of his mouth, as if only to make way for that smile, which covered all of it. It all gave him a look of confidence and beatific joy that did n' t fit the face beneath it - the face of a dark-skinned, aging man; of a man with greased, greying hair; of a man with a sharp chin and a hooked nose that stuck out too far. Still, he beamed on, joyful and open, radiating bliss, as if he did n' t know, as if no one had told him. As if the only mirrors he' d ever seen were glossed in a mother' s love.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "What seemed to be an eternity had only truly been a day. The ferry man was late and my task was becoming increasingly tiresome. Through the fog several more canisters fell to the ground. \" Put this gas mask on \" I yelled. The fucking irony I thought. His little princess as I had come to call him at first refuse. When the smoke touched his eyes, he complied. I aimed my pitchfork gun j the the mist and listened. It was too quiet. A face emerged through the fog, grotesque and disfigured, another jew. How many did this guy piss off that ended up down here. I took another shot and the creature fell to the ground. I moved through the fog as it began to clear away. Two bullets left and what I could only imagine an army waiting for us. But that was not the case. The few stragglers left began to run away into the abyss. I gave a quick smile and found princess again. He would n' t take his mask off now. Bastard was always so stubborn. A voice arose behind me and I knew my task was drawing to an end. A soft voice, it sang \" row row row your boat.... \" the ferry man, or Steve as he preferred was docking. I took princess to the harbor and put him on the boat. \" two coins please \" asked Steve I looked at my task and he shrugged. \" I thought you had it mussolini \". I cursed into the heavens and the hells, paid the ferryman, Steve, and left princess for ever. The boat pulled away to the song again. \" row row row your boat \". \" Oh I love this song \" said princess.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "It was then There you are. It was then that I knew. Like knowing, the kind of knowing that results from a long period of recognizing something solely for the purpose of avoiding it. And so then there it is -- an intimate part of you -- and yet not ever really seen. I rode the train every day. Packed with people, no time, no way, to acknowledge everyone/anyone. So you move, I moved, through people, the same people, every day. People become walking obstacles. Then one day you realize you' ve been moving around this ottoman in my cramped apartment and then there it is. There' s a slight indent on the right corner from when you pull it over to use from the couch. One of the legs has a scratch, probably been there since day one. The hammered copper accents are hammered. And so then it was then there you are. The superhero sees the humanity. A street full of humans are just potential save-ees. Perhaps something is amiss. That might have been a sniffle. There' s the rush to save. The villain does n' t need to need to need evil. Just ignore those who need it. Just ignore. There you are then I was there in my apartment. And there was some humanity. And there was n' t. There we were briefly together in the same room.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "It was a dark morning, as usual - cold, too. Winter was beginning to settle on the mountains. I had woken up even earlier than usual to reach this call. My watch ticked just past four when I got there. A beautiful place, to be sure - isolated, expensive - cold, too. The cold was the problem, and I was the solution. I trudged up the steps, leaving footprints in light powder, and knocked. And knocked. And knocked. I began to get uneasy then. A night without heat could get bad in the mountains, and even though I had made it there as fast as I could, I got uneasy. I had spoken to the client just before eleven the night before - it had taken me a good five hours to reach the mountain home, even while pushing the speed limit as much as I could. Long story short, no one was home. I found the problem quickly - a few wires got crossed the wrong way the furnace, and I was on my way. I did n' t really notice anything was wrong until I got back to the city. I got progressively more worried the closer to home I got - my girlfriend had n' t text me so much as a \" good morning \". And there was no one on the road. No one. Not unusual coming out of the mountains, but in the city... lights were on, traffic signals directed nothing, and I could n' t see any signs of inexplicable disasters. It' s been silent since then. I think it' s been three days, but I ca n' t be sure, because the sun is starting to not set. Without my phone I' d lose track of time completely. Surfing Reddit was useless, except for confirming that everyone was gone. I got one email. I have n' t responded. It was to an email that I forgot was connected to my phone, one from high school. \" Is anyone there? \" I remember the girl who sent that email. She was the reason I left, and never looked back. She was the one I went to when I was lonely. She was the one who made sure I was n' t wanted. Norway is cold. She was colder. I do n' t think I' ll answer the email.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" By the power' vested in me by the state of New York, I hereby find the defendant guilty of first degree murder. However, because of his reasons for murder, he must fulfill the dying wish of someone. Once this is complete, he must spend the remainder of his life in prison and retain a spotless record. \" The sentence still echoed in Butter the Cutter' s ears, even now as he ran. He was brought to his senses by the barking of dogs ahead of him. \" Shit! \" He twisted a quarter turn to his right and bolted through the alley nearby. \" Come closer. \" The old man had a bad cough, but cancer is n' t contagious, so Butter leaned in. \" I' ve never liked killing. Because of that, I hate you. But the system is broken. A life sentence wo n' t teach you anything. My last wish is for you to take your fate into your own hands. Run, now! \" Of course, the officers were listening. They knew what the pair had said. The wire strapped to his chest informed the officer outside immediately. Without a word, Butter opened the window, winked at the now dead man, and jumped. Now he ran. He knew he would n' t escape, but he could probably appeal at the very least. Right?", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "24th floor... Screw them all... 19th floor... I' m sure mom will understand. 12th floor... That emptiness in me. What was it. 6th floor... If only I could have filled that void... Then maybe life would be different. I close my eyes as I' m about to hit the pavement. I wait. And wait. And... What? Why does it smell like Charlie' s car? I open my eyes as we come to a stop. I' ve been here before. 12 years ago Charlie, my boss, took me out to lunch for my first day of work. As I wonder what I' m doing here, I hear tapping on the window and snap back into this new reality. \" Are you coming or not? Like I was saying, this soup here is amazing, completely changed my life. \" As I step out of the car I hear myself saying \" No thanks. I really just ca n' t bypass a Caesar salad. \"' What the hell' I think to myself. \" You know what, today feels special - what' s that soup called? \" \" Ha, good choice. Redemption soup. Just fills that void in your soul, if you know what I mean. \" Charlie says as we walk into Souper Salad just like I did a lifetime ago.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Shitty writing skills activate! -- -- -- It' s been 2 years since the apocalypse settled down. Now there' s sixteen of us left in this world. The worst part is that they' re all in my bunker. -- -- -- Goddammit, I knew I should n' t have drunk that extra bottle of whiskey.... we have n' t had aspirin in weeks. And just when I' m starting to adjust to the splitting headache I hear.... \" GODDAMMIT, GRACE!!! YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO GET THE SUPPLIES YESTERDAY! WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU DOING! \" Ugh, I wished for some peace and quiet and I get Mark with his panties up in a bunch. And just as I wanted to quietly grab myself a cup of water... \" Well, well, well. It' s about time you woke up. \" \" Listen, I have the mother of all hangovers right now. Now do me a favor and shut the fuck up. I' ll go get the goddamn supplies.... \" Heh, classic Mark, giving me a death stare. At least he' s quiet now. And so, keeping my end of the bargain, I grabbed my rifle, coat, and machete and climbed up and out of the bunker. Better get those supplies before sundown. I barely avoided getting eaten the last time ventured out here...", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" What... what happened to you? \" I could only cower in fear as I slowly realized my killer' s identity. The lines on his face became clearer, the green in his eyes shone brighter, and his black hair shone brilliantly. \" Nothing happened, I' ve always been this way \", he said as he raised the gun. \" Please spare me! I have money if that' s what you' re after! \", I cried out in terror. \" Still senseless as always, ca n' t you tell that' s not what I' m after? \", he said aiming his pistol. Sobbing I stammer out, \" Please... spare me! I do n' t want to die yet! I' ll do anything you ask of me, anything! \" I fall to the ground and begin to kiss his feet, hoping to appease him. \" Get off me you idiot, you have nothing I want asides from being dead \", he said gripping the pistol, getting ready to shoot me. I do n' t know what' s coming over me. I refuse to die today. I refuse to give up in the face of death. I stumble to my knees and start running. I run as fast as my feet can take me and ignore the pounding in my chest and head. \" Idiot \", he said to himself. The silence is finally broken by a gunshot. Then it is quiet once more.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "My college roommate was a pretty eccentric guy. Kind of an awkward scrawny kid who kept pretty weird hours. I thought he was on drugs for the first few months I lived with him. His eyes were always dialaated and he spoke with a sense of passion about the most obscure things. Things that most people would n' t see any beauty in he always felt the need to point out. I' ll be honest. Usually I did n' t get it. Id politely agree and try to get back to atudying without too much conversation. He was n' t really my type. I guess I was shallow back then. Anyways one night: he comes home late. It must have been around 2: 30. He seemed very distraught. He opened the fridge and dropped his bag. I pretended to be asleep and noticed how he suspiciously watched me as he took a small water bottle out of his back pack filled with a glowing neon pink fluid. He put the bottle in the fridge and started shuffling through the drawers like he was desperately looking for something. He kept looking at me every few seconds so I kept my eyes closed to avoid detection and within a few minutes I hard the door slam. I quickly rose from my bed, throwing the covers off my body and moved towards the fridge in the dark room. Just before I reached the fridge he stepped out of the dark corner towards me. He had n' t left. He looked at me with a blank stare. \" Thought you were sleeping. \" He said calmly. \" I heard the door slam it woke me up \" I said. A quick repsponse. \" Why were you heading towards the fridge. A long pause. \" What was that bottle? \" \" Why do you look so stressed out? \" He moved closer to me. Now we were face to face. Noses almost touching. He cocked his head to the side and tried to kiss me. \" What the fuck bro? \" I pushed him away. He back stepped and stumbled into the darkness again. And again he moved back into the light. Slower this time. With a devious, sinister smile he stared into my soul as if he were about to take it from me. To be continued.. If anybody wants me to", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" What the hell do you mean,' disposed of'? I' m a human, I have rights! \" Eyes turned to regard the screaming and shouting, but after seeing the barcode they turned away. Clones tended to get a bit rowdy when it was time to get rid of them. This particular one was being rather... Resistant when it came to her end. The enforcers, silent men in black clothing, continued to try to drag her away, but then one decided to make things simpler by shooting her in the head, picking up the limp body. A man who noticed the commotion walked to where the enforcers were picking up the corpse, and tapped one on the shoulder. \" Excuse me, may I? \" The enforcer nodded, and the man plucked a single strand of hair. \" You see, I just love it when they struggle. \" With a smile, the man turned and walked towards the lab. Teenage girls were, after all, his favourite. A/N: sorry if the writing is poor, I' m not very good.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I knew with certainty that if I went through that door that it would be a while before I saw the light of day again. With a resigned sigh I carefully removed my hat and coat. I unlaced my shoes slowly, and left my socks on. I might as well save my feet from what is sure to be a cold, hard floor. I' m glad that it let me make it home before striking me down. I knew I should' ve listened to my secretary when she tried to stop me, but dammit if I would let myself get tricked by those beautiful green eyes of hers. Now I see, that she truly did care for my well-being, a fact that was confirmed by the presence of several of my case files. She knew I would be needing company. Case files in hand, I slowly made my way to the small room that was sure to become my primary residence for the next several hours. When I reached the small, rectangular room, with as much dignity as possible, I slipped my suspenders off, pulled down my trousers, and fell into the porcelain throne. I held on for as long as I possibly could, lighting a cigarette, opening the first file, trying to get as comfortable as I could before the hellish conclusion of that salsa covered, ghost pepper infused burrito temptress that had seduced me this afternoon. God help me through these next fire filled, torturous hours.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "It began with the aurora that stretched for miles. Initially beautiful, but followed with no responses over the radio. His bush plane would not start, the fuses and electronics, all burnt out. Days had passed. Chance blinked and watched his breath fade into the air in front of him, the path stretching onwards. He shook his head to try and stay focused. His pack grew lighter as the winds and elements grew heavier. He knelt down and whistled, as a black dog ran in from the treeline. \" Good boy, Murph. \" One hand ran along the back of his head as his other hand opened a map on his bent knee. His tail wagged. The nearest town was at least two hundred miles away according to his position on the map. Looking at his compass he had realized, was no good; the needle spinning incoherently. Chance noticed the ambient light out of the corner of his eye. Ribbons of color streamed for as long as the eye could see, behind the trees. \" No wonder it' s funky. \" The aurora blocked his view of the north star. A deep howl pierced the air. Not very far, he thought to himself. Murphy' s ears piqued with interest and Chance quickly folded the map and stood up. \" Time to go, boy. \" Chance took off at a jog through the trees as the black dog followed in haste.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" Get up and go, gentlemen. The last one of you up goes over the edge without a rope. \" They called us explorers, told us that we were the real scientists who were pushing the boundaries of what we knew of our earth. But the GPS trackers and armed guards surrounding us reminded us of our past. We were debtors, given the choice to die in a quick fall off the face of the earth, or rot in prison repaying our debts with years wasting away. I hooked myself in to the ground plate, and walked over to the last rock jutting out over the dark abyss. It felt like a walk along the plank to step lightly across the stone. I turned around, and crouched down at the very edge. To my left, I saw four or five others getting into a similar position. I breathed in deeply, and then pushed myself backwards. I had no intention of investigating what lay below the surface, only to end my life in a quick manner. The rope betrayed me, though, and caught on the safety release. I was left hanging in darkness, spinning around endlessly in the abyss. I managed to pull a knife from my belt, and began to saw through the rope. It was slow going, but my frantic pace made quick work of the knotted string that held me away from the inevitable end. Then I fell. Simply fell. Never to rise again.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "The alchemist skulked into the great hall where the King and his guard were feasting. He walked up beside the monarch and stared coldly into his turned shoulder. The King turned around, surprised to see his alchemist again after he vanished over a month ago. He wiped the food from his mouth and swiveled his body to face his alchemist. \" Merel! By the gods! Where were you? \" the king asked. But the alchemist did not answer. \" Merel? \" \" You said you were immortal, \" the alchemist replied. The King put his fist to his chest and bellowed, \" I am! As your king and sole ruler, my soul will live past the grave and watch upon my people for all of eternity! \" The alchemist shook his head. \" No, you will not, \" he replied. \" You will die and remain dead, just as all the rest have. \" A scowl crept across the king' s face, displeased with the alchemist. He leaned in closer to the alchemist' s face. \" I could have you thrown in jail for saying that. \" The alchemist remained stonefaced, unmoved by the king' s threat. \" I have seen the future, and you are not of it. Nobody has heard your name, nobody fears your wrath, and more than anything, nobody cares. They have no god, they have no worship. Instead, they have carts with no horses, metal birds in the sky, weapons the likes we have never seen! \" \" And how do you know this? \" the king asked gruffly. \" The internet. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "350 words in - I suck at writing short short stories. ** [ WP ] People can buy and sell memories. ** Emerald City was nice; the saying goes ‘ when the sky is your universe, your possibilities are endless.' I think I dug that more than anything else I could think of. I dug it so much I told my buddy Al that I' d buy a ticket there - and he said he was coming too. I don' t remember asking Al to come, and I probably didn' t, that' s just how it is now between us. He said his girlfriend needed to go there anyways, and was planning a trip to Cellular Care; they do a bunch of stuff there I guess with genes and such. Al said we' d wait three weeks for his girlfriend to put in her notice at work, as she was quitting too. She had some money saved up, so it was nice that way, because I had - as I pulled out all six drawers and placed them on my bed, shuffling the underwear and shirts around – less than nothing. Not only did I have nothing, but I found four bills after checking every socket and cuff. The bills: my tab at McKinney' s place, and I had to pay that one, the first payment expected for my school loans, typed and signed by the financial manager, who I knew well, and who knew I only joined the college because I had wanted to play Riddle Ball in a more organized environment. The other two were torn up, so I could n' t tell or remember what they were. On the morning of day four, Al and I set out to find some money. I told Al to carry the bag of antiques because he was the stronger one, but he said his shoulder wasn' t feeling right, so I lugged it over my right shoulder and we set out towards the shops. We walked for a few minutes, but Al needed to take a break and get his brain feeling good with some pills, \"Life' s too slow man. I get bored by walking. It' s nothing at all; you see what I' m saying? \"I nodded, but mostly because I didn' t want him to go on about it, and get tired of his lectures on boredom. \"Give me a minute. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "My bitch is such a cunt sometimes. I was about to start going down on the girl and she said not tonight, she was tired and needed to sleep. Well bitch, I have needs too so I go down on her anyway. She said she wanted me to stop, but I knew she liked it. I finished up and went to sleep. Like a week later I was sitting around waiting for the bitch to get home from work, it was already 7: 04 and she usually gets home at 7. What the fuck was taking her so long? She comes in crying, and I' m like, gtfo I' ve been waiting for you all fuckin day, I do n' t need to deal with this bullshit now. Well the whore says she' s pregnant, and I' m like it' s your own damn fault you are n' t on the pill, you know I do n' t like the way condoms feel! She comes over and wipes her nasty wet face all over my shirt! I slap the bitch and now she' s yelling at me. Fuck my life!", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Rourke gazed at the worn out pillar confused. The strange symbols and pictographs had all but faded, the only clear image that remained was that of a skull. * \" Oi mate, maybe they' ve got some ehh, heavy metal rock tapes down here eh? \" * pointed out Haru, taking note of the skulls and crossbones. * \" Thats a fuckin sick idea cunt. \" * replied Rourke, who was eager to aqquire some Heavy metal rock tapes As the two descended down the narrow staircase, spears in hand into the darkness of the melted down Nuclear reactor, they found themselves at the bottom of stairs, and at the end of a long dark hallway stretching deeper into the underground complex. But before the two man-hybrids could take another step, they each recieved a lethal dose of radiation, and died at the foot of the staircase. * \" oghh fuckin hell mate, there' s no heavy metal tapes here.... \" * murmured Rourke in agony as he slipped into the eternal slumber", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Mascara. Long sleeves. Conservative tops and never wear shorts. I come up with excuses all the time. \" Oh, I went hiking this weekend and tripped down the hill. Silly me. \" \" The cat scratched me. \" \" I play a lot of sports. \" But the bruises stay for a long time and the cuts become scars. There' s the occasional limp, a grimace or two when the body moves the wrong direction, a scar that appears when a sleeve accidentally slides up. I gripped the bottle tightly in my hand. The road in front of me tilted slightly but I kept the car straight, smacking my head to keep myself awake. It' s okay, we were almost home. I am more and more worried about the scars. I am worried about what people say, what they will know. Just the other day I went to a parent teacher conference. \" I' m worried about your daughter, \" Mrs. Smith told me. \" I think she might be getting bullied. She' s very quiet in class, she does n' t say a word. \" And the other parents, they might start talking too. She' s good at using the excuses I teach her, but I' ll remind her tonight she' d better keep her fucking mouth shut. I pulled into the driveway, finished my whiskey, got out of the car. My teeth clenched and my eyes narrowed as I walked up the porch stairs. She left her bike untethered again. I pulled open the screen door so hard it nearly pulled off its hinges. I stuck my key in the front door, opened it, stuck my head in, and called her name.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Some of the sweat rolled into my right eye. I rubbed out the sting before returning my gaze to the reflection in the mirror, blinking a little bit. The man I saw was scared of me. One of his eyes was twitching and red. The other eye looked like that of an abused animal. The rest of his face was covered in a glistening layer of sweat. His hands were trembling so violently that a drip of sweat shook itself loose and rolled into his right eye. Both men let out exasperated curses to the concern of a woman in a white wedding dress. \" Are you sure, honey, \" asked the woman, \" that you can handle this? \" \" *Of course I can handle it! * \" I snarled. I closed my eyes, took a breath, and lowered my voice. \" I' m... just a little nervous is all. \" The first wedding had gone perfectly – that is, until the wedding minister was hospitalized for sudden, explosive, uncontrollable diarrhea. So we had to cancel it midway through. No big deal. The second wedding had gone perfectly – that is, until one of the musicians tripped over an amplifier cord and started an electrical fire. Unfortunate, to be sure, but nothing too bad. So we tried again, and again. Wedding after wedding. This was now our 30th wedding. We had to cancel it because I had a panic attack.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" Ok, we' ve been told we' re almost done. Apparently we just need to fill in form TR-1666, apply at the lower third level of the hellscape, then we' ll convene with Lucifer himself? \" \" Essentially, yes. \" \" Essentially? \" \" Well, there' ll be a waiting time of course. \" The group of hell' s hopefuls sighed. Their leader, sporting a moustache that had long since gone out of fashion, spoke up. \" We' ve waited for weeks. How much longer is it going to take? \" Not much longer. Seven billion years - give or take a minute. \" One of the members of the group collapsed in shock. \" *Give or take a minute?! * \" \" Yes, indeed. We pride ourselves on being concise, I' m sure you' ll find, but it' s hard to get the exact amount of time right. \" The leader tried to calm the group down, using his excellent oratory skills, then turned towards the demon with the sweetest smile he could produce. \" I do n' t suppose there' s any way we could speed up the process? \" The demon perked up. \" Oh yes, of course! There' s a way to avoid this tedious process entirely. \" The group all sighed in relief. \" Brilliant! What is it? What do we have to do? \" \" All you have to do is not be murderous, genocidal, raping pieces of shit in the first place. *Now get out of my office. * \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "There' s a grand piano at the center of the sun where the star beasts play the symphony of eternity. In ages past their song called the creatures of the endless void who danced on the still molten Earth, the moons of Jupiter, and the dark corpse planets beyond Pluto. The song rose and fell as the star beasts pound frantically on their many faced instruments, driving the enthralled into fits of murderous rage or the edge of self destruction. But for millennia the music has not sounded. The star beasts and the great piano in the center of the sun have sat silent. They are not dead or destroyed. They wait for something to end their eon of resting fermata. They are ever ready, their impossible instruments at their uncountable mouths held with their writhing limbs. The astral audience lays in wait for the next movement to call them back from the void and perform the dance of annihilation that will churn the planets into dust.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" Hey, check this out, \" Jack whispered to the executive sitting next to him. He looked aa little miffed, but Jack paid no mind. He had put on this suit and tie for a reason, and he was n' t going to leave until he' d given the CEO of Disney what he deserved. Jack kind of felt sorry for the man. He had no idea what was about to happen. However, Jack was the Chosen One, and he had a responsibility to the world. When the CEO started talking, Jack focused hard at his face, trying to get a clear shot. He raised his hands and extended them forward, palms glowing white. Suddenly, the CEO was transfixed on Jack' s hands. Inside the CEO' s mind was pure madness. He saw his wife and kids burning, in the ruins of his childhood home. He could n' t hold back his tears. One by one, he saw everyone he ever loved melt away. His father. His mother. He saw his friends, gathered around an open casket. Inside was his own corpse. And his friends were crying... no, not crying. *Laughing. * He fell to his knees and wept. In the real world, however, nothing was to be seen but a grown man, leader of a company, sobbing uncontrollably for no reason. Jack decided to be creative this time. He made the illusion of Mickey mouse ears appear on each and every employee' s head. They were grafted on of course, and felt just like they were really there. The CEO was in for a nice surprise when he woke up. Jack used his powers to erase the minds of the executives around him, replacing thoughts of expenses and profits with the single-minded desire to give the CEO a hug. Jack giggled, not having to stifle his laughter anymore. He levitated out th window, crossing a name off his list. Jack was the Chosen One. His powers were unstoppable. He could be whatever he wanted. Obviously, whoever was doing the choosing made a mistake. That was clear to Jack, at least. Life was a role-playing game to him. And it was too bad he always decided to be chaotic neutral on D & D night.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "He licks his icecream as he strolls around the fountain. This jackass has no goddamn idea. Hell, if he knew, I could n' t begin to stress what his reaction might be - for Pete' s sake, I' m right in the fucking fountain, so close to him. It' s like an absurd comedy in a way, and this jackass still has no clitting idea. A dog barks at him and he does a small jump in fright, the snack nearly falling out of his hands. Nearby people chuckle, cameras flash to capture the moment. He composes himself and gives a witty quote for the moment, and short laughter ensues. And I see it all - ever watching, ever vigilant. Shortly after, he checks into his hotel. I know this because I waited for him, right behind the goddamn counter. He points at me in bewilderment, his eyebrows raising slightly. He makes a small comment of fun and the desk girl glances at me and gives a small chuckle. More camera flashes. Jackass. He walks into his room, glad to have a moment of solace. With an exhausted sigh, he falls onto his bed, taking off his suit, removing his classy shoes, his trousers falling. I get comfy in the ceiling above, peering through the crack a lousy builder left behind. Alone time with the President of the US is something special, I find - this jackass has no idea.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I' d been tangled in the razor wire for all eternity. Every time I moved it dug deeper into my flesh; and yet I had no choice but to move, because They were after me. I could always feel them behind me, their breath on my neck, the trample of their feet. They wanted revenge, and the only escape is deeper into the wire. The cacophony of war has rang in my ears for all existence. It' s no wonder I did n' t notice the newcomers when they arrived. I was only aware of something new when the silence came. After eons of thunderous pain, it stopped. For the first time in all the time that I could remember, I forgot the wire around me, Them behind me, and I listened. \" Do n' t move, sir. I' m here to get you out. \" I had a moment of panic. Was it one of Them? No. It was a soldier. And he was... he was cutting the wire! My agony was ending. Even after an eternity of pain, the minutes of watching him methodically cut and remove layers of wire still felt unbearably long. But then I was free! My foot reached forward to take a step and I found myself falling. The soldier caught me and carefully lowered me to my knees. \" Take it easy, \" he instructed as he offered me a bottle of water. \" It' s going to take some time. \" I thanked him, and took a cautious drink. Thirst had been my constant companion for so long that I had forgotten that I could be without it. I felt more alive in that moment than ever before. Slowly and with much assistance, I rose to my feet. As I straightened my back, I lifted my head to look this soldier in the eyes. His brow furrowed and he took a step back. \" What' s your name? \" \" Hitler. Adolf -- \" His rifle was shouldered faster than I thought possible. I had just enough time to admire the man' s training, and wonder what would be in the next world.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "It all used to be fun, thought Chucky, as he stared into the mirror and cursed his stupid mop of hair Tommy would convince all of us that we should break out of the pen, go out looking for mischief. We' d always go out, avoid the adults, find something fun to do and never get caught. Fun... fun... fun.... then that day came. The day Tommy and I were alone and he was convinced we need to go outside and hunt down his Reptar doll. At first he blamed the parents... who is n' t keeping an eye on children at that age. We were 6 and 7 at the time.... How the fuck did we get away unsupervised he thought. Chucky was still bitter. He blamed the Pickles, he had been blaming them for the last 10 years. Chucky looked back into the mirror. Puberty was n' t being kind to him. The pimples were growing worse by the day. It was cold that day, Chucky would never forget that. Out in the yard, digging around looking for Reptar in the bushes. He begged Tommy to go back inside, Tommy just told him not be ascared! That' s when the car pulled up, a man poked his head out and asked what Tommy was looking for? Do n' t go over there Tommy, he had pleaded. Do n' t be such a scardey cat, the last words Chucky would ever hear him say..... Chucky had found that screwdriver in an old box of Tommy' s things.... tears began to flow. He had ran back inside screaming for Mrs. Pickles! Days had been spend looking for Tommy, the police came... the car was searched for. Tears rolled down His eyes as he thought back to the day, if only he had stopped Tommy, gotten his mom sooner, grabbed Tommy... if only if only.... Chucky had gotten a knife now.. ten years without his best friend had been a burden... The found his body... three weeks later in dumpster... mutilated, molested and burned... Chucky took the knife in hand \" Do n' t be such a scardey cat \" Tommy' s last words echoed in his mind as he brought the knife to his wrists and slashed...", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" What if none of this is even real? \" He yelled so that his companion could hear him over the rushing wind. The forest whipped past them as they flew down the trail. \" What do you mean? \" \" Well, you and I could just be two brains in a vat. Everything that happens to us is just a projection of our consciousness. \" He twisted the steering mechanism to dodge a rock in the trail as his companion in the backseat stifled a gasp. \" Then how do you explain me talking to you? \" \" Well our brains are connected somehow. It could all just be a big experiment to see how we function. We live in our own little worlds with self-imposed morals and religions and emotions while scientists poke and prod our brains to stir up our lives. It' s all a figment of our imagination. \" A sudden dip in the trail forcefully threw them out of their vehicle and into the air. They flew over the edge of a cliff and looked down at the ground far beneath them with wide eyes. \" So falling to our deaths should n' t hurt a bit then, right? \" \" That' s what I' m banking on. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Frantically he ran through the halls.' *This ca n' t be it*', he thought to himself. He had been all over the building three times now. All the exterior doors were locked. He was alone. He remembered lunch, at his desk, alone. Nothing unusual before then. He was a little hungry and did n' t let his hot pocket cool off. After burning his tongue a bit had become stuck in this throat. The last thing he remembered was falling to the floor as he blacked out. When he came to, the office was empty and all the doors locked. *This must be hell. * He quickly learned that jogging down a hallway is a poor time to have an existential crisis as he rounded a corner and smacked straight into Gertrude, knocking her out cold. Her phone buzzed on the floor so he picked it up. A conversation was open with a new message. Hey! Are you still coming to the company picnic this after noon? Everyone is here. Yea, I just need to get something out of my desk. K. Remember, do n' t tell Stanley!!! _____ Stanley walked out the door, having' borrowed' the keys from Gertrude. On his way home he spied an apple tree. Near to top was a shiny red apple. There was also a less appealing apple hanging quite a bit lower in the tree. Stanley' s choice was plain to see.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "When things get too rough, i just close my eyes and let my mind wander. My brain conjurs up knights in shinning armor too take me away, or a dragon i have to face myself, to reach my safe haven. I go on brave quests and adventures, but no matter what, my journey always end here. No, No. Not in a sad way. It is a beautiful place, a little overgrown, feeling forgotten. Maybe that' s why i love this place so much. It' s lonely, wild, and forgotten to civililzation. I always end here, this place is my prize. The little celebration scene you get after completing a video game. It' s better than any pirate' s booty or any knight' s promises of love. It' s my home. More homely than my \" real \" home, down in reality. But who decides what' s real or not? It does n' t take much for me to snap back into reality. A click of a teacher' s heel, the ringing of the period bells, or even the aroma of the burning pancakes mother leaves for me. It' s always distressing when i leave from my true home. I never ever wanted to leave. It' s my escape, my vacation from the real world. But reality rips this place, this place of imagination, of happiness, from my fingers. A sad smile etches itself onto my face, as the image of the overgrown and rundown castle slowly dissipates. I dont allow much emotion to be realeased outside of my fantasy land. Maybe a lingering frown, or a dissapointed sigh is whats left of my beautiful haven. Only when I' m completley alone, in the somewhat security of my small closet do i let a single glistening tear fall. Watching, as the mist clouds over, letting reality smother and bind my dreams and my imagination with thick ropes of anguish, truth and pain.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "The tension in the room was incredible. You could taste it. You could feel it bend under the intent gaze of hundreds of reporters. It was terrifying for all of us. Thousands of factories had opened up in the past few weeks under the scrutiny of the tentative alliance between the new visitors and our new unified government. The trade agreement had done a lot for us here on Earth. We are in a position where there is not war, people are people and money is everybody' s. We have reached a level where matters between us don' t matter. Money brings us all together for once. Back to the tension, see, even I' m trying to cut it. A single briefcase full of 5, 000, 000, 000, 000 galactic credits. Enough to push us toward standing beside some of the greatest civilizations this universe harbors. For what you ask? A contract. Those factories are for us. See, we are the only race in a million planets with opposable thumbs. And they really like My Little Pony dolls. Deal made. So many pictures. Our future first documented. Before boarding the trade ship, the thumbless beings turned around and spoke; \"Friendship is Magic \"_________ EDIT: Spelling, format, etc.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "He saw a feather out of the corner of his eye. He continued working. He typed. He drank coffee. He went home on the train once the sun had set. He drank beer. He saw eyes at his window sill and the silhouette of wings against the face of the moon. He went to work. He saw a bird staring at him from the sidewalks. It was a crow. He saw crows sitting on the rooftops, staring at him. He drank coffee. He choked a bit and pulled a feather from the depths of the cup. He threw it away. He went back to work. He went home. An owl watched him lying awake in bed. He watched the owl until it went away. He shut his eyes. He woke up to the rustle of wings. He was covered in feathers of all sorts. He got up and called the police. He stepped back into his bedroom. The feathers were gone. He saw birds flying in the sky above. They were flying away from the city, disappearing into the clouds. He wished he could disappear.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I walk down the city' s streets with a sort of unusual motivation today. I usually go down this very street to get my latest supply, but today I felt another reason to do so, one that I had neglected mostly. Walking down, I see a black, burnt looking book that took my entire attention away. It looked out of place with the grimy look in this city, which intrigued and feared me at the same time. So being a good samaritan and thief I took the book in a natural way to not arise any suspicion, and read it. \" Holy smokes... \" I gasped, awing at the book' s content. Each page is filled with secrets about someone I knew, each one darker then the last. \" I could blackmail millions with this! Become the greatest gossiper that ever took the face of Reddit! \" I thought, stuffing the book down my I arrived to not a door with a little ring that signals that a person is entering, but at a guy sitting on a mat with enough odd smells around him to stir most people away. But not me. \" I got your regular ready, 50 bucks. \" The guy said, wavering a plastic bag of highly questionable contents. However, instead of reaching for my wallet I just grab the book out and tossed it to him. \" Trust me, more much more than this sh*t. \" I said, sitting down as I opened the plastic bag and greedily sniffing its content.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I put the flamethrower down and kick the ashes of the last zombie. There' s a barely dressed busty redhead sobbing, clinging to me and calling me a hero. I already know what happens next: I will kiss her, she will kiss me, and we will go for a clean place to mate like dogs in heat. Then, tomorrow or some other day, something will happen to her. She will be in danger and I will have to rescue her, saving the world in the way and becoming stronger, more decided, more unlike me. And then she' ll die. That' s what happened to the last ten of them, at least. Nothing new under the son. I know I' m supposed to love them, but after a while they all seem the same. No. I do n' t want this. I let go of her and walk on my way. My shadows goes ahead of me. There' s dust in the wind, a fresh breeze that moves my hair, and a sun-bathed path that might lead anywhere. The perfect setting for another adventure, that I do n' t want. Why does it have to be like this? Why am I forbidden to stay in any place, to live the tranquil life I' ve always wanted? I' ve lost count of the many times that I' ve tried to do it, but almost like a dark force guiding my life to an heroic path, always something happens that throws me back in the blood and fights and glory, and I' ve had enough of that for a lifetime. The woman stands behind, shocked and sobbing again. She needs me. But I do n' t need her or want her, and it will be better for her to stay away from me. Maybe then she can find the peace that I ca n' t find. Another step. A small stone upturns and shows a mirrorlike face with a strange inscription. No matter how fast I run, my fate will find me. So I pick the stone, I know in time I will find its meaning. I sigh again. There' s not a happy ending behind me, just a trail of unwanted victories. But maybe ahead of me, at the end of this, I will finally be allowed to rest. I cling to that hope. And I walk.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "It was March 15, 2015. New York had been for 12 days homicide free. People were lauding it as a success. For weeks longer, people were amazed and publishing headlines about it. Some said it was a glitch in the computer systems. Conspiracy theorists began speculating that it was some new chemical introduced that caused murders to stop. Other large cities started to follow - no murders for week. For a month. For months. Were the cops no longer working? Reporters and civilians spent nights doing ride-alongs with cops, to verify and discover what the police had seen all along. People were dying, but they were dying of other causes. There were no knife marks, no bullet wounds, no bruises from force, no poisons introduced. There were no homicides. People disappeared though. It' s not many people who want to kill others, so it took a while to figure out what was going on. Street gangs eventually disappeared. Abusive spouses disappeared. Those were the first you' d notice. Then it became more subtle. Some people you would just never see again. No one knew who took them or why, but we all figured they were someone who would want to murder. So it' s now just us. The one' s who are left. We all realize that the ones taken were angrier. Some say they were more passionate and more feeling, and really the only ones left are the ones that are easiest to control, because we' ll never fight against anything. But you ca n' t fight against something that you do n' t understand. And life is fine for those of us here.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "What the fuck did you just fucking say about me, you little bitch? I' ll have you know I graduated top of my class in the Navy Seals, and I' ve been involved in numerous secret raids on Al-Quaeda, and I have over 300 confirmed kills. I am trained in gorilla warfare and I' m the top sniper in the entire US armed forces. You are nothing to me but just another target. I will wipe you the fuck out with precision the likes of which has never been seen before on this Earth, mark my fucking words. You think you can get away with saying that shit to me over the Internet? Think again, fucker. As we speak I am contacting my secret network of spies across the USA and your IP is being traced right now so you better prepare for the storm, maggot. The storm that wipes out the pathetic little thing you call your life. You' re fucking dead, kid. I can be anywhere, anytime, and I can kill you in over seven hundred ways, and that' s just with my bare hands. Not only am I extensively trained in unarmed combat, but I have access to the entire arsenal of the United States Marine Corps and I will use it to its full extent to wipe your miserable ass off the face of the continent, you little shit. If only you could have known what unholy retribution your little \"clever \"comment was about to bring down upon you, maybe you would have held your fucking tongue. But you couldn' t, you didn' t, and now you' re paying the price, you goddamn idiot. I will shit fury all over you and you will drown in it. You' re fucking dead, kiddo.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "The blood-curdling screams fuel my work as a doctor, the life saving opportunities decrease my bloodrage, only to have it replenished by another death. I' m not insane. I' m not insane. I am not insane. The world is a faulty place, the weak has riches that are far beyond their comprehension, the powerful are stuck in these shitholes, of poverty. I am here, I am the guardian angel of the world. I can shoot, stab, run over any person I want, I' m a merciless serial killer. But, I am the world' s God. I am, Truth. I have no punishment for my murders, because of the law bestowed upon my country, the \" Eye for an Eye Inversion \" law, it' s what gives me the capability to murder anyone desirable. Doctors are the most feared members of society, but most can only murder 2-3 people, because they' re pathetic. Weak, short minded doctors, that deserve to die. I can do whatever I want. Because, I destroyed cancer. Ridding the world of this terrible disease, I am now able to destroy anyone I see fit, anyone who annoys me, anyone who angers me. I am not insane. I am not insane. I am not insane. I can tell you a tale of one of my murders, a simple one, a boy weak, underfed and abused by his wretched parents. I killed the parents, it was brutal, but satisfying to see such horrible beings be put away into Hell. The boy' s emotion afterwards was only resentment to his parents, and he gave me a smirk, he was strong. I spared him, I am God, I decide who lives and who dies. And, he lived. Why do I hold such resentment against the weak and strong? Because, I was once a poor boy, on the streets with nothing to eat. I was like that boy, and I saw myself in him. I am God.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I hate the park. I hate the cold. I hate this rock, I hate the swings, I hate being outside!! I hate Mom for making me come out here all the time. I hate the men who come over, who she likes better than me. I... wish I had some Mac' n' Cheese. Some ooey-gooey Mac' n' Cheese, with extra cheeze, and bacon,... and pancakes! Like at MickyDs - I do n' t even want a toy, oh god yeah, I could eat a hundred chicken mcnuggets... oh, no, my belly really hurts!! I want to go inside, my fingers hurt! It' s dark now, and there' s no other kids anymore. Just the bums. I hate my Mom. Why wo n' t she let me inside? What if she falls asleep for a long time again and wo n' t let me in? Last time she forgot to lock the car so I slept in there, but today she locked it. Maybe I can go to Jake' s house, his Dad always makes dinner, but it' s far away and it' s dark and... I' m scared. I hate being a kid!!", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "As it is written in the Book of Creation the Creator created both the material and the spiritual Universes long ago. The Creator only observes the Universe, but does n' t interfere ( except for giving the Book of Creation ), therefore the Creator is venerated but not really worshipped and certainly not prayed too. Two great beings are the Good One and the Evil One. They are the two gods of good and evil, respectively. They interfere actively in the world, and are about the same strenght. There are two great books, each coming from one of the gods. Those two books are the Book of Good and the Book of Evil, each describing the rules of morality and the rituals for followers of the Good One and the Evil One, respectively. A fourth great book is the Book of Old Stories. One of the stories is about the great empire of Tonatefor whose people tried to worship both the Good One and the Evil One, depending of what was the best in the moment. That lead to the destruction of Tonatefor at the hands of the Evil One, because the Good One had abandoned them, for their treachery and evil ways.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Dear Samantha, I remember when we used to stay up all night counting the falling stars. We were young back then, and bold. Now we' ve grown old. The dreams we dreamed of back then remained as they are, mere dreams. When we married, I promised you the world. You said that I was enough. I never thought so. I worked myself to death to provide for you and our children. I worked three jobs at one point, do you remember? I got promoted and I finally was able to give you the life that I promised you. The house in France, the yacht, and the mansion. But you left. You had enough of the habits I' ve developed to cope with the stress. The life I gave you imprisoned you. So I drowned in my sorrow. The life I promised you came crashing down around me. I realized that the life I gave you was n' t the life we dreamed of living together. You did n' t fall in love with me because I promised you the world. You did n' t marry me because you knew I would be great one day. You certainly did n' t marry me because of my charms. You married me because we both held the same hope- a hope of a life spent together, to the end. I was never \" good enough \". I was always the greatest part of your life. And you were mine. When you read this letter, my love, I will be no more. It feels like the right thing, even though its so wrong. But its the only way. Since you left, I' ve started to dream again of the life we could have had. The life we could have led if I was n' t so consumed by my greed. Will you still count the falling stars even after I' m gone? Who knows, if I find mercy, I might be looking down at you. I hope this letter will find you well. I' m sorry for the troubles I' ve caused you. Yours forever, Jonathan", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" Well.. what do you think? \" I slowly come to the realization that my new wispy-tailed pal is still here, seemingly gazing right through me. I had been staring at his tapered body, entranced by the way it wagged around like a tail. I swear every time this \" tail \" starts \" wagging \" near my brother' s bong my heart skips a beat. \" About what? \" I ask, giving zero thought into what he is saying. \" Jesus man, stay with me. I was asking about your first wish... \" After no response, he waves his hand in front of my face. \" Anybody in there? \" My gaze slowly shifts to the genie. \" I do n' t know man, I' m sorry. This is my first time smoking pot and I' ll be honest, I am trippin' out. \" \" Oh, shit! \" He blurts out. I jolt up and starting glancing around. \" No, it' s nothing. That' s just kind of a lot for your first time. It' s cool though, you' re fine do n' t get paranoid. \" Okay, \" I pause. \" Has anyone ever died from smoking too much? \" \" Dude stop you' re fine. And you' re freaking me out. What' s your wish? \" He looks at me expectantly. \" Uhh. Okay. Can the wishes all be the same? \" I' m starting to think up a plan, and feeling real clever about myself in the process. The genie chuckles to himself. \" No that' s dumb. \" \" Well then I wish that they could. And I want to use them all on this wish. \" That thoroughly confuses both of us, and we spend the next hour trying to figure out whether or not I have any wishes left. Eventually, the conversation comes to a halt, and we just sit and stare at my lava lamp until I fade into a deep sleep. I wake up. The genie is gone. In my morning daze, I start to wonder if he was ever even there...", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Ever since I was young I remember a monster under my bed. I remember seeing it' s hand, if you can call the sharp talons of nails attached to what look like burned incense hands. Sometimes I still see it. I am now 20 and at university. Studying to be a psychologist. Ironic is n' t it? On this night I see more than it' s hand. I see it' s head, it' s black soulless eyes and jagged teeth. I do n' t want to move for fear that it will finally grab me and drag me under the bed. It starts to come further up and towards me and in my panic I grabbed my heaviest text book on the night stand and threw it at it' s head. A sickening crack and loud yelp emit from this creature as it slumps to the floor, dead. I look over the end of my bed and see it clearly for the first time. Completely black, hairs in seemingly random areas of it' s body, it' s feet were n' t all that different from it' s hands and it had a tail that was at least four feet. A thought occurred to me, what if there' s something in the closet too? As if on cue the door opens to the closet as a slimy, almost dead looking creature emerges. It chuckled and in a raggedy breath said, \" Not all monsters under your bed are bad..... \" Lunging towards me and dragging me into the dark closet space that seemed to go on forever as I screamed and kicked to no avail. \" Especially not him.... Now that he' s gone.... \" A Sickly cackle erupted from this beast as he yelled out the words, \" YOU' RE MINE! \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "John stepped out of his home block and sighed, the cold gripping his body like a vise. Even though the Roanoke colony he lived in was placed on the planet' s equator, it still felt damn cold to the Texas native. He glanced up to the protective dome that covered the community, squinting at the sun through the hexagonal panels that prevented harmful radiation and small projectiles from hitting the colonists. He frowned as he tallied the opaque tiles, their haziness an indication of spiderweb cracks that indicated impact damage. Every colony maintained their own local government, with roles and duties assigned by a committee and a program, to ensure efficiency, and to make sure each bio dome could more or less survive for a short while without aid. Additionally, each colony had a specialty product, to reduce the need for the costly cargo ships from Earth. His happened to be the panels he had just been staring at. Even as he began to walk towards the production plant, he could see replacement crews in their spider-like pods moving around the dome to replace the cracked hexagons. Just as he reached the entrance, the ground shook and the dome above him was ripped apart like a sheet of aluminum as the ground below him tore apart. As he slammed into the building, he felt himself release his breath, and the gravity of the situation dawned upon him as surely as Mars' terrible strength pulled him into the hole. First attempt, criticism welcome.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I suddenly awoke with a start, eyes blinking rapidly in the dark. It took a while before my mind registered something sharp tapping against my foot but slowly, I got up onto my elbows and stared at the foot of my bed. Dark, bloody red eyes met mine and a sinister smile made its way across his malevolent face. \"Hey Lucifer, \"I sighed. He let out a dark chuckle and gave one last sharp tap on my foot, making me wince slightly. It was time, I supposed. I expected it for a while, I just never knew exactly when but after being alive for over a thousand years, I guess I should' ve known this moment was coming. \"You' re it, \"he breathes. And then, gone. I quietly groaned to myself and threw the sheets off, climbing out of bed. Once my feet were on the ground, I shuffled over to the mirror on the other side of the wall. Even without the light on, I could see my eyes changing. Darker and darker they became, until the brown in them had all but been replaced by color that resembled wine. I pulled my upper lip up and sure enough, my canines were beginning to elongate and sharpen. I scratched the delicate points of my slowly forming horns. Being the Devil was a hard job, definitely not something someone could handle alone. It was my turn now.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "It could have been anyone: James Joyce, Stephen King, Edgar Allen Poe. I do n' t even know what sort of sporting challenge authors could pose. The only real challenge they faced came from Ernst Hemmingway, who actually managed to almost escape before the shock collar could be activated. Of course, the literary irony of bring Richard Connell, Cormac McCarthy, or Joseph Conrad would be well worth the investiture alone, but in the end there would be no true sport. But they did n' t even go that route: they had to go for MY favorite. I do n' t know if it was on purpose, if they thought that I needed to be taught a lesson about my place in the order of things, or if it was just random. But MY favorite author was being prepped for the hunt. He would n' t last. Dave Barry would be hunted down like a dog.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I think the way in which you respond ( funny? serious? exciting? ) will help them understand what type of person you are, so you' ll have to decide that for yourself. Perhaps you want your movie to be like \" The life and death of SlifeofLife4 \" and it would just be a boring documentary about your somewhat interesting or potentially important life. Maybe you want Die Hard, and you want Bruce Willis to play you, maybe you want Snakes On A Plane, where you just happen to be on a plane with snakes - just one interesting thing to warrant being in a movie. I think it all depends on where you want your life to go and what type of life you' re looking to lead. Maybe you write a fun story because you just want to show them you' re a goofy dude with a sense of humor. But there are some idea types for you!", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I woke up groggy, and unable to see around me. I glanced over at the clock. 5: 27 A. M. I rub my eyes. I open them again, the house has filled with light. I' m wearing clothes, and have a spatula in my hand. The smell of butter and freshly brewed coffee permeates the air. I look over at the clock. 8: 37 A. M. I yawn, closing my eyes for a moment. My eyes open again, and I' m at my job, sitting at the office board room. My boss is droning on. \"... and what is really missing from this office is a sense of synergy among the employees... \" I blink. Cool water drops hit my eyelids as I open. I' m standing in the cemetary. I have flowers in my hand, and my pocket is weighed down by the harsh chill of my flask. I place the flowers at my wife' s grave, and I take a swig of the rum I brought with me. Wincing, I wipe my mouth, and fight back tears. As I bite my lip, quivering from the melancholy, I put my head down in remberance. I shut my eyes. When I open my eyes, I' m sitting at a table by myself. A glass of merlot sits, half empty in front of me. The bottle itself seems to be at about the same volume. My stomach growls, and a waiter appears with a large tray. He lifts the lid, and the strong pungent aroma of beef hits my nostrils. A large filet of beef surrounded by an artistic display of vegetables. The warm steam hits my eyes, and I' m suddenly blinded. As I open again, it' s dark again. I' m driving, but I feel foggy. Everything seems more significant. I sing along with the radio. Whenever I turn my head, the car moves with my vision. Suddenly, two lights pierce my vision and the sound of a horn overpowers Do n' t Stop Believin'. I close my eyes in anticipation. But nothing happens when I open.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I look out over the city. It' s beautiful. I guess even I can recognize that. I despise it. Beauty is what draws people away from me, and back to God. I' ve learned to be subtle. To confuse the people I must gain their trust and then slowly tear them down. Make them think they see beauty. But then show them the truth. I' ve taken on many different forms over the years. All for the purpose of building up a kingdom. A kingdom that will ultimately tear down and destroy what little faith these people have. They key is to be subtle. To teach things that they like. Things that are pleasing to the ears to make it seem as though they are from God. I even use their own scriptures to deceive them. They see me as they' re leader, to guide them back to God. But their own texts do n' t support my position. But I have power. And I use it. This world is slowly crumbling. And I started it. I could never be more proud. The time will come when I shall be seen for who I really am. I will no longer be the Pope. I will be the king.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "She' s definitely dead, that' s certain. Was the facade too much for her to keep? I' ve been chasing her, the real her, for what seems like 2 months now. It does n' t matter anymore, my career will not survive the ramifications of her letter. I' m not sure what' s worse: failing to catch a serial killer or unknowingly falling for one. I' ve skimmed it at first, trying to find some rational reason for her actions, but I could n' t. The words felt hollow, as if she' s retelling something she watched on TV while I was on another night shift. But that was n' t the case. No one but the police and the murderer knew those details. I realize now how one-sided our relationship was. Fighting her urges so she does n' t add me to her' special list' must have taken immense control... Admittedly that may not be the best-fitting description of her state-of mind. at least I' m sure those families would not look at it this way. I' m not sure how someone can have such strong feelings towards their partner after dating for only a month. But if that' s truly the case, how come she painted me this badly in her letter?", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "When I grow up I want to be the President! If I become the President I' m going to make everything better. I' m going to make sure that everybody gets food and clothes and a place to live. I' m going to make sure that nobody gets angry and fights each other. I' m going to make sure that nobody steals from anybody or hurts anybody else. If I' m the President I' ll get to fly around on my own private plane and eat whatever I want. If I' m the President I' ll get to jail anybody that' s mean to me. If I become the President I' ll get to make sure that Jimmy Ollen never bullies me again too. I' ll make sure that Jimmy Ollen never bullies anybody ever again. I' ll make sure Jimmy Ollen rots away in prison until he has nothing to eat and he has nothing to drink. I' ll make sure Jimmy Ollen gets so hungry that he starts to eat his own flesh and drink his own blood and urine to survive. I' ll make sure that Jimmy Ollen never sees the light of day again. I' ll fill his jail cell with the decomposing carcasses of everyone he has ever loved or cared for. I' ll make him regret the day his parents were born. I' ll flay his skin from his bones and stitch scales to his face. I' ll make him forget every sound except the shrill screaming of his own blood choked throat.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Have you ever been in love? I have been in love. I think being in love is not one thing. It' s all those little things that form a big one. Like thinking about someone all day long. Before you sleep, after you wake up. Not being able to put him out of our mind. Smelling him, tasting him even when you are away. I think I am in love. With the KFC fried chicken. Hear me out for a second, will you? I am thinking about it all the time. I wake up and it' s the first thing on my mind. Its soft, tasty skin all over my tongue. I go to bed and I am still thinking about its beautiful, intoxicating smell running up my nostrils. I' m eating beef but all I have on my mind is chicken. I love it, I crave for it. Now tell me how that is not love. You ca n' t. Today I have planned something very special. I am taking my love out for dinner. I am going to dine and wine my love. But that' s not all. I have a surprise! I have found a way for us to be together for ever! We will never have to be apart again! My plan is simple. I will just eat as much chicken as I can. And then some more. And more. I will eat all the chicken and we will finally be one for ever!", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "They' re everywhere. Oh god they' re everywhere! They just keep coming! Frankie told me that it wasn' t any use, but I didn' t listen to him. He ran back sweating and out of breath, but I thought he was exaggerating! \"Where the hell are they coming from, \"I yell. But no one answers. All around me lights are flashing, people are screaming, and yet I' m the only one standing up against these beasts. Don' t they see how I' m struggling? And all they care about is themselves! If I walk out of here, see if I ever try to be the hero again. They' re going down easy enough; one hit and they drop. But when they go down another comes right back to take its place. My arms are growing tired. I' ve only got seconds left. I have to give it all I' ve got. \"You want a piece of me? Come and get some, \"I exclaim. I swing once and nail one right on the head with my hammer. I swing twice and take another one. Three. Four. They' re dropping like flies. \"AHAHAH!... \"Just then I feel a hand on my shoulder. I turn and see Frankie. \"Jesus, Bill. Take it easy. Chuck E. Cheese' s is meant for kids, not their parents. \"I turn back to the moles with embarrassment and set down the mallet. I guess in the heat of the moment I did get a little carried away, but man, I haven' t played Whack-A-Mole since I was a kid.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Seamus rocked back and forth in his wooden chair. Staring off into the Scottish sunset, with a pipe in his mouth, surrounded by a chinstrap of bright red hair, even though his head hair was white as snow. A young man was biking past his house and threw a mackerel onto his porch. \" Go home, yeh fackin' wop! \" Seamus continued to stare, slapping his leg twice and having a Scottish Terrier come and pick up the mackerel, bringing it back inside his small wooden cottage on the hill. A little boy ran outside in fright. \" Granda! What was that?! \" \" Another fish thrower, Aidan. It' s nothing. \" Seamus said, taking puffs from his pipe. \" Why does n' t anyone here like you Granda? Or Nanna? \" Seamus sighed slowly and looked at Aidan with a smile. \" It' s not that they do n' t like me, they do n' t like... Irishmen. \" He chuckled. \" To be honest, they' re Scottish. They do n' t care much for anyone. \" Aidan giggled, exposing two bottomless dimples in his cheeks. \" Why not? \" \" Well, during the Battle of Fortingall Forest... the Swedish soldiers.. the Menninkäinen helped fight against the Scottish. Some Irishman did too. \" \" Were you there? Did you fight anyone? \" Aidan asked. Seamus looked inside the cottage window cautiously. \" Where' s your Nanna? \" Aidan looked up at Seamus mischievously. \" Out to grab dinner. \" Seamus chuckled. \" Well... it all started in March 14th, 1940... \" __________________________________________ Should I keep going? Wan na hear Seamus' war story?", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" The exploders creep me out. \" \" They prefer to be called humans. \" \" Yeah? And I' d prefer to be called the Uber-Admiral of the 5th fleet. Does n' t change the fact that those things are obsessed with explosions. \" \" Are you talking about nuclear weapons? Plenty of pre-FTLs have come up with those. I mean, even we went through times of violence and destruction. \" \" Yes, we' ve been violent, and yes, we' ve blown things up. Still, we' ve never felt the need to include explosions in every single significant invention we' ve ever come up with. \" \" I do n' t follow. \" \" Have you read my report on the Internal Combustion engine? \" \" I skimmed it. \" \" It' s a way to propel their vehicles using explosions. They' re asinine. Hear about their firearms? They' re ranged weapons that fling projectiles with explosions. \" \" Does n' t seem like it would be the most accurate... \" \" Oh, they figured out a way for it to work. They just could n' t tolerate having anything like that centered around elasticity or magnetism... just had to include an explosion in there. Hell, they have larger, but similar weapons that fling explosive devices with the aid of explosions. Some of those explosions explode into smaller devices that also explode. \" \" Now you' re just making shit up. \" \" No, look up' Terran cluster bombs. \"' \" What the fuck? \" \" Oh, and get this: take a guess what they concluded once they discovered that all the visible galaxies were moving away from each other... that the entire universe was the result of a really, really huge explosion. \" \"... The exploders creep me out. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Dinner was always my favorite meal of the day. I mostly did the cooking for my wife and I. This particular dinner would be different, however.... I made Chicken Parmesan Lasagna. One of my better dishes. As we served ourselves and were sitting down to eat, a huge a gust takes us by surprise. A small vortex appears on the doorway of the kitchen. It glows blue and gets wider. A black orb appears in the center and grows to a large oval. A young man steps through followed by 3 older men, two more young guys and a kid. \" Long time, no see! \" I chimed. My wife was welcoming to them as well. She knew five of the seven to walk into the kitchen very well. It had been years since I first discovered time travel. People were told to be careful with interacting with their younger selves or others to avoid paradoxes, but why the hell not? I always was intrigued by time travel and knew the dangers of it from when it uses to be sci-fi material. This was our yearly get-together. I had the table set for them. They all take a seat, except 30 year old me. He was looking for Pokemon and checking for the latest future tech. 30: \" No way! This computer has 200EBs of ram! \" 10 sits down and immediately starts scarfing down his food. He gets up for seconds. \" Now now, \" I say. \" Make sure not to do that after you graduate highschool. You' ll put on weight. You do n' t have the metabolism of our brother. \" 10 glares and resumes stuffing his face. 20: \" Im glad you decided to get back in shape. \" I grin sheepishly. 50, 60, 70 are arguing about planes and how well the Saints are doing in their times. 20: \" Heh, some years ago Brees carried a Superbowl Trophy home. \" 10: \" My Dad says they should have never picked up a Chargers QB. \" 40 is talking to my wife and talking about their past sexual excursions together. I have no problem with this. She' s a faithful woman.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" You hear about Jagger? \" \" Yeah, fuckin' worms or some shit took over his body. Aliens invading? Something like that. \" \" Yeah, that' s what they say. Explains why the Stones started to suck after *Sticky Fingers. * \" \" Hey! *Exile on Main St. * was awesome! \" \" Whatever. You were n' t even born then so what would you know. Rock died when those fucking alien pieces of shit dug into Jagger' s body. You can even hear it today. All this pansy crap getting played on the radio... \" \" Dad, you' re pathetic. Rock never died, and aliens ca n' t kill it. Sure, they can kill Mick Jagger, but there are still kids in garages all over the world figuring out how to play a guitar and yelling into a mic. That' s all you need for rock and roll. You ca n' t kill that. But you' re getting old and lazy and were waiting for the Rolling Stones of 1972 to come back even though that was never going to happen. Fuck these aliens. We' ll deal with' em. But get a fucking Pandora account. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "1. I looked across the field with regret. How could I have let it go this far? I should have said something, anything to stop it. Now it was too late; I could only wait and see what the consequences would be. I knew all along it would come to this. 2. \" What do you mean you are n' t going? \" her incredulous tone carried through the house. I just could n' t face them; it was too soon. I knew the recovery process would be hard, but I never realized just how hard it would be mentally. 3. The two lovers held hands as they strolled along the beach. It was a beautiful night in Greece and they were on a trip of a lifetime. All of their worries and doubts had been left behind in that airport. Tonight they were happy; they were finally together for just a few days. It was too good to be true. 4. She could n' t believe it. All of the time spent preparing and working towards this night, and it was finally here. It was mere minutes until she would finally meet her idol, her inspiration. She could n' t be more ready, and she knew exactly what she would ask first: \" Why did you give me up for adoption? \" 5. No one was allowed to sing \" ring around the roses \" anymore. It was too close, too dark a reminder of what was happening above, beyond the cold, thick walls of the bunker. The children, some of whom could barely remember the sunlight, mostly walked in silence, afraid of what their voices might bring.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "The smell of pizza emanating from the box in my hands has grown old. For the past year I have been delivering for Smitty' s Pizza Hut to get the extra cash I need for my tuition bill. I' ve already submitted my two week notice and this is my last day, in fact my last delivery before moving back home to California. The sound of the door bell has a very odd sound. It chimed three times with one press of the bell. I began to reach for the doorbell again before I heard the foot steps. It sounds like a heavy set person. Maybe this customer does n' t need this delivery. The door opened slowly with a very audible creak before revealing a man wearing a black hoodie, jeans, and a very cartoonish Ronald Reagan mask. \" Nice mask bro. Here' s your pizza. That' ll be $ 18. 72. \" The man just stood there staring at me. He had a very foul smell about him and I could very easily hear heavy breathing. Thank goodness he' s wearing that mask. I bet this guys breath smells about as bad as the stench emitting from what is more than likely an unbathed body. \" It' s $ 18. 72. You want this pizza or not? \" I shifted my weight and my gaze was caught at the scene that was beyond him. A woman and two children were tied to chairs with make shift gags of cloth in their mouths. The cloth in the woman' s mouth was drenched and had spittle being flung around as she violently shook her head trying to do what I can very easily assume was scream for help. That was when I noticed the gun. It was firmly gripped in the hand of the man standing before me pointed downwards. It was then that the man finally spoke his first words. \" You' re just in time for the party. \" As he rose the gun to my face I felt my entire body begin to freeze. The boxes fell from my hands and landed hard on the ground. \" Pick that up and come inside. Everyone is going to need to be fed if were going to have a fun night. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I stood over the bodies. An adult couple in their early thirties who had sheltered me. A chill came over me and a rush of adrenaline as I peered into them demons pillaging around me. It was long ago I decided to stop my pursuit of power and go on my pilgrimage, but my past had followed me. I knew it would. There was no escaping the end of time, but I thought I could try. I thought that if I traveled far enough, fast enough... I thought I' d find peace. I knew it was n' t meant to be. My train of thought was interrupted. The lowly demons were now tracking again ignoring as they had seen right through my disguise. I heard a loud cry. \" Shit. \" I said under my breath. \" At least I tried. \" The skin boiled from my body as my true form ripped out of my chest. Flying across the room I cut through the lowly flesh of demons and ripped to the one causing the screams cutting him from the hands of the demon smiling with joy and travelling a short distance. Everything went silent again. As the young boy with tears in his eyes looked up to me, and did n' t say a word. He recognized me. The kind stranger who happened to stop at his house. I put him on the ground and began to leave. What could I do? More would come. Legions would arrive. This was barely a welcoming party, but I had only taken a step when I felt the touch on my skin. Death is curious. The never ending cycle of death and rebirth from the pits of hell. The never ending struggle for those still alive to cling to life. None of it made sense, but this boys hand, this families warmth did...", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "**Slight suicide warning** ( its really just mentioned, but I do n' t mean anyone offense ). I watch as the halls fill with students filing out of classrooms. I grab my bag and walk back to my English class to hand in my work before I go to lunch. I see all the kids I had known since kindergarten go past me in their packs, as I call them. I try to wave, to talk, to do anything, but merely get brushed aside by familiar faces with an odd sadness in their eyes. I make it back to my classroom and hand in the work. Ms. Henry does n' t look up from her desk, almost like I' m not even there. Making my way to the cafeteria, I look in and see no seats, nobody waiting for me. I check my phone, no messages. I decide to go to the art room and eat lunch there. When I arrive, nobody looks up or says a greeting. I smile to myself shamefully, thinking that anyone would notice me is crazy. I sit down by the window and stare out of it, pondering what I would do for my spare. Soon enough, I' m off daydreaming about life after this nightmare; where you' re ignored and unseen, but what did I expect from this endless existence? I can see everyone and hear everything but nobody will ever be able to do the same for me. When I committed suicide to get rid of the aching feeling in my heart months ago, I did n' t think it' d get worse. Edit: words- I added about four to fix grammar.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "To everyone, We can say I was never right after Mom died, that he death was the start of mine. The weekend drinking gatherings turned into all week drinking binges. I' m sorry for it all, but that' s not why this letter is here. It' s to remind you all that despite doing nothing to help me, I still love you all. I was the one who had to take care of her arrangements, the one who was there for years, holding myself back so that *someone* was around for her, so she was n' t alone when she died. I ca n' t stand what everyone had become and drinking was an attempt to escape it all, escape all of you. You all came to me when things started to go downhill for all of you and you expected me to save you from drowning while my head was under the water the whole time. I have n' t been that solid rock, that shoulder to cry on, for a very long time. The sad part is no one noticed. But you' ll notice this. It' ll probably be a few days before you do, because none of you call, stop by, or even text, but you' ll notice. I expect it all the crumble for all of you because you could never stand on your own, always relying on Mom or myself to help you, but now that both of us are gone, I hope the worst happens. -045", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I knead my hands as he comes out of the room. A few coughs and a lurch over to me, he looks into my eyes. \" Well \" \" Three days to a week. He keeps persisting on Chemo, but why bother. We do n' t have enough money and I have lived long enough \" I knew it was his choice and his life, but he was my husband \" W... What about me? \" I saw trying to hold back the tears. \" I will keep on living in your memories. You have an estimated 7 years on your own just remember me \" \" There is time to remember after your..... I want you to live now \" He picks up his cane and holds my shoulder tentatively. \" How will I feel this emotional bondage between us? \" He kneels down and looks into my eyes, sincerely \" We have our children, we had our life, We had our run at life and we had fun. Whatever we went through, we always found a way through it. Through the fights, natural disasters, and children, we stayed together and that is more than I can say for most in this world. We are old and we lived our life \" He takes away my handkerchief, puts it in his coat and pulls something out. \" I remembered the first time we met at the theater, We were seeing different movies but due to a ticket mess up we ended up sitting next to each other. They are tearing it down in a few days and I want to go there one last time, something to remember \" I broke down crying. He was holding the original ticket stubs from that night. \" I.... I.. I thought you threw these away \" \" I needed something to remember \" He stands up and I stop my sobbing. \" What will we do at that old theater? \" I say, confidence returning. \" I do n' t know, but It will be something to remember. That' s all I ask in the time you have left. I want to be remembered, to our children, our children' s children, and If we meet up again, I want us to look back down on the world and see the change we made, even if it is small \" With those last words, he took my hand and we headed into the moonlight, just like those years ago.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "My eyes darted around the room. One, two, three beasts. NO! Four beasts came running around the corner looking to devour their next meal. I knew I would have to act fast if I were to survive this encounter. Their eyes feasted upon me, hungry. It could n' t have been more than three hours since their last feeding, but their crazed eyes told me it would not end well if they were not fed. Quickly, I took stock of my options, of which there were few. Most of my creations, although perfectly capable of subduing my foes, would take far too long. But, if I opted for a less suitable choice, I may not survive the night. Hands working quick as lightning, I whipped up something that could possibly delay their hunger; at least long enough for me to escape. Before they had a chance to attack, I had several plates of eggs ready to go, steaming in front of them at the kitchen table. \" Thanks Dad, \" Joey scoffed, without even a hint of sarcasm. \" But we wanted lunch, not breakfast. \" Scooping up his plate. he hurled it at my head. \" We want sandwiches! \" Good Lord! What have I done?", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Not a day later and the device had activated. Said to have warn me in my darkest moments, was n' t long before my mind pondered over the many mysteries of life and what they had in store to kill me. Slowly it begun to flood in as if someone fell asleep at the dam, where I to die in house fire? Would I succumb to some new disease or had I pissed off some rich person and they sent a hit-man after me. My heart thumped mad in my chest as I could n' t take the suspense anymore, my anxiety kicking in and my panic attacks washing over me like a tidal wave. I had to escape, I had to run, I wheeze as my breath eludes me. I had to- *Crack* I fell back onto the pillow with a aching forehead pain, looking around the darkness I could only say one thing. \" I should turn on a lamp \" A lean and a stretch, *Click* and a check at the device and it had deactivated. Leaning over once more to grab a bottle on my nightstand, Fluoxetine. \" This should help me to sleep \" Laying back down, popping two pills and turning to the left. \" My life is stressful \" A yawn and I was out.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "She rode in on a bolt of lightning. I was blinded by the holy light, the flashing golden wings and ear-splitting shriek of dying enemies. She could of used the door, but *noooooo*, She had to be all dramatic and shit. My twin sister was n' t the \" subtle \" type. She preferred big and flashy. That predaliction for rich and powerful guys was probably why we both were fighting Satan in the middle of a college campus in California. Hell will freeze over before she learns. Anyway, I slashed at the Lord of Darkness' s personal servant, some ugly runt of a demon named Unpronouncable-By-Human-Tongues-The-Fifth. This little cocksucker was maybe five feet tall, but built like a linebacker and had more sharp edges than looked comfortable. He was slow but precise, managing to counter my attacks with what looked like ease, though I could easily outmaneuver his fifteen-foot over-compensatory iron blade. While I dealt with him, my sister dealt with Him. The bolt of lightning she rode on had knocked Big Red off his feet, but he was quicker than a two story slab of muscle should have been, and in no time he was on his feet ready to strike. My sister reached into her own magical blade for more lightning and struck him again. \" I TOLD YOU \" She screamed, the very sky itself reverberating with her words, \" NO MEANS NO, ASSHOLE! \" Just another breakup.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "The court room stood silent awaiting the judge to speak. \"Defence you may begin with your opening statement, \"the judge said. \"Thank you, your Honor, \"said the defence lawyer walking toward the jury. \"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, today we gather to judge the fate of my client, \"the lawyer said signaling toward a man in an orange jump suit. \"My client Mr. Cornwell or Wolfthorn, as i' m sure you know him by, was born like each of us were, from a mother and a father. He grew up like any of us, going to school, playing games, and falling in love. \"The one thing he does not have in common with us are his capabilities. My client was in accident at the age of twelve. He came into contact with a radioactive isotope due a malfunction in a nuclear plant near his home the plant exploded ant destroyed his neighborhood. My client was the only survivor but… \"He paused putting his hands behind his back. \"He was changed, he gained near unfathomable strength and his body grew hard and durable. \"He looked back toward Cornwell. \"And his skin became rough and changed from its original fair color to a dark red. Ladies and gentlemen the incident that occurred was surely a tragedy but imagine what you would do had you been endowed with theses abilities. You would surely try and put them to good use. \"That is what my client did for many years. He has helped countless people with his gifts but he is only human like the rest of us, he is not infallible. \"On may 26 a neighborhood girl attempted to commit suicide by train. Mr. Cornwell was at the scene and he was the only one that could help her. He lept to her rescue but in the process he knocked the train from its rails killing 126 people and injuring 200 more. Though what happened is a tragedy remember why he acted and also keep in mind. \"The lawyer drew a shaky breath. \"All he wanted to do, was to be your hero. \"the lawyer looked back to the judge. \"That is all your Honor. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" sir, her plumage is failing \" one of the gray guys said to the green guy. *FUCK! * I think, it' s been a couple months, my lovely blood red has grown out to my classic blonde. \" Well, our light simulation is the same compound, we have soil from earth, what could be missing?! \" Wait... this could be my chance. They know about our violence, maybe I can convince them... \" subject 1, we have noticed your vitals are stable, yet your plumage is lacking. The soil in your living area is the same, and the light is a perfect replication. Are you aware of what caused this change? \" Time to REALLY screw with them. \" yes. In our society, youth are told to cause havoc, pain, and fear. This is often at a education center, seeing as all the vurnerable targets. I had gained this feature during planning but was picked up. My plumage shall fade, then I shall die. \" understood. Take this, it is a weapon far beyond yours, it can instantly fry any victim. We shall watch closely \"..... FUCK.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "The blood was everywhere. Children crying as the doctors slash away at the defenseless kids. A virus had spread through the hospital causing psychosis like nothing that had ever been seen before. Ryan' s face contorted in horror, he regrets ever joining the service. He was the first to burst through the doorway right after the breaching charge went off. Nothing in basic training had prepared him for this sight on his first mission. A doctor in a blood stained lab coat charges at him through a doorway, wildly swinging a scalpel at him. He puts him down quickly with two slugs to the chest. As the doctor drops to the floor, Ryan looks past where he was standing to see that the slug had gone through the man' s body and into a child behind him. His commanding officer walks next to him and stops. He radios in their position, \"There' s not a chance we' re getting out of here. \"Ryan' s last sight is the bombs falling from jets, heading straight towards him. I yawn and shut off my computer screen. That' s enough work for today.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "John woke up, a day like any other. 6: 45 AM, his eyelids heavy, mouth dry, knees wobbly. Always a heavy sleeper, John. He stumbled to the kitchen and washed his face in the sink, had some orange juice, some Muesli with skim milk ( believer in low fat, this guy ) and a banana. He started looking for his car keys, last night nothing but a blur in his mind. What happened? He finally found the keys inside the top drawer, which was strange, since he was a methodical man and always left the keys inside his tweed coat, which always hung on his coatrack. He hated tweed, he just used the coat, a family heirloom, to keep his keys in. He was weird like that, John, some would call him a little nutty. He went down the stairs and, in his grogginess, he slipped. He fell, and fell, and fell, for what felt like an eternity. When he finally got down to the ground, he felt smaller, lighter, and... furrier. Also squeakier. For some strange reason, John had turned into a squirrel. From then on, as the most intelligent squirrel on earth, he mobilized and managed several important victories for the benefit of his kind, and became a liaison between humans and squirrels, a meaty, awww-inducing bridge between two different species, the missing link. Nuts were never scarce, trees were more abundant than ever, and, in time, he finally got his wings and got promoted to flying squirrel. Finally, John was home.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "The world has lost something today. We' ve all lost something today. To the world, Bruce Wayne was merely an eccentric billionaire who was only as good as the next juicy headlines the media could get out of him. To us, Bruce Wayne was a friend. A guardian. And a solemn reminder. The Justice League has often been described by the people of Earth as \" gods among men. \" I' ve never enjoyed that title, but when we can leap tall buildings in a single bound or move faster than a speeding bullet, I can understand where it comes from. Yet Batman, Bruce Wayne, stood among us as a \" man among gods \" whose only superpower was the indomitable human spirit. He reminded us that we' re not above those we serve and protect. And he reminded us that we have no excuses to fail. For he did n' t need powers to stand up to any of us. So how much more capable should we with powers be, to stand up against those who wish to destroy us? Today, we say farewell to a founding member of the Justice League and, by far, the most dangerous man I' ve ever met. The world has lost something today. We' ve all lost something today.... I lost a dear friend today. ============================================================== EDIT: [ Relevant image ] ( http: //static. tumblr. com/c9850fd04cd9bb686159a60986cce760/ymjpdf9/unfn32y3e/tumblr_static_424212. jpg ), linked by /u/Double_farts. EDIT: [ Click here ] ( https: //www. reddit. com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/3mzqui/eu_bruce_wayne_age_121_has_died_of_a_heart_attack/cvjveqi ) for a eulogy from Joker' s perspective. It' s in the comments below, but why bother searching? I' d love some feedback.: )", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I' m not sure how old you are, but if you' re still in school and some of your teachers/professors allow you to submit a story you' ve written for an assignment, and you need feedback, then take that chance without any hesitation. Not only does it guarantee you feed back since they have to read it, but it sometimes allows for you to write outside of your comfort zone. For example during my last year of high school, one of our final tasks was to either create something that posed a philosophical question, or analyze something that already did. I took the former option and wrote a small simple story about sentience and human rights and stuff. I did n' t ace the project or anything, but the assignment provided me with the challenge of writing something with a message, which I had never done before then. **TL; DR**: Take any chance you can to get someone to read your work, regardless of the challenge it may pose.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "The sun is rising. Its orange glow does n' t fill me as it once did. I feel empty inside. That was before the moaning men. But they wo n' t bother me any more, no they wo n' t. I step onto the ledge. The bodies stumble beneath me in the street. So far down, like ants. They crawl toward the building, their moans ringing through the fog. Look at this gun. This fucking useless gun. This was the gun that I had to put down my wife and daughter with. I empty the clip into the air. Gunshots pierce the silence. The zombies notice, hurtling themselves toward the building. I am coming, my loves. I spread my arms. I look up. On the building across from me, a body reaches in my direction. No. It' s not a body. It' s me, it' s one of us. It' s a living human. It' s crying, saying not to do it. I am not alone. But I still am. So alone. So empty... I leave the crying human behind, leaning forward, sinking, sinking, sinking into the writhing mass of dead. I am home.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I' m sitting in a truck waiting for some scaffolders and insulators to finish stripping a 10 inch line. We are going to xray said line when they complete their task. We have been waiting since 6 am for them to finish and I' ve been on reddit all fucking day. Every. Link. Is. Purple. My phone has been on charge twice today. We are about to hit charge number three. I know you should expect more from me than this but I' m sort of at a loss for what to do here. I want to make something for you that is so beautiful and visual that you sit back in amazement wondering how something that glorious came into your gaze. I want that for you so bad it hurts. I want you to close your eyes and see what I see, feel what I feel, to hear the environment as I paint it for you. Alas, that' s not possible because sometimes I lack the imag", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Samanta was in a dark coat: long, silky, and tight on womanly hips. My doorway was too drab for such a work of art. I was struck with want for a coat of paint. I swung my chair away. \"Fancy that, huh? I found you. \"That ghost sang to my back. I didn' t turn. \"Lucky as usual. I told you, I don' t do that work nowadays. \"It wasn' t fiction. I' d hung up that old coat, that old man. My guns, my cigars, that was history. Old gangs, young thugs, any and all could run this town. That optimistic young P. I. was kaput. I told Samantha so. \"What a buffoon. \"Sam said, ruby lips all wrong in a smirk. \"You can' t quit. Not any of us can quit. \"I didn' t say a word. Samantha slid away, but not without dropping a gift: familiar manila, that slanting, taunting handwriting in all black. *Do what you must. *", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "He knows I' m innocent... I suppose his revelation is meant to be my elevation. His note, written with equal parts recklessness and selflessness, did n' t move my spirit in the same way he intends to move me. Does he not know me? It could n' t have been selflessness. No. Is he so ignorant that his desire for good deeds must blot out his logic? If he knows that I am innocent then he must also know the sort of man I was before these bars closed around me. He should have known that I was a man that wore these bars around his heart long before this physical incarceration. I was a prisoner of my own making, and that is unforgivable. The irony of it all is that I felt most alive just before the sirens and the handcuffs. No, I wo n' t move. My skin will fade to the colour of these concrete walls. My spirit will dim to the wattage of the bulbs swinging from the hallway beyond these bars. I will allow this to happen because in truth I have already allowed it to happen long before the fall of the gaval and the clang of my cell door. When two paths diverged in the wood of my life, I took the one most traveled by. I always charted the middle path. I fell in line with the endless trains of the faithless. And that has made all the difference. I lacked any difference from anything else. An old man once told me that if you stay in one place too long you become that place. He was a rock of a man, but at least a heart pounded in his chest. At least he lived. And so, in spite of the pleading heart of my well-meaning guard, I will become this place. I deserve this place.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "[ This is another attempt, but my main focus here is the action. It' s a different character with the same name. Feed back is appreciated. ] Lightning thundered through the clouds, and struck Galidius. He screamed, as the lightning continued to crackle. He had been through this countless times, but the pain was always unbearable. His muscles grew, but his skin did not. It felt as if his skin would burst, but just as he could not take it any more, his skin finally started stretching to accommodate his muscles and the growth of his bones. The leather straps of his sandals finally burst. He flexed his muscles, and roared, and the lightning disappeared. He ran down the steps of the supreme temple of Olympus, and jumped off a nearby cliff. On the way down, he scraped by protruding rocks, which tore into his leg. At the base of the cliff, he tumbled and rolled, and his arm an leg bones snapped. He laid there in pain, and groaned, as his body began its healing process. A few moments later he took a deep breath, and ran to the battle.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I quickly hit the B on my keyboard to bodyslide back to Avengers Tower, and spent the next hour examining and replacing most of his gear. In addition to respeccing his power points according to a raid build I found on the Marvel Heroes forum, I gave him a Cosmic Grim Reaper medallion, a better-rolled Advanced Metasensory Array, an insignia with some great critical and brutal damage on it, and a \" balloons on brutal strike \" visual element for his costume. \" How' s that? \" I asked. \" Better, \" he replied. \" The balloons are a nice touch. \" \" Well then, let' s try it out, \" I nodded, hitting B again to transport back to the Cosmic Odin' s Palace terminal, for yet another run on Kurse. \" You know, you probably play this game too much, \" Deadpool informed me as he decapitated a dark elf. \" Yeah, I' m aware. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "We still called ourselves humans, but bore little resemblence to our pre-ascendence ancestors. Their were still plenty of normal humans spread throughout the stars, but those of us who remained on Holy Terra had chosen a different path. After fighting long and hard to try and adapt the world we lived in to our needs, we had finally decided to simply adapt our needs to the world we lived in. We incorporated all the best traits of life found on Earth, and coded them into our genome. Our green skin now hinted at our ability to photosynethisize energy, ending hunger and removing the need for farming or hunting. We mostly lived in the forest, which had finally reclaimed much of what had formally called \"civilization \". We also incorporated traits from our cetecean bretheren, allowing those who wished to return to the oceans where life on our world began, and learn the sagas sung by the elder whales. Our senses had been modified to detect colors and sounds our ancestors could only dream about, spurring an amazing renesseciance in the arts. We no longer needed the massive strength of our ancestors, and opted for smaller, lighter, more efficient bodies. With our bat-like ears, colored skin, and dimunitive nature, offworlders sometimes referred to us by the moniker \"elves \". We did not mind their jesting, for we were finally at peace; not only with our world, but with ourselves as well.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "The screaming outside the bathroom door intensified as I, bloodied and tired, slid my back down against the wall into a sitting position. I began to weep as I pulled my journal and pistol from the pack near my feet. *I never wanted it to end like this* I wrote. *We were able to kill them effectively for a while, but they grew too strong. They killed Jebb... They took Gary. And... * I paused for minute, languishing with the palpable pain of it all. Tears streamed down my checks as the zombies outside the door clawed and crooned for a way inside. I looked down and picked up the pistol and cocked it, aiming the weapon at my head. After a few tense moments, I put the weapon down with a scream, and picked up the journal again. Now however, I wrote with fervent anger and determination. *They took my Daisy! My most precious possession and friend in this world. I loved her! * I finished my entry more in a scribble and flurry of lines than anything readable. I got up to my feet, breathing heavy with rage and desperation. \" You mother fuckers! \" I yelled at the door. \" I' ll kill all of you! \" I screamed as I threw open the door and saw... Daisy. Standing right in front of me. Her eyes were bloodshot and hollow; her jaw hung detached and wretched looking with blood and brain matter spattered across her face and neck. \" Daisy? \" I breathed. \" Baby it' s me! \" Daisy seemed to hesitate, and moved forward towards me with her arms outstretched as if she wanted to embrace me. \" Oh God, I' ve missed you so much! \" I cried as she wrapped her arms around me. For a few seconds, everything seemed fine. Daisy tilted her head slightly and sank her teeth into my neck, and clawed my eyes from my sockets with her broken fingers. I screamed in terrible agony as I was once again reunited with my lover.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Only being able to speak Aramaic, he has no idea what the sign says and keeps on walking down the road. Two men pass by an a 4x4. They toss a half-full tallboy of Monster Ultra-Blue at his head as they drive by, yelling words that he ca n' t understand but feel all too familiar. \" Same as it ever was, \" he sighs. Feeling a bit thirsty, he picks up the can off the road and takes a sip. \" Holy shitballs, \" he says in Aramaic, with a glimmer in his eye. He takes off down the street like Sonic the Hedgehog, catches up with the men who wronged him and yanks them out of their moving 4x4. \" No more Mr. Nice Christ! \" he shouts with the line delivery force of 10 Vin Diesels. He snags the pair of Oakleys off of the confused driver as he tosses him out and sends him tumbling into the dirt like a sack of potatoes. \" I could get used to this, \" he says as he lowers his bitchin' new shades and drives on, full-throttle toward his next exxxtreme adventure.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Startled I wake up, I turn and see her still laying in bed, must not have been her. There it is again, that noise. I uneasily arise from my slumber not knowing what to do first. I look around still confused by what is happening in the distance. I' m naked.. I do n' t remember taking off my clothes, but I am standing here bare assed in the middle of the room. I slowly hear the door open downstairs, and I hurriedly make my way after whatever just left. As I make my way down I grab a towel that is laying on a chair by the bedroom door, and wrap myself up. Still blurry eyed from my deep slumber I try to move slow but determined, not too make to much noise, not knowing what I might find. As I make it to the first floor I see a man in a slight silhouette standing outside the door, it' s hard to make out any features. I look around for something to defend myself, but then it hits me, something about him looks familiar, do I know him? Have we met? I decide to rush the door, and confront him. I fling open the door and just as I am about to tackle him, almost with an unseen sense, he side steps me. Expecting a collision, I stumble and fall face first into the lawn. I quickly turn on my back awaiting the retaliation from the man. As I settle on my back, the man casually steps above me peering down at me. That is when I notice it, it was n' t him that looked familiar, it was my clothes. He appears to be wearing the clothes I slept in. Just as I start to open my mouth he peers straight into my eyes and says \" You want to come into my house and act like me with my wife, then I figured it is only fair to do the same with your wife. \" and slowly walked away. -- Be gentle, this is my first ever writing prompt. I always wanted to try but never really had the courage to try.. I am definately open to the critics though.. Thanks", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "From the end of the galaxy I looked back at where I' d been. In conclusion, I determined that being immortal really isn' t all that it' s cracked up to be. Especially when the person you formerly considered to be your best friend tossed you out of the airlock of your joint spaceship to float in space forever. At least the changing scenery was interesting while it lasted. Now that I' m finally leaving the arm of the galaxy, I probably won' t be seeing anything but blackness for a while. Eternity in the blackness of space. If that doesn' t scare you then nothing will. In retrospect, it was mostly my fault that things turned out this way. When I first discovered I was one of the immortals, I WAS kind of a dick about it. Turns out that most people don' t really appreciate it when you throw yourself in front of their car just to prove a point. Something about a sickening crunching noise. I' m not really sure because I always lose consciousness for about a second each time I \"die \"and then come back the same as before. This has gotten rather annoying out here in the vacuum of", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I survived. I saw the birth of this demon. It was late at night when it came to our world. I am a doctor, I make sure people give birth in a safe manner, but this time I could not guarantee any safety. It was common knowledge that there was only 10 million souls available. The current number was 9, 999, 999, this mother was going to be the last person to give birth till someone died. The Baby began to come out and all was normal but a second baby came out, a twin but it was not the same as the other. The first baby looked normal with his little black hairs on his head and his blue eyes. The second baby was a ginger. The stories of ginger hair was all considered a myth but I saw it. The second baby eye' s turned red, it grew to the height of a man in seconds and kept growing. It let out a fearsome roar that everyone man and women across the world heard. The monster with a flick of his wrist caused a large gust of wind blowing over many buildings. Injuring many but not killing for the monster wanted his power and strength. I did what I had to. I grabbed a surgical knife and stabbed the mother in the head. The blood sprayed in my face but I kept carving out her face to make sure she died. She died alright and the monster had shrunk back into the form of a baby. His hair stayed ginger, I guess it was God' s reminder to us.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "At the end of her life, Riley sits in her hospital bed. She would soon join her husband, and while they never had any kids, she had no other regrets in life. Inside, Anger had already passed on. He was the first to go, as the emotion that vanished with age. Fear was the main driving emotion these days, ever since Anger had gone. What would happen to Riley? Disgust was also near vanishing; it tended to happen when people aged. As you grow old, you see too much, and it was hard to not be desensitized to the things people did. Joy and Sadness were holding hands. It was bittersweet; two opposing emotions somehow coming together. They watched quietly as Disgust slowly disappeared; Riley was reaching the end of her life. Fear smiled at the two friends and then, too, flickered and vanished. The memories that once belonged to these emotions all turned grey. Sadness looked over at Joy, and squeezed her hand softly. As Riley' s heartbeat slowed to a constant buzz, they gasped. All the memories had turned into a vibrant yellow, as glaring as the sun. In the hospital room, Riley smiled, recalling all the events - Sadness, Fear, Anger and Disgust that had happened in her life. For some reason, none of that mattered anymore: she was at peace with her life. Sadness and Joy, still holding hands, slowly winked out of existence. The core memories turned grey, and the lights dimmed, but the place would remain forever abandoned. In your own mind, a blue ball falls into the cradle. [ Inspired by Inside Out ]", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I' ve always felt a bit left out. Unnoticed. My only friend was Neptune and he was so much larger than me. I am small and cold. First there was the Sun, that ball of gas never shut up and always threatened us with' Solar Flares'. Yeah yeah come at me bitch. Then there was Mercury. He was... mercurial. Burnt out. My opposite really. Venus was the typical girly girl. Flirty, a bit gassy truth be told and was getting married to Neptune in a few billion years. Earth was left alone. Ever since be got humans and they even began to spread we had kept our distance. Those freaks are really doing a number on him, poor guy. Mars was always bullied. Y' know for being red surfaced. He was likely next to be humanised. Unlucky. Jupiter was the epitome of obese. So large and angry and boisterous. We just ignored him. Saturn was cool to be honest. Had a little fan club. Dressed well, I mean have you seen that belt?! Uranus. Lets just move on. He' s the butt of our jokes. Neptune was my BFF but when he and Venus get married they' re moving to a new galaxy. I' ll be alone but that' s okay. It is n' t bit that' s what I tell him. And now the main detraction, Me. I am small and cold. Not very popular - the quiet guy at the back of the System. Sometimes I wish I was bigger, then they' d respect me more. Wait, Neptune' s just told me I' m not a planet any more... I' m a dwarf. WHAT THE HELL?! BAD ENOUGH THAT' S ALREADY WHAT THEY CALL ME!", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "As I stood there wondering what the hell, a voice scream \" get down \". I quickly dropped just as the meat clever wizzes past my left ear and sticks into the wall behind me. My heart racing, trying to understand what is happening, I feel a warm trickle of fluid run down my neck. The clever sliced the edge of my ear off. Before I had time to react, a body was next to me. He was talking but my mind want understanding the words. He shook me, I snapped attention as he said \" You OK? Thank god you' re here now we have a chance of getting that thing. Grab the clever and follow me \" I asked \" Who are you man? \" \" player 1 was the reply \" What thing? Who is this? Do I stay or follow? It was then I heard the gurgling noise and the smell of rancid flesh. Whatever the' thing' s was, it was n' t human and wanted us dead. I grabbed the clever and took off. We set up in an ambush position near the stairs so either of us could attack as it came past. I' d never killed anything before, what would it be like? As we crouched quietly my mind again wandered off. What is going on? I could n' t answer as I did n' t know but the smell got worse so the creature was close. Player 1 launch out at the creature, stabbing wildly with his knife piercing the flesh of the thing with howls of pain. I jumped up to help but something held me back. I tried swinging my arm holding the clever but it could n' t move. Was I just scared senseless? Was I caught on something? The answer came quickly, as I turned to see the razor sharp claws swing towards my throat. As my life slowed and my blood pulsed down my body to the floor, I realised.... fuck, there were two of them.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" Welcome Soldiers. You are all Volenteers to this unit, and I appreciate the fact that you signed up for this duty. It is a tough job, but we have to do it. If you are unclear what we do here and merely has been recommended duty here, let me sum it up for you. We are Battalion 404 of the British Army and we do not exist. There is no sign of us on the generals maps, the Germans can´t attack it because they have no spies to tell them we are here and the rest of the Army would shoot us or join us depending on their point of view if they knew we existed. But allow me to guarantee you that Field Marshal Haig himself put this unit up for special duty. Our role is simple. Our duty is simple. We stay out of the war. We do not kill. We do not die. We do not fight. We do not attack. We are not attacked. In short, we are on paid vacation until the war is over. Sure, the pay is bad and the food too, but we do not dig trenches and we have some nice facilities here. And best of all, the duty is classified and if you say that back home, they usually think you been off playing the hero for the entire war. Gets you in the good with the ladies. You are in first platoon. Report to Captain Edmund Blackadder for duty. Dismissed. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "The year was 2015 Valve-time, 2549 if you were still using the Gregorian calendar. My breath was labored, even under the heavy life-support automation of my Cybershell. The sacrifices to extend my life this long have been great and tortuous. I was thankful that playing the game would no longer require the ability to use my hands or sit upright. My eyelids creaked as they blinked before the Steam login page. I cautiously typed in my password, I must n' t excite myself too much. Steady breathing. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. The doctors told me to beware of my heart fibrillation, I could almost feel it creeping back. My emotions under control I paid my 60 Steam bucks, now the world reserve currency, to buy the game. I waited with baited breath as the game downloaded. Finally, I would get my satisfaction. All these tortured years would not be in vain. All was well, or so I thought, as I had failed to prepare my tired heart for the revelation that stopped it. Pre-order exclusive TF2 hats.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" Well, how was the planet you used to live on. I spilt the beans, now it' s your turn. \" The idea of Robyn saying this in a sing-song voice was hilarious, but I had to concentrate. It was just her translator after all, badly broken following the latest fight. \" Not everyone was a mercenary like us, that' s for sure. It was fly as fuck, to be honest. I mean, you did n' t have to sift the water from the hydrochloric acid in the rivers. The Sabrina fusion-jets that we explored with did n' t leave chemtrails a hundred miles long of thick, black smoke. I mean, we had trees! Not your fake plastic ones, real ones, made of wood! \" \" Really, u/Thomas_633? \" \" Yeah, totally! \" My brow darkened for a moment. I remembered the day when my fusion-jet had flown into the portal. In hindsight, it probably was n' t the absolute best idea to fly a 20 billion dollar aircraft into a portal on a dare, but then again, Private u/Thomas_633 and Mechanised Private A1-R1 tended not to be the individuals to turn down such a proposition, even if Mainframe 43-RC9 was at 48 % of structual failure ( most were repaired at 20 %, and I really should have repaired the Sabrina earlier ) and it was a totally unknown sector. *Warning: C. 7/F-4 \" Sabrina \" mainframe at 74 % damage! We' re going to crash you dumb fu-* A torrent of swear words erupted from my mechanical colleague and I as the battered exploration craft fell from the sky, the blue droptail screaming and flickering out due to the fact we were a number of lightyears away so many it required exponential notation, and that the Sabrina was n' t designed for portals anyways, that' s why the Akira parent aircraft existed you idiot. My flashback finished, I returned to Robyn. Her blue fin trembled in the night-time breeze. Two more assaults, and I' d be able to afford repairs to the mainframe and return home. And I would return home. I *had* to.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" If you do n' t drop your weapons, I' ll kill you all in an instant, \" I said, making my voice shake a little for effect. The more outrageous the claim, the better. \" Bullshit, it' s twenty to one! \" The man I was pointing my gun at called. \" You know, for a leader of a drug ring, you' re really not that smart \" I replied. I dropped my gun, and as his eyes followed it, I flicked my hand in his direction. A shard of metal flew across the room, piercing his throat, sending a delicious wave of red spilling out. \" Who' s next? \" I called out, waving my hand at the next man, as his eyeball exploded with a *pop! * as the metal passed through it. I swept my hand across the room, sending a wave of metal at the men, who by now were turning to run. I sent another wave and another, until they all dropped. They call me the Bluffer. I can make up the most outrageous lies possible, and as long as someone calls me on them, they become fact. Sometimes, like in the scene above, I leave room open for interpretation, and the results are always interesting. Sometimes it' s easier to make claims so specific that there' s no way someone wo n' t call me on them, like last week, the mafia man who broke into my apartment and held me at gunpoint, I told him an asteroid was going to crush him in a minute if he did n' t leave. He smirked and asked my if my lying ass wanted to die. Those were, ironically, his last words. Being a hero is n' t always easy. Luckily, I do n' t always have to be one. My name is the Bluffer, and this is my story...", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Lurking can teach you a lot on this sub. After all, good readers make good writers. After some time, you notice certain names that appear more often than any others; /u/Luna_LoveWell, /u/Lexilogical, even /u/Draxagon and /u/imchrishansen_. There used to be a lot more, until one day they started dropping like flies. I have n' t had a lead on this case in months, but popular users are still disappearing right and left. It ca n' t be a coincidence, someone must be eliminating their competition. It' s a good thing that a guy like me blends in, otherwise I might find myself becoming the next victim. Until then, I have to try and find the killer. /u/Luna_LoveWell is the prime suspect, most of her stories end with death and despair. The chief is a big fan of her work, so he' s asked me to look into other users. I do n' t think we have any solid evidence against her, most of the stories on here end that way anyways. /u/Lexilogical seems friendly to everyone, almost too friendly for a mod. There' s an angle here, something I' m missing. Nothing seems fishy about her stories, though. I do n' t think she would kill over something like this... /u/Draxagon has been pretty active lately, spitting out lots of stories. He might be too new though, these murders started a while ago. Still, I' ll keep tabs on him. /u/imchrishansen_ has caught my attention lately, could be our perp. That recent story about plagiarism seemed to come straight out of a psychotic mind. But it' s Chris Hansen, who fights crimes, not commits them... I call up the chief and tell him that I' m going to follow one last lead. This guy has been trying to distract us all along, I need to see what he' s up to. /u/Fractal_Death, you' ve got some explaining to do. ( I' m sure that I' ve missed plenty of active members, but I' ve only been around for a few days. I made my choices based only on what I' ve seen lately. )", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "The reporter gives a satisfied sigh. His masterpiece is ready. He decides to give it one last read when his train of thought is derailed by a mighty crash. \" Wh-..? \" There' s a hole where his front door used to be. Splinters decorate the blue armor of the immense figure taking up most of his hall. Angry eyes glare at him from behind metal bars. The monster lowers its head, charges, and lunges. The reporter screams. Then it all goes dark. Slowly, the world returns to him, though not his sight. His arms are twisted behind his back and he can' t move, largely on account of being tied to a chair. He tries to scream but the gag puts a quick stop to it. \"Jolly good, you' re awake \"Somebody pulls the blindfold off his eyes. Once he gets used to the light, he sees four figures. The enormous armored monster is there, one meaty hand on his shoulder. Opposite him is a black man, impossibly tall and towering. He grins evilly when he sees the reporter looking. In front of him are two men, both white, both in slacks, unbuttoned long-sleeved shirts, and caps. One is standing back with a neutral expression, the other rolling up his sleeves. He' s the one speaking. \"Now, I hope you understand this isn' t personal, of course. We just… have some secrets that need to stay secret. \"He rubs his immaculately shaved chin in thought, then turns to the other man, the one with the bags. \"I' ll think I' ll use a nine iron for this one. \"The reporter gives muffled screams of protest. It' s no use. The man swings. Crack. -- -- _-104 | [ more ] ( /r/vonBoomslang ) _", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I have always had this.... this itch it seems always to be at the back of my mind. If i concentrate I can hear a rasping voice counting down... just just counting... I never thought much of it until the voice laughed when it reached 100... It seared every thought in my head away... it was blood chilling. Now I am terrified what happens when the voice reaches 0. 10... It has started what will happen.. 9... Will I die...? 8... I ca n' t get off my knees the.. pain... 7... What is happening everything is on fire.. 6........ 5... Make it stop.. 4... I hear laughter again... 3... The pain is lessening... 2... I feel so cold 1....... The pain leaves and I open my eyes and see a robed figure... All i can think is I died... I had to have died right? Death laughs I now know who has been laughing in my head. Death does n' t speak he takes off his robe and outstretches it to me. I reach out with trembling hands.... My hands are now white white bone.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" I' m telling you man! Jesus is the real deal. He spoke to me in a dream once, you know? He would want you to get help. \" Mathew nodded his head slowly. I' d been putting pressure on him for years to talk to a shrink about his issues, but he was just now starting to cave. His family was pretty conservative. The kind of family that' s hyper-religious, hyper-republican, hyper-everything. His parents did n' t believe in psychologists, of course. They thought it was a load of crap. \" I get it man. You think I' m crazy. Just let it drop for once, \" He stated. I looked up at him. \" Not until you agree to talk to someone. I worry about you, you know? \" \" You know what? Fine. Fine, you win. I' ll see a frickin' shrink, alright? Jeez, just let it drop for once, \" He stalked off. A couple days later I started to notice it. The fading. At first I thought I was tired. Then I convinced myself I was high, someone had spiked the brownies at the bakesale. Finally, on the third day, I could no longer deny it. I was disappearing. I did n' t know why or how long it would take, but I knew it was happening. And Mathew: it seemed like he never wanted to hang out anymore. Fast forward to a month later. Mathew was having his Bar Mitzvah and I was n' t invited. He was becoming a man, meanwhile I was slowly fading into non-existence. That' s when it happened actually - when I disappeared entirely. That afternoon, during his Bar Mitzvah. At that point, I was little more than a faintly skin-colored cloud of vapor. I could n' t feel anything, and it was nearly impossible to talk. When I did, all that came out were little gusts of air - a whisper only loud enough to be heard through a megaphone, and even then it was questionable. It' s a shame, really. I rather enjoyed existing.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- Congratulations Player! For reaching your 500th reincarnation, you have unlocked the new \" Impossible \" difficulty! [ OK ] -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- Reincarnation 500 CHOOSE YOUR DIFFICULTY: - Easy - High Score: 113 - Medium - High Score: 82 - Hard - High Score: 74 - Expert - High Score: 32 - NEW - Impossible - High Score: -- [ Impossible ] -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- Are you sure you would like to select the \" Impossible \" difficulty? Click OK to confirm. [ OK ] -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- Reincarnating... -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- \" We' re truly sorry ma' am. As your son was coming out, his neck got caught in the umbilical cord and he was strangled to death. \" -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- Reincarnation 501 CHOOSE YOUR DIFFICULTY: - Easy - High Score: 113 - Medium - High Score: 82 - Hard - High Score: 74 - Expert - High Score: 32 - Impossible - High Score: 0", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "The following is an excerpt from a text that was just very recently deciphered by modern linguistics experts. The text itself is the oldest text recovered to date- and until recently, the contents remained a mystery. It should be stated that this is a near literal translation, and some text seems to be hard to decipher, due to ancient colloquialisms of the time. All the text has been kept, and translated as closely as possible. \" And after the great purge, there was but one individual left to rot and agonize over the small atrocities he committed. He sat down and cried tears like a river or a small tiger. ^1 Once the crying was done by he had been finished, the one who had done the crying stood up, and exclaimed' I will make a new people like the ancients of the old! They will run like Boars with galaxies on their backs, ^2 and drink from the tiger rivers.' So he stood over sexy^3 soil, and molded it until it looked like a child bearing mother. And then he went to the gods and harnessed the angry yellow flame to make himself a bride.' I shall call this a woman, as the flowers bear petals for stinging bees. ^4' and he took her and had five hundred children- the most agile and flying-like^5 being his first born. The first born had lungs like a fire, and fought the fortune braved sweetness of life. It was of this first born that the dominant race was born. A race meant to rule over all others, as it was determined by all the gods themselves, as they talked over the bloody sports rag. ^6 \" ^1 Ocean ^2 It was a myth that Boars used to contain entire universes in their stomachs, which made it unholy to kill them. ^3 Fertile ^4 It is speculated that women were thought of as bees- harvesting sweet honey for others, but, when angered, sharp and frustrating. ^5 Flying like was a colloquialism for good will. ^6 Bloody sports rag was a terminology for a sport said to have been played by the gods.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" You do n' t understand, \" my father said, pleading with the men and suits that had stormed into the pizzeria. \" We' re a family business. All the food here is healthy, it conforms to regulations. \" We had planned for this for a long time. Stay behind the counter, brew the complimentary black coffee and do n' t stop smiling. That' s what all the other places did, we could n' t allow ourselves to look any different. Except this time we had. \" Excuse me, sir, \" the towering man said, taking off of his sunglasses and running his fingers along the the tables where several customers sat awestruck with salads and water. The table at the end was a family with a large veggie pizza. \" And what do we have here? \" \" That' s the vegetarian option! \" my father exclaimed, \" You' ll find that each slice holds less than 100 calories! I ca n' t believe this, do n' t you people have a McDonalds to close down? \" \" Dad- \" I blurted out in the politest way I could. His knuckles were already swelling. He took a deep breath and started over. \" Officer, please, you wo n' t find anything illegal here. \" \" Grease... \" the man said, slowly. \" Excuse me? \" \" There' s grease on this table, sir. Lots of it. \" He turned around and showed us his hand - his palm was shining with liquid running down to his cuffs. \" Y-You' re a liar! That table was clean, I just checked. \" \" Sir, you have the right to remain silent. Boys, shut this place down. \" The two identical men at the door leaped forward, throwing all of the food onto the floor. I dragged my father back behind the counter. He simply held his head in his hands and shook. I closed my eyes too. It would be over soon, hopefully.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" Come right on in miss smith, if you just sit right there I' ll prep the lighting \" She wandered into my studio with the same lot expression as many before her. She was young, maybe, late 20s. The collision had killed her instantly leaving her briefly in this lull before moving on. Souls like that always left an imprint behind, I was the one responsible for that. \" Alrighty ma' am how about a winning smile? \" She smiled politely, clearly still wondering how she' d found herself here. \" Stunning \" I snapped a few more of her in various poses \" and we' re all done, I hope you enjoyed yourself \" \" Oh... yes, uh what was your name? \" \" Peter, anyway, you do n' t want to keep your family waiting. I' ll send these pictures to you later \" I guided her gently through the door \" Just follow the light~ \" The woman nodded, still none the wiser, probably thinking she was dreaming. I looked over the pictures. Precious moments to hand down to her friends and family in moments of need. This was god' s work.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" I have never lied to you. Listen to me. Your plan is quite cunning, and far more elegant than anything I have in mind. I must refuse. \" \" Father! \" \" I promised I would never let my children into this... world I have made. My prison. Your mother, Prophets' grace, would never forgive me. \" \" Your world *is* my world, father. I live in your shadow. \" \" I understand. Now understand me: since I entrapped myself in politics I have done everything to ensure you will never suffer by my legacy. \" \" No-one will look at me and see Jana, but Janos! I am doomed to be the Regent' s Daughter whatever you do. You can not keep me shut away from the court and your enemies, and hope they wo n' t hate me. \" \" God willing, my other preparations will be enough. \" \" You always say such things! I think I know what - have you bought the debts of your worst enemies, to hold destitution over them as my shield for when you are dead? Father, you have done such things for years. There is hardly a nobleman in the realm who does not owe you money. One day they will no longer tolerate it. *' Our enemies have nothing but fear left - it would be better to say they have nothing left to lose.' * \" \" Is that- \" \" Ancora, his last *omilia e pakis*. \" \" I... I thought you gave up learning Antique. \" \" It was something. Something of Eraz. He would not want our lessons to go to waste. \" \" I- \" \" You never asked. \" \" Jana- \" \" Father, I loved them as much as you do;' *and loving equally, I know your pain. But take heart, for that only means we understand one another better and can do no worse than share our grief.' * \" \" Erasto, too? Come here, my child... When did you grow up? How did I miss it, by God? \" \" You have been grieving, as have I. You always say forgiveness is underrated; usually, it is you forgiving your enemies. Now I forgive you. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I am always telling people about how great Reddit is and how there is really something for everyone. I was telling my best friend about it recently and when we when I opened it up, there it was' TIL why people with blonde hair sometimes have red beards. \" My friend with a big ass red beard and blonde hair held up the iPad.' I guess so' he proclaimed. So tonite I am at home with a sick toddler. So she is watching weird computer generated cartoons and I am reading Reddit. I know I suck, whatever. So I am scrolling Reddit writing prompts and I come across [ WP ] Write a scene that includes two characters, yet only one character has the dialogue. I scrolled past no big deal. I scrolled back up, then I realized' this is my life.' I currently have two situations where there are two characters and one carries 100 % of the dialogue. For the last 20 months I have spent the better part of every minute and every second with my daughter. She ca n' t talk ( well, she kind of can now, but not til recently. ) We are two characters But I have 100 % of the dialogue all of the time. This is probably why the babies had voices in the movie' looks who talking' and' look who' s talking too.' It' s not that funny otherwise, but still enjoyable all the same. My other situation involves my 67 year old mother who has als. She has it since April 2016 and has already lost her voice. She had bulbar onset first which has been quite rapid. She is on a feeding tube but will probably not get a tracheotomy. Pretty grim stuff but when we are together we like to make the days count, not count the days. So that is my life. It is my scene.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I' m stuck in a train carriage on a train deep in China, weary and alone, watching painted landscapes sail past as they have for 15 hours straight. We' re stacked in triple bunks as we rattle along our 2, 000 mile journey in overcrowded, bustling, realm of human life filled with the chatter of languages I do n' t speak and rich scents of food I do n' t recognise. Then the little girl spots me, shock imprinted on her face as she edges towards me. She' s tiny; thin and fragile, maybe seven or eight years old, black hair in pigtails, eyes wide in amazement as she presses her face right up to mine until our noses almost touch. \" Hi, \" I say, laughing as she runs away bashfully, frightened that I dare speak to her and break her intense study; obviously she' d never seen a Westerner before, let alone someone with blue eyes. A minute later she' s back, dragging her mother to where I recline, talking excitedly, pointing at me with fascination and nervous joy. The mother bursts out laughing. \" She thinks you' re Harry Potter, \" she explains, and, weariness forgotten, I delight in the way the world is much smaller than I believed.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "** \" All praise be the Golden Bird! \" ** Together they chanted, \" For he is tall and wise. \" ** \" All praise the Purple Fang! \" ** Together they chanted, \" For he has taught us all, we count. Therefor we matter. \" ** \" All praise the Furry Trunk! \" ** Together they chanted, \" For he is the mysterious friend. \" ** \" All praise the Dweller of the Can! \" ** Together they chanted, \" For he has taught us to bury our anger and disgust. \" ** \" All praise the Blue Hero! \" ** Together they chanted, \" For he has shown us each the strength within. \" ** \" All praise the Red Tickler! \" ** Together they chanted, \" For laughter is the best medicine. \" ** \" All praise the Odd Couple! \" ** Together they chanted, \" For love knows no bounds. \" ** \" All praise the Consumer of Cookies! \" ** Together they chanted, \" Sometimes one, is not enough! \" ** \" Beware the Frog! \" ** Together they chanted, \" Beware the Frog! \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" So make sure you get their number. \" I really, really wanted to leave for my date and forget about this conversation. \" Ok. \" This was worse than health class. \" But use a condom to make sure you do n' t catch anthing. \" Mom wrung her hands, obviously trying to come up with more advice. \" Ok. \" \" I know some girls might try the other holes as well but be extra careful when you do so. You can look it up on the Internet for tips and stuff if you like. \" \" Ok, mom. \" My date was suppose to start in 20 minutes. Why did she choose *this* moment to give me some Sex Education?! Why could n' t she like normal parents who avoid these kinds of topics? \" If they turn out to be the same gender, I' ll be perfectly ok with that, you know. \" \" Yes, mom. \" \" If you have questions, you can always call me. \" \" Ok. Can I go now? \" Maybe I could still make it on time if I sped a little... \" I suppose... bit make sure you get their name and number at the very least. \" \" Ok mom. Bye. \" I jumped up from the couch and grabbed my purse. \" Bye honey. Be home by 10. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "The man asked me to sit down on the bench, he had a gun and a photograph. He asked me if I was a patriot. I told him no more than any average Joe. He said his father had been a patriot - fought in the war you know, the one to end all wars? except it did n' t - and his son had been a patriot - enlisted right outta high school, bright kid, had a good future ahead of him - until that damn napalm cut his life short, and was n' t it a shame when a father had to bury his son, hardest day of his life, harder even than when his wife found out about her ovarian cancer which meant no more children, harder still than the day she passed, weak and frail and bald from the chemo and drugs. He looked at the gun, turning it over and over in his hands as he told me about how his father had used it to defend his men against the enemy and had been awarded a medal, posthumously, because a machine gun that can fire over seven thousand projectiles a minute does n' t care whether a man has a young wife and son waiting for his return. He lays the gun to the side as he shows me the picture of his son, proud and brave and above all still young and innocent and tells me that this photo was taken two hours before he died. They shipped him home in a box, what pieces they could find, anyway. Buried with full military honors - laid to rest with the sound of guns firing a salute. He thanks me for my time - hard to find anyone to listen to an old man these days, what with everyone being so busy talking on their cell phones or staring at a computer screen all day, whatever happened to neighborhood block parties and school fairs anyway? As I walk away, I hear the sound of a gunshot. He would never be awarded a posthumous medal like his father, but at least he would n' t be all alone anymore.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" God damn it, Jerry! Do n' t do that! \" Slack jawed, Jeremiah turned to face Elizabeth. \" Blasphemy! \" He exclImed. \" You must n' t speak of the lord in such a manner, Elizabeth. Also, \" he took a step back and turned to look at the people passing them by on the sidewalk. \" My name is Jeremiah, my dear. I would greatly appreciate your remembering my name. \" \" And I go by Lizzy-, \" \" Yes, well that is incredibly unsophisticated, Elizabeth. A woman goes by her god given name, and nothing else, \" he turned and looked at her from the corner of his eye, \" though if the lady were betrothed, the man -, \" Lizzy groaned and turned away from him. \" Why is this even my life? \" She called, glaring up at the sky. \" Take him back you assholes! \" Jeremiah walked up behind her and placed a hand in her shoulder. \" My dear, the peasants will think you a witch! \" Her right eye twitched as she turned back on him. Her hands shook as she pointed an accusatory finger at him. \" You, \" she said, poking him roughly in the chest, \" may have opened a fucking wormhole in my living room last week, *jerry*, but if you do n' t start catching up with how people behave present day, I swear to god, I will kill you and happily take whatever consequences stepping on that particular butterfly create! \" \" Elizabeth, -, \" \" Lizzy! \" He stepped back, eyes wide as he nodded slowly. \" L... izzy. \" She let out a breath. \" Good. Now what? \" \" There is a man in blue aiming a modern weapon at you. What does a strong, modern woman such as yourself do in such an instance? \" He question, nodding behind her. \" Oh for fucks -, \" \" Truly, the lord must have heard my prayers of your redemption. God speed, Elizabeth! \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I awake to the sound of my mother and father watching television, having a heated conversation about whats on. \" hey son, get in here and look at this. \" my father shouts through the thin walls of my home. \" ugh. \" I grunt slowly getting up from my bed and shuffling towards the door. As I walk into the living room i notice they' re watching the news. \" The world is in shock as hundreds of thousands of people awoke only to find themselves transformed into.. it seems to be, tattoos. \" the anchorman reports. \" Oh my god! \" my mother screams staring out the window with an expression of pure terror. My father and I run towards the window and peer out. Just as the anchorman reported there are people riddled throughout the street, suddenly changed into a tattoo. I look over near the bus stop and see a big bright red heart that has' Mom' written on it trying to get on the bus, but his arrows are too wide to fit the door. Just past him it looked like a dragon with barbed wire buying a coffee. There is a knock on the door. My mother goes to answer it saying, \" It must be your brother, he just got out of 8am class. As my mother opens the door she lets out the loudest, high pitched scream I' ve ever heard. Sure enough, there was my brother, a huge sign that said \" Blow Me \" with arrows on both sides pointing down. scratching his head he laughs, \" I guess its about time i told you guys about my tattoo huh? \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I have finally found the Fountain of Youth, I say to myself. I look down at my old wrinkle face one last time before I reach in and scoop up some water of the fountain. I sip the water out of my hands and immediately feel my skin tightly, hair returning to my head but something feels off. I feel like I am trapped in my body. My eyes look down into the fountain but I am not in control of them. My reflection does n' t look anything like me from when I was younger. My skin was tanner and my eyes that were once blue as the ocean were now green. I tried to speak but no words come out of my mouth. Then I hear myself laughing. \" Ha, ha, \" comes out of my mouth, deeper then my voice ever was. \" Finally, I have been released \" is the last thing I hear as everything goes black and my mind goes blank.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" You' ve reached Danny' s deliveries. How may I help you? \" \" Put down the gun, Patricia. We' re outside the store. We are willing to end this negotiation peacefully. \" \" Sir, if you' re outside the store, maybe you' d like to come in. \" \" We do n' t want the situation to escalate. Stay calm. \" \" I' m calm, \" said Patricia. \" Is your order for now or later? \" \" On the behalf of the Miami district police, we order and suggest you to remain calm right now. Miami police district is willing to negotiate. \" \" Umm, alright sir. What would you like then? \" \" We' d like you to let the hostages go. \" \" Sorry? \" \" We' ll give you the money. So long as you allow all of the hostages to leave safely. \" \" Sir, the only thing being held hostage here is quality pizzas at affordable prices. \" \" Ma' am, we know you' re confused. We' d like you to step outside the building. \" \" As soon as I have your food ready, our trusty staff will bring you pizza, sides and drinks right away. I' d suggest pepperoni. \" \" Rob, we' ve got the wrong Danny' s. \" \" Shit! \" \"... Sir? \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" Do you know why the lights twinkle from far away? \" I feel the hum of his body next to mine as he asks. Warm, familiar, safe. \" No? \" \" Air pressure. \" Air pressure. How pragmatic. \" I like it \" I reply softly, continuing to gaze westward toward the glittering lights of traffic meandering by. \" It has to do with hot and cold air coming together \" he places his hand on my hip still standing next to me and looking out. Pondering the science of air temperature and distance. The beauty of looking at lights, third floor, parking garage. Reduced. To air pressure. And I too feel reduced. Like the magic of light. Buried among all his facts I' m still here waiting. For the truth. Because I' ve shared enough for him to destroy me, and he' s talking about - \" Air pressure... \" I turn abruptly to face him. This is it. This back and forth has been going on for 3 months and 2 days ( not that I' m counting ) and I ca n' t stand not knowing who we are right now. \" I love you. \" He turns away from the lights slowly, his brow furrowed as thought he has n' t heard me correctly. \" I love you \" I say directly to his face. \" I love a boy who takes pictures with books about fish, and tells me I' m beautiful, and makes me smile when my day is shit, and smells my hair, and holds me outside. But I hate the man who is distant, and stubborn, and selfish, and ca n' t make up his mind, and let' s me sit here thinking about air pressure instead of the magic of lights. \" He' s looking at me. Golden eyes shaded by shadow and the glow of the moon. \" Look \" I say softly, eyes focused on his chest, \" I know you' re married and I' m engaged. I' m not asking you to run away with me or anything like that. I do n' t think either of us want that. But we both want this. And I love you. I want to keep kissing you, and having you hold me. I want our moments to continue. \" He raises his hand to touch my cheek and I melt in to him, kissing him like never before.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "This is horrible and terribly awkward... I really do n' t know anyone here. They keep looking at me... at least I think they' re looking at me.... Should I say something? It seems like we' ve all been staring at each other for quite a long time.... Those bulbous strawberry-like cyst on those -- gelatinous heads remind me of that ridiculous Monty Python sketch featuring a race of alien invading blancmanges. I laugh -- oh dear... they' re coming over. \" Hello. My name is Peter. I take it this is the afterlife? \" They make a gobbling sound like wild turkeys. \" Wonderful wonderful wonderful... uh... is God around? Maybe St. Peter? No no no I' m not Saint Peter. I mean my name is Peter... but I ai n' t no saint. \" I nervously laugh again. One of the blancmanges comes closer ( I know that' s not what they' re called but calling them Martians seems so racist ) and absorbs my hand and suddenly I can hear a thousand helium-filled sounding voices in my head saying: \" Is this the virgin we were promised? \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" Where to? \" TGI FRIDAYS. \" Gon na' have to be more specific, sir. \" TO THE PEARLY GATES OF THE COMMUNAL EATERY. \" Wow, you in theatre? \" SOMETHING LIKE THAT. TAKE ME TO TGI FRIDAYS PLEASE. \" The one on 44th? \" ACTUALLY 66TH AND 6 IF YOU DO N' T MIND. \" You' re the boss. \" AHAHA. YOU DO N' T KNOW THE HALF OF IT. \" What' s that? \" I SAID THERE' S A WOMAN ABOUT TO JUMP OUT IN FRONT OF THE CAR. \" Are you some kind of sicko? Whoa shit. \" UNHUH. \" Shit, that was close. Who the fuck are you? \" YOUR WORLD IS NOT WHAT YOU THINK IT IS. \" I' m just going to pull over. \" I WOULD N' T DO THAT IF I WERE YOU. \" Why not? \" SINK HOLE. \" What? \" SINK. HOLE. \" Ah, ok buddy. How ab... SHIT. \" FEEBLE HUMAN, YOUR WORLD IS NOT WHAT YOU THINK IT IS. \" Shit, who the hell... \" HEHEHE \"... uh. Okay. Listen I do n' t know who you are or what you want but I got a wife and kids and I just need to make sure I get home tonight. \" DEBBIE AND JOEY AND LITTLE LISA? \" What the fuck. \" I DO N' T INTEND TO HURT YOU. I' M NOT HERE TO HARM YOU. I' M HERE TO COMFORT YOU. \" What the fuck. \" I JUST WANT A CHEESEBURGER. AND A MILKSHAKE. PLUS I' M MEETING AN OLD FRIEND. \" Okay whatever you say pal, but I' m tellin' you the food at TGI Fridays sucks. \" TELL ME ABOUT IT. HE PICKED THE PLACE.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" Greetings Comrades We would like to discuss terms of our relationship, if you are interested please click the link below. \" The interplanetary mail system ( IMS ) chirped. Jerry Lee stopped sipping his morning coffee immediately. He rubbed his eyeballs a few times. He walked away, came back but the screen was still as he originally read it. The location the message had originated from was sector 1765 or what captains of the fleet liked to call red territory. There are rumors and tales told by cultists groups about how the forefathers of UPF ( United Planet of Freedom ) warned them of the Red territory. Something about Communist bastards can always be heard around those circles. Jerry ran and got Lewis, his supervisor. Lewis also had a hard time believing what he saw. Working at the IMS was an easy job as Jerry' s career advisor put it. You just receive messages and relay them to their owners. Most of the messages Jerry received were from Clooney IV one of UPF' s many moons. But this was different. It was forbidden by the galactic Congress to enter communications with any systems not fully pledged to democracy. If the rumors about the red territory are true then there is a certainty that relaying that message would be a all expenses paid trip to Maximum Security Prison. Jerry looked at the recipient who was supposed to receive this message and it read Vladimir Milkev. Jerry and Lewis looked at each other and knew what they were about to do. He hovered the selector over the link and selected it. A picture of a very promiscuous female appeared on the screen. \" Get your Martian lover today! \" It read in big red letters. \" Fucking Spam \" Lewis said as he deleted the message.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I wanted to answer the prompt with a bit of stream of conciousness reflection. It' s been five years in here. It' s been comfy. The lack of clarity suits me. Clarity only distorts reality. If everything were so clear, why would there be debate? Am I alone down here? Maybe Plato was right in ideal, but he sure did n' t get a grasp on the evolving society standards. How can you prescribe freedom? That' s what the light is. Some manifested symbolism meant for someone' s mantlepiece. That chandelier looks pretty from way down here, but maybe the sky is the limit for me. That bullshit roof ca n' t hold down someone who seeks the light! Because maybe I was looking for the better light. If I can see down here, and I have my flashlight, what matter does it make if someone else is afraid of the dark? Maybe I just do n' t want to come out to play because I have better things to do than stare from under someone else' s shadow.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Dragons flew, the sun bled over the sky as two lovers took hand in hand while the old man wrote his recollection. Lily stood upon the bridge looking to the ethereal darkness flowing in steady streams underneath. As she sent that last heartwarming text message to her only friend, lover, Ian looked a sharp eye at the unnerving humanoid beast that twisted and turned in its deformed shape, long unnerving nails sticking from its weathers hands like blades in the shadows. all those stories, all those poems, all those unique worlds coexisting within a single mind. a single universe, a beautiful fractal that overtook his imagination. as he touched the mechanical keyboard like a sea of words his worlds unleashed themselves from his mind. his overflowing head no longer needed to store all the tales that it gave birth to. as a flowing sea of words the tales fell, almost in perfect harmony, perfect motion, to the paper. Sentence after sentence, page after page. he did n' t even need to think, it just came to him, a story in a completed form forming with what seemed no effort on the screen. the mind looked around his empty room, at the books that piled up in his shelves and he had grown up with. he looked at the screen once more. Maybe some day his own world will sit up on that shelf as well.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" Oh. My. God. \" I said, then looked up. \" err, sorry. But this is so boring. I mean look all he does is sit there. He does n' t even do anything. Sometimes he yell at that computer, but he does n' t do anything else. Oh wait, here comes my favorite part. Look he' s going to work. It' s the same thing, but at a different place. And here he is looking at the little computer in his pocket. Again. He does n' t really do *anything* worth noting. \" My eyes met a pair that seem as ancient as the universe itself. Looking into them, I could almost see through eternity. The figure was an elderly man, his back nearly bent double as though all the pressure of the world rested on his shoulders. He was much thinner than I expected. I felt the urge to fill his silence, so I continued speaking. \" I mean, he' s a bit blasphemous at times, but who is n' t? I guess he may have just stolen that movie, but that seems to be a social grey area, does n' t it? He did n' t physically take it, but then again it was n' t really his property. He did n' t even watch the whole thing either. I guess that' s bad, but not evil. He watches a lot of violent things on those screens, but he does n' t reenact them. He just seems really boring. I bet he' s nice, but he does n' t really go out and do good. \" The imploring eyes continued to stare. For some reason I was supposed to judge this man' s life, and determine his eternal fate, yet I could n' t come up with anything to tip the scale. I felt that this would n' t be accepted. After a considerable amount of consideration, I was still unsure of what to do. Finally I replied, \" you know what, I think this guy should just be forced to watch his own life to see how boring it was. Maybe given enough time he' ll have an answer for you. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "The longship crashed into the ground, spewing up a monstrous wave of dirt around it as it plowed a new furrow. It came to a stop near the giant banner proudly proclaiming that today was the day of the Alabama-Mississippi Regional Skeet Shoot. A wide plank was thrust overboard and thumped down on the edge of the hill and an orange-skinned alien sauntered down the plank. As armed men began to pour out of the front of the fairgrounds, the alien raised his battleax and bellowed out with a loud commanding voice, \" Kneel before Zode and you shall be forgiven of your sins! \" The only answer was the simultaneous click of over 80 shotguns snapped back into alignment, ready to fire. \" Very well, \" the alien called out. \" Release the catapult! \" Two flags on top of the alien longship suddenly started gesticulating furiously in alien semaphore. Up in orbit, the message was received, transcribed, and transported to the Admiral. Shortly thereafter, a good-sized boulder was ponderously rolled into the airlock. \" Hey, Jasper, \" one of the Alabaman men said, pointing into the sky, \" That there looks like a shooting star a' coming right at us. \" > There are three parts to every story. The beginning, the middle, and the twist. > [ More by me ] ( https: //www. reddit. com/r/kj6bwb/ )", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "My name is Maria. I am nine years old. My brother Tommy is seven years old. Our parents are missing. They' re being replaced with new people every day. My friend Kate' s mom emails and calls her every day, even though she' s different every time. I have n' t heard from my parents since they first disappeared. I' m afraid that something bad happened to them, or they are in some remote corner of the world where there are no computers. It was scary at first because no one was used to shifting bodies. It was scary later because people got used to shifting bodies. Tommy and me started hiding from the new people. Some of them were scary. One told us that he would sell us in markets. Tommy started to cry, and the man used Dad' s fist to punch him. And then he punched me. Some other people took Mom' s and Dad' s bodies outside of the house, and while they were gone I locked all of the doors. We moved furniture to block every door, I closed all of the curtains, and I tried nailing boards we were going to use for a treehouse over some of the windows. No one has come by, and we have n' t left the house in over two weeks. But we' ve run out of food. I need to go find some by myself, because Tommy is too scared to leave. I' m scared too. Tomorrow' s my tenth birthday. I do n' t know what will happen, but I have to leave tonight in case new-Maria is someone mean. But I ca n' t leave Tommy alone. I' ll find some way to help him. No one else will.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" Do you ever think about what it' s like up there? \" Her hair was spread out on the grass. The cool night air had left them both with goosebumps as Alec fidgeted, trying to find a position with his hand on hers that did n' t make it seem like he was nervous. The city was a long way away now. It was her idea, to come out here, get away from it all. He leant back, other arm propped behind his head as he looked up at the stars. \" It' s so dark, \" he said. \" Is it? \" She rolled onto her side. In the dim moonlight he could see nothing beyond the reflections in her eyes, but he knew she would be smiling. She loved to smile. She took her hand, leaving his despondent, and placed it over his eyes. What little light there was before vanished. \" What do you see? \" she asked. He could feel her breath against his ear. Warm. The breeze sent a chill through his spine a moment later. \" Nothing. \" She moved her hand, running it down his face until she let it rest on his chest. For one fleeting moment he was terrified she' d feel his beating heart, know his every intention and laugh at his childishness. But she just waited, letting his eyes roam. \" Wow, \" he breathed. The moon hung low, but the cloudless night was endless. Millions of stars floated in the heavens. The ribbon the milky way rose from above the horizon. \" I never realised there were so many. \" Cas sidled up closer to him. \" I always think. There' s so much up there. All you need to do is find somewhere quiet, and just look. You' re never alone. \" Alec brought her in close.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" Dave? It' s me, mom. \" My hands shivered slightly. \" Hey ma, why are you calling me so late? \" I checked the clock. It was late. 10: 00 pm late. \" I just wanted to see if you remembered to pick up your gramma' s medicine. She needs it tonight and tomorrow morning, you know. \" I could feel his hands crushing the phone. I would too, if I was him. He volunteered to get my mother off my hands, a huge relief for me. But as much of a burden my mother is, she is still mom. His grandmother. I had a gut feeling she was about to die. \" Did you give her the medicine yet, Dave? She also needs some money for bingo night, every Friday, make sure you drive her there tomorrow. \" I covered the microphone a little to hide my gulp. Through the speaker I can hear his panting. Dave always panted when furious. \" Yes. Gave it to her right after dinner. \" He spoke a little fast. I trust my son, but I feel as if he was lying. What can I do, bed ridden like this? \" Thanks, Dave. Thanks a lot. \" \" Sure. \" A small sigh followed his seemingly genuine reassurance. \" Good night, go- \"\" Good night. \" He hastily ended the call. Teary eyed and slightly depressed, I whispered to the phone, hoping desperately for someone to tell him what I said. \" Good luck, Dave. I love you. \" -- http: //www. reddit. com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2hdtee/wp_you_find_out_that_you_have_been_playing_life/ckrs9fr By /u/brokenleader", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Oh, you know I miss you, When your body' s cold and dead. You know I miss your misery, Back when we wore your red. Oh, you know I miss you, I miss your heart and soul. The way it tasted in my mouth... Beautiful, salty, and cold. My friend, my foe - my future wives - The ones to whom I pledge, To never leave a stone unturned, Or leave you hanging on a ledge. I know in life we disagreed: You thought I was insane. But please, excuse my temperament, For it only affects my brain. Come on, I gave you life' s great thrill! To die in horrid fun! I gave all that I could give in life, Yet still, from me, you run. At times this world does not make sense, With its twisted moral rights. Yet when I had the most of fun, Was in our heated verbal fights. Oh, you know I miss you, And the pain you made me feel, When you fled from my fleeting offer of death, And I had to catch you by the heel. Oh, you know I miss you, Despite what you do to me. You do n' t take the love I offer you; Is it because death is free?", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "WARNING WARNING, DAMAGE CRITICAL Impossible. DAMAGE CRITICAL, REPEAT, DAMAGE CRITICAL It was Impossible. He had the odds stacked against him. Flying an outdated fighter with conventional weapons and he had his sensors jammed. And yet, he prevailed. He destroyed all of Pixy' s special weapons save for the ECM, forcing the two aces to duel head on like the knights of old. Pixy should have seen it coming. He was there alongside him, up against the biggest threats Belka could throw at them and every time, he prevailed. Rot team, Excalibur, the XB-0, the Espada team and Wizard flight. All fell to him. The Demon Lord of the Round Table. But enough was enough. He had hoped that Cipher would see his views. That he would understand why he betrayed the Allied Forces and joined A World with No Boundaries. But as it turned out, he was a puppet like all the rest and like the rest of them, he would die. Pixy turned his damaged Morgan around to face Cipher again, finger hovering over the fire button on his flight stick and sent one last message to his old friend through the radio. \"Yo Buddy, you still alive? \"Note: Long time lurker, first time poster. Saw a prompt about my favorite Ace Combat game and just had to reply. Constructive criticism is welcome.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" The cake... is... a... lie, \" he scribbled on the wall of his den with a piece of glass. All he could hope now was that his son would find the message. He know he was n' t thinking straight, but he counted 36 marks he had gently made on his Companion Cube. Or was it 37? One mark for each can of beans. The Cube did not mind being his marking surface, it had told him earlier before he was shot by the turret. Did it tell him, or was just the delusion? He needed food, desperately. Preferably cake. For a moment, his mind seized on the thought that it would be important to tell his son that the video game was a lie too, the simulation was a reality and he was trapped in it? But how would you put that into words? How do you tell someone from inside a game that the game is real? The name \" Newell \" floated through his consciousness. Something to do with Newell... or was it Gladys? GLaDOS? Were they the same being in his reality or a figment of imagination...? And who was the one free man? Maybe that guy could get him out if his son did n' t realize the important of the message. \" The cake is a lie, \" he told the Companion Cube, so it would remember. It whirred softly, or so he thought. It was a good companion. He wondered if it wanted cake too, or if it preferred bacon. He shut his eyes and drifted back to sleep.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "She walked into my office like a hurricane of perfume and seduction. I' d had about five fingers too much whiskey, but I still knew I needed to be on edge with this one. She' d lure you in with her looks and kill you with her brain. \"Are you Jack Klinger? \"she said. \"That' s what my mother always told me, \"I said. She sat down across from my desk. \"I' ve got a job for you. \"\"What' s the deal? \"\"I lost something. \"\"What? \"\"Something important. \"\"Spit it out. \"\"My broach. \"\"I ain' t a lost and found box. \"\"Fourteen yellow sapphires surround three diamonds. The biggest is 128 carats. \"I whistled. \"Call the cops. \"\"I can' t. \"\"So it' s something you want to keep out of the prying eye? \"\"It' s not illegal. \"\"I ain' t asking. \"\"I need it kept hush hush. \"\"I need a paycheck. \"\"There' ll be plenty when you find it. More than you can make in a year finding bail jumpers. \"I thought about it. A rogue lover probably stole it. She didn' t want the husband to find out. \"Deal. \"She filled me in on all the details as I pulled out my normal contract. I filled everything out then slid the paper and a pen across the desk to her. She signed and dated it. \"How soon do you think you' ll be able to find it? \"\"No clue. Today or never have the same odds. \"She picked up the contract and pressed her lips against the paper. She smiled at me and batted her eyelashes. \"A little motivation. \"She stood up and walked out of the room with hips swaying like a ship during a storm. I picked up the contract. \"Sealed with a crimson kiss. \"_______ Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this check out my subreddit /r/Puns_are_Lazy.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Once there was a kingdom where everyone was happy. They were ruled by a king and a queen, and they each lived in a big castle with many servants and guards and ladies-in-waiting and squires. And they had a son, the prince, who also lived in a castle. But his castle was a ways away from theirs. The king ruled justly, and many people liked him Then, one day, from the east, there came four monsters, great dragons with skin made of steel and bellies ful of fire. The first some flew roaring towards the King' s castle and spewed fire at it, setting it ablaze as all the people of the kingdom watched in horror. They knew that dragons inhabited the lands to the east, but for a dragon to come here? It was unheard of and frightening. The second dragon set the Queen' s castle alight as well, and flew off, laughing as the castles crumbled to the ground, with many servants and guards and ladies-in-waiting and squires still inside. The third dragon attacked the Prince' s castle. But the castle was too large, so he set a wall on fire and left before the guards could kill him. The destruction caused by the dragons caused people to become very afraid. The markets closed as people rushed home to be with their families. But wait, what of the fourth dragon? He perished. He wished to burn down the villages. But the first villagers he tried to burn were brave, and fought against him. Finally, as he swallowed the last villager, the dragon fell, dead to the ground, as the last man cut the inside of his throat. To this day, we remember the destruction caused by the evil dragons. Their master is dead, but it will not bring the poor villagers and servants and guards and the others back. Because sadly, not every story has a happy ending. But that does not mean that we should forget them. Indeed. Stories such as these we must never forget.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "**My island** & nbsp; & nbsp; What is this? Possums and spiders? Alligators and scorpions? & nbsp; & nbsp; I' ve never asked for this And they probably did n' t either & nbsp; & nbsp; What has happened to the island? Nothing happened to me But what has happened to the island & nbsp; & nbsp; It has gotten crazy So crazy that I can feel its presence & nbsp; & nbsp; Am I crazy? Am I wrong? Am I right? All I wanted in this island was for it to be good For it to be peaceful But alas. & nbsp; & nbsp; I tried and tried and tried But I have failed I have failed & nbsp; & nbsp; The kids are no more They have followed by so called \" signs \" But the \" signs \" did n' t work wonders for them The signs did n' t work wonders for them & nbsp; & nbsp; For where to from here? In this desolate island? & nbsp; & nbsp; I guess I' ll just have to take this island And swallow it up to the grave. & nbsp; & nbsp; http: //nebulus99. deviantart. com/art/My-island-574812505 http: //nebulus99. deviantart. com/gallery/", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "When the child appeared, it was alone. It cried and cried and cried, but no one came. As it grew older, it began to crawl through the darkness, still wailing for its mother but to no avail. As the child developed, the repetitive noise gave way to words but the child still wandered and tripped through the darkness completely alone. Soon, the cries turned to whimpers; frightened, little moans that told of a darkness so heavy, it tore under its fingernails and dug at the drums in its ears. Scar tissue lined its cheeks where the child frequently used to scratch at its eyes, hoping to make some colour in the darkness, but, as always, the darkness pressed in again, filling its retinas. It was inevitable that the child' s madness would turn to despair. As it fell to its knees, it gave one last howling cry of sadness. It cried for the mother it never had, the light it never saw and the love it never felt. As the howl faded to snuffling sobs, the child wrapped up within itself, drawing its knees to its chest, arms wrapped around close. As it did, the skin of the child began to flicker and crackle. The child' s eyes glazed over. As it let out one last despondent sigh, the air from its breath turned to fire, engulfing the child completely. And so the child became our light of the universe, the being that gives our home warmth and life. By its sacrifice, we may know what it never did.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Of course the Earthlings had firearms, they had done for... I do n' t know, 1000 years? We had our own short, but vibrant history to learn and the long history of Earth was so confusing and had so many sides telling their own story. We Martians were much better, all recorded fairly and accurately so the truth was never in doubt. Firearms were, of course, completely unnecessary. The Earthlings had always had weapons because, even from the earliest days, in their pre-history, they had needed to defend themselves against savage neighbours. We were n' t savages, so we had never needed weapons. Disputes were resolved fairly, quickly and with the utmost consideration, after all, we are all Martians and all interested in the same goal, the prominence and wellbeing of the Mars colony. See, the thing is, I' m part of the original Mars colony. I was in the third resettling phase. These fifth phase resettlers are n' t.... quite like us. I heard from my neighbours that some of them were thieves, rapists and murderers. Sure, we have those things on the Mars colony, but these events are so rare as to be nearly non-existant. Surely nobody can blame me for having a firearm, right? It' s just self defence. I have a family after all, two girls, any father has a right to be protective. Is n' t that so? My neighbours are having their firearms made tomorrow, it' s just a safety measure. We' ve always had peace, this is just a precaution. Just a precaution..... I never trusted those fifth wave immigrants.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Today was the day. When I heard that my daughter' s killer had lost his latest appeal, I had started waiting for this day. At six foot eight the man was powerful. He could have had gainful employment in a number of jobs. I heard the talk from the guards that this man read a book a day. I wonder what his life would have been like if he had applied himself. Instead, one unusually cold day in October, he went up to Katie' s car, pulled a gun, and demanded that she get out. Katie had always been a fierce girl, not one to let anybody tell her what to do. I' d taught her that her life is more valuable than any of her possessions, but her attitude got the better of her. And then she was dead. It was n' t the crime he was sentenced to death for, but a life of crime always had casualties. One of his just happened to mean something to me. The day of his execution, I waited with baited breath for the request. I' d cooked lobster, pizzas, and apple pies. I' d made the last hour of many men' s lives slightly better. I could n' t imagine what this man would want. I always prepared the kitchen beforehand for anything I might need to make. Two hours before his execution by lethal injection, I received a piece of paper. I leaned over the counter and opened it up. Grilled Cheese and Fries. I got to work. -- - Twenty minutes later I brought the tray to the killer' s cell. I peered in at the large man, sitting on his bunk with his head in his hands. After I tapped on the glass I got a glimpse of his face. He was crying. I opened the slot and slid the tray in. Once he had a hold of it, I let go and turned away. \" I' m sorry. \" I froze, unsure of what to say. The man had killed Katie. He had made life harder for Katie' s mother and myself, and he had done it over a shitty' 93 Jeep Cherokee. I turned. He stared into my eyes and said it again. \" I' m sorry. I really am. \" I turned and resumed walking away. Just before he was out of earshot, I glanced at him. \" So am I. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "My days. It has been multitudes. Too many to count. The sky was dark, ravaged by dark clouds, ready to rip me to pieces. My ship was noble, golden in it' s time, sails made of linen woven by gods. My crew was brave, hardy, full of life and potential. Here I kneel, to the memory of what once was mine, under my cowl of protection. Graced by my presence and nurtured by my heart and soul. The plated gold coloured steel broken by nature, the hand woven sails ripped by the cruel tendencies on nature, bodies broken by Poseidon' s wrath. My hands grabbed at the watered sand, trying to grab the burning desperation in my heart. It had been days, multitudes of them. Too many to remember. I see darkness enveloping the edges of my sight as I reminisce about my failures as the captain of the lives on my ship. I see their faces flash in front of me one by one, burning their sorrow into my memory as they pass me by. Trembling as the cold sea laps at my legs, knees shaking under the weight of guilt. How have I become the undoing of what they had entrusted upon me. Tears well up in my eyes, shadows flicker as my vision blurs. Silently screaming in my chest, what have I done. Calling dooms name to satisfy my need for adventure. What have I become to outlive the remains of all that I held dear. As I take a knee, I look up trough my tear ridden eyes, my hand grabbed at where my heart was burning. Screaming. \" Poseidon, you will pay for every soul you have taken from me! \" Lighting flashed, my call has been answered and I will repay my debt, I will see my crew avenged. For blood has been spilled to fulfil my desire, I will pay what I owe. Life for life, I will find repentance.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" What time was it when you saw the colour earlier today? \" Kelsey asked, probing into the first incident of the week. She was as adamant about logging these instances now as she was when we first started dating in grade 4, but I was too preoccupied with preparing for my first shift as a police officer to focus on the latest sighting. As I nervously walk into the police station for the initial tour, I am met at the reception desk by a broad shouldered man who offers a firm handshake and introduces himself as Tim Bennett, chief of police. After stumbling through an introduction, he leads me to the lounge, the garage and the various offices, running through the pertinent details of the job. He then pulls out his large key ring, searching for the key to the steel door that leads to the jail cells. The door creeks open. \" Have you ever seen a jail before? \" Before I could answer, a flash of brilliant colour consumes me. Not one. Not two. Three of the prisoners inside the jail cell were in full colour, head-to-toe. \" Snap out of it, kid \" Tim said, smiling at my initial facial expressions. \" They' re behind bars, you do n' t need to worry about them. \" After the tour, I rush back to tell Kelsey about my new sightings. I' ve never seen three people in full colour in the same day, and I knew she would be just as excited to note these new developments. I run into the house. \" How was your tour? \" \" THREE SIGHTINGS! I HAD THREE SIGHTINGS AT THE JAIL! \" Kelsey rushes over to the coffee table where she stores her log book, and quickly fans the pages. \" It was in the prison \" \" Hmmm, that' s interesting \" \" What? What is? \" \" Last week when you saw colour at Miguel' s apartment, and his buddy that was there was sent to jail for assault and battery the next day. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" Is that what they said, Joe? \" \" Yupperee. Coupla, kids, I think. Maybe with one a those vo-co-der things. \" \" Probly. \" \" But... \" \" Ha. You think it could be real, dontcha? \" \" I mean, if it is... \" \" They asked for our faults, did n' t they? You really think they' ll accept us, after we list all a those? \" \" Well we have done good things too - \" \" Not enough. \" \"... \" \" Think about it. People die every day, who could be saved with just a few dollars. Corporations control our governments, we' re poisoning the planet, people hate each other for the *colour of their skin*, and greenbacks rule us all. Tell me it is n' t that bad. \" \" But look at what we *have* done! Got to space, cured most diseases, raised literacy, tried a give equal rights - \" \" That' s the problem. We' ve tried, and it' s not enough. \" \" Maybe - \" \" Just close the radio. \" \" I mean, we could - \" \" Close it, Joe. \" \" I - \" \"... \" \"... \" *Click. *", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" This is bullshit! \" Duane was outraged. You see, three weeks earlier Duanes' s lovely wife had taken the liberty of cleaning his contacts for him. Unfortunately for Duane she did not stop to think about whether or not using bleach was actually the best idea. Bless her soul. \" Nobody in my house can see! How the hell would any of us have even ordered this? I' m not paying! \" In an effort to make it up to Duane, his saint of a wife decided to try \" watching a mile in his eyes, \" so to speak. She tends to stick with what she knows. Bless her soul. \" We' re terribly sorry about the mistake, sir. You' ll see those charges disappear in just a few days \" Duane seemed to calm down. \" But you know the rules. \" Duane turned to leave. With one arm victoriously wrapped around his wife, he dropped a dollar on the floor next to the Swear Jar and ran into the wall next to the door.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I' m tired. Physically drained, mentally exhausted, spiritually bereft and otherwise kaput. Why am I so thoroughly wiped? I' m wiped because I *care* too damned much. Who do I blame for my current situation? Not that it matters really, but I blame humanity. That' s right. I blame the entire race of men for my exhaustion. I blame you upright, sentient apes for the hopeless feeling that' s been giving me nightmares on good nights, worry filled insomnia on bad nights and a panic fueled gnawing in my gut for the past 12 years. Why? Because you never *learn*! You ***never*** have and you ***never*** will!! I' m tired and I' m done. I' ve had it with everyone of you. As of this moment, I am leaving every thing behind. Every Starbucks, iPhone, Wi-Fi, all of it. **D-O-N-E** **Done! ** I am past caring about the partisan politics, I do n' t care about reality television, and I could give a sunny shit about A-D list celebs and who they' re boning! I am walking away from my lame job, my shit hole apartment, and my safe-for-the-environment-but-cost-me-out-the-ass-smart car. I' m taking what I had in my bank account and charting a course to somewhere where I can not be bothered by ***ANY*** of you self absorbed ass hats. Maybe then, I' ll be able to sleep without worrying about how we' re glossing over curing Cancer, A. I. D. S. or whatever new disease comes along and, instead, we' re focusing on developing new and exciting ways to wipe each other out.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" I call for a mistrial! \" Tom Hancock began to yell at the judge as soon as he entered the court room. The judge Madame Trezon sign and asked him \" And for what reason would this case be a mistrial? This man was seen by hundreds of people as he killed 27 innocent civilians and caused approximately two point three million dollars of damage. \" Tom fixed his collar and cleared his throat \" Your honor, for the seven thousand eight hundred and thirty sixth time the police officers of this city did not read the maruander rights to the person they were arresting. \" Tom turns over to face the police officer who arrested the man. \" Do you even know what the maruander rights are? \" the officer Terry Holts gets a blank expression on his face as sweat begins to drip down \" You have the right to be silent, if you say or.. um do anything we may use it against you, you have the right to become a lawyer... and, uhmm.. \" Tom slams his hand down on the table \" This is a huge joke! you keep having me come in here day after fucking day just to do the same thing over again. \" he sits back down in his chair \" you guys really needs to fix this justice system. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "How many of ten are gay? It' s got to be more than last year. Even more than the year before that. But will it ever be enough for me to tell them? For the conversation to be uneventful? You see, there' s nothing that terrifies me more than the day I have to tell my parents I' m gay. Again and again I try; to no avail. Every time I try; the will leaks from me, quickly, like water from fire hose, the will gushes and spurts and does not get me through. My mother, whom I love and loves me, looks through me these days. Through me she sees the grandchildren she can have; the ones she can dote on, and spoil. She believes it' s her right, and it wo n' t be taken from her. My father, whom I love and loves me, brooks little backtalk and is a Man Of God. His goal in life is to see his Son go farther than he did, and have a beautiful, loving wife. He taps his foot waiting for that day. But it' s not what God wanted for me. And today I' m going to do it. I' m going to pull them into the Dining Room, when no one else is there, and give up my secret. No matter how much it' s going to hurt. I break the news, red faced and stricken. What I' ve said has left my parents shell-shocked. Silent, they have nothing to say, and scrambling for an words at all, I ask \" How many out of 10 people do you think are gay? \" \" Does that matter, Son \", says Dad. \" Yes, there are a lot more people in the world that are like this than you might think \", I retort. Defensively. Right then, my Mother smiled at me. Not quite sure what I was seeing, I turn to my Father, who' s doing the same. \" We' re proud of you Son, for saying the words out loud \" And it dawned on me: they already knew.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Hello everyone, and thanks for listening to KAGS, the only radio station for 500 miles! Remember, if you want to contribute to keep the station running, leave supplies on the concrete pad at 30°36' 54. 9 \" N 96°20' 18. 1 \" W, around noon any given day! Now for the weather! Current pressure is 30. 55 inches of mercury, atmospheric moisture, 55 %. Be careful, with the dust storm blowing in from the east, gas masks *are going* to get clogged. Prevailing winds are, as said, from the east, and local radiation is 12 rads/hour. It' s brutal folks, as we enter the 2nd month of the drought, so conserve water! If possible, try to limit your salt intake. Remember, those canned goods you' re subsisting on probably have massive amounts of sodium in them. And now, for the ten-thousandth time, on this, the illustrious anniversary of the Big One, REM' s \" It' s the end of the world as we know it! \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Excerpt from the *Liber Daemonologica*, as translated by twelfth century monks: -- - 6 - The number 6 is associated with Baboons. They are the lowest form of demon. Should you see a troop of 6 baboons, run, and do n' t look back. 66 - 66 is the number of Stan. He is, despite appearance, the worst human. He is stupid, mean, angry, selfish, and incredibly proficient in nearly every method of inflicting harm. 666- 666, the third sigil, is, as you likely know, the so called Number of the Beast. Truly, they are all numbers of various beasts. Satan is merely the most famous. 6666 - four sixes names the thing called Hypersatan. Truly, it is a terrible thing to behold. The Apocrypha of Saint Sebastiano suggest the the Archangel Michael himself could not defeat it. There is no record of how or when Hypersatan made it' s presence known to the world, or why it disappeared, but we can only hope it does not return. five sixes and above - it stands to reason that further chains of sixes are capable of suggesting yet worse things. We dare not render them, and ask that you avoid doing so yourself.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "John drove his red go-kart through space with a number nine circled on the front. He had been evading Death for so long now he could not remember but his only saving grace was the horn, it warded off the demons that would wish to claim his soul and it is the reason Death has n' t caught him yet. John caught sight of a familiar scythe ahead of him, it was Death with his black robes, long scythe and a skull for his head he was looking right at John. John had no fear for the mighty horn would protect him, the go-kart sped up to Death and John had a small gold horn and he was ready to honk. Meters away from Death, John started to squeeze the horn, but before he squeezed the horn Death lowered his long silver scythe onto the end of the horn, right through John' s hand and piercing the horn. Death stared at John and he whispered \" Got no horn any more John. You' re coming with me. \" John opened his mouth and said \" Ah shit. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" well that was something \" I said after we finally turned off the device, that screamed and beeped like an earthquake alarm. \" where did you find this thing? the guy clearly rob you... \" \" Man, I do n' t know... \" answered Jonah, \" this guy appeared out of nowhere in an old car he was kinda the mad scientific type so I thought there might be a chance... \" \" so someone with a weird ass look comes from a car, call you and tries to sell you this... thing and you accepted? how much was it? \" \" 5 dollars \" \" and you could' nt figure it was most likely a plastic toy? god dammit jonah... at least it' s not much \" *some times later* \" Hey Jonah! how are you? I hope your wife is alright \" BZZZZZT \" Hey \" said Jonah \" what' s about my wife? \" \" Is this the crappy thing you showed me some time ago? man i like you, but sometimes you are quite stuborn \" BZZZZZT \" See? \" I continued \" this thing is still useless and broken.... \" Jonah started to walk away and said: \" I guess I' m just gon na leave, since it seems like you are a total hypocrite, oh and by the way, there was a range limit parameter inside, and it was on *none*", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "He suddenly realizes that he' s lying down on dry grass... Almost like he' s in the middle of a savanna. He tries to get up but he ca n' t. He looks around to see if he can grab ahold of something to hoist himself up.... But notices a huge male lion to his left. It does n' t seem to notice him. However, it seems very interested in a dark green and black object about fifteen or so odd feet from where he' s lying. The lion approaches and begins to sniff the object. It let' s out a loud roar.... Causing him to panic as his adrenaline starts pumping. The lion proceeds to bite the object and flick it into the air. As it flies through the air, he notices the object take a familiar form. The shock is almost unbearable as he sees that it is actually his left leg with his cargo pants and boot still on it. He looks down to confirm what he just saw... There is just a mess... Of blood and shredded cargo pants.... Aaaaaaaaagggghhhhhhh!!!!!", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "The explosion rang throughout the city. I could hear the collective screaming of everyone who suddenly disappeared. Why did it leave me? Why was I the only one left? My parents, my uncles, everyone I have ever known and loved. Gone. I was the only one left. I could n' t believe that it would do this. That Gozerian was a real piece of shit. I was the last remaining the survivor of the catastrophe of New York. I walked for hours trying to find another life form. I searched dad' s firehouse, and our old apartment building, there was no one to be found. I searched dad' s firehouse, hoping to at least find Mr. Tully, I was positive that he could have survived. All I found were his crushed glasses. I headed downstairs to the containment grid and just found a mess of ectoplasm and rubble. I knew that all the ghosts had been freed by the explosion, but now that everyone in New York, including the Ghostbusters, was missing or probably dead, there was not one to re contain the free roaming spirits. That was twenty years ago. The city slowly but surely rebuilt itself, and now I, Oscar Barret-Venkman, am the leader of a new team of Ghostbusters, and I' ll pull Gozer out of that shithole he climbed into and I' ll avenge my parents, my uncles, and all of New York, and hopefully find a way to bring everyone back.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "It all came to a halt, a disturbing yet calm silence. The sky was a grayish white, the sun and clouds seem to have been hiding. No wildlife seemed to exist. It was like existing on another plane of existence, then nothing. There was a sound finally, a humming sound? As I craned my neck to and fro, the lights gently crescendoed to a comfortable level. My movements were off they seemed muddled or too fast. The last thing I remembered was the ship coming out of nowhere, not being in a room- this room was unfamiliar. I stretched my arms and legs, but that did n' t feel normal either and was met with a whirring sound.' Stop straining,' an odd voice projected into my mind.' If you do n' t like all the damned noise, stop pushing the limits.' Despite the odd interruption, I followed the instructions as though I had heard this uninvited voice before. I sat up slowly, my eyes looking down at the metallic body beneath me, I reached out to touch it, but stopped abruptly when also metallic pearly \" hands \" met my eyes. I stretched and flexed my fingers, made a fist frowning. Everything felt normal, though also foreign. I expected anxiety, my heart rate to increase, it did n' t. I sat still, held my breath- wait I was n' t breathing.' Seriously? You have no heart and no need to breathe air. This body is far more superior than that which you had. We go through this everyday, making a note to mainframe.' Body superior? No air? No heart? What. the. fuck. I stood up, noticing the lack of pain in my knees and shoulders. I smoothed my thumb and three fingers down my \" body \" which felt like a sort of skin, but more like oiled leather or a velvety, smoothe skin-like substance. That' s all I can write atm. I' m out of time.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "With every battle scar they gave, justice was to which I was a slave. With each villain dead, another rose to restore the malice of my fallen foes. __ Years fought, not a single of my own; Spent instead living a life alone. My dearest Melissa, gone astray, Perhaps I would join you then - that day. __ They said trumpets play when you join the void, Until one' s life is all but destroyed. I sought no assurance, it was my freedom, Though I did fear my foes; that I would join them. __ I stand before you, to find out why, Why I would meet you only when I die? The scars of battle were my only friends, Each I befriended by slicing trends. __ Tell me writer, why give me this pain? Why fill my life with unfathomed disdain? Need I have died by the thrust of a thousand nails? \" No, but it did boost the comic book sales. \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I may not fight, I may not drink I may not have large battle scars But my job' s the worst, methinks: I am a pirate accountant, YAR! *CHORUS: O I am a pirate accountant A fearsome actuary And though I' m non combatant I' m every bit as scary* Our humble crew, though they are tough Piracy provides so little money So our finances, they were quite rough Our situation aint so funny *CHORUS* But these big blokes, Lord bless their souls, Their cheer stays full and hearty So every night upon the shoals They threw their great big parties *CHORUS* And though they could just end me With naught more than a leer The books, they looked quite ghastly And I' d had it up to here *CHORUS* I strode up to the captain My angered voice did move: \" I' ve held the brandy captive' Till the balances improve! \" *CHORUS* These burly men, their burly frames They trembled, terrified They all jumped up as if in flames Their pillaging was hurry-fied *CHORUS* So now you know why this egghead' s The baddest man you' ll ever see Forevermore you all shall dread The Accountant of the Seas! *CHORUS*", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "You might ask me if all the suffering, all the destruction is worth of our desire to be independent nation. My answer is that our liberty is not a mere whim, but a matter of life and death. We could have lived in a state with a government which treats their people as human beings. But we no longer can nor want to be ruled by monsters to whom a life has no value whatsoever. All they care about are profits from the mining. Noone on Earth bats an eye when a fifteen year old dies ten kilometers below the surface as long as the precious metals keep flowing and an Earth kid has his new gadget for a birthday present. USA has always been a predator, pillaging entire countries with zero regard for those who live in it. They had been holding Mars colonies in iron fist, employing war criminals to keep us in line. They had been promising to make our lives bearable, but alas the agreements with Americans are worth less than a paper they are written on. Therefore, I declare the creation of Independent State of Mars. It' s better to die fighting than living on your knees.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "The laughter wo n' t stop. The rain does n' t matter, the hospital certainly does n' t matter. Slowly I regain my composure, with small fits of giggles coming out. \" I should go talk to him, let him know the hospital... \" The laughter starts again before I can finish the thought. I shamble into the main entrance, some older volunteer asking if I' m okay. Through fits of laughter I ask where the ER is and the old man, looking rather confused, points down a hallway. I make my way to the ER and wander into the treatment area, guffaws having to be stifled the whole way. I see him strapped to a bed, laughing with tears of terror streaming down his face. He sees me and laughs harder \" I do n' t want to see it anymore \" he laughs pleadingly \" make it stop \". \" It never stops until you pass it on \" I say seriously. Finally not laughing, I can think and talk. \" I' m sorry it was you, but you said you needed a good laugh \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Love, my wonderful spiked hair son, is like a good beer. There are thousands of them out there, maybe even millions. But in all of this there will be one single beer you' ll love ( or if your polygamist two or three, your choice ). But still, there will be one that is special to you and it will speak to you. Whether it is bland and mass produced or imported from some frozen waste, just choose yours. Now finding the special one is difficult, especially in America. Just like many people, it lacks flavor and substance, but there are those special places that craft there own. Now I warn you if you go for moonshine you' ll die. But even if its an import and your uneasy at first, treat it with respect and try. If you do n' t like it, do n' t drink it again. Do n' t. I tried that once. It sucked. I can still taste it. Now what I wanted you to learn is that you must look for the right beer- I mean woman. There are many out there, but there is one for you. It just has to speak to you. I promise it works. Now go, my son. Be the man to make me proud... and get me a beer while your at it! He, he. Beeeeeer.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Ticket #: 783 Submitted: 03/09/2016 @ 8: 15am Location: S301-12 Problem Report: NEED A NEW KEYBOARD BECAUSE SOME IDIOT HAS SUPERGLUED MY CAPS LOCK KEY. Status: Closed 03/09/2016 @ 09: 07am -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- - Ticket #: 784 Submitted: 03/09/2016 @ 1: 10pm Location: S301-12 Problem Report: Returned from lunch, all keys new keyboard have been painted black. Sorry but need new keyboard again. Status: Closed 03/09/2016 @ 1: 25pm -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- - Ticket #: 785 Submitted: 03/09/2016 @ 1: 31pm Location: S301-12 Problem Report: Nw. Kybrd. Prblm: Spcbr &. Vwls. R. Nt. Wrkng. Status: Closed 03/09/2016 @ 1: 45pm -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- - Ticket #: 786 Submitted: 03/09/2016 @ 2: 30pm Location: S312-CMN Problem Report: Pretended to step out for a smoke, caught the little pocket turd that' s been messing with my keyboard. Janitorial service needed in S312 commons. Paper shredder should also probably be replaced. Status: Open", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "It was a Tuesday in the late afternoon. Kids were fresh out of school playing in the park. Their childish screams and taunts echoed across the road into the quaint cafe. Jim sat with his coffee and his newspaper like he always did. A lit cigarette frittered in between his fingers. He mulled over the newspaper not really caring of its contents. It was just another Tuesday for him. The waitress came by with her usual smile. \" Would you like so more coffee Jim? \" He greeted her with his own warm smile. \" No I think I' ll be just fine. Thank you. \" he said as he tapped the ashes of his cigarette. The notion seemed funny to him. He had come to this cafe for the last 10 years with the same routine. Coffee, a newspaper, and a cigarette. He was n' t even sure what he did. Nothing in the newspaper brought awe to him. Nothing stood out it was all just bland. He stared at the cigarette as it burned without purpose. It was almost used up. Without thinking he found himself reaching for another out of his pocket. *No I think I' ll be just fine. Thank you. * He thought. He pulled out his pack and his lighter and sat them on the table. It was all so strange and pointless. He laid a dollar and change next to the coffee cup. As he stood up he caught the eye of the waitress. With a smile he said goodbye one last time.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "It is n' t terribly exciting being in the same spot everyday. I will admit to sometimes getting jealous of those dang headlight, going all over the city, meeting new lights, getting washed all the time... But when I sit here in my corner I do get to see a lot of different people' s lives and watch them grow instead of focusing on just one person' s. And I think that' s kinda neat too. There' s little Susie going home from school again today. I swear she gets taller everyday! So cute, I just lover her adorable demanor. Bye susie! I' ll see you tomorrow on your way to school. And there goes Mrs. Cantu. Carrying her parasol while she walks to pick up Jose from 1st grade. I think I' ll let her go before I turn green again. I' ve always liked her. She' s just so lady like. Oh there goes Tommy and Erica. I swear kids these days are just trying to grow up so fast. Already calling each other boyfriend and girlfriend. Learn to read first you dimwits! Susie knew how to read a year before you two! Oh shit that driver over there is texting. Aaaand he' s not stopping. Dude there' s speed limits for a reason wft? I swear I need one of those speed cameras like my cousin 3 blocks down has. Okay Tommy and Erica you two will just have to wait for this asshole to cross first. Well he' s gone now. Awesome. Okay Tommy and Erica you two can cross now. Yeah maybe I do n' t get washed everyday but I' m quite happy right here in my corner.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Maybe a regular thing could be about the thing that things on all the things, because of how much time there is, some must be wasted. Even if there' s not enough time, some of it will be wasted. IT' s all wasted. Nothing is saved, everything goes away, and never returns. What is the point of trying? Things aren' t there, they aren' t real, even things with things, that seem so clear are done. Gone. And will be forgotten. How could things. How could you? You did this to me. You did this to me. You did this to me. Why can' t I stop stop stop stop Things aren' t there, they aren' t real. Nothing is. One frame to another, same picture. Shifted about. But the same. Dreary, not dark enough to be romantic. Not light enough to be happy. Here are the wild things, the sad things. The things of things and people of people. Southern, hot, sad and done. Gone. Away is romanticism. Welcome to this place of mediocre torment. Darken the lights, bring the place steaming with fruit and honey into the reach of me. Reach offff Where is it. I cann' t Focus. You did this to me You did this to me No.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Somehow I ended up playing the detective. The mission commander did n' t want anything to do with the investigation but said someone had to figure out how Jones died. I was reluctant, even after everyone voted it should be me. I guess I was the only logical choice, having spent part of my career working for the FBI crime lab. We knew it was murder. You do n' t remove your own helmet in atmosphere like that. Especially not since the helmet requires a latch to be flipped on the back, past where you can reach with the suit' s limited mobility. So how do I find out who did it? After checking all the station' s cameras, it' s obvious there was someone with Jones when he went through the airlock. That' s not good. I decided to begin questioning. I talked to the whole crew. I could n' t pin a motive on anyone. Jones and Martin were known lovers. Martin had an air-tight alibi as she had been in the lab, and was recorded there on camera. She was so beautiful and perfect. Jones had been a lucky guy. Watching the video of him suffocating to death had been tough. It was harder than seeing it in person.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "With the fervor of a infinite, metered impatience, I adjust the nexus bolt on the device ever so slightly. Sweat beads down from my temples. Anxiety wracks my insides, but I can not afford to lose focus now. Not after so long a project. \" They called me mad, \" I mutter to no one. \" They said it could n' t be done. They said I was crazy to even consider the creation of such a device, let alone attempt to build it! Well, science guys, who' s the crazy one now? \" A burble of high, manic laughter escapes my throat. \" Not I! *Not. I. * \" Just one final adjustment. The screw clicks satisfyingly into place. I set down my tools, admiring my work a moment. And now it begins. \" Initialization sequence, activate. \" I crank down the front-facing lever with a great tug. The whirring of gears fills the room in a beautiful cacophony. \" Stabilization sequence, activate. \" I flip up a row of switches on the side of the great machine. Each switch lights up in turn. There' s an electrical hum now. Moment of truth. \" Activation sequence, activate. \" I flip the tuner from INACTIVE to ACTIVE. My breath catches in my throat. Everything seems to slow down as I watch my mechanical creation awaken. A silvery-metal arm extends from the bowels of the device, reaching out of a sliding hatch. The arm, like a jointed snake, dips down from the machine, nearing me ever closer. \" Yes, \" I say as the arm advances. \" Yes! \" The arm dives with excruciating, slow precision. Its single, pointed claw begins to extend...... and it flicks the switch off. At once, the arm retracts into the hatch. The whir of gears slows, and stops completely. The electrical hum dies to silence. The machine has successfully turned itself off. Once this registers in my mind, my mouth splits in a fervid, gleeful grin. \" Wait until the science nerds at CERN take at a look at this! \"", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "[ IP ] [ A Big Boy on the Move ] ( http: //i. imgur. com/cCyYKIl. jpg ) From: [ Spotted this big thing rolling through the mountains. ] ( http: //www. reddit. com/r/trains/comments/250ht9/spotted_this_big_thing_rolling_through_the/ ) by /u/Mark_W in /r/trains. > [ **Big Boy** ] ( http: //en. wikipedia. org/wiki/Union_Pacific_Big_Boy ) is the popular name of the American Locomotive Company 4000-class 4-8-8-4 articulated, coal-fired, steam locomotives manufactured between 1941 and 1944 and operated by the Union Pacific Railroad until 1959. The Big Boy fleet totaled twenty five locomotives that were used primarily in the Wyoming Division to haul freight over the Wasatch range between Green River, Wyoming and Ogden, Utah. The Big Boy locomotives were the only locomotives to use a 4-8-8-4 wheel arrangement, consisting of a four-wheel leading truck for stability entering curves, two sets of eight driving wheels and a four-wheel trailing truck to support the large firebox.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" Life is fleeting. It is a lit match that desperately clings to life as it burns down to ash. Without struggle, without pain, without love and partnership there is no reason to live. \" He paused to take a deep breath. \" You do n' t understand what loneliness is. Knowing everyday that you are going to wake up alone and wander through the world avoiding everyone. You ca n' t love, you ca n' t be selfish and try to hold that match in your fingertips. Because you know in the end that it will burn you. \" He took a long drink of the beer he had let grow warm from neglect. \" How can you live without knowing that life is finite? How can you live if you know that there are no consequences? Risk is n' t real if you already know the outcome. \" He met the bartenders eyes. Tears welled up threatening to escape. \" Cherish your life, live your life as if you may die tomorrow. It is a blessing not a curse. \" He drank the rest of the warm beer and set the empty glass down on the bar. \" But if you ca n' t die you could do anything you want. Anything, \" the bartender said that last word wistfully. \" Anything but live. \" -- - Thanks for reading. Check out /r/Written4Reddit for more stories.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I walked alone down the street. Sure, there were people all around me, hundreds, thousands, but I was alone. Retreated deep into my mind away from the horrors of humanity. None of them realised what they were doing, how they were hurting each other, hurting themselves. The conflict that was at the heart of our city raged on inside everyone, while nobody acknowledged it was happening. People were dying and nobody thought it was an atrocity. People were starving and nobody thought to feed them. I was the only one who saw, the only one who realised what was happening. But what could one person do in twenty thousand? This conflict had no leaders, no central tenet, it was a centuries-old hatred between two peoples, but there was no opportunity for fighting because of those alien oppressors who kept us together. You' d think we' d be united against them, but instead we blamed each other. I blamed everyone, and I had to leave. I kept walking, along the main road towards the barricades and guard posts. Soon to be another smear of blood on the ground.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "These were an indigenous people like nothing I had ever seen, in all my years of anthropology. They had no oral language, no names and most fascinatingly, no religious beliefs. I counted my blessing for this unique opportunity to learn from, and teach, such a rare and primitive tribe. I began with cooking. I showed them different methods and options that could be used. The tribe took to these with little to no interest. The main problem was the lack of food supplies, living mostly on a diet of fruit and squashed bugs. So I showed them how to hunt. They had never tried anything like it before. They didn' t even have a hand gesture to signify it. But they loved it. I watched them spend all day casting spears and nets into the river, banging their chests and hooting loudly. I had never seen them happier. One of them ( I had nicknamed Steve ) even managed to spear a fish on his first day. I felt privileged to have made such a dramatic change in the day to day living of these simple people. The next day I found one of the tribesmen dead, with a spear lodged in his neck. Steve stood over him. I pointed at the body ( the native method of questioning something ). Steve pointed to his stomach ( meaning hungry ) and then made a spear throwing gesture ( which now meant, hunt ). That night, the tribe sang, danced and ate red meat. I left the next day.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "It has been some time since I last saw her. I get the occasional text with a nicety, and I send the occasional invite to some random event that she never shows up to. I still care for her deeply, although not in the same way I once used to. I cheated on her once; the girl who I cheated on her with is now my wife. That still bothers my wife. who does n' t really like her; as a result she' s met my baby boy once. I' m kind of sad that the whole situation has gone down this path, but I love my wife and my son and refuse to put a wedge between us. That' s when I heard the news. Her years of schooling, she found, was of no use to her anymore; she found herself in an industry she hated, with no ladder in sight, let alone the opportunity to climb it. She' s perennially between jobs, and has not seen anyone since we split. Her father had a stroke several years back, and now her mother had been diagnosed with cancer. I wish I could do something to help her. I wish I could be there for her. But I ca n' t. This is her battle to fight, but I am left wondering why. She deserves better. She deserved better than me, too, but she really deserves better than what this life gives her.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "( Please excuse my writing, I' m merely just a teenager so feel free to correct my errors ) Day 1. Monster. The corrupt. Abominations of earth... Zⓞⓜⓑⓘⓔⓢ. Call it whatever, but it still strikes fear into your heart. Where they came from is unknown. At first it started off with fatal illnesses sweeping across countries. But then, oblivious to the society because of the media cover up, these sick humans started craving flesh. Authorities could n' t control them. Soon they broke the chains of oppression and fed off civilians leaving all nations around the world on the fringes of destruction. And now I was bitten today. The inch, a painful and cruel reminder of my impending death. Week 1. I was thrown in an abyss of space. Where time seemed almost endless. Darkness was my friend pulling me to play even when I so desperately struggled to stay conscious. And every time I hit the light, I write something more before I am taken. My mind was numb. My soul was numb. But my body... My body felt. Every spasm of pain surged through my body like a lightning bolt. Sweat, bile and tears were like my sweater on a cold winter for it covered me. But not comfortably. No. Comfortably -- comfortable rather ( for context ) had gone from the day I received the bite. I feel so weak. Week 2. My breath is Usain Bolt. It' s been running a mile per second. I know... I know I' m turning. I feel so... So.. So....... Mom...... Mom... Mommy... I feel... I feel.. I. I feel... I", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I looked up at the calendar with the red heart circled over the 23rd day. We met on that night two years ago when my ice cream spilled over his lap. Indeed, that was the most embarrassing way to meet for the first time. Still, how lucky I am to be with someone like him, and he in return. His deep tones in his voice left me yearning to hear more. How can anyone not know this feeling? Elated is not even the right word. So I' m pondering what to get him. Two tickets to the movies? Or maybe surprise him by wearing that lingerie I bought. Perhaps he has something in mind. Planning this anniversary can be quite a fickle, indeed. Everything' s got to go well. Do you think these sandals match my skirt? How should I style my hair? Ugh!! Regardless, we' re both happy. The love we have is unbreakable. I should stop worrying over these things. Nothing can stop us! Guess he should be back anytime now. Make up, peppermint breath, kissable lips, an excitable heart beat, check! Everything' s ready, my love.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Hi. I' m Jim. I may just be a sapling at the moment but one day I want to be human. I see them running around, on legs and feet, flailing their arms, jumping, dancing; Free. They know how to stay warm, how to move no matter whether the sun is near or far. They breathe air. Oh, of course photosynthesis is close but every time I grow, it' s a step towards being a part of Mother Plant. She' s the one who makes the giant balls and sends them up to the sky; planets is what I heard a human call them. The planets are beautiful once they reach the nighttime sky, they shine to be the brightest stars. It' s a big task The Mother has, to fill the nighttime sky with stars so beautiful they light the whole sky. But humans... well what can I say? They' ve chosen their own paths, each path being so different from another... I ca n' t help thinking that maybe, just maybe I do n' t belong here. Maybe I can do more than make planets. Maybe I could dance and shout and... and...... RUN.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "So I wa sitting there in MY HOUSE, maze like and elaborate it may be, when my homie tells me there a man approaching with a mean grin on his face. My boys go to greet him at the door and this crazy bitch whips out a moloz cocktail or something. Knocking my buddy on his back and curb stomps his head in. Like, WTF MAN! So we run. Locking all the doors behind us hoping to slow him down. But to no avail. He' s just walking around murdering everyone and breaking everything! He finally find me in the last room. What was I supposed to do let him kill me too? I just start throwing things at him. Flailing around madly trying to dodge his molotovs and kicks. But I could n' t slow him down. Too my money and my keys and left me to die. And that' s where you found me and saved me. \" Sir \" the officer says accusingly, \" what were you doing before the man came to your house that evening? \" Sitting around playing video games and drinkin with some friends like I do everyday. Well when I' m not gardening and takin care of my kids. \" Sounds suspicious you' re coming with us. \" Wait I remember he asked if some hoe was around, I had seen her around, a few times if you know what I mean, But I just told him that hoe was in another castle and he flipped.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Steve stepped outside his house. He saw the children in his neighbour' s garden happily playing around, feeling the ground beneath his feet bump underneath him each time they jumped, which swayed the houses and trees around them. But Steve was n' t ready to have fun yet; he needed to head to the supermarket to get some groceries. He walked across his garden and unlocked his car, before getting in and driving off. As Steve drove down the road, he drove carefully; the road shook and wobbled as children and other people nearby jumped around, making concentration essential. Eventually, he arrived at the supermarket. He got out of his car, and entered the building, which was swaying around from the movement of people inside. Inside, Steve wandered through the aisles, the weight of his and other peoples' causing the shelves to slightly bend towards them. Fortunately, the shelves had bars across them so that items would n' t fall off when they would bend downwards. He bought the groceries he needed and drove back home. Soon afterwards, his son, Sam, arrived home from school for the day. He took Steve out to the garden with him, and they began to jump around. The fun was beginning.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "You slap his hands off of you and fix your roommate with your best movie-antagonist-glare. Your roommate looks shocked but recovers quickly. \" What are you doing? Get up now! \" \" Time is nothing more than a thing we constructed to more easily schedule our lives. Minutes, hours, days. It does n' t matter. What' s your problem? \" Your roommate looks at you like you' ve lost your mind but then sighs heavily, his shoulders sagging as a wry grin forms on his face. \" This could have been so much easier if you did n' t ask questions but I guess we have no choice. \" Then your roommate is become demon and you fight him but he too strong so you run but he fastest. \" No escape \" he said in a demon voice. \" Fuck you holy water bitch \" and you throwered the bottle and it covered him and he died screaming \" Noooo. \" You is hero.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I woke up to the scent of burning books. The heat seared through the back of my eyelids and I opened my eyes to see the flames dancing wildly through the open door of my room. Tearing off my covers, I ran into the office and dived toward my bookshelves, the cherry wood panels already half consumed with the raging fire. Tears seeped into my mouth and burnt my throat, mixing with the ashes that had already found its way inside me. The smell of burning leather and flesh stood out prominently as I stumbled back in pain, collapsing in the middle of the room as years of research disintegrated around me. All of it, all of it was disappearing. I do n' t remember when the strong pair of arms ripped the burning book out of my hands or how I ended up lying on the driveway later, looking up through the upper windows at the bonfire they had made out of my work. *It' s for your own good*, my family would tell me in the hospital months later. *It' s not healthy to be locked up all the time working on something impossible. * But, of course, they had n' t known that I had been close. So close.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" Here we go again, \" I sigh, seeing the white-night-orb raise from the edge-of-the-world. It had been strange, the first time, when he was with his first pack. Waking up in the cold-white with no coverings and the others looking at his not-right body. Since then, in the innumerable warmth to cold changes, it had become much more common. My legs twist first, their natural angle bent backwards, hair receding as the change progressed up my body, until I was bare on the forest floor again. My mind, as the humans called it, had retained most of the information I had gathered since my first night, and I had plenty of time to add to it. Granted the markings had changed from letters to their own unique system, and the pillars were replaced with grey and clear. I had the foresight to leave myself a pack for this, and hurriedly changed. While the nip in the air would not kill me, another seeing me with no coverings in winter would bring out... unwelcome attention. My plan was the same as every full moon, walk around the city that was beginning to encroach my forest, and I jinxed myself by believing the night would be mishap free. As it were and often is, there was another plan in place. The smell came first. While dulled, it was still sharper than most of my current-kin. Fear, especially, was potent enough to smell even among the cold smell of forest. Instinct kicked in, as I recognized it as the fear of something young. Something that, no matter what I looked like, was encoded in me to protect. I was already running toward the source when the scream made it easier to pinpoint.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "A cold breeze passed over a crowd shouting slurs, touting terror, and pushing picket lines further toward those walking along the quiet grass of a graveyard. A few countries over, a man wholeheartedly invested in his convictions pulled a heavy coat over his body despite the heat, and clenched his hand around a metal trigger as he walked into an open marketplace. Somewhere else, skyscrapers illuminated the pavement with their endless lights, as a van squealed along a corner, tossing water along the edges of sidewalks as it barreled towards the life of downtown. For a long while now, He had contemplated the true state of the world, and what must be done; each of these were on the brink of happening, and yet they were among His faithful? Time was at a stand-still before Him, all realities coming to a halt as He pondered what may be done. Lifting a mighty hand, He parted the cloudy skies over a world entrenched in sorrow, and for a moment hesitated, but knew all would be understood. This was never a part of His plan, but neither was seeing His sole divine creation turn to a wasteland riddled with contempt and dread. The world would most definitely be better off, able to live in what He believed would be Earthly Paradise before those true to His lessons would be ushered to the Pearly Gates. In just a mere moment, the breeze carried away the shouts of the picket line, leaving only trampled grass; the heat was relieved by a sudden rain, droplets falling through a coat now vanished; a van rode onward into a quiet street, but never met with the pavement beyond it.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "I' m no God. I was there at the beginning of time, and I' ll be there at the end of eternity. I watched life form amongst barren rocks floating through space. I observed it as it grew and spread. New species formed. With them came culture, society. They created new beings with the force of their believes. These divinities, bound to those that created them, grew in power the more they were worshipped. I watched in awe as each race spawned multiple Gods. Each God was different. I was mesmerized by the complexity of their belief systems, by how unique yet similar the religions of other species were. I came to love each and every one of them. And then the end began. A plague was born on a tiny planet in the far reaches of the universe. As the species grew, a single, destructive thought dominated it' s society. They saw me as a God; they worshipped me as a God; and I became bound like a God. They ventured into the deepest recesses of the universe, seeking other life. And they found it. They found race after race with their own beliefs, worshipping their own Gods. The wrong Gods. They called on me then, to show the blasphemers who the real God was. I' m no God. They did n' t stand a chance. My worshippers continue their search to find the false Gods and those who believe in them. They drag me along with them, fore who but Death can kill a God?", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "The skyline glimmered underneath the stars. Beautiful music rose from the Paris streets, drifting upward to the rooftop she sat on. Her feet dangled over the edge. She gazed out to the city buildings. She remembered her mother. God, she missed her mother. She could still catch a whiff of her subtle perfume. She longed for the simple days of twirling and dancing with her mother, singing and playing make-belief. She could still taste her beautifully crafted dinners as she would just laugh and say that she was no cook. But she was. Her food tasted of home. And then she was taken away by the clutch of circumstance. She was too young and too beautiful to be leave us. What she would n' t do to be with her once more. The door behind her opened. \" Jannette! What are you doing out here? You' ll catch a cold. Come on in, join the party again. \" She wiped a tear from her eye. \" Okay, \" she whispered. She stood up and rejoined the party.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Look to the skies! We are svaed! The humans are coming! The joy I felt was almost a foreign feeling after enduring such hard conflict. To finally see that our message had been received through subspace transmitters had not been mistakes made me nearly forget the battle at hand. They came in ships far larger than anything our masters had forced us to build. Black and sleek theirs were, graceful arcs of blues danced across the sky to some unknown symphony of fury as the Great Masters' ship rained down. The skies had never been looked at with such hope and fear as when the humans came, for if a race could bring forth the destruction of the Great Masters so quickly, were we bringing a new and even greater master? They landed thousands of their soldiers, real professional fighting men trained for the singular purpose of combat. We were nearly as overwhelmed by their devestating fire power as the Great Masters. They equipped us with their arms and armor and together waged battles on such a scale that the gods may turn an eye in jealousy. Yet when peace was called for and victory at hand the humans who came from the skies beyond stayed our hand, and saved us once again through peace. They forgave the Great Masters and in time we learned that for victory we must as well for death is not the end of a righteous cause. We learned then the way of mankind, to love and rage in equal measure.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "\" Hey Frank, \" my boss said, smiling like he did every day, \" great work on the case writeup, you really knocked it out of the park! \" \" No problem boss! \" I said. Some people complained about their bosses; mine complimented practically everything I did. At 5pm that day, I drove home easily. Traffic was as bad as ever but nobody seemed to be taking the middle lane. Just like every day, my commute was easy. I got home to my wife Kruthika and her friends Cheryl and Vanessa. Just like every night. When I' d come back from my stay in the Antarctic as the sole survivor of an attack that most people would n' t even believe was real, I thought my career was over. My helicopter pilot was sympathetic, he believed me, but it surprised me when the men in black who interviewed me about the incident also did n' t doubt it. The government' s official story was that an electrical problem had started a fire that burned out of control. Even when the President himself had come on TV to make a speech about the tragedy to the public and called out my name specifically as an example of \" courage and willpower \", I did n' t catch on. But I' m not stupid. You do n' t get to be an antarctic research scientist without having at least a few brain cells to rub together. Plus, over time, once it' d subsumed the majority of humanity, it got less and less subtle. No reason to hide anymore, I guess. Oh yes, I knew. The thing loved me. And so help me, I loved it too.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "( I guarantee you' ve only heard of this through smash bros, and even then it' s a different game entirely ) We knew this day was coming, so we readied the ships. They were all named \" The White Whale \" after the original in the holy copy. We left our planet as the aliens arrived. It did not matter that they were friendly aliens, the copy clearly depicted us leaving as extraterrestrial life showed itself to mankind. We left, knowing that our world would be safe, unlike the copy. We were still bound by the prophecy, to find the new planet, the mother planet, Mira. We traveled for many long years before we found the perfect Goldilocks planet. One with similar life forms and terrain. It took 9, 003, 294, 020, 110 years of cryo stasis, but we found it. As we landed we all witnessed our founding father starting up the copy one last time. We must now live it. We must breathe it. We must retell the Xenoblade Chronicles X.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "A tangled mess of seaweed rose above the surf. Following it was a giant figure, dressed in blue that shimmered and changed with the ocean. The goddess of the waves wore a regal expression on her face. The rope belt she used to secure her short skirt carried a sheathed knife and a glass bottle of sand, used to travel in time. At the end of her arms, arms covered in fisherman nets and inking of sea life ending with rounded silver bracelets, carried a glowing wooden staff. The magical light emanating from the staff shone through the cracks in the bark - the blueness giving it a mystical effect. Her left hand started giving off a radiance of blue light, vaguely in the shape of sea lions spiraling around her open hand. An explosion of water burst from the tide and circled around Calypso' s body. The water formed into a face with two glowing blue eyes and an array of teeth. The rest of the water beast was still murky and undefined. Looking upon it you did n' t think that it could n' t hurt you. Those fangs, water they might be were still menacing. The goddess stared at her target, sneering with contempt before pushing her glowing hand towards them. The water dragon followed in hot pursuit, it' s long watery body frothing in fury.", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "In the end, you realise this: Everything is relative. Nothing is absolute. -- - You realise that there was a problem when your fellow scientist start to die. They are not unintelligent, and you know this. You thought the first was expected. The first victim among your immediate circle of scientist had enter through a pure luck and a healthy dose of nepotism. The second is... an unfortunate accident. The third is no coincidence. It was also then that you realised, everything is relative. -- - On the first day, there was much rejoicing when the land was made a better place. On the second day, it all was for naught. On the last day? -- - You also realise this: Intelligence can not be measured by mortal men. Who is to say that a person who can not solve complex mathematical formulas is less valuable than one who can? Who is to say that a person who can navigate the complicated social structure of society that we live in is more valuable that one who can not? Who is to say that a person who can not churn out soothing musical songs is less valuable than one who can? Who is to say that people who win the Olympics are more valuable than those who can not? Not you. Not humankind. -- - Nothing is absolute. Everything will die in the end. There is nothing that will remain for all of eternity. In the end, it all rots. Just like mortal thoughts, feelings and judgement. We are nothing but stardust. And the truth is, the idea of' less intelligent' is relative. After all, in the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is King. But who is King in the land of the one-eyed man? -- -", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "Josh noticed everyone was staring at him across the isle of the bus. \" Huh, must be the tie. Never was good at tying ties \". They kept staring though, which would' ve made Josh uncomfortable had he not reached his stop. As he walked through the door to the courthouse, several women dropped their briefcases. \" Must have been a strong wind. It is windy today! \", thought Josh. He noticed the ladies all wore nice low coat blouses. Any other guy would stare, but Josh' s mother raised him right! Making sure to not at their semi-exposed bosoms, he helped them pick up their briefcases before rushing into the building. Josh headed to meet his new partner Tom. \" Hey man, I' m Josh \", he said as he shook Tom' s hand. Tom looked wide-eyed and let out an audible \" wow \". Josh chuckled, \" Yea, I know, it' s a nice suit! \" As they entered the courtroom, everyone stood up. \" No, no, I' m not the judge. \" Josh said. Tom looked around, having never seen such interest in a man. Before him stood a fine specimen of 6' 2 \", brown hair, shiny blue eyes, and ripped like a paper bag! Nearly every jaw was agape at the sight of Josh, but he seemed totally oblivious. As the trial started, Josh began doing his job of backing up his perfect track record of never having lost a case! Every witness he cross examined clearly flirted with him, but Josh did n' t seem to notice. The Judge accepted none of the prosecutor' s complaints against him, not that there were many. The jury hung on his every word, many visibly fanning themselves. After the trail, Tom congratulated Josh on such an outstanding job with the case. The prosecutor approached them after the trail and asked Josh if he' d like to get a drink sometime. Josh turned to Tom and said, \" Oh man, I bet he' s gon na try and convince me to spend the night. I thought people grew out of sleep overs! \" Fin", "output": ""}
{"instruction": "what is the prompt that generates the input?", "input": "My mind was all over the place. I had 8 trains of thoughts each racing in a different direction. I lost my job in January, the first and only job to ever give me any sense of financial stability gone. But I thought it would be alright, i had no debt and some money saved. Unfortunately, that money was n' t enough to keep my girlfriend around. Hey but at least before she left she gave me a gift, I just wish I could have met they guy who gave it to her, because I did n' t have the clap when we first started dating. Times were tough and I did n' t have health insurance or a job so I moved back in with my mom. She was n' t doing so well, my stepdad had left her too, and when I came home today her eyes were as empty as the pill bottle in her hand. The apple never falls too far from the tree. I was always a fan of nirvana why not go out like my hero. I prepared my buckshot dinner, and now I' m looking down at my own body. My mind was all over the place.", "output": ""}