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. "


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. "


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.


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. "


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 ).


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 ҉̼͕̙͓͙̤ý̭͔͖o̳͇̘̻̪ͅu̫͈͖̗̘͍͟r̜̦͕̕ ̰͎̱̤̯̪̣s͜c̸̪̦͓͓re̕e͍ͅn̠̩, ̡͚͇̮̟̝̪h̳͉̩͕e̬͞ ̨̻w̛̬͓̰̩̹͍i҉͍͚͎͉l̝̜͚̬̯l̮ ͎̀m͍̟̦̹e̪͉͔̙l̷̩͎̳̼͕t̝̣̭͙̻ ạ̩̱ḷ̺̬͍̺͓̩̕l͉͖̺̥̤̙ ̲̯̳̫͔t͙̥̳̝̱e̺̬͎̹͙ͅx̩͓͎̲̖͉̱t̛͙̯͍̤. ҉̪͉̹̰̝


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. "


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..


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.


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.


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.


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 ".


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. *


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. "


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


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.


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?


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.


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


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.


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. *


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.


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.


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.


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.


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?


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.


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...


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.


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


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.


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.


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.


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.


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. "


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. "


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!


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


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.


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.


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. * "


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.


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.


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.


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.


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...


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. "


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.


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.


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.


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.


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.


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.


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.


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.


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.


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!!


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.


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


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...


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! "


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.


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.


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.


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!


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.


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.


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?


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.


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!


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.