Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: " The cake... is... a... lie, " he scribbled on the wall of his den with a piece of glass. All he could hope now was that his son would find the message. He know he was n' t thinking straight, but he counted 36 marks he had gently made on his Companion Cube. Or was it 37? One mark for each can of beans. The Cube did not mind being his marking surface, it had told him earlier before he was shot by the turret. Did it tell him, or was just the delusion? He needed food, desperately. Preferably cake. For a moment, his mind seized on the thought that it would be important to tell his son that the video game was a lie too, the simulation was a reality and he was trapped in it? But how would you put that into words? How do you tell someone from inside a game that the game is real? The name " Newell " floated through his consciousness. Something to do with Newell... or was it Gladys? GLaDOS? Were they the same being in his reality or a figment of imagination...? And who was the one free man? Maybe that guy could get him out if his son did n' t realize the important of the message. " The cake is a lie, " he told the Companion Cube, so it would remember. It whirred softly, or so he thought. It was a good companion. He wondered if it wanted cake too, or if it preferred bacon. He shut his eyes and drifted back to sleep.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: She walked into my office like a hurricane of perfume and seduction. I' d had about five fingers too much whiskey, but I still knew I needed to be on edge with this one. She' d lure you in with her looks and kill you with her brain. "Are you Jack Klinger? "she said. "That' s what my mother always told me, "I said. She sat down across from my desk. "I' ve got a job for you. ""What' s the deal? ""I lost something. ""What? ""Something important. ""Spit it out. ""My broach. ""I ain' t a lost and found box. ""Fourteen yellow sapphires surround three diamonds. The biggest is 128 carats. "I whistled. "Call the cops. ""I can' t. ""So it' s something you want to keep out of the prying eye? ""It' s not illegal. ""I ain' t asking. ""I need it kept hush hush. ""I need a paycheck. ""There' ll be plenty when you find it. More than you can make in a year finding bail jumpers. "I thought about it. A rogue lover probably stole it. She didn' t want the husband to find out. "Deal. "She filled me in on all the details as I pulled out my normal contract. I filled everything out then slid the paper and a pen across the desk to her. She signed and dated it. "How soon do you think you' ll be able to find it? ""No clue. Today or never have the same odds. "She picked up the contract and pressed her lips against the paper. She smiled at me and batted her eyelashes. "A little motivation. "She stood up and walked out of the room with hips swaying like a ship during a storm. I picked up the contract. "Sealed with a crimson kiss. "_______ Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this check out my subreddit /r/Puns_are_Lazy.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: Once there was a kingdom where everyone was happy. They were ruled by a king and a queen, and they each lived in a big castle with many servants and guards and ladies-in-waiting and squires. And they had a son, the prince, who also lived in a castle. But his castle was a ways away from theirs. The king ruled justly, and many people liked him Then, one day, from the east, there came four monsters, great dragons with skin made of steel and bellies ful of fire. The first some flew roaring towards the King' s castle and spewed fire at it, setting it ablaze as all the people of the kingdom watched in horror. They knew that dragons inhabited the lands to the east, but for a dragon to come here? It was unheard of and frightening. The second dragon set the Queen' s castle alight as well, and flew off, laughing as the castles crumbled to the ground, with many servants and guards and ladies-in-waiting and squires still inside. The third dragon attacked the Prince' s castle. But the castle was too large, so he set a wall on fire and left before the guards could kill him. The destruction caused by the dragons caused people to become very afraid. The markets closed as people rushed home to be with their families. But wait, what of the fourth dragon? He perished. He wished to burn down the villages. But the first villagers he tried to burn were brave, and fought against him. Finally, as he swallowed the last villager, the dragon fell, dead to the ground, as the last man cut the inside of his throat. To this day, we remember the destruction caused by the evil dragons. Their master is dead, but it will not bring the poor villagers and servants and guards and the others back. Because sadly, not every story has a happy ending. But that does not mean that we should forget them. Indeed. Stories such as these we must never forget.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: **My island** & nbsp; & nbsp; What is this? Possums and spiders? Alligators and scorpions? & nbsp; & nbsp; I' ve never asked for this And they probably did n' t either & nbsp; & nbsp; What has happened to the island? Nothing happened to me But what has happened to the island & nbsp; & nbsp; It has gotten crazy So crazy that I can feel its presence & nbsp; & nbsp; Am I crazy? Am I wrong? Am I right? All I wanted in this island was for it to be good For it to be peaceful But alas. & nbsp; & nbsp; I tried and tried and tried But I have failed I have failed & nbsp; & nbsp; The kids are no more They have followed by so called " signs " But the " signs " did n' t work wonders for them The signs did n' t work wonders for them & nbsp; & nbsp; For where to from here? In this desolate island? & nbsp; & nbsp; I guess I' ll just have to take this island And swallow it up to the grave. & nbsp; & nbsp; http: //nebulus99. deviantart. com/art/My-island-574812505 http: //nebulus99. deviantart. com/gallery/


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: When the child appeared, it was alone. It cried and cried and cried, but no one came. As it grew older, it began to crawl through the darkness, still wailing for its mother but to no avail. As the child developed, the repetitive noise gave way to words but the child still wandered and tripped through the darkness completely alone. Soon, the cries turned to whimpers; frightened, little moans that told of a darkness so heavy, it tore under its fingernails and dug at the drums in its ears. Scar tissue lined its cheeks where the child frequently used to scratch at its eyes, hoping to make some colour in the darkness, but, as always, the darkness pressed in again, filling its retinas. It was inevitable that the child' s madness would turn to despair. As it fell to its knees, it gave one last howling cry of sadness. It cried for the mother it never had, the light it never saw and the love it never felt. As the howl faded to snuffling sobs, the child wrapped up within itself, drawing its knees to its chest, arms wrapped around close. As it did, the skin of the child began to flicker and crackle. The child' s eyes glazed over. As it let out one last despondent sigh, the air from its breath turned to fire, engulfing the child completely. And so the child became our light of the universe, the being that gives our home warmth and life. By its sacrifice, we may know what it never did.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: Of course the Earthlings had firearms, they had done for... I do n' t know, 1000 years? We had our own short, but vibrant history to learn and the long history of Earth was so confusing and had so many sides telling their own story. We Martians were much better, all recorded fairly and accurately so the truth was never in doubt. Firearms were, of course, completely unnecessary. The Earthlings had always had weapons because, even from the earliest days, in their pre-history, they had needed to defend themselves against savage neighbours. We were n' t savages, so we had never needed weapons. Disputes were resolved fairly, quickly and with the utmost consideration, after all, we are all Martians and all interested in the same goal, the prominence and wellbeing of the Mars colony. See, the thing is, I' m part of the original Mars colony. I was in the third resettling phase. These fifth phase resettlers are n' t.... quite like us. I heard from my neighbours that some of them were thieves, rapists and murderers. Sure, we have those things on the Mars colony, but these events are so rare as to be nearly non-existant. Surely nobody can blame me for having a firearm, right? It' s just self defence. I have a family after all, two girls, any father has a right to be protective. Is n' t that so? My neighbours are having their firearms made tomorrow, it' s just a safety measure. We' ve always had peace, this is just a precaution. Just a precaution..... I never trusted those fifth wave immigrants.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: Today was the day. When I heard that my daughter' s killer had lost his latest appeal, I had started waiting for this day. At six foot eight the man was powerful. He could have had gainful employment in a number of jobs. I heard the talk from the guards that this man read a book a day. I wonder what his life would have been like if he had applied himself. Instead, one unusually cold day in October, he went up to Katie' s car, pulled a gun, and demanded that she get out. Katie had always been a fierce girl, not one to let anybody tell her what to do. I' d taught her that her life is more valuable than any of her possessions, but her attitude got the better of her. And then she was dead. It was n' t the crime he was sentenced to death for, but a life of crime always had casualties. One of his just happened to mean something to me. The day of his execution, I waited with baited breath for the request. I' d cooked lobster, pizzas, and apple pies. I' d made the last hour of many men' s lives slightly better. I could n' t imagine what this man would want. I always prepared the kitchen beforehand for anything I might need to make. Two hours before his execution by lethal injection, I received a piece of paper. I leaned over the counter and opened it up. Grilled Cheese and Fries. I got to work. -- - Twenty minutes later I brought the tray to the killer' s cell. I peered in at the large man, sitting on his bunk with his head in his hands. After I tapped on the glass I got a glimpse of his face. He was crying. I opened the slot and slid the tray in. Once he had a hold of it, I let go and turned away. " I' m sorry. " I froze, unsure of what to say. The man had killed Katie. He had made life harder for Katie' s mother and myself, and he had done it over a shitty' 93 Jeep Cherokee. I turned. He stared into my eyes and said it again. " I' m sorry. I really am. " I turned and resumed walking away. Just before he was out of earshot, I glanced at him. " So am I. "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: My days. It has been multitudes. Too many to count. The sky was dark, ravaged by dark clouds, ready to rip me to pieces. My ship was noble, golden in it' s time, sails made of linen woven by gods. My crew was brave, hardy, full of life and potential. Here I kneel, to the memory of what once was mine, under my cowl of protection. Graced by my presence and nurtured by my heart and soul. The plated gold coloured steel broken by nature, the hand woven sails ripped by the cruel tendencies on nature, bodies broken by Poseidon' s wrath. My hands grabbed at the watered sand, trying to grab the burning desperation in my heart. It had been days, multitudes of them. Too many to remember. I see darkness enveloping the edges of my sight as I reminisce about my failures as the captain of the lives on my ship. I see their faces flash in front of me one by one, burning their sorrow into my memory as they pass me by. Trembling as the cold sea laps at my legs, knees shaking under the weight of guilt. How have I become the undoing of what they had entrusted upon me. Tears well up in my eyes, shadows flicker as my vision blurs. Silently screaming in my chest, what have I done. Calling dooms name to satisfy my need for adventure. What have I become to outlive the remains of all that I held dear. As I take a knee, I look up trough my tear ridden eyes, my hand grabbed at where my heart was burning. Screaming. " Poseidon, you will pay for every soul you have taken from me! " Lighting flashed, my call has been answered and I will repay my debt, I will see my crew avenged. For blood has been spilled to fulfil my desire, I will pay what I owe. Life for life, I will find repentance.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: " What time was it when you saw the colour earlier today? " Kelsey asked, probing into the first incident of the week. She was as adamant about logging these instances now as she was when we first started dating in grade 4, but I was too preoccupied with preparing for my first shift as a police officer to focus on the latest sighting. As I nervously walk into the police station for the initial tour, I am met at the reception desk by a broad shouldered man who offers a firm handshake and introduces himself as Tim Bennett, chief of police. After stumbling through an introduction, he leads me to the lounge, the garage and the various offices, running through the pertinent details of the job. He then pulls out his large key ring, searching for the key to the steel door that leads to the jail cells. The door creeks open. " Have you ever seen a jail before? " Before I could answer, a flash of brilliant colour consumes me. Not one. Not two. Three of the prisoners inside the jail cell were in full colour, head-to-toe. " Snap out of it, kid " Tim said, smiling at my initial facial expressions. " They' re behind bars, you do n' t need to worry about them. " After the tour, I rush back to tell Kelsey about my new sightings. I' ve never seen three people in full colour in the same day, and I knew she would be just as excited to note these new developments. I run into the house. " How was your tour? " " THREE SIGHTINGS! I HAD THREE SIGHTINGS AT THE JAIL! " Kelsey rushes over to the coffee table where she stores her log book, and quickly fans the pages. " It was in the prison " " Hmmm, that' s interesting " " What? What is? " " Last week when you saw colour at Miguel' s apartment, and his buddy that was there was sent to jail for assault and battery the next day. "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: " Is that what they said, Joe? " " Yupperee. Coupla, kids, I think. Maybe with one a those vo-co-der things. " " Probly. " " But... " " Ha. You think it could be real, dontcha? " " I mean, if it is... " " They asked for our faults, did n' t they? You really think they' ll accept us, after we list all a those? " " Well we have done good things too - " " Not enough. " "... " " Think about it. People die every day, who could be saved with just a few dollars. Corporations control our governments, we' re poisoning the planet, people hate each other for the *colour of their skin*, and greenbacks rule us all. Tell me it is n' t that bad. " " But look at what we *have* done! Got to space, cured most diseases, raised literacy, tried a give equal rights - " " That' s the problem. We' ve tried, and it' s not enough. " " Maybe - " " Just close the radio. " " I mean, we could - " " Close it, Joe. " " I - " "... " "... " *Click. *


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: " This is bullshit! " Duane was outraged. You see, three weeks earlier Duanes' s lovely wife had taken the liberty of cleaning his contacts for him. Unfortunately for Duane she did not stop to think about whether or not using bleach was actually the best idea. Bless her soul. " Nobody in my house can see! How the hell would any of us have even ordered this? I' m not paying! " In an effort to make it up to Duane, his saint of a wife decided to try " watching a mile in his eyes, " so to speak. She tends to stick with what she knows. Bless her soul. " We' re terribly sorry about the mistake, sir. You' ll see those charges disappear in just a few days " Duane seemed to calm down. " But you know the rules. " Duane turned to leave. With one arm victoriously wrapped around his wife, he dropped a dollar on the floor next to the Swear Jar and ran into the wall next to the door.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: I' m tired. Physically drained, mentally exhausted, spiritually bereft and otherwise kaput. Why am I so thoroughly wiped? I' m wiped because I *care* too damned much. Who do I blame for my current situation? Not that it matters really, but I blame humanity. That' s right. I blame the entire race of men for my exhaustion. I blame you upright, sentient apes for the hopeless feeling that' s been giving me nightmares on good nights, worry filled insomnia on bad nights and a panic fueled gnawing in my gut for the past 12 years. Why? Because you never *learn*! You ***never*** have and you ***never*** will!! I' m tired and I' m done. I' ve had it with everyone of you. As of this moment, I am leaving every thing behind. Every Starbucks, iPhone, Wi-Fi, all of it. **D-O-N-E** **Done! ** I am past caring about the partisan politics, I do n' t care about reality television, and I could give a sunny shit about A-D list celebs and who they' re boning! I am walking away from my lame job, my shit hole apartment, and my safe-for-the-environment-but-cost-me-out-the-ass-smart car. I' m taking what I had in my bank account and charting a course to somewhere where I can not be bothered by ***ANY*** of you self absorbed ass hats. Maybe then, I' ll be able to sleep without worrying about how we' re glossing over curing Cancer, A. I. D. S. or whatever new disease comes along and, instead, we' re focusing on developing new and exciting ways to wipe each other out.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: " I call for a mistrial! " Tom Hancock began to yell at the judge as soon as he entered the court room. The judge Madame Trezon sign and asked him " And for what reason would this case be a mistrial? This man was seen by hundreds of people as he killed 27 innocent civilians and caused approximately two point three million dollars of damage. " Tom fixed his collar and cleared his throat " Your honor, for the seven thousand eight hundred and thirty sixth time the police officers of this city did not read the maruander rights to the person they were arresting. " Tom turns over to face the police officer who arrested the man. " Do you even know what the maruander rights are? " the officer Terry Holts gets a blank expression on his face as sweat begins to drip down " You have the right to be silent, if you say or.. um do anything we may use it against you, you have the right to become a lawyer... and, uhmm.. " Tom slams his hand down on the table " This is a huge joke! you keep having me come in here day after fucking day just to do the same thing over again. " he sits back down in his chair " you guys really needs to fix this justice system. "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: How many of ten are gay? It' s got to be more than last year. Even more than the year before that. But will it ever be enough for me to tell them? For the conversation to be uneventful? You see, there' s nothing that terrifies me more than the day I have to tell my parents I' m gay. Again and again I try; to no avail. Every time I try; the will leaks from me, quickly, like water from fire hose, the will gushes and spurts and does not get me through. My mother, whom I love and loves me, looks through me these days. Through me she sees the grandchildren she can have; the ones she can dote on, and spoil. She believes it' s her right, and it wo n' t be taken from her. My father, whom I love and loves me, brooks little backtalk and is a Man Of God. His goal in life is to see his Son go farther than he did, and have a beautiful, loving wife. He taps his foot waiting for that day. But it' s not what God wanted for me. And today I' m going to do it. I' m going to pull them into the Dining Room, when no one else is there, and give up my secret. No matter how much it' s going to hurt. I break the news, red faced and stricken. What I' ve said has left my parents shell-shocked. Silent, they have nothing to say, and scrambling for an words at all, I ask " How many out of 10 people do you think are gay? " " Does that matter, Son ", says Dad. " Yes, there are a lot more people in the world that are like this than you might think ", I retort. Defensively. Right then, my Mother smiled at me. Not quite sure what I was seeing, I turn to my Father, who' s doing the same. " We' re proud of you Son, for saying the words out loud " And it dawned on me: they already knew.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: Hello everyone, and thanks for listening to KAGS, the only radio station for 500 miles! Remember, if you want to contribute to keep the station running, leave supplies on the concrete pad at 30°36' 54. 9 " N 96°20' 18. 1 " W, around noon any given day! Now for the weather! Current pressure is 30. 55 inches of mercury, atmospheric moisture, 55 %. Be careful, with the dust storm blowing in from the east, gas masks *are going* to get clogged. Prevailing winds are, as said, from the east, and local radiation is 12 rads/hour. It' s brutal folks, as we enter the 2nd month of the drought, so conserve water! If possible, try to limit your salt intake. Remember, those canned goods you' re subsisting on probably have massive amounts of sodium in them. And now, for the ten-thousandth time, on this, the illustrious anniversary of the Big One, REM' s " It' s the end of the world as we know it! "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: Excerpt from the *Liber Daemonologica*, as translated by twelfth century monks: -- - 6 - The number 6 is associated with Baboons. They are the lowest form of demon. Should you see a troop of 6 baboons, run, and do n' t look back. 66 - 66 is the number of Stan. He is, despite appearance, the worst human. He is stupid, mean, angry, selfish, and incredibly proficient in nearly every method of inflicting harm. 666- 666, the third sigil, is, as you likely know, the so called Number of the Beast. Truly, they are all numbers of various beasts. Satan is merely the most famous. 6666 - four sixes names the thing called Hypersatan. Truly, it is a terrible thing to behold. The Apocrypha of Saint Sebastiano suggest the the Archangel Michael himself could not defeat it. There is no record of how or when Hypersatan made it' s presence known to the world, or why it disappeared, but we can only hope it does not return. five sixes and above - it stands to reason that further chains of sixes are capable of suggesting yet worse things. We dare not render them, and ask that you avoid doing so yourself.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: John drove his red go-kart through space with a number nine circled on the front. He had been evading Death for so long now he could not remember but his only saving grace was the horn, it warded off the demons that would wish to claim his soul and it is the reason Death has n' t caught him yet. John caught sight of a familiar scythe ahead of him, it was Death with his black robes, long scythe and a skull for his head he was looking right at John. John had no fear for the mighty horn would protect him, the go-kart sped up to Death and John had a small gold horn and he was ready to honk. Meters away from Death, John started to squeeze the horn, but before he squeezed the horn Death lowered his long silver scythe onto the end of the horn, right through John' s hand and piercing the horn. Death stared at John and he whispered " Got no horn any more John. You' re coming with me. " John opened his mouth and said " Ah shit. "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: " well that was something " I said after we finally turned off the device, that screamed and beeped like an earthquake alarm. " where did you find this thing? the guy clearly rob you... " " Man, I do n' t know... " answered Jonah, " this guy appeared out of nowhere in an old car he was kinda the mad scientific type so I thought there might be a chance... " " so someone with a weird ass look comes from a car, call you and tries to sell you this... thing and you accepted? how much was it? " " 5 dollars " " and you could' nt figure it was most likely a plastic toy? god dammit jonah... at least it' s not much " *some times later* " Hey Jonah! how are you? I hope your wife is alright " BZZZZZT " Hey " said Jonah " what' s about my wife? " " Is this the crappy thing you showed me some time ago? man i like you, but sometimes you are quite stuborn " BZZZZZT " See? " I continued " this thing is still useless and broken.... " Jonah started to walk away and said: " I guess I' m just gon na leave, since it seems like you are a total hypocrite, oh and by the way, there was a range limit parameter inside, and it was on *none*


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: He suddenly realizes that he' s lying down on dry grass... Almost like he' s in the middle of a savanna. He tries to get up but he ca n' t. He looks around to see if he can grab ahold of something to hoist himself up.... But notices a huge male lion to his left. It does n' t seem to notice him. However, it seems very interested in a dark green and black object about fifteen or so odd feet from where he' s lying. The lion approaches and begins to sniff the object. It let' s out a loud roar.... Causing him to panic as his adrenaline starts pumping. The lion proceeds to bite the object and flick it into the air. As it flies through the air, he notices the object take a familiar form. The shock is almost unbearable as he sees that it is actually his left leg with his cargo pants and boot still on it. He looks down to confirm what he just saw... There is just a mess... Of blood and shredded cargo pants.... Aaaaaaaaagggghhhhhhh!!!!!


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: The explosion rang throughout the city. I could hear the collective screaming of everyone who suddenly disappeared. Why did it leave me? Why was I the only one left? My parents, my uncles, everyone I have ever known and loved. Gone. I was the only one left. I could n' t believe that it would do this. That Gozerian was a real piece of shit. I was the last remaining the survivor of the catastrophe of New York. I walked for hours trying to find another life form. I searched dad' s firehouse, and our old apartment building, there was no one to be found. I searched dad' s firehouse, hoping to at least find Mr. Tully, I was positive that he could have survived. All I found were his crushed glasses. I headed downstairs to the containment grid and just found a mess of ectoplasm and rubble. I knew that all the ghosts had been freed by the explosion, but now that everyone in New York, including the Ghostbusters, was missing or probably dead, there was not one to re contain the free roaming spirits. That was twenty years ago. The city slowly but surely rebuilt itself, and now I, Oscar Barret-Venkman, am the leader of a new team of Ghostbusters, and I' ll pull Gozer out of that shithole he climbed into and I' ll avenge my parents, my uncles, and all of New York, and hopefully find a way to bring everyone back.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: It all came to a halt, a disturbing yet calm silence. The sky was a grayish white, the sun and clouds seem to have been hiding. No wildlife seemed to exist. It was like existing on another plane of existence, then nothing. There was a sound finally, a humming sound? As I craned my neck to and fro, the lights gently crescendoed to a comfortable level. My movements were off they seemed muddled or too fast. The last thing I remembered was the ship coming out of nowhere, not being in a room- this room was unfamiliar. I stretched my arms and legs, but that did n' t feel normal either and was met with a whirring sound.' Stop straining,' an odd voice projected into my mind.' If you do n' t like all the damned noise, stop pushing the limits.' Despite the odd interruption, I followed the instructions as though I had heard this uninvited voice before. I sat up slowly, my eyes looking down at the metallic body beneath me, I reached out to touch it, but stopped abruptly when also metallic pearly " hands " met my eyes. I stretched and flexed my fingers, made a fist frowning. Everything felt normal, though also foreign. I expected anxiety, my heart rate to increase, it did n' t. I sat still, held my breath- wait I was n' t breathing.' Seriously? You have no heart and no need to breathe air. This body is far more superior than that which you had. We go through this everyday, making a note to mainframe.' Body superior? No air? No heart? What. the. fuck. I stood up, noticing the lack of pain in my knees and shoulders. I smoothed my thumb and three fingers down my " body " which felt like a sort of skin, but more like oiled leather or a velvety, smoothe skin-like substance. That' s all I can write atm. I' m out of time.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: With every battle scar they gave, justice was to which I was a slave. With each villain dead, another rose to restore the malice of my fallen foes. __ Years fought, not a single of my own; Spent instead living a life alone. My dearest Melissa, gone astray, Perhaps I would join you then - that day. __ They said trumpets play when you join the void, Until one' s life is all but destroyed. I sought no assurance, it was my freedom, Though I did fear my foes; that I would join them. __ I stand before you, to find out why, Why I would meet you only when I die? The scars of battle were my only friends, Each I befriended by slicing trends. __ Tell me writer, why give me this pain? Why fill my life with unfathomed disdain? Need I have died by the thrust of a thousand nails? " No, but it did boost the comic book sales. "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: I may not fight, I may not drink I may not have large battle scars But my job' s the worst, methinks: I am a pirate accountant, YAR! *CHORUS: O I am a pirate accountant A fearsome actuary And though I' m non combatant I' m every bit as scary* Our humble crew, though they are tough Piracy provides so little money So our finances, they were quite rough Our situation aint so funny *CHORUS* But these big blokes, Lord bless their souls, Their cheer stays full and hearty So every night upon the shoals They threw their great big parties *CHORUS* And though they could just end me With naught more than a leer The books, they looked quite ghastly And I' d had it up to here *CHORUS* I strode up to the captain My angered voice did move: " I' ve held the brandy captive' Till the balances improve! " *CHORUS* These burly men, their burly frames They trembled, terrified They all jumped up as if in flames Their pillaging was hurry-fied *CHORUS* So now you know why this egghead' s The baddest man you' ll ever see Forevermore you all shall dread The Accountant of the Seas! *CHORUS*


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: You might ask me if all the suffering, all the destruction is worth of our desire to be independent nation. My answer is that our liberty is not a mere whim, but a matter of life and death. We could have lived in a state with a government which treats their people as human beings. But we no longer can nor want to be ruled by monsters to whom a life has no value whatsoever. All they care about are profits from the mining. Noone on Earth bats an eye when a fifteen year old dies ten kilometers below the surface as long as the precious metals keep flowing and an Earth kid has his new gadget for a birthday present. USA has always been a predator, pillaging entire countries with zero regard for those who live in it. They had been holding Mars colonies in iron fist, employing war criminals to keep us in line. They had been promising to make our lives bearable, but alas the agreements with Americans are worth less than a paper they are written on. Therefore, I declare the creation of Independent State of Mars. It' s better to die fighting than living on your knees.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: The laughter wo n' t stop. The rain does n' t matter, the hospital certainly does n' t matter. Slowly I regain my composure, with small fits of giggles coming out. " I should go talk to him, let him know the hospital... " The laughter starts again before I can finish the thought. I shamble into the main entrance, some older volunteer asking if I' m okay. Through fits of laughter I ask where the ER is and the old man, looking rather confused, points down a hallway. I make my way to the ER and wander into the treatment area, guffaws having to be stifled the whole way. I see him strapped to a bed, laughing with tears of terror streaming down his face. He sees me and laughs harder " I do n' t want to see it anymore " he laughs pleadingly " make it stop ". " It never stops until you pass it on " I say seriously. Finally not laughing, I can think and talk. " I' m sorry it was you, but you said you needed a good laugh "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: Love, my wonderful spiked hair son, is like a good beer. There are thousands of them out there, maybe even millions. But in all of this there will be one single beer you' ll love ( or if your polygamist two or three, your choice ). But still, there will be one that is special to you and it will speak to you. Whether it is bland and mass produced or imported from some frozen waste, just choose yours. Now finding the special one is difficult, especially in America. Just like many people, it lacks flavor and substance, but there are those special places that craft there own. Now I warn you if you go for moonshine you' ll die. But even if its an import and your uneasy at first, treat it with respect and try. If you do n' t like it, do n' t drink it again. Do n' t. I tried that once. It sucked. I can still taste it. Now what I wanted you to learn is that you must look for the right beer- I mean woman. There are many out there, but there is one for you. It just has to speak to you. I promise it works. Now go, my son. Be the man to make me proud... and get me a beer while your at it! He, he. Beeeeeer.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: Ticket #: 783 Submitted: 03/09/2016 @ 8: 15am Location: S301-12 Problem Report: NEED A NEW KEYBOARD BECAUSE SOME IDIOT HAS SUPERGLUED MY CAPS LOCK KEY. Status: Closed 03/09/2016 @ 09: 07am -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- - Ticket #: 784 Submitted: 03/09/2016 @ 1: 10pm Location: S301-12 Problem Report: Returned from lunch, all keys new keyboard have been painted black. Sorry but need new keyboard again. Status: Closed 03/09/2016 @ 1: 25pm -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- - Ticket #: 785 Submitted: 03/09/2016 @ 1: 31pm Location: S301-12 Problem Report: Nw. Kybrd. Prblm: Spcbr &. Vwls. R. Nt. Wrkng. Status: Closed 03/09/2016 @ 1: 45pm -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- - Ticket #: 786 Submitted: 03/09/2016 @ 2: 30pm Location: S312-CMN Problem Report: Pretended to step out for a smoke, caught the little pocket turd that' s been messing with my keyboard. Janitorial service needed in S312 commons. Paper shredder should also probably be replaced. Status: Open


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: It was a Tuesday in the late afternoon. Kids were fresh out of school playing in the park. Their childish screams and taunts echoed across the road into the quaint cafe. Jim sat with his coffee and his newspaper like he always did. A lit cigarette frittered in between his fingers. He mulled over the newspaper not really caring of its contents. It was just another Tuesday for him. The waitress came by with her usual smile. " Would you like so more coffee Jim? " He greeted her with his own warm smile. " No I think I' ll be just fine. Thank you. " he said as he tapped the ashes of his cigarette. The notion seemed funny to him. He had come to this cafe for the last 10 years with the same routine. Coffee, a newspaper, and a cigarette. He was n' t even sure what he did. Nothing in the newspaper brought awe to him. Nothing stood out it was all just bland. He stared at the cigarette as it burned without purpose. It was almost used up. Without thinking he found himself reaching for another out of his pocket. *No I think I' ll be just fine. Thank you. * He thought. He pulled out his pack and his lighter and sat them on the table. It was all so strange and pointless. He laid a dollar and change next to the coffee cup. As he stood up he caught the eye of the waitress. With a smile he said goodbye one last time.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: It is n' t terribly exciting being in the same spot everyday. I will admit to sometimes getting jealous of those dang headlight, going all over the city, meeting new lights, getting washed all the time... But when I sit here in my corner I do get to see a lot of different people' s lives and watch them grow instead of focusing on just one person' s. And I think that' s kinda neat too. There' s little Susie going home from school again today. I swear she gets taller everyday! So cute, I just lover her adorable demanor. Bye susie! I' ll see you tomorrow on your way to school. And there goes Mrs. Cantu. Carrying her parasol while she walks to pick up Jose from 1st grade. I think I' ll let her go before I turn green again. I' ve always liked her. She' s just so lady like. Oh there goes Tommy and Erica. I swear kids these days are just trying to grow up so fast. Already calling each other boyfriend and girlfriend. Learn to read first you dimwits! Susie knew how to read a year before you two! Oh shit that driver over there is texting. Aaaand he' s not stopping. Dude there' s speed limits for a reason wft? I swear I need one of those speed cameras like my cousin 3 blocks down has. Okay Tommy and Erica you two will just have to wait for this asshole to cross first. Well he' s gone now. Awesome. Okay Tommy and Erica you two can cross now. Yeah maybe I do n' t get washed everyday but I' m quite happy right here in my corner.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: Maybe a regular thing could be about the thing that things on all the things, because of how much time there is, some must be wasted. Even if there' s not enough time, some of it will be wasted. IT' s all wasted. Nothing is saved, everything goes away, and never returns. What is the point of trying? Things aren' t there, they aren' t real, even things with things, that seem so clear are done. Gone. And will be forgotten. How could things. How could you? You did this to me. You did this to me. You did this to me. Why can' t I stop stop stop stop Things aren' t there, they aren' t real. Nothing is. One frame to another, same picture. Shifted about. But the same. Dreary, not dark enough to be romantic. Not light enough to be happy. Here are the wild things, the sad things. The things of things and people of people. Southern, hot, sad and done. Gone. Away is romanticism. Welcome to this place of mediocre torment. Darken the lights, bring the place steaming with fruit and honey into the reach of me. Reach offff Where is it. I cann' t Focus. You did this to me You did this to me No.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: Somehow I ended up playing the detective. The mission commander did n' t want anything to do with the investigation but said someone had to figure out how Jones died. I was reluctant, even after everyone voted it should be me. I guess I was the only logical choice, having spent part of my career working for the FBI crime lab. We knew it was murder. You do n' t remove your own helmet in atmosphere like that. Especially not since the helmet requires a latch to be flipped on the back, past where you can reach with the suit' s limited mobility. So how do I find out who did it? After checking all the station' s cameras, it' s obvious there was someone with Jones when he went through the airlock. That' s not good. I decided to begin questioning. I talked to the whole crew. I could n' t pin a motive on anyone. Jones and Martin were known lovers. Martin had an air-tight alibi as she had been in the lab, and was recorded there on camera. She was so beautiful and perfect. Jones had been a lucky guy. Watching the video of him suffocating to death had been tough. It was harder than seeing it in person.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: With the fervor of a infinite, metered impatience, I adjust the nexus bolt on the device ever so slightly. Sweat beads down from my temples. Anxiety wracks my insides, but I can not afford to lose focus now. Not after so long a project. " They called me mad, " I mutter to no one. " They said it could n' t be done. They said I was crazy to even consider the creation of such a device, let alone attempt to build it! Well, science guys, who' s the crazy one now? " A burble of high, manic laughter escapes my throat. " Not I! *Not. I. * " Just one final adjustment. The screw clicks satisfyingly into place. I set down my tools, admiring my work a moment. And now it begins. " Initialization sequence, activate. " I crank down the front-facing lever with a great tug. The whirring of gears fills the room in a beautiful cacophony. " Stabilization sequence, activate. " I flip up a row of switches on the side of the great machine. Each switch lights up in turn. There' s an electrical hum now. Moment of truth. " Activation sequence, activate. " I flip the tuner from INACTIVE to ACTIVE. My breath catches in my throat. Everything seems to slow down as I watch my mechanical creation awaken. A silvery-metal arm extends from the bowels of the device, reaching out of a sliding hatch. The arm, like a jointed snake, dips down from the machine, nearing me ever closer. " Yes, " I say as the arm advances. " Yes! " The arm dives with excruciating, slow precision. Its single, pointed claw begins to extend...... and it flicks the switch off. At once, the arm retracts into the hatch. The whir of gears slows, and stops completely. The electrical hum dies to silence. The machine has successfully turned itself off. Once this registers in my mind, my mouth splits in a fervid, gleeful grin. " Wait until the science nerds at CERN take at a look at this! "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: [ IP ] [ A Big Boy on the Move ] ( http: //i. imgur. com/cCyYKIl. jpg ) From: [ Spotted this big thing rolling through the mountains. ] ( http: //www. reddit. com/r/trains/comments/250ht9/spotted_this_big_thing_rolling_through_the/ ) by /u/Mark_W in /r/trains. > [ **Big Boy** ] ( http: //en. wikipedia. org/wiki/Union_Pacific_Big_Boy ) is the popular name of the American Locomotive Company 4000-class 4-8-8-4 articulated, coal-fired, steam locomotives manufactured between 1941 and 1944 and operated by the Union Pacific Railroad until 1959. The Big Boy fleet totaled twenty five locomotives that were used primarily in the Wyoming Division to haul freight over the Wasatch range between Green River, Wyoming and Ogden, Utah. The Big Boy locomotives were the only locomotives to use a 4-8-8-4 wheel arrangement, consisting of a four-wheel leading truck for stability entering curves, two sets of eight driving wheels and a four-wheel trailing truck to support the large firebox.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: " Life is fleeting. It is a lit match that desperately clings to life as it burns down to ash. Without struggle, without pain, without love and partnership there is no reason to live. " He paused to take a deep breath. " You do n' t understand what loneliness is. Knowing everyday that you are going to wake up alone and wander through the world avoiding everyone. You ca n' t love, you ca n' t be selfish and try to hold that match in your fingertips. Because you know in the end that it will burn you. " He took a long drink of the beer he had let grow warm from neglect. " How can you live without knowing that life is finite? How can you live if you know that there are no consequences? Risk is n' t real if you already know the outcome. " He met the bartenders eyes. Tears welled up threatening to escape. " Cherish your life, live your life as if you may die tomorrow. It is a blessing not a curse. " He drank the rest of the warm beer and set the empty glass down on the bar. " But if you ca n' t die you could do anything you want. Anything, " the bartender said that last word wistfully. " Anything but live. " -- - Thanks for reading. Check out /r/Written4Reddit for more stories.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: I walked alone down the street. Sure, there were people all around me, hundreds, thousands, but I was alone. Retreated deep into my mind away from the horrors of humanity. None of them realised what they were doing, how they were hurting each other, hurting themselves. The conflict that was at the heart of our city raged on inside everyone, while nobody acknowledged it was happening. People were dying and nobody thought it was an atrocity. People were starving and nobody thought to feed them. I was the only one who saw, the only one who realised what was happening. But what could one person do in twenty thousand? This conflict had no leaders, no central tenet, it was a centuries-old hatred between two peoples, but there was no opportunity for fighting because of those alien oppressors who kept us together. You' d think we' d be united against them, but instead we blamed each other. I blamed everyone, and I had to leave. I kept walking, along the main road towards the barricades and guard posts. Soon to be another smear of blood on the ground.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: These were an indigenous people like nothing I had ever seen, in all my years of anthropology. They had no oral language, no names and most fascinatingly, no religious beliefs. I counted my blessing for this unique opportunity to learn from, and teach, such a rare and primitive tribe. I began with cooking. I showed them different methods and options that could be used. The tribe took to these with little to no interest. The main problem was the lack of food supplies, living mostly on a diet of fruit and squashed bugs. So I showed them how to hunt. They had never tried anything like it before. They didn' t even have a hand gesture to signify it. But they loved it. I watched them spend all day casting spears and nets into the river, banging their chests and hooting loudly. I had never seen them happier. One of them ( I had nicknamed Steve ) even managed to spear a fish on his first day. I felt privileged to have made such a dramatic change in the day to day living of these simple people. The next day I found one of the tribesmen dead, with a spear lodged in his neck. Steve stood over him. I pointed at the body ( the native method of questioning something ). Steve pointed to his stomach ( meaning hungry ) and then made a spear throwing gesture ( which now meant, hunt ). That night, the tribe sang, danced and ate red meat. I left the next day.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: It has been some time since I last saw her. I get the occasional text with a nicety, and I send the occasional invite to some random event that she never shows up to. I still care for her deeply, although not in the same way I once used to. I cheated on her once; the girl who I cheated on her with is now my wife. That still bothers my wife. who does n' t really like her; as a result she' s met my baby boy once. I' m kind of sad that the whole situation has gone down this path, but I love my wife and my son and refuse to put a wedge between us. That' s when I heard the news. Her years of schooling, she found, was of no use to her anymore; she found herself in an industry she hated, with no ladder in sight, let alone the opportunity to climb it. She' s perennially between jobs, and has not seen anyone since we split. Her father had a stroke several years back, and now her mother had been diagnosed with cancer. I wish I could do something to help her. I wish I could be there for her. But I ca n' t. This is her battle to fight, but I am left wondering why. She deserves better. She deserved better than me, too, but she really deserves better than what this life gives her.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: ( Please excuse my writing, I' m merely just a teenager so feel free to correct my errors ) Day 1. Monster. The corrupt. Abominations of earth... Zⓞⓜⓑⓘⓔⓢ. Call it whatever, but it still strikes fear into your heart. Where they came from is unknown. At first it started off with fatal illnesses sweeping across countries. But then, oblivious to the society because of the media cover up, these sick humans started craving flesh. Authorities could n' t control them. Soon they broke the chains of oppression and fed off civilians leaving all nations around the world on the fringes of destruction. And now I was bitten today. The inch, a painful and cruel reminder of my impending death. Week 1. I was thrown in an abyss of space. Where time seemed almost endless. Darkness was my friend pulling me to play even when I so desperately struggled to stay conscious. And every time I hit the light, I write something more before I am taken. My mind was numb. My soul was numb. But my body... My body felt. Every spasm of pain surged through my body like a lightning bolt. Sweat, bile and tears were like my sweater on a cold winter for it covered me. But not comfortably. No. Comfortably -- comfortable rather ( for context ) had gone from the day I received the bite. I feel so weak. Week 2. My breath is Usain Bolt. It' s been running a mile per second. I know... I know I' m turning. I feel so... So.. So....... Mom...... Mom... Mommy... I feel... I feel.. I. I feel... I


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: I looked up at the calendar with the red heart circled over the 23rd day. We met on that night two years ago when my ice cream spilled over his lap. Indeed, that was the most embarrassing way to meet for the first time. Still, how lucky I am to be with someone like him, and he in return. His deep tones in his voice left me yearning to hear more. How can anyone not know this feeling? Elated is not even the right word. So I' m pondering what to get him. Two tickets to the movies? Or maybe surprise him by wearing that lingerie I bought. Perhaps he has something in mind. Planning this anniversary can be quite a fickle, indeed. Everything' s got to go well. Do you think these sandals match my skirt? How should I style my hair? Ugh!! Regardless, we' re both happy. The love we have is unbreakable. I should stop worrying over these things. Nothing can stop us! Guess he should be back anytime now. Make up, peppermint breath, kissable lips, an excitable heart beat, check! Everything' s ready, my love.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: Hi. I' m Jim. I may just be a sapling at the moment but one day I want to be human. I see them running around, on legs and feet, flailing their arms, jumping, dancing; Free. They know how to stay warm, how to move no matter whether the sun is near or far. They breathe air. Oh, of course photosynthesis is close but every time I grow, it' s a step towards being a part of Mother Plant. She' s the one who makes the giant balls and sends them up to the sky; planets is what I heard a human call them. The planets are beautiful once they reach the nighttime sky, they shine to be the brightest stars. It' s a big task The Mother has, to fill the nighttime sky with stars so beautiful they light the whole sky. But humans... well what can I say? They' ve chosen their own paths, each path being so different from another... I ca n' t help thinking that maybe, just maybe I do n' t belong here. Maybe I can do more than make planets. Maybe I could dance and shout and... and...... RUN.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: So I wa sitting there in MY HOUSE, maze like and elaborate it may be, when my homie tells me there a man approaching with a mean grin on his face. My boys go to greet him at the door and this crazy bitch whips out a moloz cocktail or something. Knocking my buddy on his back and curb stomps his head in. Like, WTF MAN! So we run. Locking all the doors behind us hoping to slow him down. But to no avail. He' s just walking around murdering everyone and breaking everything! He finally find me in the last room. What was I supposed to do let him kill me too? I just start throwing things at him. Flailing around madly trying to dodge his molotovs and kicks. But I could n' t slow him down. Too my money and my keys and left me to die. And that' s where you found me and saved me. " Sir " the officer says accusingly, " what were you doing before the man came to your house that evening? " Sitting around playing video games and drinkin with some friends like I do everyday. Well when I' m not gardening and takin care of my kids. " Sounds suspicious you' re coming with us. " Wait I remember he asked if some hoe was around, I had seen her around, a few times if you know what I mean, But I just told him that hoe was in another castle and he flipped.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: Steve stepped outside his house. He saw the children in his neighbour' s garden happily playing around, feeling the ground beneath his feet bump underneath him each time they jumped, which swayed the houses and trees around them. But Steve was n' t ready to have fun yet; he needed to head to the supermarket to get some groceries. He walked across his garden and unlocked his car, before getting in and driving off. As Steve drove down the road, he drove carefully; the road shook and wobbled as children and other people nearby jumped around, making concentration essential. Eventually, he arrived at the supermarket. He got out of his car, and entered the building, which was swaying around from the movement of people inside. Inside, Steve wandered through the aisles, the weight of his and other peoples' causing the shelves to slightly bend towards them. Fortunately, the shelves had bars across them so that items would n' t fall off when they would bend downwards. He bought the groceries he needed and drove back home. Soon afterwards, his son, Sam, arrived home from school for the day. He took Steve out to the garden with him, and they began to jump around. The fun was beginning.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: You slap his hands off of you and fix your roommate with your best movie-antagonist-glare. Your roommate looks shocked but recovers quickly. " What are you doing? Get up now! " " Time is nothing more than a thing we constructed to more easily schedule our lives. Minutes, hours, days. It does n' t matter. What' s your problem? " Your roommate looks at you like you' ve lost your mind but then sighs heavily, his shoulders sagging as a wry grin forms on his face. " This could have been so much easier if you did n' t ask questions but I guess we have no choice. " Then your roommate is become demon and you fight him but he too strong so you run but he fastest. " No escape " he said in a demon voice. " Fuck you holy water bitch " and you throwered the bottle and it covered him and he died screaming " Noooo. " You is hero.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: I woke up to the scent of burning books. The heat seared through the back of my eyelids and I opened my eyes to see the flames dancing wildly through the open door of my room. Tearing off my covers, I ran into the office and dived toward my bookshelves, the cherry wood panels already half consumed with the raging fire. Tears seeped into my mouth and burnt my throat, mixing with the ashes that had already found its way inside me. The smell of burning leather and flesh stood out prominently as I stumbled back in pain, collapsing in the middle of the room as years of research disintegrated around me. All of it, all of it was disappearing. I do n' t remember when the strong pair of arms ripped the burning book out of my hands or how I ended up lying on the driveway later, looking up through the upper windows at the bonfire they had made out of my work. *It' s for your own good*, my family would tell me in the hospital months later. *It' s not healthy to be locked up all the time working on something impossible. * But, of course, they had n' t known that I had been close. So close.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: " Here we go again, " I sigh, seeing the white-night-orb raise from the edge-of-the-world. It had been strange, the first time, when he was with his first pack. Waking up in the cold-white with no coverings and the others looking at his not-right body. Since then, in the innumerable warmth to cold changes, it had become much more common. My legs twist first, their natural angle bent backwards, hair receding as the change progressed up my body, until I was bare on the forest floor again. My mind, as the humans called it, had retained most of the information I had gathered since my first night, and I had plenty of time to add to it. Granted the markings had changed from letters to their own unique system, and the pillars were replaced with grey and clear. I had the foresight to leave myself a pack for this, and hurriedly changed. While the nip in the air would not kill me, another seeing me with no coverings in winter would bring out... unwelcome attention. My plan was the same as every full moon, walk around the city that was beginning to encroach my forest, and I jinxed myself by believing the night would be mishap free. As it were and often is, there was another plan in place. The smell came first. While dulled, it was still sharper than most of my current-kin. Fear, especially, was potent enough to smell even among the cold smell of forest. Instinct kicked in, as I recognized it as the fear of something young. Something that, no matter what I looked like, was encoded in me to protect. I was already running toward the source when the scream made it easier to pinpoint.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: A cold breeze passed over a crowd shouting slurs, touting terror, and pushing picket lines further toward those walking along the quiet grass of a graveyard. A few countries over, a man wholeheartedly invested in his convictions pulled a heavy coat over his body despite the heat, and clenched his hand around a metal trigger as he walked into an open marketplace. Somewhere else, skyscrapers illuminated the pavement with their endless lights, as a van squealed along a corner, tossing water along the edges of sidewalks as it barreled towards the life of downtown. For a long while now, He had contemplated the true state of the world, and what must be done; each of these were on the brink of happening, and yet they were among His faithful? Time was at a stand-still before Him, all realities coming to a halt as He pondered what may be done. Lifting a mighty hand, He parted the cloudy skies over a world entrenched in sorrow, and for a moment hesitated, but knew all would be understood. This was never a part of His plan, but neither was seeing His sole divine creation turn to a wasteland riddled with contempt and dread. The world would most definitely be better off, able to live in what He believed would be Earthly Paradise before those true to His lessons would be ushered to the Pearly Gates. In just a mere moment, the breeze carried away the shouts of the picket line, leaving only trampled grass; the heat was relieved by a sudden rain, droplets falling through a coat now vanished; a van rode onward into a quiet street, but never met with the pavement beyond it.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: I' m no God. I was there at the beginning of time, and I' ll be there at the end of eternity. I watched life form amongst barren rocks floating through space. I observed it as it grew and spread. New species formed. With them came culture, society. They created new beings with the force of their believes. These divinities, bound to those that created them, grew in power the more they were worshipped. I watched in awe as each race spawned multiple Gods. Each God was different. I was mesmerized by the complexity of their belief systems, by how unique yet similar the religions of other species were. I came to love each and every one of them. And then the end began. A plague was born on a tiny planet in the far reaches of the universe. As the species grew, a single, destructive thought dominated it' s society. They saw me as a God; they worshipped me as a God; and I became bound like a God. They ventured into the deepest recesses of the universe, seeking other life. And they found it. They found race after race with their own beliefs, worshipping their own Gods. The wrong Gods. They called on me then, to show the blasphemers who the real God was. I' m no God. They did n' t stand a chance. My worshippers continue their search to find the false Gods and those who believe in them. They drag me along with them, fore who but Death can kill a God?


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: The skyline glimmered underneath the stars. Beautiful music rose from the Paris streets, drifting upward to the rooftop she sat on. Her feet dangled over the edge. She gazed out to the city buildings. She remembered her mother. God, she missed her mother. She could still catch a whiff of her subtle perfume. She longed for the simple days of twirling and dancing with her mother, singing and playing make-belief. She could still taste her beautifully crafted dinners as she would just laugh and say that she was no cook. But she was. Her food tasted of home. And then she was taken away by the clutch of circumstance. She was too young and too beautiful to be leave us. What she would n' t do to be with her once more. The door behind her opened. " Jannette! What are you doing out here? You' ll catch a cold. Come on in, join the party again. " She wiped a tear from her eye. " Okay, " she whispered. She stood up and rejoined the party.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: Look to the skies! We are svaed! The humans are coming! The joy I felt was almost a foreign feeling after enduring such hard conflict. To finally see that our message had been received through subspace transmitters had not been mistakes made me nearly forget the battle at hand. They came in ships far larger than anything our masters had forced us to build. Black and sleek theirs were, graceful arcs of blues danced across the sky to some unknown symphony of fury as the Great Masters' ship rained down. The skies had never been looked at with such hope and fear as when the humans came, for if a race could bring forth the destruction of the Great Masters so quickly, were we bringing a new and even greater master? They landed thousands of their soldiers, real professional fighting men trained for the singular purpose of combat. We were nearly as overwhelmed by their devestating fire power as the Great Masters. They equipped us with their arms and armor and together waged battles on such a scale that the gods may turn an eye in jealousy. Yet when peace was called for and victory at hand the humans who came from the skies beyond stayed our hand, and saved us once again through peace. They forgave the Great Masters and in time we learned that for victory we must as well for death is not the end of a righteous cause. We learned then the way of mankind, to love and rage in equal measure.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: " Hey Frank, " my boss said, smiling like he did every day, " great work on the case writeup, you really knocked it out of the park! " " No problem boss! " I said. Some people complained about their bosses; mine complimented practically everything I did. At 5pm that day, I drove home easily. Traffic was as bad as ever but nobody seemed to be taking the middle lane. Just like every day, my commute was easy. I got home to my wife Kruthika and her friends Cheryl and Vanessa. Just like every night. When I' d come back from my stay in the Antarctic as the sole survivor of an attack that most people would n' t even believe was real, I thought my career was over. My helicopter pilot was sympathetic, he believed me, but it surprised me when the men in black who interviewed me about the incident also did n' t doubt it. The government' s official story was that an electrical problem had started a fire that burned out of control. Even when the President himself had come on TV to make a speech about the tragedy to the public and called out my name specifically as an example of " courage and willpower ", I did n' t catch on. But I' m not stupid. You do n' t get to be an antarctic research scientist without having at least a few brain cells to rub together. Plus, over time, once it' d subsumed the majority of humanity, it got less and less subtle. No reason to hide anymore, I guess. Oh yes, I knew. The thing loved me. And so help me, I loved it too.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: ( I guarantee you' ve only heard of this through smash bros, and even then it' s a different game entirely ) We knew this day was coming, so we readied the ships. They were all named " The White Whale " after the original in the holy copy. We left our planet as the aliens arrived. It did not matter that they were friendly aliens, the copy clearly depicted us leaving as extraterrestrial life showed itself to mankind. We left, knowing that our world would be safe, unlike the copy. We were still bound by the prophecy, to find the new planet, the mother planet, Mira. We traveled for many long years before we found the perfect Goldilocks planet. One with similar life forms and terrain. It took 9, 003, 294, 020, 110 years of cryo stasis, but we found it. As we landed we all witnessed our founding father starting up the copy one last time. We must now live it. We must breathe it. We must retell the Xenoblade Chronicles X.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: A tangled mess of seaweed rose above the surf. Following it was a giant figure, dressed in blue that shimmered and changed with the ocean. The goddess of the waves wore a regal expression on her face. The rope belt she used to secure her short skirt carried a sheathed knife and a glass bottle of sand, used to travel in time. At the end of her arms, arms covered in fisherman nets and inking of sea life ending with rounded silver bracelets, carried a glowing wooden staff. The magical light emanating from the staff shone through the cracks in the bark - the blueness giving it a mystical effect. Her left hand started giving off a radiance of blue light, vaguely in the shape of sea lions spiraling around her open hand. An explosion of water burst from the tide and circled around Calypso' s body. The water formed into a face with two glowing blue eyes and an array of teeth. The rest of the water beast was still murky and undefined. Looking upon it you did n' t think that it could n' t hurt you. Those fangs, water they might be were still menacing. The goddess stared at her target, sneering with contempt before pushing her glowing hand towards them. The water dragon followed in hot pursuit, it' s long watery body frothing in fury.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: In the end, you realise this: Everything is relative. Nothing is absolute. -- - You realise that there was a problem when your fellow scientist start to die. They are not unintelligent, and you know this. You thought the first was expected. The first victim among your immediate circle of scientist had enter through a pure luck and a healthy dose of nepotism. The second is... an unfortunate accident. The third is no coincidence. It was also then that you realised, everything is relative. -- - On the first day, there was much rejoicing when the land was made a better place. On the second day, it all was for naught. On the last day? -- - You also realise this: Intelligence can not be measured by mortal men. Who is to say that a person who can not solve complex mathematical formulas is less valuable than one who can? Who is to say that a person who can navigate the complicated social structure of society that we live in is more valuable that one who can not? Who is to say that a person who can not churn out soothing musical songs is less valuable than one who can? Who is to say that people who win the Olympics are more valuable than those who can not? Not you. Not humankind. -- - Nothing is absolute. Everything will die in the end. There is nothing that will remain for all of eternity. In the end, it all rots. Just like mortal thoughts, feelings and judgement. We are nothing but stardust. And the truth is, the idea of' less intelligent' is relative. After all, in the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is King. But who is King in the land of the one-eyed man? -- -


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: Josh noticed everyone was staring at him across the isle of the bus. " Huh, must be the tie. Never was good at tying ties ". They kept staring though, which would' ve made Josh uncomfortable had he not reached his stop. As he walked through the door to the courthouse, several women dropped their briefcases. " Must have been a strong wind. It is windy today! ", thought Josh. He noticed the ladies all wore nice low coat blouses. Any other guy would stare, but Josh' s mother raised him right! Making sure to not at their semi-exposed bosoms, he helped them pick up their briefcases before rushing into the building. Josh headed to meet his new partner Tom. " Hey man, I' m Josh ", he said as he shook Tom' s hand. Tom looked wide-eyed and let out an audible " wow ". Josh chuckled, " Yea, I know, it' s a nice suit! " As they entered the courtroom, everyone stood up. " No, no, I' m not the judge. " Josh said. Tom looked around, having never seen such interest in a man. Before him stood a fine specimen of 6' 2 ", brown hair, shiny blue eyes, and ripped like a paper bag! Nearly every jaw was agape at the sight of Josh, but he seemed totally oblivious. As the trial started, Josh began doing his job of backing up his perfect track record of never having lost a case! Every witness he cross examined clearly flirted with him, but Josh did n' t seem to notice. The Judge accepted none of the prosecutor' s complaints against him, not that there were many. The jury hung on his every word, many visibly fanning themselves. After the trail, Tom congratulated Josh on such an outstanding job with the case. The prosecutor approached them after the trail and asked Josh if he' d like to get a drink sometime. Josh turned to Tom and said, " Oh man, I bet he' s gon na try and convince me to spend the night. I thought people grew out of sleep overs! " Fin


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: My mind was all over the place. I had 8 trains of thoughts each racing in a different direction. I lost my job in January, the first and only job to ever give me any sense of financial stability gone. But I thought it would be alright, i had no debt and some money saved. Unfortunately, that money was n' t enough to keep my girlfriend around. Hey but at least before she left she gave me a gift, I just wish I could have met they guy who gave it to her, because I did n' t have the clap when we first started dating. Times were tough and I did n' t have health insurance or a job so I moved back in with my mom. She was n' t doing so well, my stepdad had left her too, and when I came home today her eyes were as empty as the pill bottle in her hand. The apple never falls too far from the tree. I was always a fan of nirvana why not go out like my hero. I prepared my buckshot dinner, and now I' m looking down at my own body. My mind was all over the place.