Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: Seamus rocked back and forth in his wooden chair. Staring off into the Scottish sunset, with a pipe in his mouth, surrounded by a chinstrap of bright red hair, even though his head hair was white as snow. A young man was biking past his house and threw a mackerel onto his porch. " Go home, yeh fackin' wop! " Seamus continued to stare, slapping his leg twice and having a Scottish Terrier come and pick up the mackerel, bringing it back inside his small wooden cottage on the hill. A little boy ran outside in fright. " Granda! What was that?! " " Another fish thrower, Aidan. It' s nothing. " Seamus said, taking puffs from his pipe. " Why does n' t anyone here like you Granda? Or Nanna? " Seamus sighed slowly and looked at Aidan with a smile. " It' s not that they do n' t like me, they do n' t like... Irishmen. " He chuckled. " To be honest, they' re Scottish. They do n' t care much for anyone. " Aidan giggled, exposing two bottomless dimples in his cheeks. " Why not? " " Well, during the Battle of Fortingall Forest... the Swedish soldiers.. the Menninkäinen helped fight against the Scottish. Some Irishman did too. " " Were you there? Did you fight anyone? " Aidan asked. Seamus looked inside the cottage window cautiously. " Where' s your Nanna? " Aidan looked up at Seamus mischievously. " Out to grab dinner. " Seamus chuckled. " Well... it all started in March 14th, 1940... " __________________________________________ Should I keep going? Wan na hear Seamus' war story?


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: " The exploders creep me out. " " They prefer to be called humans. " " Yeah? And I' d prefer to be called the Uber-Admiral of the 5th fleet. Does n' t change the fact that those things are obsessed with explosions. " " Are you talking about nuclear weapons? Plenty of pre-FTLs have come up with those. I mean, even we went through times of violence and destruction. " " Yes, we' ve been violent, and yes, we' ve blown things up. Still, we' ve never felt the need to include explosions in every single significant invention we' ve ever come up with. " " I do n' t follow. " " Have you read my report on the Internal Combustion engine? " " I skimmed it. " " It' s a way to propel their vehicles using explosions. They' re asinine. Hear about their firearms? They' re ranged weapons that fling projectiles with explosions. " " Does n' t seem like it would be the most accurate... " " Oh, they figured out a way for it to work. They just could n' t tolerate having anything like that centered around elasticity or magnetism... just had to include an explosion in there. Hell, they have larger, but similar weapons that fling explosive devices with the aid of explosions. Some of those explosions explode into smaller devices that also explode. " " Now you' re just making shit up. " " No, look up' Terran cluster bombs. "' " What the fuck? " " Oh, and get this: take a guess what they concluded once they discovered that all the visible galaxies were moving away from each other... that the entire universe was the result of a really, really huge explosion. " "... The exploders creep me out. "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: Dinner was always my favorite meal of the day. I mostly did the cooking for my wife and I. This particular dinner would be different, however.... I made Chicken Parmesan Lasagna. One of my better dishes. As we served ourselves and were sitting down to eat, a huge a gust takes us by surprise. A small vortex appears on the doorway of the kitchen. It glows blue and gets wider. A black orb appears in the center and grows to a large oval. A young man steps through followed by 3 older men, two more young guys and a kid. " Long time, no see! " I chimed. My wife was welcoming to them as well. She knew five of the seven to walk into the kitchen very well. It had been years since I first discovered time travel. People were told to be careful with interacting with their younger selves or others to avoid paradoxes, but why the hell not? I always was intrigued by time travel and knew the dangers of it from when it uses to be sci-fi material. This was our yearly get-together. I had the table set for them. They all take a seat, except 30 year old me. He was looking for Pokemon and checking for the latest future tech. 30: " No way! This computer has 200EBs of ram! " 10 sits down and immediately starts scarfing down his food. He gets up for seconds. " Now now, " I say. " Make sure not to do that after you graduate highschool. You' ll put on weight. You do n' t have the metabolism of our brother. " 10 glares and resumes stuffing his face. 20: " Im glad you decided to get back in shape. " I grin sheepishly. 50, 60, 70 are arguing about planes and how well the Saints are doing in their times. 20: " Heh, some years ago Brees carried a Superbowl Trophy home. " 10: " My Dad says they should have never picked up a Chargers QB. " 40 is talking to my wife and talking about their past sexual excursions together. I have no problem with this. She' s a faithful woman.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: " You hear about Jagger? " " Yeah, fuckin' worms or some shit took over his body. Aliens invading? Something like that. " " Yeah, that' s what they say. Explains why the Stones started to suck after *Sticky Fingers. * " " Hey! *Exile on Main St. * was awesome! " " Whatever. You were n' t even born then so what would you know. Rock died when those fucking alien pieces of shit dug into Jagger' s body. You can even hear it today. All this pansy crap getting played on the radio... " " Dad, you' re pathetic. Rock never died, and aliens ca n' t kill it. Sure, they can kill Mick Jagger, but there are still kids in garages all over the world figuring out how to play a guitar and yelling into a mic. That' s all you need for rock and roll. You ca n' t kill that. But you' re getting old and lazy and were waiting for the Rolling Stones of 1972 to come back even though that was never going to happen. Fuck these aliens. We' ll deal with' em. But get a fucking Pandora account. "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: 1. I looked across the field with regret. How could I have let it go this far? I should have said something, anything to stop it. Now it was too late; I could only wait and see what the consequences would be. I knew all along it would come to this. 2. " What do you mean you are n' t going? " her incredulous tone carried through the house. I just could n' t face them; it was too soon. I knew the recovery process would be hard, but I never realized just how hard it would be mentally. 3. The two lovers held hands as they strolled along the beach. It was a beautiful night in Greece and they were on a trip of a lifetime. All of their worries and doubts had been left behind in that airport. Tonight they were happy; they were finally together for just a few days. It was too good to be true. 4. She could n' t believe it. All of the time spent preparing and working towards this night, and it was finally here. It was mere minutes until she would finally meet her idol, her inspiration. She could n' t be more ready, and she knew exactly what she would ask first: " Why did you give me up for adoption? " 5. No one was allowed to sing " ring around the roses " anymore. It was too close, too dark a reminder of what was happening above, beyond the cold, thick walls of the bunker. The children, some of whom could barely remember the sunlight, mostly walked in silence, afraid of what their voices might bring.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: The smell of pizza emanating from the box in my hands has grown old. For the past year I have been delivering for Smitty' s Pizza Hut to get the extra cash I need for my tuition bill. I' ve already submitted my two week notice and this is my last day, in fact my last delivery before moving back home to California. The sound of the door bell has a very odd sound. It chimed three times with one press of the bell. I began to reach for the doorbell again before I heard the foot steps. It sounds like a heavy set person. Maybe this customer does n' t need this delivery. The door opened slowly with a very audible creak before revealing a man wearing a black hoodie, jeans, and a very cartoonish Ronald Reagan mask. " Nice mask bro. Here' s your pizza. That' ll be $ 18. 72. " The man just stood there staring at me. He had a very foul smell about him and I could very easily hear heavy breathing. Thank goodness he' s wearing that mask. I bet this guys breath smells about as bad as the stench emitting from what is more than likely an unbathed body. " It' s $ 18. 72. You want this pizza or not? " I shifted my weight and my gaze was caught at the scene that was beyond him. A woman and two children were tied to chairs with make shift gags of cloth in their mouths. The cloth in the woman' s mouth was drenched and had spittle being flung around as she violently shook her head trying to do what I can very easily assume was scream for help. That was when I noticed the gun. It was firmly gripped in the hand of the man standing before me pointed downwards. It was then that the man finally spoke his first words. " You' re just in time for the party. " As he rose the gun to my face I felt my entire body begin to freeze. The boxes fell from my hands and landed hard on the ground. " Pick that up and come inside. Everyone is going to need to be fed if were going to have a fun night. "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: I stood over the bodies. An adult couple in their early thirties who had sheltered me. A chill came over me and a rush of adrenaline as I peered into them demons pillaging around me. It was long ago I decided to stop my pursuit of power and go on my pilgrimage, but my past had followed me. I knew it would. There was no escaping the end of time, but I thought I could try. I thought that if I traveled far enough, fast enough... I thought I' d find peace. I knew it was n' t meant to be. My train of thought was interrupted. The lowly demons were now tracking again ignoring as they had seen right through my disguise. I heard a loud cry. " Shit. " I said under my breath. " At least I tried. " The skin boiled from my body as my true form ripped out of my chest. Flying across the room I cut through the lowly flesh of demons and ripped to the one causing the screams cutting him from the hands of the demon smiling with joy and travelling a short distance. Everything went silent again. As the young boy with tears in his eyes looked up to me, and did n' t say a word. He recognized me. The kind stranger who happened to stop at his house. I put him on the ground and began to leave. What could I do? More would come. Legions would arrive. This was barely a welcoming party, but I had only taken a step when I felt the touch on my skin. Death is curious. The never ending cycle of death and rebirth from the pits of hell. The never ending struggle for those still alive to cling to life. None of it made sense, but this boys hand, this families warmth did...


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: **Slight suicide warning** ( its really just mentioned, but I do n' t mean anyone offense ). I watch as the halls fill with students filing out of classrooms. I grab my bag and walk back to my English class to hand in my work before I go to lunch. I see all the kids I had known since kindergarten go past me in their packs, as I call them. I try to wave, to talk, to do anything, but merely get brushed aside by familiar faces with an odd sadness in their eyes. I make it back to my classroom and hand in the work. Ms. Henry does n' t look up from her desk, almost like I' m not even there. Making my way to the cafeteria, I look in and see no seats, nobody waiting for me. I check my phone, no messages. I decide to go to the art room and eat lunch there. When I arrive, nobody looks up or says a greeting. I smile to myself shamefully, thinking that anyone would notice me is crazy. I sit down by the window and stare out of it, pondering what I would do for my spare. Soon enough, I' m off daydreaming about life after this nightmare; where you' re ignored and unseen, but what did I expect from this endless existence? I can see everyone and hear everything but nobody will ever be able to do the same for me. When I committed suicide to get rid of the aching feeling in my heart months ago, I did n' t think it' d get worse. Edit: words- I added about four to fix grammar.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: To everyone, We can say I was never right after Mom died, that he death was the start of mine. The weekend drinking gatherings turned into all week drinking binges. I' m sorry for it all, but that' s not why this letter is here. It' s to remind you all that despite doing nothing to help me, I still love you all. I was the one who had to take care of her arrangements, the one who was there for years, holding myself back so that *someone* was around for her, so she was n' t alone when she died. I ca n' t stand what everyone had become and drinking was an attempt to escape it all, escape all of you. You all came to me when things started to go downhill for all of you and you expected me to save you from drowning while my head was under the water the whole time. I have n' t been that solid rock, that shoulder to cry on, for a very long time. The sad part is no one noticed. But you' ll notice this. It' ll probably be a few days before you do, because none of you call, stop by, or even text, but you' ll notice. I expect it all the crumble for all of you because you could never stand on your own, always relying on Mom or myself to help you, but now that both of us are gone, I hope the worst happens. -045


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: I knead my hands as he comes out of the room. A few coughs and a lurch over to me, he looks into my eyes. " Well " " Three days to a week. He keeps persisting on Chemo, but why bother. We do n' t have enough money and I have lived long enough " I knew it was his choice and his life, but he was my husband " W... What about me? " I saw trying to hold back the tears. " I will keep on living in your memories. You have an estimated 7 years on your own just remember me " " There is time to remember after your..... I want you to live now " He picks up his cane and holds my shoulder tentatively. " How will I feel this emotional bondage between us? " He kneels down and looks into my eyes, sincerely " We have our children, we had our life, We had our run at life and we had fun. Whatever we went through, we always found a way through it. Through the fights, natural disasters, and children, we stayed together and that is more than I can say for most in this world. We are old and we lived our life " He takes away my handkerchief, puts it in his coat and pulls something out. " I remembered the first time we met at the theater, We were seeing different movies but due to a ticket mess up we ended up sitting next to each other. They are tearing it down in a few days and I want to go there one last time, something to remember " I broke down crying. He was holding the original ticket stubs from that night. " I.... I.. I thought you threw these away " " I needed something to remember " He stands up and I stop my sobbing. " What will we do at that old theater? " I say, confidence returning. " I do n' t know, but It will be something to remember. That' s all I ask in the time you have left. I want to be remembered, to our children, our children' s children, and If we meet up again, I want us to look back down on the world and see the change we made, even if it is small " With those last words, he took my hand and we headed into the moonlight, just like those years ago.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: My eyes darted around the room. One, two, three beasts. NO! Four beasts came running around the corner looking to devour their next meal. I knew I would have to act fast if I were to survive this encounter. Their eyes feasted upon me, hungry. It could n' t have been more than three hours since their last feeding, but their crazed eyes told me it would not end well if they were not fed. Quickly, I took stock of my options, of which there were few. Most of my creations, although perfectly capable of subduing my foes, would take far too long. But, if I opted for a less suitable choice, I may not survive the night. Hands working quick as lightning, I whipped up something that could possibly delay their hunger; at least long enough for me to escape. Before they had a chance to attack, I had several plates of eggs ready to go, steaming in front of them at the kitchen table. " Thanks Dad, " Joey scoffed, without even a hint of sarcasm. " But we wanted lunch, not breakfast. " Scooping up his plate. he hurled it at my head. " We want sandwiches! " Good Lord! What have I done?


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: Not a day later and the device had activated. Said to have warn me in my darkest moments, was n' t long before my mind pondered over the many mysteries of life and what they had in store to kill me. Slowly it begun to flood in as if someone fell asleep at the dam, where I to die in house fire? Would I succumb to some new disease or had I pissed off some rich person and they sent a hit-man after me. My heart thumped mad in my chest as I could n' t take the suspense anymore, my anxiety kicking in and my panic attacks washing over me like a tidal wave. I had to escape, I had to run, I wheeze as my breath eludes me. I had to- *Crack* I fell back onto the pillow with a aching forehead pain, looking around the darkness I could only say one thing. " I should turn on a lamp " A lean and a stretch, *Click* and a check at the device and it had deactivated. Leaning over once more to grab a bottle on my nightstand, Fluoxetine. " This should help me to sleep " Laying back down, popping two pills and turning to the left. " My life is stressful " A yawn and I was out.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: She rode in on a bolt of lightning. I was blinded by the holy light, the flashing golden wings and ear-splitting shriek of dying enemies. She could of used the door, but *noooooo*, She had to be all dramatic and shit. My twin sister was n' t the " subtle " type. She preferred big and flashy. That predaliction for rich and powerful guys was probably why we both were fighting Satan in the middle of a college campus in California. Hell will freeze over before she learns. Anyway, I slashed at the Lord of Darkness' s personal servant, some ugly runt of a demon named Unpronouncable-By-Human-Tongues-The-Fifth. This little cocksucker was maybe five feet tall, but built like a linebacker and had more sharp edges than looked comfortable. He was slow but precise, managing to counter my attacks with what looked like ease, though I could easily outmaneuver his fifteen-foot over-compensatory iron blade. While I dealt with him, my sister dealt with Him. The bolt of lightning she rode on had knocked Big Red off his feet, but he was quicker than a two story slab of muscle should have been, and in no time he was on his feet ready to strike. My sister reached into her own magical blade for more lightning and struck him again. " I TOLD YOU " She screamed, the very sky itself reverberating with her words, " NO MEANS NO, ASSHOLE! " Just another breakup.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: The court room stood silent awaiting the judge to speak. "Defence you may begin with your opening statement, "the judge said. "Thank you, your Honor, "said the defence lawyer walking toward the jury. "Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, today we gather to judge the fate of my client, "the lawyer said signaling toward a man in an orange jump suit. "My client Mr. Cornwell or Wolfthorn, as i' m sure you know him by, was born like each of us were, from a mother and a father. He grew up like any of us, going to school, playing games, and falling in love. "The one thing he does not have in common with us are his capabilities. My client was in accident at the age of twelve. He came into contact with a radioactive isotope due a malfunction in a nuclear plant near his home the plant exploded ant destroyed his neighborhood. My client was the only survivor but… "He paused putting his hands behind his back. "He was changed, he gained near unfathomable strength and his body grew hard and durable. "He looked back toward Cornwell. "And his skin became rough and changed from its original fair color to a dark red. Ladies and gentlemen the incident that occurred was surely a tragedy but imagine what you would do had you been endowed with theses abilities. You would surely try and put them to good use. "That is what my client did for many years. He has helped countless people with his gifts but he is only human like the rest of us, he is not infallible. "On may 26 a neighborhood girl attempted to commit suicide by train. Mr. Cornwell was at the scene and he was the only one that could help her. He lept to her rescue but in the process he knocked the train from its rails killing 126 people and injuring 200 more. Though what happened is a tragedy remember why he acted and also keep in mind. "The lawyer drew a shaky breath. "All he wanted to do, was to be your hero. "the lawyer looked back to the judge. "That is all your Honor. "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: " sir, her plumage is failing " one of the gray guys said to the green guy. *FUCK! * I think, it' s been a couple months, my lovely blood red has grown out to my classic blonde. " Well, our light simulation is the same compound, we have soil from earth, what could be missing?! " Wait... this could be my chance. They know about our violence, maybe I can convince them... " subject 1, we have noticed your vitals are stable, yet your plumage is lacking. The soil in your living area is the same, and the light is a perfect replication. Are you aware of what caused this change? " Time to REALLY screw with them. " yes. In our society, youth are told to cause havoc, pain, and fear. This is often at a education center, seeing as all the vurnerable targets. I had gained this feature during planning but was picked up. My plumage shall fade, then I shall die. " understood. Take this, it is a weapon far beyond yours, it can instantly fry any victim. We shall watch closely "..... FUCK.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: The blood was everywhere. Children crying as the doctors slash away at the defenseless kids. A virus had spread through the hospital causing psychosis like nothing that had ever been seen before. Ryan' s face contorted in horror, he regrets ever joining the service. He was the first to burst through the doorway right after the breaching charge went off. Nothing in basic training had prepared him for this sight on his first mission. A doctor in a blood stained lab coat charges at him through a doorway, wildly swinging a scalpel at him. He puts him down quickly with two slugs to the chest. As the doctor drops to the floor, Ryan looks past where he was standing to see that the slug had gone through the man' s body and into a child behind him. His commanding officer walks next to him and stops. He radios in their position, "There' s not a chance we' re getting out of here. "Ryan' s last sight is the bombs falling from jets, heading straight towards him. I yawn and shut off my computer screen. That' s enough work for today.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: John woke up, a day like any other. 6: 45 AM, his eyelids heavy, mouth dry, knees wobbly. Always a heavy sleeper, John. He stumbled to the kitchen and washed his face in the sink, had some orange juice, some Muesli with skim milk ( believer in low fat, this guy ) and a banana. He started looking for his car keys, last night nothing but a blur in his mind. What happened? He finally found the keys inside the top drawer, which was strange, since he was a methodical man and always left the keys inside his tweed coat, which always hung on his coatrack. He hated tweed, he just used the coat, a family heirloom, to keep his keys in. He was weird like that, John, some would call him a little nutty. He went down the stairs and, in his grogginess, he slipped. He fell, and fell, and fell, for what felt like an eternity. When he finally got down to the ground, he felt smaller, lighter, and... furrier. Also squeakier. For some strange reason, John had turned into a squirrel. From then on, as the most intelligent squirrel on earth, he mobilized and managed several important victories for the benefit of his kind, and became a liaison between humans and squirrels, a meaty, awww-inducing bridge between two different species, the missing link. Nuts were never scarce, trees were more abundant than ever, and, in time, he finally got his wings and got promoted to flying squirrel. Finally, John was home.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: The world has lost something today. We' ve all lost something today. To the world, Bruce Wayne was merely an eccentric billionaire who was only as good as the next juicy headlines the media could get out of him. To us, Bruce Wayne was a friend. A guardian. And a solemn reminder. The Justice League has often been described by the people of Earth as " gods among men. " I' ve never enjoyed that title, but when we can leap tall buildings in a single bound or move faster than a speeding bullet, I can understand where it comes from. Yet Batman, Bruce Wayne, stood among us as a " man among gods " whose only superpower was the indomitable human spirit. He reminded us that we' re not above those we serve and protect. And he reminded us that we have no excuses to fail. For he did n' t need powers to stand up to any of us. So how much more capable should we with powers be, to stand up against those who wish to destroy us? Today, we say farewell to a founding member of the Justice League and, by far, the most dangerous man I' ve ever met. The world has lost something today. We' ve all lost something today.... I lost a dear friend today. ============================================================== EDIT: [ Relevant image ] ( http: //static. tumblr. com/c9850fd04cd9bb686159a60986cce760/ymjpdf9/unfn32y3e/tumblr_static_424212. jpg ), linked by /u/Double_farts. EDIT: [ Click here ] ( https: //www. reddit. com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/3mzqui/eu_bruce_wayne_age_121_has_died_of_a_heart_attack/cvjveqi ) for a eulogy from Joker' s perspective. It' s in the comments below, but why bother searching? I' d love some feedback.: )


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: I' m not sure how old you are, but if you' re still in school and some of your teachers/professors allow you to submit a story you' ve written for an assignment, and you need feedback, then take that chance without any hesitation. Not only does it guarantee you feed back since they have to read it, but it sometimes allows for you to write outside of your comfort zone. For example during my last year of high school, one of our final tasks was to either create something that posed a philosophical question, or analyze something that already did. I took the former option and wrote a small simple story about sentience and human rights and stuff. I did n' t ace the project or anything, but the assignment provided me with the challenge of writing something with a message, which I had never done before then. **TL; DR**: Take any chance you can to get someone to read your work, regardless of the challenge it may pose.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: The sun is rising. Its orange glow does n' t fill me as it once did. I feel empty inside. That was before the moaning men. But they wo n' t bother me any more, no they wo n' t. I step onto the ledge. The bodies stumble beneath me in the street. So far down, like ants. They crawl toward the building, their moans ringing through the fog. Look at this gun. This fucking useless gun. This was the gun that I had to put down my wife and daughter with. I empty the clip into the air. Gunshots pierce the silence. The zombies notice, hurtling themselves toward the building. I am coming, my loves. I spread my arms. I look up. On the building across from me, a body reaches in my direction. No. It' s not a body. It' s me, it' s one of us. It' s a living human. It' s crying, saying not to do it. I am not alone. But I still am. So alone. So empty... I leave the crying human behind, leaning forward, sinking, sinking, sinking into the writhing mass of dead. I am home.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: I' m sitting in a truck waiting for some scaffolders and insulators to finish stripping a 10 inch line. We are going to xray said line when they complete their task. We have been waiting since 6 am for them to finish and I' ve been on reddit all fucking day. Every. Link. Is. Purple. My phone has been on charge twice today. We are about to hit charge number three. I know you should expect more from me than this but I' m sort of at a loss for what to do here. I want to make something for you that is so beautiful and visual that you sit back in amazement wondering how something that glorious came into your gaze. I want that for you so bad it hurts. I want you to close your eyes and see what I see, feel what I feel, to hear the environment as I paint it for you. Alas, that' s not possible because sometimes I lack the imag


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: Samanta was in a dark coat: long, silky, and tight on womanly hips. My doorway was too drab for such a work of art. I was struck with want for a coat of paint. I swung my chair away. "Fancy that, huh? I found you. "That ghost sang to my back. I didn' t turn. "Lucky as usual. I told you, I don' t do that work nowadays. "It wasn' t fiction. I' d hung up that old coat, that old man. My guns, my cigars, that was history. Old gangs, young thugs, any and all could run this town. That optimistic young P. I. was kaput. I told Samantha so. "What a buffoon. "Sam said, ruby lips all wrong in a smirk. "You can' t quit. Not any of us can quit. "I didn' t say a word. Samantha slid away, but not without dropping a gift: familiar manila, that slanting, taunting handwriting in all black. *Do what you must. *


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: He knows I' m innocent... I suppose his revelation is meant to be my elevation. His note, written with equal parts recklessness and selflessness, did n' t move my spirit in the same way he intends to move me. Does he not know me? It could n' t have been selflessness. No. Is he so ignorant that his desire for good deeds must blot out his logic? If he knows that I am innocent then he must also know the sort of man I was before these bars closed around me. He should have known that I was a man that wore these bars around his heart long before this physical incarceration. I was a prisoner of my own making, and that is unforgivable. The irony of it all is that I felt most alive just before the sirens and the handcuffs. No, I wo n' t move. My skin will fade to the colour of these concrete walls. My spirit will dim to the wattage of the bulbs swinging from the hallway beyond these bars. I will allow this to happen because in truth I have already allowed it to happen long before the fall of the gaval and the clang of my cell door. When two paths diverged in the wood of my life, I took the one most traveled by. I always charted the middle path. I fell in line with the endless trains of the faithless. And that has made all the difference. I lacked any difference from anything else. An old man once told me that if you stay in one place too long you become that place. He was a rock of a man, but at least a heart pounded in his chest. At least he lived. And so, in spite of the pleading heart of my well-meaning guard, I will become this place. I deserve this place.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: [ This is another attempt, but my main focus here is the action. It' s a different character with the same name. Feed back is appreciated. ] Lightning thundered through the clouds, and struck Galidius. He screamed, as the lightning continued to crackle. He had been through this countless times, but the pain was always unbearable. His muscles grew, but his skin did not. It felt as if his skin would burst, but just as he could not take it any more, his skin finally started stretching to accommodate his muscles and the growth of his bones. The leather straps of his sandals finally burst. He flexed his muscles, and roared, and the lightning disappeared. He ran down the steps of the supreme temple of Olympus, and jumped off a nearby cliff. On the way down, he scraped by protruding rocks, which tore into his leg. At the base of the cliff, he tumbled and rolled, and his arm an leg bones snapped. He laid there in pain, and groaned, as his body began its healing process. A few moments later he took a deep breath, and ran to the battle.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: I quickly hit the B on my keyboard to bodyslide back to Avengers Tower, and spent the next hour examining and replacing most of his gear. In addition to respeccing his power points according to a raid build I found on the Marvel Heroes forum, I gave him a Cosmic Grim Reaper medallion, a better-rolled Advanced Metasensory Array, an insignia with some great critical and brutal damage on it, and a " balloons on brutal strike " visual element for his costume. " How' s that? " I asked. " Better, " he replied. " The balloons are a nice touch. " " Well then, let' s try it out, " I nodded, hitting B again to transport back to the Cosmic Odin' s Palace terminal, for yet another run on Kurse. " You know, you probably play this game too much, " Deadpool informed me as he decapitated a dark elf. " Yeah, I' m aware. "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: We still called ourselves humans, but bore little resemblence to our pre-ascendence ancestors. Their were still plenty of normal humans spread throughout the stars, but those of us who remained on Holy Terra had chosen a different path. After fighting long and hard to try and adapt the world we lived in to our needs, we had finally decided to simply adapt our needs to the world we lived in. We incorporated all the best traits of life found on Earth, and coded them into our genome. Our green skin now hinted at our ability to photosynethisize energy, ending hunger and removing the need for farming or hunting. We mostly lived in the forest, which had finally reclaimed much of what had formally called "civilization ". We also incorporated traits from our cetecean bretheren, allowing those who wished to return to the oceans where life on our world began, and learn the sagas sung by the elder whales. Our senses had been modified to detect colors and sounds our ancestors could only dream about, spurring an amazing renesseciance in the arts. We no longer needed the massive strength of our ancestors, and opted for smaller, lighter, more efficient bodies. With our bat-like ears, colored skin, and dimunitive nature, offworlders sometimes referred to us by the moniker "elves ". We did not mind their jesting, for we were finally at peace; not only with our world, but with ourselves as well.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: The screaming outside the bathroom door intensified as I, bloodied and tired, slid my back down against the wall into a sitting position. I began to weep as I pulled my journal and pistol from the pack near my feet. *I never wanted it to end like this* I wrote. *We were able to kill them effectively for a while, but they grew too strong. They killed Jebb... They took Gary. And... * I paused for minute, languishing with the palpable pain of it all. Tears streamed down my checks as the zombies outside the door clawed and crooned for a way inside. I looked down and picked up the pistol and cocked it, aiming the weapon at my head. After a few tense moments, I put the weapon down with a scream, and picked up the journal again. Now however, I wrote with fervent anger and determination. *They took my Daisy! My most precious possession and friend in this world. I loved her! * I finished my entry more in a scribble and flurry of lines than anything readable. I got up to my feet, breathing heavy with rage and desperation. " You mother fuckers! " I yelled at the door. " I' ll kill all of you! " I screamed as I threw open the door and saw... Daisy. Standing right in front of me. Her eyes were bloodshot and hollow; her jaw hung detached and wretched looking with blood and brain matter spattered across her face and neck. " Daisy? " I breathed. " Baby it' s me! " Daisy seemed to hesitate, and moved forward towards me with her arms outstretched as if she wanted to embrace me. " Oh God, I' ve missed you so much! " I cried as she wrapped her arms around me. For a few seconds, everything seemed fine. Daisy tilted her head slightly and sank her teeth into my neck, and clawed my eyes from my sockets with her broken fingers. I screamed in terrible agony as I was once again reunited with my lover.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: Only being able to speak Aramaic, he has no idea what the sign says and keeps on walking down the road. Two men pass by an a 4x4. They toss a half-full tallboy of Monster Ultra-Blue at his head as they drive by, yelling words that he ca n' t understand but feel all too familiar. " Same as it ever was, " he sighs. Feeling a bit thirsty, he picks up the can off the road and takes a sip. " Holy shitballs, " he says in Aramaic, with a glimmer in his eye. He takes off down the street like Sonic the Hedgehog, catches up with the men who wronged him and yanks them out of their moving 4x4. " No more Mr. Nice Christ! " he shouts with the line delivery force of 10 Vin Diesels. He snags the pair of Oakleys off of the confused driver as he tosses him out and sends him tumbling into the dirt like a sack of potatoes. " I could get used to this, " he says as he lowers his bitchin' new shades and drives on, full-throttle toward his next exxxtreme adventure.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: Startled I wake up, I turn and see her still laying in bed, must not have been her. There it is again, that noise. I uneasily arise from my slumber not knowing what to do first. I look around still confused by what is happening in the distance. I' m naked.. I do n' t remember taking off my clothes, but I am standing here bare assed in the middle of the room. I slowly hear the door open downstairs, and I hurriedly make my way after whatever just left. As I make my way down I grab a towel that is laying on a chair by the bedroom door, and wrap myself up. Still blurry eyed from my deep slumber I try to move slow but determined, not too make to much noise, not knowing what I might find. As I make it to the first floor I see a man in a slight silhouette standing outside the door, it' s hard to make out any features. I look around for something to defend myself, but then it hits me, something about him looks familiar, do I know him? Have we met? I decide to rush the door, and confront him. I fling open the door and just as I am about to tackle him, almost with an unseen sense, he side steps me. Expecting a collision, I stumble and fall face first into the lawn. I quickly turn on my back awaiting the retaliation from the man. As I settle on my back, the man casually steps above me peering down at me. That is when I notice it, it was n' t him that looked familiar, it was my clothes. He appears to be wearing the clothes I slept in. Just as I start to open my mouth he peers straight into my eyes and says " You want to come into my house and act like me with my wife, then I figured it is only fair to do the same with your wife. " and slowly walked away. -- Be gentle, this is my first ever writing prompt. I always wanted to try but never really had the courage to try.. I am definately open to the critics though.. Thanks


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: From the end of the galaxy I looked back at where I' d been. In conclusion, I determined that being immortal really isn' t all that it' s cracked up to be. Especially when the person you formerly considered to be your best friend tossed you out of the airlock of your joint spaceship to float in space forever. At least the changing scenery was interesting while it lasted. Now that I' m finally leaving the arm of the galaxy, I probably won' t be seeing anything but blackness for a while. Eternity in the blackness of space. If that doesn' t scare you then nothing will. In retrospect, it was mostly my fault that things turned out this way. When I first discovered I was one of the immortals, I WAS kind of a dick about it. Turns out that most people don' t really appreciate it when you throw yourself in front of their car just to prove a point. Something about a sickening crunching noise. I' m not really sure because I always lose consciousness for about a second each time I "die "and then come back the same as before. This has gotten rather annoying out here in the vacuum of


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: I survived. I saw the birth of this demon. It was late at night when it came to our world. I am a doctor, I make sure people give birth in a safe manner, but this time I could not guarantee any safety. It was common knowledge that there was only 10 million souls available. The current number was 9, 999, 999, this mother was going to be the last person to give birth till someone died. The Baby began to come out and all was normal but a second baby came out, a twin but it was not the same as the other. The first baby looked normal with his little black hairs on his head and his blue eyes. The second baby was a ginger. The stories of ginger hair was all considered a myth but I saw it. The second baby eye' s turned red, it grew to the height of a man in seconds and kept growing. It let out a fearsome roar that everyone man and women across the world heard. The monster with a flick of his wrist caused a large gust of wind blowing over many buildings. Injuring many but not killing for the monster wanted his power and strength. I did what I had to. I grabbed a surgical knife and stabbed the mother in the head. The blood sprayed in my face but I kept carving out her face to make sure she died. She died alright and the monster had shrunk back into the form of a baby. His hair stayed ginger, I guess it was God' s reminder to us.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: At the end of her life, Riley sits in her hospital bed. She would soon join her husband, and while they never had any kids, she had no other regrets in life. Inside, Anger had already passed on. He was the first to go, as the emotion that vanished with age. Fear was the main driving emotion these days, ever since Anger had gone. What would happen to Riley? Disgust was also near vanishing; it tended to happen when people aged. As you grow old, you see too much, and it was hard to not be desensitized to the things people did. Joy and Sadness were holding hands. It was bittersweet; two opposing emotions somehow coming together. They watched quietly as Disgust slowly disappeared; Riley was reaching the end of her life. Fear smiled at the two friends and then, too, flickered and vanished. The memories that once belonged to these emotions all turned grey. Sadness looked over at Joy, and squeezed her hand softly. As Riley' s heartbeat slowed to a constant buzz, they gasped. All the memories had turned into a vibrant yellow, as glaring as the sun. In the hospital room, Riley smiled, recalling all the events - Sadness, Fear, Anger and Disgust that had happened in her life. For some reason, none of that mattered anymore: she was at peace with her life. Sadness and Joy, still holding hands, slowly winked out of existence. The core memories turned grey, and the lights dimmed, but the place would remain forever abandoned. In your own mind, a blue ball falls into the cradle. [ Inspired by Inside Out ]


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: I' ve always felt a bit left out. Unnoticed. My only friend was Neptune and he was so much larger than me. I am small and cold. First there was the Sun, that ball of gas never shut up and always threatened us with' Solar Flares'. Yeah yeah come at me bitch. Then there was Mercury. He was... mercurial. Burnt out. My opposite really. Venus was the typical girly girl. Flirty, a bit gassy truth be told and was getting married to Neptune in a few billion years. Earth was left alone. Ever since be got humans and they even began to spread we had kept our distance. Those freaks are really doing a number on him, poor guy. Mars was always bullied. Y' know for being red surfaced. He was likely next to be humanised. Unlucky. Jupiter was the epitome of obese. So large and angry and boisterous. We just ignored him. Saturn was cool to be honest. Had a little fan club. Dressed well, I mean have you seen that belt?! Uranus. Lets just move on. He' s the butt of our jokes. Neptune was my BFF but when he and Venus get married they' re moving to a new galaxy. I' ll be alone but that' s okay. It is n' t bit that' s what I tell him. And now the main detraction, Me. I am small and cold. Not very popular - the quiet guy at the back of the System. Sometimes I wish I was bigger, then they' d respect me more. Wait, Neptune' s just told me I' m not a planet any more... I' m a dwarf. WHAT THE HELL?! BAD ENOUGH THAT' S ALREADY WHAT THEY CALL ME!


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: As I stood there wondering what the hell, a voice scream " get down ". I quickly dropped just as the meat clever wizzes past my left ear and sticks into the wall behind me. My heart racing, trying to understand what is happening, I feel a warm trickle of fluid run down my neck. The clever sliced the edge of my ear off. Before I had time to react, a body was next to me. He was talking but my mind want understanding the words. He shook me, I snapped attention as he said " You OK? Thank god you' re here now we have a chance of getting that thing. Grab the clever and follow me " I asked " Who are you man? " " player 1 was the reply " What thing? Who is this? Do I stay or follow? It was then I heard the gurgling noise and the smell of rancid flesh. Whatever the' thing' s was, it was n' t human and wanted us dead. I grabbed the clever and took off. We set up in an ambush position near the stairs so either of us could attack as it came past. I' d never killed anything before, what would it be like? As we crouched quietly my mind again wandered off. What is going on? I could n' t answer as I did n' t know but the smell got worse so the creature was close. Player 1 launch out at the creature, stabbing wildly with his knife piercing the flesh of the thing with howls of pain. I jumped up to help but something held me back. I tried swinging my arm holding the clever but it could n' t move. Was I just scared senseless? Was I caught on something? The answer came quickly, as I turned to see the razor sharp claws swing towards my throat. As my life slowed and my blood pulsed down my body to the floor, I realised.... fuck, there were two of them.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: " Welcome Soldiers. You are all Volenteers to this unit, and I appreciate the fact that you signed up for this duty. It is a tough job, but we have to do it. If you are unclear what we do here and merely has been recommended duty here, let me sum it up for you. We are Battalion 404 of the British Army and we do not exist. There is no sign of us on the generals maps, the Germans can´t attack it because they have no spies to tell them we are here and the rest of the Army would shoot us or join us depending on their point of view if they knew we existed. But allow me to guarantee you that Field Marshal Haig himself put this unit up for special duty. Our role is simple. Our duty is simple. We stay out of the war. We do not kill. We do not die. We do not fight. We do not attack. We are not attacked. In short, we are on paid vacation until the war is over. Sure, the pay is bad and the food too, but we do not dig trenches and we have some nice facilities here. And best of all, the duty is classified and if you say that back home, they usually think you been off playing the hero for the entire war. Gets you in the good with the ladies. You are in first platoon. Report to Captain Edmund Blackadder for duty. Dismissed. "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: The year was 2015 Valve-time, 2549 if you were still using the Gregorian calendar. My breath was labored, even under the heavy life-support automation of my Cybershell. The sacrifices to extend my life this long have been great and tortuous. I was thankful that playing the game would no longer require the ability to use my hands or sit upright. My eyelids creaked as they blinked before the Steam login page. I cautiously typed in my password, I must n' t excite myself too much. Steady breathing. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. The doctors told me to beware of my heart fibrillation, I could almost feel it creeping back. My emotions under control I paid my 60 Steam bucks, now the world reserve currency, to buy the game. I waited with baited breath as the game downloaded. Finally, I would get my satisfaction. All these tortured years would not be in vain. All was well, or so I thought, as I had failed to prepare my tired heart for the revelation that stopped it. Pre-order exclusive TF2 hats.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: " Well, how was the planet you used to live on. I spilt the beans, now it' s your turn. " The idea of Robyn saying this in a sing-song voice was hilarious, but I had to concentrate. It was just her translator after all, badly broken following the latest fight. " Not everyone was a mercenary like us, that' s for sure. It was fly as fuck, to be honest. I mean, you did n' t have to sift the water from the hydrochloric acid in the rivers. The Sabrina fusion-jets that we explored with did n' t leave chemtrails a hundred miles long of thick, black smoke. I mean, we had trees! Not your fake plastic ones, real ones, made of wood! " " Really, u/Thomas_633? " " Yeah, totally! " My brow darkened for a moment. I remembered the day when my fusion-jet had flown into the portal. In hindsight, it probably was n' t the absolute best idea to fly a 20 billion dollar aircraft into a portal on a dare, but then again, Private u/Thomas_633 and Mechanised Private A1-R1 tended not to be the individuals to turn down such a proposition, even if Mainframe 43-RC9 was at 48 % of structual failure ( most were repaired at 20 %, and I really should have repaired the Sabrina earlier ) and it was a totally unknown sector. *Warning: C. 7/F-4 " Sabrina " mainframe at 74 % damage! We' re going to crash you dumb fu-* A torrent of swear words erupted from my mechanical colleague and I as the battered exploration craft fell from the sky, the blue droptail screaming and flickering out due to the fact we were a number of lightyears away so many it required exponential notation, and that the Sabrina was n' t designed for portals anyways, that' s why the Akira parent aircraft existed you idiot. My flashback finished, I returned to Robyn. Her blue fin trembled in the night-time breeze. Two more assaults, and I' d be able to afford repairs to the mainframe and return home. And I would return home. I *had* to.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: " If you do n' t drop your weapons, I' ll kill you all in an instant, " I said, making my voice shake a little for effect. The more outrageous the claim, the better. " Bullshit, it' s twenty to one! " The man I was pointing my gun at called. " You know, for a leader of a drug ring, you' re really not that smart " I replied. I dropped my gun, and as his eyes followed it, I flicked my hand in his direction. A shard of metal flew across the room, piercing his throat, sending a delicious wave of red spilling out. " Who' s next? " I called out, waving my hand at the next man, as his eyeball exploded with a *pop! * as the metal passed through it. I swept my hand across the room, sending a wave of metal at the men, who by now were turning to run. I sent another wave and another, until they all dropped. They call me the Bluffer. I can make up the most outrageous lies possible, and as long as someone calls me on them, they become fact. Sometimes, like in the scene above, I leave room open for interpretation, and the results are always interesting. Sometimes it' s easier to make claims so specific that there' s no way someone wo n' t call me on them, like last week, the mafia man who broke into my apartment and held me at gunpoint, I told him an asteroid was going to crush him in a minute if he did n' t leave. He smirked and asked my if my lying ass wanted to die. Those were, ironically, his last words. Being a hero is n' t always easy. Luckily, I do n' t always have to be one. My name is the Bluffer, and this is my story...


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: Lurking can teach you a lot on this sub. After all, good readers make good writers. After some time, you notice certain names that appear more often than any others; /u/Luna_LoveWell, /u/Lexilogical, even /u/Draxagon and /u/imchrishansen_. There used to be a lot more, until one day they started dropping like flies. I have n' t had a lead on this case in months, but popular users are still disappearing right and left. It ca n' t be a coincidence, someone must be eliminating their competition. It' s a good thing that a guy like me blends in, otherwise I might find myself becoming the next victim. Until then, I have to try and find the killer. /u/Luna_LoveWell is the prime suspect, most of her stories end with death and despair. The chief is a big fan of her work, so he' s asked me to look into other users. I do n' t think we have any solid evidence against her, most of the stories on here end that way anyways. /u/Lexilogical seems friendly to everyone, almost too friendly for a mod. There' s an angle here, something I' m missing. Nothing seems fishy about her stories, though. I do n' t think she would kill over something like this... /u/Draxagon has been pretty active lately, spitting out lots of stories. He might be too new though, these murders started a while ago. Still, I' ll keep tabs on him. /u/imchrishansen_ has caught my attention lately, could be our perp. That recent story about plagiarism seemed to come straight out of a psychotic mind. But it' s Chris Hansen, who fights crimes, not commits them... I call up the chief and tell him that I' m going to follow one last lead. This guy has been trying to distract us all along, I need to see what he' s up to. /u/Fractal_Death, you' ve got some explaining to do. ( I' m sure that I' ve missed plenty of active members, but I' ve only been around for a few days. I made my choices based only on what I' ve seen lately. )


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: The reporter gives a satisfied sigh. His masterpiece is ready. He decides to give it one last read when his train of thought is derailed by a mighty crash. " Wh-..? " There' s a hole where his front door used to be. Splinters decorate the blue armor of the immense figure taking up most of his hall. Angry eyes glare at him from behind metal bars. The monster lowers its head, charges, and lunges. The reporter screams. Then it all goes dark. Slowly, the world returns to him, though not his sight. His arms are twisted behind his back and he can' t move, largely on account of being tied to a chair. He tries to scream but the gag puts a quick stop to it. "Jolly good, you' re awake "Somebody pulls the blindfold off his eyes. Once he gets used to the light, he sees four figures. The enormous armored monster is there, one meaty hand on his shoulder. Opposite him is a black man, impossibly tall and towering. He grins evilly when he sees the reporter looking. In front of him are two men, both white, both in slacks, unbuttoned long-sleeved shirts, and caps. One is standing back with a neutral expression, the other rolling up his sleeves. He' s the one speaking. "Now, I hope you understand this isn' t personal, of course. We just… have some secrets that need to stay secret. "He rubs his immaculately shaved chin in thought, then turns to the other man, the one with the bags. "I' ll think I' ll use a nine iron for this one. "The reporter gives muffled screams of protest. It' s no use. The man swings. Crack. -- -- _-104 | [ more ] ( /r/vonBoomslang ) _


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: I have always had this.... this itch it seems always to be at the back of my mind. If i concentrate I can hear a rasping voice counting down... just just counting... I never thought much of it until the voice laughed when it reached 100... It seared every thought in my head away... it was blood chilling. Now I am terrified what happens when the voice reaches 0. 10... It has started what will happen.. 9... Will I die...? 8... I ca n' t get off my knees the.. pain... 7... What is happening everything is on fire.. 6........ 5... Make it stop.. 4... I hear laughter again... 3... The pain is lessening... 2... I feel so cold 1....... The pain leaves and I open my eyes and see a robed figure... All i can think is I died... I had to have died right? Death laughs I now know who has been laughing in my head. Death does n' t speak he takes off his robe and outstretches it to me. I reach out with trembling hands.... My hands are now white white bone.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: " I' m telling you man! Jesus is the real deal. He spoke to me in a dream once, you know? He would want you to get help. " Mathew nodded his head slowly. I' d been putting pressure on him for years to talk to a shrink about his issues, but he was just now starting to cave. His family was pretty conservative. The kind of family that' s hyper-religious, hyper-republican, hyper-everything. His parents did n' t believe in psychologists, of course. They thought it was a load of crap. " I get it man. You think I' m crazy. Just let it drop for once, " He stated. I looked up at him. " Not until you agree to talk to someone. I worry about you, you know? " " You know what? Fine. Fine, you win. I' ll see a frickin' shrink, alright? Jeez, just let it drop for once, " He stalked off. A couple days later I started to notice it. The fading. At first I thought I was tired. Then I convinced myself I was high, someone had spiked the brownies at the bakesale. Finally, on the third day, I could no longer deny it. I was disappearing. I did n' t know why or how long it would take, but I knew it was happening. And Mathew: it seemed like he never wanted to hang out anymore. Fast forward to a month later. Mathew was having his Bar Mitzvah and I was n' t invited. He was becoming a man, meanwhile I was slowly fading into non-existence. That' s when it happened actually - when I disappeared entirely. That afternoon, during his Bar Mitzvah. At that point, I was little more than a faintly skin-colored cloud of vapor. I could n' t feel anything, and it was nearly impossible to talk. When I did, all that came out were little gusts of air - a whisper only loud enough to be heard through a megaphone, and even then it was questionable. It' s a shame, really. I rather enjoyed existing.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- Congratulations Player! For reaching your 500th reincarnation, you have unlocked the new " Impossible " difficulty! [ OK ] -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- Reincarnation 500 CHOOSE YOUR DIFFICULTY: - Easy - High Score: 113 - Medium - High Score: 82 - Hard - High Score: 74 - Expert - High Score: 32 - NEW - Impossible - High Score: -- [ Impossible ] -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- Are you sure you would like to select the " Impossible " difficulty? Click OK to confirm. [ OK ] -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- Reincarnating... -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- " We' re truly sorry ma' am. As your son was coming out, his neck got caught in the umbilical cord and he was strangled to death. " -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- Reincarnation 501 CHOOSE YOUR DIFFICULTY: - Easy - High Score: 113 - Medium - High Score: 82 - Hard - High Score: 74 - Expert - High Score: 32 - Impossible - High Score: 0


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: The following is an excerpt from a text that was just very recently deciphered by modern linguistics experts. The text itself is the oldest text recovered to date- and until recently, the contents remained a mystery. It should be stated that this is a near literal translation, and some text seems to be hard to decipher, due to ancient colloquialisms of the time. All the text has been kept, and translated as closely as possible. " And after the great purge, there was but one individual left to rot and agonize over the small atrocities he committed. He sat down and cried tears like a river or a small tiger. ^1 Once the crying was done by he had been finished, the one who had done the crying stood up, and exclaimed' I will make a new people like the ancients of the old! They will run like Boars with galaxies on their backs, ^2 and drink from the tiger rivers.' So he stood over sexy^3 soil, and molded it until it looked like a child bearing mother. And then he went to the gods and harnessed the angry yellow flame to make himself a bride.' I shall call this a woman, as the flowers bear petals for stinging bees. ^4' and he took her and had five hundred children- the most agile and flying-like^5 being his first born. The first born had lungs like a fire, and fought the fortune braved sweetness of life. It was of this first born that the dominant race was born. A race meant to rule over all others, as it was determined by all the gods themselves, as they talked over the bloody sports rag. ^6 " ^1 Ocean ^2 It was a myth that Boars used to contain entire universes in their stomachs, which made it unholy to kill them. ^3 Fertile ^4 It is speculated that women were thought of as bees- harvesting sweet honey for others, but, when angered, sharp and frustrating. ^5 Flying like was a colloquialism for good will. ^6 Bloody sports rag was a terminology for a sport said to have been played by the gods.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: " You do n' t understand, " my father said, pleading with the men and suits that had stormed into the pizzeria. " We' re a family business. All the food here is healthy, it conforms to regulations. " We had planned for this for a long time. Stay behind the counter, brew the complimentary black coffee and do n' t stop smiling. That' s what all the other places did, we could n' t allow ourselves to look any different. Except this time we had. " Excuse me, sir, " the towering man said, taking off of his sunglasses and running his fingers along the the tables where several customers sat awestruck with salads and water. The table at the end was a family with a large veggie pizza. " And what do we have here? " " That' s the vegetarian option! " my father exclaimed, " You' ll find that each slice holds less than 100 calories! I ca n' t believe this, do n' t you people have a McDonalds to close down? " " Dad- " I blurted out in the politest way I could. His knuckles were already swelling. He took a deep breath and started over. " Officer, please, you wo n' t find anything illegal here. " " Grease... " the man said, slowly. " Excuse me? " " There' s grease on this table, sir. Lots of it. " He turned around and showed us his hand - his palm was shining with liquid running down to his cuffs. " Y-You' re a liar! That table was clean, I just checked. " " Sir, you have the right to remain silent. Boys, shut this place down. " The two identical men at the door leaped forward, throwing all of the food onto the floor. I dragged my father back behind the counter. He simply held his head in his hands and shook. I closed my eyes too. It would be over soon, hopefully.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: " Come right on in miss smith, if you just sit right there I' ll prep the lighting " She wandered into my studio with the same lot expression as many before her. She was young, maybe, late 20s. The collision had killed her instantly leaving her briefly in this lull before moving on. Souls like that always left an imprint behind, I was the one responsible for that. " Alrighty ma' am how about a winning smile? " She smiled politely, clearly still wondering how she' d found herself here. " Stunning " I snapped a few more of her in various poses " and we' re all done, I hope you enjoyed yourself " " Oh... yes, uh what was your name? " " Peter, anyway, you do n' t want to keep your family waiting. I' ll send these pictures to you later " I guided her gently through the door " Just follow the light~ " The woman nodded, still none the wiser, probably thinking she was dreaming. I looked over the pictures. Precious moments to hand down to her friends and family in moments of need. This was god' s work.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: " I have never lied to you. Listen to me. Your plan is quite cunning, and far more elegant than anything I have in mind. I must refuse. " " Father! " " I promised I would never let my children into this... world I have made. My prison. Your mother, Prophets' grace, would never forgive me. " " Your world *is* my world, father. I live in your shadow. " " I understand. Now understand me: since I entrapped myself in politics I have done everything to ensure you will never suffer by my legacy. " " No-one will look at me and see Jana, but Janos! I am doomed to be the Regent' s Daughter whatever you do. You can not keep me shut away from the court and your enemies, and hope they wo n' t hate me. " " God willing, my other preparations will be enough. " " You always say such things! I think I know what - have you bought the debts of your worst enemies, to hold destitution over them as my shield for when you are dead? Father, you have done such things for years. There is hardly a nobleman in the realm who does not owe you money. One day they will no longer tolerate it. *' Our enemies have nothing but fear left - it would be better to say they have nothing left to lose.' * " " Is that- " " Ancora, his last *omilia e pakis*. " " I... I thought you gave up learning Antique. " " It was something. Something of Eraz. He would not want our lessons to go to waste. " " I- " " You never asked. " " Jana- " " Father, I loved them as much as you do;' *and loving equally, I know your pain. But take heart, for that only means we understand one another better and can do no worse than share our grief.' * " " Erasto, too? Come here, my child... When did you grow up? How did I miss it, by God? " " You have been grieving, as have I. You always say forgiveness is underrated; usually, it is you forgiving your enemies. Now I forgive you. "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: I am always telling people about how great Reddit is and how there is really something for everyone. I was telling my best friend about it recently and when we when I opened it up, there it was' TIL why people with blonde hair sometimes have red beards. " My friend with a big ass red beard and blonde hair held up the iPad.' I guess so' he proclaimed. So tonite I am at home with a sick toddler. So she is watching weird computer generated cartoons and I am reading Reddit. I know I suck, whatever. So I am scrolling Reddit writing prompts and I come across [ WP ] Write a scene that includes two characters, yet only one character has the dialogue. I scrolled past no big deal. I scrolled back up, then I realized' this is my life.' I currently have two situations where there are two characters and one carries 100 % of the dialogue. For the last 20 months I have spent the better part of every minute and every second with my daughter. She ca n' t talk ( well, she kind of can now, but not til recently. ) We are two characters But I have 100 % of the dialogue all of the time. This is probably why the babies had voices in the movie' looks who talking' and' look who' s talking too.' It' s not that funny otherwise, but still enjoyable all the same. My other situation involves my 67 year old mother who has als. She has it since April 2016 and has already lost her voice. She had bulbar onset first which has been quite rapid. She is on a feeding tube but will probably not get a tracheotomy. Pretty grim stuff but when we are together we like to make the days count, not count the days. So that is my life. It is my scene.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: I' m stuck in a train carriage on a train deep in China, weary and alone, watching painted landscapes sail past as they have for 15 hours straight. We' re stacked in triple bunks as we rattle along our 2, 000 mile journey in overcrowded, bustling, realm of human life filled with the chatter of languages I do n' t speak and rich scents of food I do n' t recognise. Then the little girl spots me, shock imprinted on her face as she edges towards me. She' s tiny; thin and fragile, maybe seven or eight years old, black hair in pigtails, eyes wide in amazement as she presses her face right up to mine until our noses almost touch. " Hi, " I say, laughing as she runs away bashfully, frightened that I dare speak to her and break her intense study; obviously she' d never seen a Westerner before, let alone someone with blue eyes. A minute later she' s back, dragging her mother to where I recline, talking excitedly, pointing at me with fascination and nervous joy. The mother bursts out laughing. " She thinks you' re Harry Potter, " she explains, and, weariness forgotten, I delight in the way the world is much smaller than I believed.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: ** " All praise be the Golden Bird! " ** Together they chanted, " For he is tall and wise. " ** " All praise the Purple Fang! " ** Together they chanted, " For he has taught us all, we count. Therefor we matter. " ** " All praise the Furry Trunk! " ** Together they chanted, " For he is the mysterious friend. " ** " All praise the Dweller of the Can! " ** Together they chanted, " For he has taught us to bury our anger and disgust. " ** " All praise the Blue Hero! " ** Together they chanted, " For he has shown us each the strength within. " ** " All praise the Red Tickler! " ** Together they chanted, " For laughter is the best medicine. " ** " All praise the Odd Couple! " ** Together they chanted, " For love knows no bounds. " ** " All praise the Consumer of Cookies! " ** Together they chanted, " Sometimes one, is not enough! " ** " Beware the Frog! " ** Together they chanted, " Beware the Frog! "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: " So make sure you get their number. " I really, really wanted to leave for my date and forget about this conversation. " Ok. " This was worse than health class. " But use a condom to make sure you do n' t catch anthing. " Mom wrung her hands, obviously trying to come up with more advice. " Ok. " " I know some girls might try the other holes as well but be extra careful when you do so. You can look it up on the Internet for tips and stuff if you like. " " Ok, mom. " My date was suppose to start in 20 minutes. Why did she choose *this* moment to give me some Sex Education?! Why could n' t she like normal parents who avoid these kinds of topics? " If they turn out to be the same gender, I' ll be perfectly ok with that, you know. " " Yes, mom. " " If you have questions, you can always call me. " " Ok. Can I go now? " Maybe I could still make it on time if I sped a little... " I suppose... bit make sure you get their name and number at the very least. " " Ok mom. Bye. " I jumped up from the couch and grabbed my purse. " Bye honey. Be home by 10. "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: The man asked me to sit down on the bench, he had a gun and a photograph. He asked me if I was a patriot. I told him no more than any average Joe. He said his father had been a patriot - fought in the war you know, the one to end all wars? except it did n' t - and his son had been a patriot - enlisted right outta high school, bright kid, had a good future ahead of him - until that damn napalm cut his life short, and was n' t it a shame when a father had to bury his son, hardest day of his life, harder even than when his wife found out about her ovarian cancer which meant no more children, harder still than the day she passed, weak and frail and bald from the chemo and drugs. He looked at the gun, turning it over and over in his hands as he told me about how his father had used it to defend his men against the enemy and had been awarded a medal, posthumously, because a machine gun that can fire over seven thousand projectiles a minute does n' t care whether a man has a young wife and son waiting for his return. He lays the gun to the side as he shows me the picture of his son, proud and brave and above all still young and innocent and tells me that this photo was taken two hours before he died. They shipped him home in a box, what pieces they could find, anyway. Buried with full military honors - laid to rest with the sound of guns firing a salute. He thanks me for my time - hard to find anyone to listen to an old man these days, what with everyone being so busy talking on their cell phones or staring at a computer screen all day, whatever happened to neighborhood block parties and school fairs anyway? As I walk away, I hear the sound of a gunshot. He would never be awarded a posthumous medal like his father, but at least he would n' t be all alone anymore.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: " God damn it, Jerry! Do n' t do that! " Slack jawed, Jeremiah turned to face Elizabeth. " Blasphemy! " He exclImed. " You must n' t speak of the lord in such a manner, Elizabeth. Also, " he took a step back and turned to look at the people passing them by on the sidewalk. " My name is Jeremiah, my dear. I would greatly appreciate your remembering my name. " " And I go by Lizzy-, " " Yes, well that is incredibly unsophisticated, Elizabeth. A woman goes by her god given name, and nothing else, " he turned and looked at her from the corner of his eye, " though if the lady were betrothed, the man -, " Lizzy groaned and turned away from him. " Why is this even my life? " She called, glaring up at the sky. " Take him back you assholes! " Jeremiah walked up behind her and placed a hand in her shoulder. " My dear, the peasants will think you a witch! " Her right eye twitched as she turned back on him. Her hands shook as she pointed an accusatory finger at him. " You, " she said, poking him roughly in the chest, " may have opened a fucking wormhole in my living room last week, *jerry*, but if you do n' t start catching up with how people behave present day, I swear to god, I will kill you and happily take whatever consequences stepping on that particular butterfly create! " " Elizabeth, -, " " Lizzy! " He stepped back, eyes wide as he nodded slowly. " L... izzy. " She let out a breath. " Good. Now what? " " There is a man in blue aiming a modern weapon at you. What does a strong, modern woman such as yourself do in such an instance? " He question, nodding behind her. " Oh for fucks -, " " Truly, the lord must have heard my prayers of your redemption. God speed, Elizabeth! "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: I awake to the sound of my mother and father watching television, having a heated conversation about whats on. " hey son, get in here and look at this. " my father shouts through the thin walls of my home. " ugh. " I grunt slowly getting up from my bed and shuffling towards the door. As I walk into the living room i notice they' re watching the news. " The world is in shock as hundreds of thousands of people awoke only to find themselves transformed into.. it seems to be, tattoos. " the anchorman reports. " Oh my god! " my mother screams staring out the window with an expression of pure terror. My father and I run towards the window and peer out. Just as the anchorman reported there are people riddled throughout the street, suddenly changed into a tattoo. I look over near the bus stop and see a big bright red heart that has' Mom' written on it trying to get on the bus, but his arrows are too wide to fit the door. Just past him it looked like a dragon with barbed wire buying a coffee. There is a knock on the door. My mother goes to answer it saying, " It must be your brother, he just got out of 8am class. As my mother opens the door she lets out the loudest, high pitched scream I' ve ever heard. Sure enough, there was my brother, a huge sign that said " Blow Me " with arrows on both sides pointing down. scratching his head he laughs, " I guess its about time i told you guys about my tattoo huh? "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: I have finally found the Fountain of Youth, I say to myself. I look down at my old wrinkle face one last time before I reach in and scoop up some water of the fountain. I sip the water out of my hands and immediately feel my skin tightly, hair returning to my head but something feels off. I feel like I am trapped in my body. My eyes look down into the fountain but I am not in control of them. My reflection does n' t look anything like me from when I was younger. My skin was tanner and my eyes that were once blue as the ocean were now green. I tried to speak but no words come out of my mouth. Then I hear myself laughing. " Ha, ha, " comes out of my mouth, deeper then my voice ever was. " Finally, I have been released " is the last thing I hear as everything goes black and my mind goes blank.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: " You' ve reached Danny' s deliveries. How may I help you? " " Put down the gun, Patricia. We' re outside the store. We are willing to end this negotiation peacefully. " " Sir, if you' re outside the store, maybe you' d like to come in. " " We do n' t want the situation to escalate. Stay calm. " " I' m calm, " said Patricia. " Is your order for now or later? " " On the behalf of the Miami district police, we order and suggest you to remain calm right now. Miami police district is willing to negotiate. " " Umm, alright sir. What would you like then? " " We' d like you to let the hostages go. " " Sorry? " " We' ll give you the money. So long as you allow all of the hostages to leave safely. " " Sir, the only thing being held hostage here is quality pizzas at affordable prices. " " Ma' am, we know you' re confused. We' d like you to step outside the building. " " As soon as I have your food ready, our trusty staff will bring you pizza, sides and drinks right away. I' d suggest pepperoni. " " Rob, we' ve got the wrong Danny' s. " " Shit! " "... Sir? "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: " Do you know why the lights twinkle from far away? " I feel the hum of his body next to mine as he asks. Warm, familiar, safe. " No? " " Air pressure. " Air pressure. How pragmatic. " I like it " I reply softly, continuing to gaze westward toward the glittering lights of traffic meandering by. " It has to do with hot and cold air coming together " he places his hand on my hip still standing next to me and looking out. Pondering the science of air temperature and distance. The beauty of looking at lights, third floor, parking garage. Reduced. To air pressure. And I too feel reduced. Like the magic of light. Buried among all his facts I' m still here waiting. For the truth. Because I' ve shared enough for him to destroy me, and he' s talking about - " Air pressure... " I turn abruptly to face him. This is it. This back and forth has been going on for 3 months and 2 days ( not that I' m counting ) and I ca n' t stand not knowing who we are right now. " I love you. " He turns away from the lights slowly, his brow furrowed as thought he has n' t heard me correctly. " I love you " I say directly to his face. " I love a boy who takes pictures with books about fish, and tells me I' m beautiful, and makes me smile when my day is shit, and smells my hair, and holds me outside. But I hate the man who is distant, and stubborn, and selfish, and ca n' t make up his mind, and let' s me sit here thinking about air pressure instead of the magic of lights. " He' s looking at me. Golden eyes shaded by shadow and the glow of the moon. " Look " I say softly, eyes focused on his chest, " I know you' re married and I' m engaged. I' m not asking you to run away with me or anything like that. I do n' t think either of us want that. But we both want this. And I love you. I want to keep kissing you, and having you hold me. I want our moments to continue. " He raises his hand to touch my cheek and I melt in to him, kissing him like never before.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: This is horrible and terribly awkward... I really do n' t know anyone here. They keep looking at me... at least I think they' re looking at me.... Should I say something? It seems like we' ve all been staring at each other for quite a long time.... Those bulbous strawberry-like cyst on those -- gelatinous heads remind me of that ridiculous Monty Python sketch featuring a race of alien invading blancmanges. I laugh -- oh dear... they' re coming over. " Hello. My name is Peter. I take it this is the afterlife? " They make a gobbling sound like wild turkeys. " Wonderful wonderful wonderful... uh... is God around? Maybe St. Peter? No no no I' m not Saint Peter. I mean my name is Peter... but I ai n' t no saint. " I nervously laugh again. One of the blancmanges comes closer ( I know that' s not what they' re called but calling them Martians seems so racist ) and absorbs my hand and suddenly I can hear a thousand helium-filled sounding voices in my head saying: " Is this the virgin we were promised? "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: " Where to? " TGI FRIDAYS. " Gon na' have to be more specific, sir. " TO THE PEARLY GATES OF THE COMMUNAL EATERY. " Wow, you in theatre? " SOMETHING LIKE THAT. TAKE ME TO TGI FRIDAYS PLEASE. " The one on 44th? " ACTUALLY 66TH AND 6 IF YOU DO N' T MIND. " You' re the boss. " AHAHA. YOU DO N' T KNOW THE HALF OF IT. " What' s that? " I SAID THERE' S A WOMAN ABOUT TO JUMP OUT IN FRONT OF THE CAR. " Are you some kind of sicko? Whoa shit. " UNHUH. " Shit, that was close. Who the fuck are you? " YOUR WORLD IS NOT WHAT YOU THINK IT IS. " I' m just going to pull over. " I WOULD N' T DO THAT IF I WERE YOU. " Why not? " SINK HOLE. " What? " SINK. HOLE. " Ah, ok buddy. How ab... SHIT. " FEEBLE HUMAN, YOUR WORLD IS NOT WHAT YOU THINK IT IS. " Shit, who the hell... " HEHEHE "... uh. Okay. Listen I do n' t know who you are or what you want but I got a wife and kids and I just need to make sure I get home tonight. " DEBBIE AND JOEY AND LITTLE LISA? " What the fuck. " I DO N' T INTEND TO HURT YOU. I' M NOT HERE TO HARM YOU. I' M HERE TO COMFORT YOU. " What the fuck. " I JUST WANT A CHEESEBURGER. AND A MILKSHAKE. PLUS I' M MEETING AN OLD FRIEND. " Okay whatever you say pal, but I' m tellin' you the food at TGI Fridays sucks. " TELL ME ABOUT IT. HE PICKED THE PLACE.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: " Greetings Comrades We would like to discuss terms of our relationship, if you are interested please click the link below. " The interplanetary mail system ( IMS ) chirped. Jerry Lee stopped sipping his morning coffee immediately. He rubbed his eyeballs a few times. He walked away, came back but the screen was still as he originally read it. The location the message had originated from was sector 1765 or what captains of the fleet liked to call red territory. There are rumors and tales told by cultists groups about how the forefathers of UPF ( United Planet of Freedom ) warned them of the Red territory. Something about Communist bastards can always be heard around those circles. Jerry ran and got Lewis, his supervisor. Lewis also had a hard time believing what he saw. Working at the IMS was an easy job as Jerry' s career advisor put it. You just receive messages and relay them to their owners. Most of the messages Jerry received were from Clooney IV one of UPF' s many moons. But this was different. It was forbidden by the galactic Congress to enter communications with any systems not fully pledged to democracy. If the rumors about the red territory are true then there is a certainty that relaying that message would be a all expenses paid trip to Maximum Security Prison. Jerry looked at the recipient who was supposed to receive this message and it read Vladimir Milkev. Jerry and Lewis looked at each other and knew what they were about to do. He hovered the selector over the link and selected it. A picture of a very promiscuous female appeared on the screen. " Get your Martian lover today! " It read in big red letters. " Fucking Spam " Lewis said as he deleted the message.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: I wanted to answer the prompt with a bit of stream of conciousness reflection. It' s been five years in here. It' s been comfy. The lack of clarity suits me. Clarity only distorts reality. If everything were so clear, why would there be debate? Am I alone down here? Maybe Plato was right in ideal, but he sure did n' t get a grasp on the evolving society standards. How can you prescribe freedom? That' s what the light is. Some manifested symbolism meant for someone' s mantlepiece. That chandelier looks pretty from way down here, but maybe the sky is the limit for me. That bullshit roof ca n' t hold down someone who seeks the light! Because maybe I was looking for the better light. If I can see down here, and I have my flashlight, what matter does it make if someone else is afraid of the dark? Maybe I just do n' t want to come out to play because I have better things to do than stare from under someone else' s shadow.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: Dragons flew, the sun bled over the sky as two lovers took hand in hand while the old man wrote his recollection. Lily stood upon the bridge looking to the ethereal darkness flowing in steady streams underneath. As she sent that last heartwarming text message to her only friend, lover, Ian looked a sharp eye at the unnerving humanoid beast that twisted and turned in its deformed shape, long unnerving nails sticking from its weathers hands like blades in the shadows. all those stories, all those poems, all those unique worlds coexisting within a single mind. a single universe, a beautiful fractal that overtook his imagination. as he touched the mechanical keyboard like a sea of words his worlds unleashed themselves from his mind. his overflowing head no longer needed to store all the tales that it gave birth to. as a flowing sea of words the tales fell, almost in perfect harmony, perfect motion, to the paper. Sentence after sentence, page after page. he did n' t even need to think, it just came to him, a story in a completed form forming with what seemed no effort on the screen. the mind looked around his empty room, at the books that piled up in his shelves and he had grown up with. he looked at the screen once more. Maybe some day his own world will sit up on that shelf as well.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: " Oh. My. God. " I said, then looked up. " err, sorry. But this is so boring. I mean look all he does is sit there. He does n' t even do anything. Sometimes he yell at that computer, but he does n' t do anything else. Oh wait, here comes my favorite part. Look he' s going to work. It' s the same thing, but at a different place. And here he is looking at the little computer in his pocket. Again. He does n' t really do *anything* worth noting. " My eyes met a pair that seem as ancient as the universe itself. Looking into them, I could almost see through eternity. The figure was an elderly man, his back nearly bent double as though all the pressure of the world rested on his shoulders. He was much thinner than I expected. I felt the urge to fill his silence, so I continued speaking. " I mean, he' s a bit blasphemous at times, but who is n' t? I guess he may have just stolen that movie, but that seems to be a social grey area, does n' t it? He did n' t physically take it, but then again it was n' t really his property. He did n' t even watch the whole thing either. I guess that' s bad, but not evil. He watches a lot of violent things on those screens, but he does n' t reenact them. He just seems really boring. I bet he' s nice, but he does n' t really go out and do good. " The imploring eyes continued to stare. For some reason I was supposed to judge this man' s life, and determine his eternal fate, yet I could n' t come up with anything to tip the scale. I felt that this would n' t be accepted. After a considerable amount of consideration, I was still unsure of what to do. Finally I replied, " you know what, I think this guy should just be forced to watch his own life to see how boring it was. Maybe given enough time he' ll have an answer for you. "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: The longship crashed into the ground, spewing up a monstrous wave of dirt around it as it plowed a new furrow. It came to a stop near the giant banner proudly proclaiming that today was the day of the Alabama-Mississippi Regional Skeet Shoot. A wide plank was thrust overboard and thumped down on the edge of the hill and an orange-skinned alien sauntered down the plank. As armed men began to pour out of the front of the fairgrounds, the alien raised his battleax and bellowed out with a loud commanding voice, " Kneel before Zode and you shall be forgiven of your sins! " The only answer was the simultaneous click of over 80 shotguns snapped back into alignment, ready to fire. " Very well, " the alien called out. " Release the catapult! " Two flags on top of the alien longship suddenly started gesticulating furiously in alien semaphore. Up in orbit, the message was received, transcribed, and transported to the Admiral. Shortly thereafter, a good-sized boulder was ponderously rolled into the airlock. " Hey, Jasper, " one of the Alabaman men said, pointing into the sky, " That there looks like a shooting star a' coming right at us. " > There are three parts to every story. The beginning, the middle, and the twist. > [ More by me ] ( https: //www. reddit. com/r/kj6bwb/ )


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: My name is Maria. I am nine years old. My brother Tommy is seven years old. Our parents are missing. They' re being replaced with new people every day. My friend Kate' s mom emails and calls her every day, even though she' s different every time. I have n' t heard from my parents since they first disappeared. I' m afraid that something bad happened to them, or they are in some remote corner of the world where there are no computers. It was scary at first because no one was used to shifting bodies. It was scary later because people got used to shifting bodies. Tommy and me started hiding from the new people. Some of them were scary. One told us that he would sell us in markets. Tommy started to cry, and the man used Dad' s fist to punch him. And then he punched me. Some other people took Mom' s and Dad' s bodies outside of the house, and while they were gone I locked all of the doors. We moved furniture to block every door, I closed all of the curtains, and I tried nailing boards we were going to use for a treehouse over some of the windows. No one has come by, and we have n' t left the house in over two weeks. But we' ve run out of food. I need to go find some by myself, because Tommy is too scared to leave. I' m scared too. Tomorrow' s my tenth birthday. I do n' t know what will happen, but I have to leave tonight in case new-Maria is someone mean. But I ca n' t leave Tommy alone. I' ll find some way to help him. No one else will.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: " Do you ever think about what it' s like up there? " Her hair was spread out on the grass. The cool night air had left them both with goosebumps as Alec fidgeted, trying to find a position with his hand on hers that did n' t make it seem like he was nervous. The city was a long way away now. It was her idea, to come out here, get away from it all. He leant back, other arm propped behind his head as he looked up at the stars. " It' s so dark, " he said. " Is it? " She rolled onto her side. In the dim moonlight he could see nothing beyond the reflections in her eyes, but he knew she would be smiling. She loved to smile. She took her hand, leaving his despondent, and placed it over his eyes. What little light there was before vanished. " What do you see? " she asked. He could feel her breath against his ear. Warm. The breeze sent a chill through his spine a moment later. " Nothing. " She moved her hand, running it down his face until she let it rest on his chest. For one fleeting moment he was terrified she' d feel his beating heart, know his every intention and laugh at his childishness. But she just waited, letting his eyes roam. " Wow, " he breathed. The moon hung low, but the cloudless night was endless. Millions of stars floated in the heavens. The ribbon the milky way rose from above the horizon. " I never realised there were so many. " Cas sidled up closer to him. " I always think. There' s so much up there. All you need to do is find somewhere quiet, and just look. You' re never alone. " Alec brought her in close.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: " Dave? It' s me, mom. " My hands shivered slightly. " Hey ma, why are you calling me so late? " I checked the clock. It was late. 10: 00 pm late. " I just wanted to see if you remembered to pick up your gramma' s medicine. She needs it tonight and tomorrow morning, you know. " I could feel his hands crushing the phone. I would too, if I was him. He volunteered to get my mother off my hands, a huge relief for me. But as much of a burden my mother is, she is still mom. His grandmother. I had a gut feeling she was about to die. " Did you give her the medicine yet, Dave? She also needs some money for bingo night, every Friday, make sure you drive her there tomorrow. " I covered the microphone a little to hide my gulp. Through the speaker I can hear his panting. Dave always panted when furious. " Yes. Gave it to her right after dinner. " He spoke a little fast. I trust my son, but I feel as if he was lying. What can I do, bed ridden like this? " Thanks, Dave. Thanks a lot. " " Sure. " A small sigh followed his seemingly genuine reassurance. " Good night, go- "" Good night. " He hastily ended the call. Teary eyed and slightly depressed, I whispered to the phone, hoping desperately for someone to tell him what I said. " Good luck, Dave. I love you. " -- http: //www. reddit. com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2hdtee/wp_you_find_out_that_you_have_been_playing_life/ckrs9fr By /u/brokenleader


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: Oh, you know I miss you, When your body' s cold and dead. You know I miss your misery, Back when we wore your red. Oh, you know I miss you, I miss your heart and soul. The way it tasted in my mouth... Beautiful, salty, and cold. My friend, my foe - my future wives - The ones to whom I pledge, To never leave a stone unturned, Or leave you hanging on a ledge. I know in life we disagreed: You thought I was insane. But please, excuse my temperament, For it only affects my brain. Come on, I gave you life' s great thrill! To die in horrid fun! I gave all that I could give in life, Yet still, from me, you run. At times this world does not make sense, With its twisted moral rights. Yet when I had the most of fun, Was in our heated verbal fights. Oh, you know I miss you, And the pain you made me feel, When you fled from my fleeting offer of death, And I had to catch you by the heel. Oh, you know I miss you, Despite what you do to me. You do n' t take the love I offer you; Is it because death is free?


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: WARNING WARNING, DAMAGE CRITICAL Impossible. DAMAGE CRITICAL, REPEAT, DAMAGE CRITICAL It was Impossible. He had the odds stacked against him. Flying an outdated fighter with conventional weapons and he had his sensors jammed. And yet, he prevailed. He destroyed all of Pixy' s special weapons save for the ECM, forcing the two aces to duel head on like the knights of old. Pixy should have seen it coming. He was there alongside him, up against the biggest threats Belka could throw at them and every time, he prevailed. Rot team, Excalibur, the XB-0, the Espada team and Wizard flight. All fell to him. The Demon Lord of the Round Table. But enough was enough. He had hoped that Cipher would see his views. That he would understand why he betrayed the Allied Forces and joined A World with No Boundaries. But as it turned out, he was a puppet like all the rest and like the rest of them, he would die. Pixy turned his damaged Morgan around to face Cipher again, finger hovering over the fire button on his flight stick and sent one last message to his old friend through the radio. "Yo Buddy, you still alive? "Note: Long time lurker, first time poster. Saw a prompt about my favorite Ace Combat game and just had to reply. Constructive criticism is welcome.