Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: I was diagnosed with stage IIIA-lung cancer... on my 50th birthday. My quiet life of teaching and chemistry had been turned upside down. Staring down the barrel of death, I asked my brother in law Frank to take me on a ride along. He is a DEA agent and he regularly busts meth labs. As we pull up to the house -- I notice from the corner of my eye -- a scrawny white guy tumbles out of a second story window. He watches in disbelief as my brother in law busts his meth lab across the street. Wait, I recognize this man. He is a former student of mine. Its... Jesse Greenman... I show up to Jesse' s house and make a proposition. " You know the buisness, " I started, " and I know the chemistry. " I was determined to leave my family with enough money to live comfortably after my death. One rolling meth lab and Spanish psychopath later, Jesse and i were finally employed by a high-end drug manufacturer. His name was Gustavo Ding. He owned a series of restaurants stretching across the midwest. This job was perfect, but things do n' t always go as planned. Jesse killed some guys who killed a child.. Gustavo did not like this because these men worked for him. I had to save Jesse by killing Gustavo. I succeeded, and there was now a hole in the midwest drug trade that needed to be filled. One year later, I was America' s most wanted man. I had it all, and I had lost everything. My family wanted nothing to do with me, they did not want my money, and they did not want breakfast. I killed some hillbillies who, somehow, got involved. I suffered a gunshot in the process. I laid dying, staring up at the ceiling as " " baby blue " rang in my ears. I died a hero; I died the villain. I am, the one who knocks.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: " God damnit Jerry. " Fiona yelled. The driver of our van, Jerry was gripping the steering wheel harder than any wise man would. I rolled my eyes at the intern. He was sweating perfously. His armpits were dripping like Niagra Falls. We had to remain on task. " Fiona, get me the radar scanner. Show me where the big green dot is. Now lets chase this puppy. " My job was tornado chasing. It was an easy job. One I took a liking too. And one that paid the bills and simultaneously made me the biggest bad ass out of my old fraternity. I knew nothing about tornados, how they worked, why, and all the other mumbo humbo. That was Fiona' s job. She had a Phd in Tornadology and somehow could n' t find a job. I reassured her I would pay her to help track tornados and provide housing. Hey, maybe something would come out of it... The Satellite bowl on top of the van shook wildly. We were approaching the storm... The eye of the storm. Jerry was muttering something inaudibly. Damn interns never have anything useful to say. That' s when I saw it. The wind duster, The Cyclone, The Beast, The Tornado. I hopped out of the van with a go pro strapped tightly onto my head running directly towards the Goliath. A hint of trepidation entered my stomach as the wind picked up. But this is how it was done, right? I glanced back and saw Fiona and Jerry with expressions of horror plastered on their faces. God damnit Jerry...


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: Usually it' s something simple. Some sort of mundane task that no one wants to do but still needs to be done. You might have to clean the showers or haul manure- both disgusting jobs, but not impossible. Everyone had to earn their keep, and everyone had a job to do. Once you turn 18, it' s a new one every day. You never know what it will be, but you do know one thing: fail, and you will die. That is life in the community. Everyone must contribute. If you do n' t complete your task, you will be executed. I woke up this morning, saw the note laying on my bedside table. White paper with my name hastily scrawled upon it, same as every morning. I did n' t look at it right away, instead taking a moment to sit up and stretch my muscles, enjoying the cool morning air creeping across my skin. Finally, I was ready to take on whatever task I had today. The note unfolded in my hands. *Whistle* Instantly my blood froze. It had to be some sort of sick joke, this could n' t be my task. It had to be a mistake. It was n' t a joke, the writing on the page was so familiar to me, having seen it etched upon these notes for years. But why? Why would they have given me this task? I can not whistle. Years ago, my tongue was sliced to prove a point to my parents. They ended up executed regardless, but my tongue never fully healed. Whistling had been impossible since, as well as other vocal manipulations. Some days, it was hard just to talk. Whoever had made me receive this task clearly wanted me dead. Why? No reason came to mind- my parents were already gone, and I had done all I could to avoid following their footsteps. I was perfectly obedient to the community, ever servant, always completing my tasks- there was no reason I deserved this. I would have until nightfall to complete my task, but there was no need; I could already feel the noose tightening around my neck. I can not whistle, and today I die.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: You Wake Up In The School Dormitory, Far Too Groggy To Be Awake In All Reality, Yet You Can not Really Fight Ginny' s, The Rousing Prefect, Insistence. While Getting Dressed You Consider Throwing Any Odd Thing On, But You Know You Would Never Get Out The Dorm Before Harold, The Fashion Prefect, Caught You. You Stumble Down To The Dinning Room And Get Breakfast, Making Sure To Get Fruit. You Simply Do Not Want To Deal With Any Of The Seven Breakfast Prefects. When You Finish Eating You Clean Up After Yourself, More Out Of Human Decency Than Concern About Abby, The Sanitation Prefect. She Is Actually Rather Pleasant. Sadly, As You Walk Out Of The Dinning Room Harold Stops You, Apparently Your Socks Do n' t Match. He Rights A Citation, And You Go A Replace A Sock. You Do n' t Let It Get To You. Citations Are Rather Common, Though Having Too Many On Record Can Be A Problem. On An Average Day You Get Three. For Example, Today You Also Got One From The Transportation Prefect, The Teacher' s Mood Aide Prefect, And The Social Adjustment Prefect; That Particular One Gets On Your Nerves. The Average Student Only Gets One A Week Though. You Are Not An Average Student Though. You Are The Prefect Of Citation Processing. A Position You Hold In Half Due To Not Having A Single Citation On Record. PS. I Know He Meant Perfect... But This Was Much More Fun.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: King Edward was lying in bed, covered in bandages and dried blood. He looked up when Milo, his chief alchemist, walked in. " So? Tell me–what did you see? " asked King Edward. " Have you found a way to make me whole again? " Milo cleared his throat. " My lord, I believe that I have. " The king smiled. " Do tell, Milo. " " I spoke to the owner of an apothecary–a man who will not be born for five hundred years hence. The medical arts have advanced greatly in his time, " said Milo. " What did the man say? " " This man presented me with a curious theory: a small part of the toxin *is* the cure. Indeed, his entire apothecary only stocked cures of this form. For example, an individual poisoned by quicksilver would need to consume an elixir containing a minute amount of quicksilver, diluted by a much larger part of water. " " How strange, " said the king. " Quicksilver is poisonous? " " Apparently so, " said Milo. " And they called it' mercury.' Language, too, has evolved greatly over the years. " " This technique–you believe it will make me whole? Make me fit to once again lead this kingdom? " asked the king. " The man seemed sure of it, " said Milo. " He called this futuristic medical technique' homeopathy,' and he assured me that it would work. " " What do we need to do? " asked the king. " Well, seeing as you were trampled by a horse, we need to locate this vile beast, cut off a small portion, and then mix it with a large portion of water. Then, you need to consume this concoction, and your legs should regrow instantaneously. " " Get to it, then, Milo, " said the king. He smiled. " Soon, I will once again sit upon the throne. " -- - /r/rpwrites


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: " Do you understand what you must do? " I looked up at the figure hovering before me. Death itself, come to see me. I could n' t see much past the tattered black robe that hid whatever features he had. It carried no scythe, nor could I see any bony features. There was just darkness, and the robe. " No, " I replied. I was trembling, I realized, from excitement, from fear. Death' s voice was harsh, booming, *commanding*. Woe to the fool who disobeyed. " You will be my agent, and you will bring the End of All. In exchange, I offer immortality to you. As my instrument, you will bring back the Balance to your world. Too many live on Earth. It is time for them to die. " I nodded. " I understand. I will do as you say, my lord. " " Then as it is written, go, my agent, my omega, my lich. Go and raise your army tonight, for tomorrow, the End begins. "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: # THIS STORY HAS A PART 2! [ HERE ] ( https: //www. reddit. com/r/555Writing/comments/5242x3/wp_a_childhood_classmate_of_yours_is_deaf_you/ ) " I do n' t have to be sneaky, she ca n' t even hear me, " I said as I walked up behind Amanda, a Deaf student who I love to bully. " Are you sure she ca n' t hear you? She does n' t have any hearing aids or anything, " my friend Rick said, I paused and replied saying " Why would you need hearing aids if you ca n' t hear anything? Just stop talking and let me do my thing Rick. " I was getting annoyed at his stupidity, I wish he would just use that brain that all humans supposedly has. I was right behind her, then I jumped around her and scared her. After seeing an ASL interpreter in my Computer Science course in college, it reminded me of when I bullied poor Amanda back in middle school. I wish I could take it back, I regret doing those terrible things that I did to her. " I wonder who the interpreter is interpreting for, " I think to myself, I look around, and then I spot her sitting in the very back, IT' S AMANDA! Class is almost over and I wanted to try and tell her that I am sorry for what I did, not knowing ASL I decided that I would give her an apology note. I get Amanda' s attention as we are leaving class and I give her the note and walk away, I wondered how she would react, and I waited for the next day. *** Thanks for reading! You can find more WP responses at r/555Writing!


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: ".. the population is resistant Lord. What shall you resolve to next? " That particular question, which my butler has raised, was that of a concern in which I had ben revising with every consecutive day had past. 25th December, on which the residents of my country cultivated Christmas, was the occasion on which I received news that an overwhelming amount of immigrants had entered the radius of the country, and infiltrated a variety of areas, to threaten my position as government. There was no alternate reasoning, despite many terrorist groups desiring luxuries such as a political position, or money, the almighty god in such a meritocratic world as ours. I pleaded for the community to listen to my warnings, but they did not. They retorted and tormented, as they were required to be with their families for Christmas. And I was deserted as an individual among the millions within my country. I was terrified. Why were they opposing their own leader... I figured, it was perfect time for my personage to withhold my position -- -- -- -- - Within that same day, a corpse was found within the President' s office. A bullet in which penetrated his head. A pistol was found. Police reports deduct it be suicide.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: It was knock off time, even for everyone working during the crunch period. Today had started before dawn, and by the time we punched out, the sun had been down for several hours. It was just the two of us, catching the painfully slow elevator from the 22nd floor, all the way down to the basement. And then I heard it. There was a soft thumping noise, and my brain instantly went into panic mode. Did something in the elevator dislodge? Were we going to be trapped in this tiny elevator for a weekend like that video? Would we plummet to our deaths? And then I looked over at him, biting my nails in a visible panic. He smirked. And by his smile, his quiet smile, I knew we were in Hell. " Oh God! " I shouted, grabbing my nose as I realised the source of the noise. " Why did you have the three cheese and garlic chili for lunch? " We were only at floor 20.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: " Please Cassie, I never intended it to be like this. " " When were you going to tell me? " " I tried... " " How? How' d you try? " I told you I' m small, and that I could be your pocket soldier... I was serious. " The small shoulders beneath the soldiers' uniform were slumped in resignation. " After he' s asleep, I' m as real as you. I bleed like you. " " But Joe, even if I did come for you... " " Just think about it. I can hide in the attic for a day, then I' ll likely get packed with the other donations. I' ll stay alive Cassie, I am cursed. Before I was Eddies, I was his Dads, and before that, his dad bought me at a garage sale. I' m old, and I want someone to share my existence with. " The figure on the camera looked off to the side for a second. " He' s gon na wake up soon. I must hide. Please, if you decide yes, I' ll be on top of the mailbox at 10 tonight. I love you so much Cassie, I ca n' t imagine nor having you to talk to. " " I... I' ll see. This is a lot to consider you know. "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: Scene: College campus, lunch/break-out area after class - empty. Person 1: Dude, did you just turn that water to ice? *Staring at the cup of water that' s now ice* Person 2: Did I? *smiling with a slight smirk* Person 1: Yes. yes you did. How you do that? Person 2: Well, to be honest I' m not sure. Person 1: How do you mean your not sure, you just turned water to ice. Are you god? Person 2: Not that I know of, although I did have a nightmare; afterwards all these strange things started happening. It' s not the only thing I can do too. Person 1: What can you do? Person 2: I' m not sure as of yet, but watch this. *Looks over to a attractive female and poof suddenly she' s frozen on the spot* Person 1: Is she frozen!? Person 2: Yeah. Person 1: Dead? Person 2: I hope not. *Both hear footsteps walking down the corridor* Person 1: Someones coming, unfreeze her! Person 2: I ca n' t. Person 1: Why not!!? Person 2: I dunno, it' s just not working. Person 1: Shit, we ca n' t leave a random person frozen in the middle of the corridor ~ Dude, quickly. NOW. Person 2: There. Person 1: There what? She' s still frozen Person 2: I froze the other guy Person 1: Why did you do that? We now have two people frozen in the corridor... *She unfreezes and continues walking down the corridor as if nothing happened*. Huh..?, now she' s unfrozen Person 2: I did n' t do that Person 1: You did n' t? Person 2: Nope, maybe it wears off after a period Person 1: Well phew, but we now have the other guy frozen. I have an idea: Drag him in here and sit him down. At least we can make him look like he' s asleep and then hope he unfreezes. ~


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: Today we went through the 4th discovered portal since project we started this project. The first portal was made artificially after that every place we discovered had already a portal on in place, since then we have been exploring these new worlds but we never found anything of interest on it. This one was no exception, it was a barren and dry land, there was no live detected on this plane either, I' m beginning to think that we truly are the only living beings in this galaxy.' Sir,' " Yes, what is it "' we discovered the next portal.' " Yes, I know, the scan showed it when we arrived here. "' Yes but sir, but this one shows sign of live.' " What? You sure of that? "' Well the device says so.' " Oke, tell them to prepare the weapons. "' but sir, they have n' t shown any sign of hostility yet, It the probably do n' t even know we are here yet.' " Yes, I' m just being cautious "' Understood, sir.' " O, and wait on contacting the Ministry of Galactic Environment, I want to be sure this is a good place to settle. "' Yes sir.' The general was finally pleased with their findings. " Finally, I' ve been waiting, finally a new target to test our new bio weapons on. "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: My senses started to elevate at the 100-intelligence mark, the shmuck who controlled me loved the intelligence stat, even though my character was a warrior. My surroundings became more vivid as my intelligence grew, I could see other characters, being controlled, not understanding that they are merely a puppet controlled by a higher power. Level up! I had reached level 50, which meant I was going to gain a considerably high amount of extra stat points – and knowing my master right he was going to plump all those points in intelligence. Even though the game clearly states that warriors are STRENGTH BASED! " Jesus, what a dumbass " I thought. As my intelligence grew, I came up with a plan – I was going to break out of this wretched world, and enter the world of the puppeteers. " Is everything ready? " I asked. " Everything is ready, you may start " a man in a black hood responded. I had gathered information that to break through to the-another world I had to enter the Neo City, gather 250 metal cogs, and kill 45 mega-bots. I can say I did struggle with the mega-bots since my god damn strength stat was so low. But nothing was going to stand in the way of my escape. -- -250 metal cogs and 45 mega-bots later -- - The man in the hood looked at me " Well done, you have done as I said, I grant you the key to the-another world, may it grant you happiness and richness ". I took the key, and grinned " finally I will be free! ". I will conquer everything there will to be conquered! I closed in on the golden gate, it was enormous, maybe a bit too enormous, i thought. I gently pressed in the key, and turned it. The door made a big crackling sound, slowly opening. A bright light blinded me, like the sun had been placed in the room. 213, 420 exp granted, 8000 gold gained. Level up. -- - It warms my writer heart that you liked the text. Thanks!


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: Finally. I' ve finally done it. It' s taken me five years of hard work, five years of unending turmoil at the hands of my nemesis, Captain Phoenix. But now I, Doctor Fission, DDS., have put an end to that turmoil. For not only have I destroyed my nemesis in a spectacular hand-to-hand fight, but I have finished my ultimate creation: the Fission Fiasco, a satellite capable of destroying the world with a single concentrated fission ray, shooting out at the speed of light. I' ve never been happier in my life. Now, I simply pull out the remote, and enter in the 4-digit pin that will start the countdown. ***bzzt*** ***bzzt*** ***bzzt*** Oh. My phone. Hmm, thought I shut that off. Oh well, I have time. Oh, I have a message on my POWder profile. Oh wow. It' s from that girl Ana. I never thought she would actually reply. Wow. Alright, let' s see what it says. Dear Doc... coffee... movie... French food... go on a date? She... wants to date me? Me? Of all people, she wants to date me? But... why? I' m just Doctor Fission, DDS. The only reason I can even call myself doctor is because I went to that Canadian dentistry academy. I made that POWder profile as a joke. I did n' t expect a reply, and certainly not one from someone as beautiful as Ms. Ana Conda. And yet here I am, planning a date with her. Weird. I thought I was happy before, but now... I feel... I feel different. What is this? It' s like... warm butterflies, fluttering their way up from my feet, to my stomach, to my lungs, to my head, and even to the tips of my fingers. Wait. What' s this in my hand? A remote? What does it... oh no. No, no, no. This is n' t right. I do n' t need this anymore. Not now that I' ve defeated Captain Phoenix. Not now that I have a date with Ana Conda. Not now that I' m happy. No. Not now. But maybe later.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: I have never been a cat person. I' ve never really been a dog person either. I would have been fine without any pets at all really, but my girlfriend just *had* to have this cat when she saw him that day at the pound. He was barely a year old and was very stripey. She still mentions his stripes when she talks to him in that baby talk that all pet owners do. Or at least the pet owners who insist on treating their pets like their children. And let' s face it, this cat was a practice baby. So it' s not a surprise that a year and a half later we were bringing an actual baby home. Well, Mr. Whiskers was n' t a fan of this at all. He had tried to sabotage our baby plans from the beginning. Do you know how hard it is to keep an erection with a cat licking his anus just in the corner of your vision? It' s not easy. But we persevered and today was the big day. I had my newborn son in my arms when I opened the door to our house. I nearly dropped him when I saw the man in the cat onesie sprawled out on the rug. " What the fuck are you doing here? " He barely looked at me before cleaning himself just as a cat would. My now wife walked in and immediately went up to the man-cat and scratched behind his ears. " Looks like he' s just being lazy on the carpet to me, " she said. " Yeah, what' s your fucking problem, " he said. " And watch your fucking language. " I think it' s gon na be a rough first baby day...


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: " My, God! " Arvin exclaimed as he threw the curtains aside. " I... I had no idea that there was so much *colour* in the world! " He turned, and faced his mother, seeing her for the first time he could remember. " Hi, Mom, " he whispered. She smiled and her face crumpled. His eyes, so blue, and now he could *see* her, and *know* she was there even when she was tired, or sleeping. How long she had hoped that one day, his blindness could be lifted! He looked down at the cast covering his right arm to his fingertips. It had been almost a full week since he had received the cast, and he had n' t realized just how much he relied on his right hand; his left was almost completely useless. Certainly for those late night dates with himself, that was for certain. For the first time in memory, he' d been forced to stop, and if this was the result - beautiful light, glorious sight! - well, he had a hell of a decision to make. -- - *just for OP.: ) *


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: " Did I tell you about bird man? " " What, that movie? " " No. The new guy at my gym. He wears these -- he' s always got this bird costume on. " " Like a giant chicken or something? You have some kind of chicken suit mascot person at your gym now? " " It' s not like a full body costume. It' s just wings. Like these fake wings that stick out of his back. " " He' s an employee? " " He just works out. " " With wings on. " " Yeah. " " Let me guess -- he' s working on his lats? " " And so all he does is the treadmill. Which pisses me off because he' s been hogging it for *weeks*. I go in at 4 PM, he' s there. I leave at 6 PM, he' s still there. Ca n' t do my normal cardio routine. So I start going there in the morning before work -- fucking wake up at 5 AM to exercise, *me*, so you know how dire it is. And the fucker is still there, running running running away like a big tubby hamster on its tubby-hamster wheel. With wings. " " You sound frustrated. " " He' s a total fucking creepazoid weirdo. His sweat smells like poop and garlic and he looks like he belongs on an episode of My 600 Pound Life. Or maybe more like My 475 Pound Life because he' s dropping half a ton every day. " " Hell, more power to him. If I had that kind of dedication, I' d be deadlifting Winnebagos by now. " " I legitimately think the guy' s had a mental break with reality or something. He literally practically *lives* at the gym. And the wings, I mean he wears those things nonstop. Like he really thinks he' s a bird. Big fat bird man hogging my cardio time. " " Maybe it' s a self-motivation thing. He' s *sprouting his wings*. Living up to his full potential. That kind of stuff. " " Fuck him. " " Think he' ll fly off soon and leave the treadmill to you? " " I' m not holding my breath. The day he flies is the day that... well, it' s the day pigs fly. " " Hey. You never know. "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: Reginald woke up to find that there was a seal staring at his face and laying on top of him. He screamed and the seal screamed and then the seal ran away, pushing past his bedroom door and out into the hall. " What the fuck was that? " he said. That fishy, watery smell had stuck around in the room. His carpet was wet, his blanket was wet, and he was pretty certain mold was going to grow underneath his carpets if he did n' t do something about it right now. " I' d better call Animal Control, " he said. Then a voice popped into his head: " Kerrville Animal Control Hotline, how can I help you? " said a voice in his head. He looked at his hands. Definitely no phone there. " Hello? Can I help you? " " Uh, " said Reginald. " What is the nature of your emergency, sir? " " I... you can hear me? " What the fuck is going on, thought Reginald. " There is no need for that language, sir, " said the voice on the other line. " If you do not have an animal problem - " " I do, I do, " said Reginald. " It' s that... it' s Texas, and there' s a seal in my bathroom. I do n' t know what' s going on. Can you send someone over to pick up the seal? " " Another breather. God, I hate this fucking job, " said the person on the other end of the line as she hung up. He stared out the window. He could hear the sound of rushing water as he looked out at the Texas suburb. How did a seal get into my house? said Reginald. Then he noticed the growing puddle of water on the carpet when he turned around. In the bathtub, the seal was enjoying a leisurely cold bath. " What the hell are you DOING? " screamed Reginald at the seal as it wallowed in the bathtub. The seal made a noise not unlike a bark and a whine as it turned slowly in the bathtub full of water, the faucet running full blast. " How did you even open my faucets? "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: I took this prompt a bit differently then you may have imagined, I hope it is n' t an issue. Santa sat in his chair, staring at a folder sitting on his desk, on the top right corner. The important corner. Oddly enough, there was no date on it, he had all the time in the world to review the contents of the folder. He watched the elves scurry around, making sure everything was in order post-Christmas trip. Eventually, when they were confident that nothing horrible had happened in the twelve hours Santa was not around, they all said goodbye and went to take a well-deserved break. Santa' s hand lazily reached out to the folder, bringing it close enough to leaf through the paper. Once opened, a picture of a teenager was taped to the paper, titled' Justin'. The format sent a shiver through him. This was no doubt an application to become a Gifter. He had n' t seen one in two hundred years easily, and the last accepted one was well over two thousand years ago, when Buddha applied after dying to become a Gifter of Knowledge. He flipped the page, and a hand-written note was the only thing remaining before the back end of the folder.' Dear Gifters, I' m Nick. I died of cancer at the age of 17. My only regret is that I never had enough time in my life to do things, and I wanted to make sure that nobody in the future would ever have that issue. The Council told me to apply to be a Gifter, and since you were the original, I sent it to you, St Nicholas. I was told you have the ability to read minds ( which makes the jingle so much more understandable! ) so I' m sure that you can just go through my thoughts and memories, so I kept this short. You' re surely tired after your trip. In short, I want to be the Nick of time. Thanks Justin' Santa chuckled, grinning. If there was ever an application that made sense, this was one of them.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: Silence. My new life. Only would I ever write. I liked silence. It felt cosy, like the feeling of a blanket and hot chocolate in winter. I was fine with it. They' ve all been wasting their lives and time. School is n' t the same. The market is n' t the same. The world is n' t the same. The only place unaffected were the libraries. And I was just fine with that. Many others were n' t. They protested in the streets. At the capital of the Global Administrative Corporation. They were everywhere. Then, people calmed down. Hundreds of thousands died. Too many words lead to prosecution, hatred and finally execution. Then why would I save my words? So I can fight back. There are many more like me. 10 years from now, we shall end our oppression, we will speak freely. 401500 words is a lot. I may be quiet, but I' ve been thinking for a long time. Planning. Our overlords best be prepared for us.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: There' s nothing quite like seeing a man starve to death. His breathing was so slow that only the closest inspection revealed that he breathed at all. Eyes closed, not twitching as if in sleep, but closed as if to spare the energy needed to process light. His clothes hung off his frail little body like a towel on a drying rack. It almost made Jatinder feel sad for just a second before the feeling faded away into the murkiness of casual indifference. No, it wasn' t strong enough. As if to interrupt his thoughts the dying man let out a groan. It was a horrible raspy groan that seemed almost too pitiful to be a man' s last. Perhaps it was and perhaps it wasn' t. It didn' t matter to Jatinder. He felt cheated. He' d seen it all before. The first time was the best. There was no replacing that one, as his own mother had committed her last groan to his ears alone. It was the one that started it all. Nothing had ever felt so bad. Nothing had ever felt so good. With disappointment, anger and great frustration he faced the sunlight streaming in through the old sadhu' s tent. He had not felt the sweetness of melancholy, nor the crisp savor of true sadness. His journey was at an end, and he had gained nothing from it. It was wasted. Walking outside in the crowded street he felt alone. He was isolated from humanity. He understood now that not only would he never feel that heart-wrenching joy of sadness. Then his eyes widened in surprise. A thought had just sparked in his mind. A grin spread slowly across his face and his mind articulated this revelation. Tears filled his eyes as he finally felt a rush of that purest emotion. The loss of sadness was the saddest loss of all.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: She had to escape. She had to run, to hide, to get away, far away, to flee. Her pursuer, he would show no mercy. She had to get away from him. If she did n' t, she would surely die. And from what she had seen that... that monster do... he would make it long and make it hurt. She had one goal on her mind: survival. She took a deep breath and ran harder. Why the hell did n' t she pick out her running shoes this morning? Why the flip-flops?! Because they matched her toe polish?! How could she be so stupid? She could n' t run nearly as fast with her flip-flops on. She could hear him, the evil one, behind her. " I' m gon na *get* you! " He sounded closer. How?! She dared to glance over Oh God, oh God, oh God, oh God, oh God... He was getting closer and closer. What was she going to do? She had to run away. She had to -- The grass was damp with mist, and then she tripped and fell. He was upon her, the madman, the monster. She tried to get up but he forced her back down. He sat on her legs; she tried to kick herself free, but he had her pinned down, pressing her into the grass. " Please, " she gasped. " Do n' t. Let me up. Let me go. " The evil one' s hand was like a claw. And then he struck. First, under her arm. Then at her ribs. Then her stomach. Like a spider. She squirmed and bit her cheek to keep from giving in. She had to survive. She had a resolve like iron. It would be a dam against this flood. The evil, smelly jerk reached down and yanked off her flip-flop, tossing it away. The claw danced along her foot. The dam broke and she burst out laughing. And then it was all over for her... ****** And that is the story of how a fourteen year old boy tickled the daylights out of his twelve year old sister.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: This was it. My last task before I could complete my training, after ten years of endless, back-breaking work. And I was going to fail. I raced through the maze, walls towering over my head, spikes protruding around corners just waiting for me to slip and pin myself. Everyone had told me I was the most powerful wizard they' d ever met, my cloak dyed with so many patches of color they bled together, and I was about to be flayed alive by the giant manticore skittering after me. With everyone watching. I chanced a glance up at the crowd peering over the side like I was a caged animal, cheering " Marissa! Marissa! Marissa! " in time with my pounding feet. What kind of idiot gave a test that blocked magic, to prove you were a good magic wielder? Air burned like fire down my throat but... wait... I could no longer hear the beast. Like a fool I skid to a stop, gasping. I had to get out, I had to get *out*. I tried to climb the slick mud walls, but even with a running start I could only get half way up before I lost purchase. No no no no no... Someone above me screamed, just as the hideous thing burst from the wall, clamping its mighty jaws around my throat. *Snap. * And silence. But I felt a tug, somewhere in the dark. My brothers were counting on me, the only source of protection from this cruel world, my mother so lost to despair from my father' s death she refused to do anything, even as our house fell apart around them. I pictured their faces, Kyrin and Jace. Too young, too sweet. There was a whole other life I wanted to give them with my magic. I could n' t leave. *Get out get out get out* roared in my head, and then it was pouring from my mouth, shaking the walls of my mind and the walls of the maze. The crowd was dead quiet. Through the dirt and blood on my cloak, I saw it was now pure white. My teacher, Orion, smiled wickedly down at me. " Congratulations Marissa, you are the world' s first necromancer. "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: The punch hit the bastard square in the nose. It hurt his knuckles something fierce, but watching the blood begin to poor from the thief' s nostrils more than made up for it. " Tell me where my *goddamn* snail is! Now! " The other man groaned and grabbed at his masked face. " Why the hell do you care so much about a stupid slug! " He threw another punch, but it was n' t as satisfying as the first one. Resisting the urge to yell, he instead lowered his voice to its most menacing pitch. " I do n' t care about the million dollars you stole. " He took one step even closer, now inches away from the man' s bloody face. " Just tell me where the hell my pet snail is! " The thief scrambled back, nearly tripping over the luggage full of money sitting behind him. " All right, all right! Fuck! I just thought the shell was cool, man! Here! " He waited as the other man reached one gloved hand into the cargo pocket on his thigh. His heart leaped into his throat as the snail was thrown at him with much more force than necessary. Luckily, he managed to catch her. He held her in his hands until the thief was gone, vanished into the night with more money than most people could ever hope to have. Once the coast was clear, he peered down at her. " Are you all right? " **Yes**, she formed the words in his mind. **Thank you, master. I did not enjoy the idea of granting him any wishes. ** " I' m just glad you' re okay, Genie. " **As am I**, she said. **Now... would you like me to replace the money he stole? **


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: A drop of sweat falls from my cheek to the desk. The proctor passes through the first row. Some students are ecstatic, jumping from their cold plastic chairs and shouting with joy. Others are distraught. One girl, a blue-eyed beauty, receives her paper. A gasp. She slowly lets out her breath. Calmly, she leaves the room. This makes me even more nervous. I know the consequences of what that piece of paper could entail. I know that I could die tomorrow. All because of my intelligence. If the number at the bottom of the page reads fifty-nine or below, I am, quite literally, dead meat. Just like the blue-eyed girl across the room. This is how our society functions. The stupid are slaughtered. And it works. Everyone in our country has a job. Everyone contributes, and everyone reaps the benefits. It has been this way for quite some time now. In that time, most diseases have been cured. Things such as homelessness, hunger, and the like, are nonexistent. Yet, these facts do n' t make me any less scared. Scared of a piece of paper. A piece of paper that could kill me. A second drop of sweat. The proctor is now one row of desks away from mine. Most of the teenagers in the room are happy about their test results. Others try to hide their disappointment, their utter despair, but it' s obvious who passed, and who did n' t. Who will live, and who will die. I will receive my paper next. The proctor has it in his hand. Sweat is in my eyes, on my cheeks and forehead, under my armpits. This could be it. This could be the end. Or, this could be the very beginning. The start of a fantastic life. The life of a doctor, or a lawyer. I could be a millionaire in less than a year, easily. My hopes are suddenly rising. I' ve got this! I will live! I will survive, and I will prosper! I wo n' t die today, but in one hundred, or even two hundred years. I will make it in this world. I am sure of it! The paper is slid towards me. I turn it over. 58.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: Jacob wandered down the street, hands buried in pockets. His eyes were drooping, clothes grimed with several layers of dirt and sweat from a hard day' s work. Lord knows his back was calling for a cushioned chair, and his stomach growled in eager anticipation of a meal he' d order at the saloon. Turning the corner, leather boots stamping into the sandy dust that littered the ground like orange snow, his ears twitched at a foreign sound. Something faster than any horse rolled down the street. It was metal against metal, all the grindings of a factory whirring out a tiny box on wheels. He cocked a brow as the man riding this contraption tipped his hat, and before he could question it, the thing moved on, rattling around another corner and out of sight. It' s grumble lingered, echoing through the town. As he stood there, completely confused, hand absently scratching his head, he decided that it was probably best to skip the meal and head straight home. He needed to sort himself out with a nap.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: 12: 48am. Long past the time the writer should have been in bed. A page of text sat in front of him on his computer. He read through it for what seemed like the hundredth time, stopping occasionally to change a word or delete part of a sentence. The writer sighed. It was shit. Command-W. " Do you want to save the changes you made in the document' untitled'? " Do n' t Save. As he usually did after two or three glasses of whiskey and another failed writing session, the writer questioned his motives. " Am I getting anywhere? Am I improving, or just fooling myself? " The writer thought back to his goals of improving his communication skills, of becoming a more creative and interesting person. " Maybe that' s just not going to happen ", he said. " One last look, " the writer thought, and he was back on /r/writingprompts. Looking for an easy victory, one thread caught his eye. " Now there' s an idea. " It would have to be the type of post that redditors either love or despise. " Fuck it " he said, " I' m going meta. "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: For a long time I doubted I even existed. Public school can do that to you, y' know? The kids would call you a " Vampire " and " Ghost ", harmless insults. It was all fun and games at first, but when the government discovered it when I was 14 they had a barrage of tests run on me periodically. This led to me being taken out of school for a month or two, long enough for the rest of the kids to believe that I had become invisible too. For the next year nobody, besides the teachers, talked to me, nobody acknowledged me. I tried talking to them, tried to make them notice me. I would tap people on the shoulder but they would pretend it was the wind or a ghost. They made me " disappear " from their lives. Often I thought about hurting myself, hurting others, being noticed as a person. I tried breaking into school, spraying graffiti all over the principals office. The cameras apparently uses mirrors to record the reflections of a real image. They never caught me. For awhile I really did think that I did n' t exist. Suicide crossed my mind daily. *What if I did n' t really exist in the first place? * Eventually they told me it was all a joke, that they knew I was there all along. Harmless fun huh? They wo n' t find it so fun when they become the disappearing act instead. After all, I am the ghost that haunts them.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: " Thank you for taking care of those hoodlums for me, sir. " The old man shook as he attempted to stand on one leg, but still managed to smile. It felt good. " Think nothing of it. Hopefully the remaining wo n' t be back. " The old man laughed. "' Hopefully'? If they have any sense, they wo n' t show their faces again here. Probably peed their pants from seeing all that fancy swordwork... " I smiled. " Its growing dark. You should close the business and get to your home. I need to go too. " The man shook his head. " You' re not going anywhere, young sir. As repayment, I shall feed you the best dinner you have ever eaten. Please sir, give this old man a chance to show his skills too. " I would' ve refused, but the fact was I did n' t have a place to eat at. This town was entirely new to me, and getting around was a nightmare. " All right, I will stay. ONLY for dinner ", I emphasized. 5 minutes later, we were walking down the road, to the old man' s home. " So, sir, about that fancy sword of yours - where did you get it? And how did you learn to wield it? " " Made it myself ", I said with pride, " Steel with obsidian edges - so sharp you could shave with it. " " I do n' t doubt it. I saw you make short work of those thugs - I' ve heard the stories, but seeing it was like magic. I doubt anyone in even the Capital could replicate it. By the way, where do you hail from, sir? " I fell silent. " Sir...? " The old man peered at me. " I' m from... Omelas. You might have heard of it. " " Yes, yes - is n' t that the perfect town they talk about? Wish I could have lived there... but why become a hero, sir? What was your motivation? " My motivation? Something inside me laughed bitterly - motivation? Is there a worse word for my reason? Did you become a hero, the knight in the shining armor due to some desire to do good? No, you did n' t. This is your burden - the burden of the sins of an entire city. This is your penance. " Well, I just happened to walk away... "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: It is too loud to write. The noise wo n' t let me write anything worthwhile. At first I think of a creature standing behind me. A big one, dark, all gaping mouth and half bad thoughts. It is n' t bad enough. I swallow three times. I have n' t written for three years. I always get.. *distracted*. It' s the noise that gets me. Always my neighbours playing their music too loud or a car speeding past on the motorway blaring a red streak of car horn noise in the air. Kills me. Prickles the back of my neck, makes the inside of my eyes burn like a cluster headache. I think of an ocean, of word variations causing spontaneous teleportation. You' d go from your computer chair to fathoms deep and drown still swimming for the surface. That' s especially morbid, I note. Good job, but too loud to write it. Still, it niggles at my mind. My coffee machine is going off, shrill as a mother in law, calling for dinner. I make a show of getting up, switching it off, returning to my seat. I smooth the pleather. I tap twice. As I drink my coffee I realise that the final act of switching the button on the coffee machine off has made it completely silent in the apartment I rent. A coursing of absolute joy swims through my veins, fishing for compliments at just how good I am at creating a perfect atmosphere for creation. Well done me, I think, and cheerily sip my coffee. It takes me fifteen minutes to realise that the lovely absence of noise is the absence of me breathing, the absence of my heart beating.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: " So... come here often? Got anything you wan na talk about? " " Can it. " " Yeah, shut your face. " " Now look, there' s no need to be rude. We' re all stuck down here, so we' re all equal in that regard. " " But if corporate took care of the mine, then we would n' t be in here! " " And you think that yelling will do anything other than waste our air? " " Sorry. It' s not much, but it' s all I got. That, and some old Johnny Cash songs. " " How nice. " " Yeah, good for you. " " What did I just say? Ugh, it' s pointless. We' re all gon na die listening to the bickering of children. " " You load sixteen tons, and what do you get? Another day older and deeper in debt. Saint Peter do n' t you call us,' cause we ca n' t go. We owe our soul to the company store. " "... good voice. " " Yeah... how long do you think we' ve got? " " Maybe another few hours. We got enough air at least. " " Around 12 hours worth of air for one person, so divide that by four. Found some pen and paper... might be good if y' all have got anything you wan na say. " " Thanks. " Yeah, thanks. " " Hey, we' re both sorry for earlier by the way. " Yeah, we both are. " " It' s not a problem. " " Well, at least we can die in peace now. " " Heh, yeah, at least we got that. "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: " You were worried about your daughter' s birth defect right? Do n' t worry we already fixed it. " " Oh that is good. It was kind of scary seeing that " " Yes, it happens about one in every 1000 births. This is why we do n' t recommend giving birth privately in your home. Sometimes these issues go unchecked for years and they can have lifelong consequences. Some recent studies suggest that women who do n' t get this issue fixed within the first 6 months are much more likely to have life long body issues and often commit suicide. " " Oh my. Well I was too weak but my partner insisted on bringing her in and it sounds like it is a good thing that she did " " It does n' t happen any more, but women who could n' t get that issue fixed at all, which is to say before modern medicine, would become deformed and have much lower IQs. They could barely recognize feelings and often hurt others or themselves. " " Doctor what do you think of the theory that those deformities were once part of our reproductive cycle? I mean I am glad it was fixed, but I always found that theory interesting. " " I like the theory myself. Scientists are trying to work out the details, but due to ethical considerations they ca n' t just let women grow up with those deformities. They are barely mentioned in literature at all so I think we can at least assume that they were about as common as they are today. Unfortunately in those times they just had to live with their deformities. "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: " That does it, I' ve got to get to the bottom of this " Chris muttered to himself. It was this enclave soldier' s seventh day on the job, and he already felt like he was going mad. After the fourth day, every time he tried to converse with his partner Johnson, the only conversation topics that were be proposed involved sexual intercourse. His armor felt different than the one he had suited up in from the day before. He felt different. Could this be radiation sickness? Was he already dead? Chris knew when he took on this job that it would place him in perilous situations, but he never expected to go mad. Not like this. And that was when he saw it. A wanderer strolling and jumping, barely visible through a sandstorm that spontaneously appeared. He was followed by dark figures, what Chris imagined were angels of death. Chris called out to Johnson, only to see that he had completely undressed and was in the process of running in the wanderer' s direction. Before Chris could move, he felt a dart hit him in his left shoulder, and was immediately immobilized. All he could do was watch the dark figures approach him. As his vision started to blur, he saw a figure running ahead of the pack. To his surprise it was Johnson, wearing a slave collar and some strange leather piece of clothing, clearly exposing a massive, disproportionate erect penis. Chris pleaded to his partner, to remember his enclave vows, to remember the life that he had led until this point. to remember the dream of a better, pure America, but to no avail. His last moments were spent receiving multiple lead pipe beatings from his closest friend, assisted by a harem of strange, equally undressed women with massively disproportionate eyes, speaking a language that he had never heard before.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: Starting with established universes is really helpful when you first begin writing. I remember my first " epic ", which I wrote at about the age of your students, was about the crew of the [ Weatherlight ( from the Magic card game ) ] ( http: //mtgsalvation. gamepedia. com/Skyship_Weatherlight ). It was easy for me to write because I already knew all the characters, the ship, the locations, etc., and I could just focus on telling a story. Obviously not everyone is going to be into Magic, or any one thing in particular, but you could probably find some fairly easy common ground for students to start with. Additionally, it' s nice when you' re first starting out to know that no one but your teacher is ever going to read your piece. I think it' s good to have the option to share it with the class if they want to, but I do n' t think it should be required if you' re trying to get everyone into writing for the first time. It' s just too much pressure.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: " Anthrocorp technical support, this is Barry. How can I help you? " " Yes, " I said, " I' m having problems activating my humanOS? It says my copy is n' t genuine. " " And this notification, " Barry said, " is it visual, or is it appearing as part of an existential dread from which there seems no escape? " " Well I' ve always had the existential dread, but the visual is new. " " Very well, please recite your UUID from memory, " Barry said. " Grapefruit underground Jupiter salsa, " I said, reciting the trigger phrase which would cause my UUID to leap forcefully into the front of my mind and out of my vocal cords. " da448bf6-168d-451e-81c1-fab7cf3758dc, " I added. " One moment please, " Barry said, and piped hold music directly to the audio-processing center of my brain. The method of delivery did not improve the experience. An undetermined amount of time passed, mostly because I' d turned off my chronometer because I did n' t want to keep staring at it. Then Barry returned. " Mr. fab7cf3758dc, " Barry said, " our records show your system is severely in need of updating. Build 7264 is very out of date; the error which is displaying in your visual field was repaired in build 7311, which was released nearly a year ago. " " And the existential dread? " I asked. " That is for the most part unrelated to our software, " Barry said. " Please stand by, while I initiate diagnostic options. " " Wait a minute, what exactly are you going to do? " I asked, a horrible certainty coming over me. I had to disconnect the call, but Barry had already locked that option out. " Please remain calm, sir. I am simply going to turn you off and back on again. "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: 1. You know the difference between hero and villain. You' ve known it from childhood. You remember your childhood, and you remember knowing the difference, but you also remember that sometimes you rooted for the villain. You remember Darth Vader. You remember Gaston. You remember preferring the Beast before his redemption, before he started to become good. What does this say about you? What does it mean? Why have you been thinking about it, every night, staring into the darkness, reaching out for sleep? 2. You had to stop him. You had to break him, had to prevent him from doing anything worse. You did n' t know about his childhood, about what they did to him. But would that have changed anything? Does it matter, the life he had? Could he have still chosen good? What makes us who we are? How much do we choose? 3. You never asked for this power. You never asked for any of this. What happens if you turn away? What happens if you leave? They hate you now. Will they still hate you if you disappear? If you leave now, can you ever come back? 4. His blood is still there. You can see it, in your mind. You could see it, if you went there right now. Was there any other way? Some people admire him. Some people hurt for him. What will happen to them? He said he spoke for them. Did he? Could his methods have been changed? What about his message? What if they seek revenge? Was there any other way? 5. How did we get here? Is there any turning back? Do they still know you' re the hero? Do they? 6. How does this story end? How does it end?


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: I simply could not do it. The ground, so pristine & virginal. The grass, greener than ever seen. It was so tempting, and so perfect; born for destruction. I could so easily put the blanket down here; do n' t I have a right to picnic where I please? Do n' t I have a right to lay down and enjoy the perfect grass, the blue sky and a lazy Sunday afternoon? I had promised him that I would cook for the picnic, and that we would sit on that spot that we pointed to every time we drove home from work. Outside the car window the green hills looked like a promise, one of freedom, and love, and - best promise of all - cellphone left at home. And yet, there we were, standing at the exact spot pointed at so many times, and I could not for the life of me put the blanket down. I could n' t ruin the grass. I could n' t destroy it. I had failed to be human.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: " Do you want some ice cream, sweetie? " My Mommy asked me while she wipe the sweat off of my back. There were other kids running around in the park and their parents with them. But then I saw someone who seemed isolated from the bright park. I stared at the little girl sitting alone on the swing. There was n' t anyone accompanying her. " Mommy, why is that little girl alone? " I asked curiously instead and pointed the girl. Now that I looked at her intently, I could see that her white dress was stained and dirty. She does n' t have any shoes on. My Mommy does n' t like it when I get my clothes dirty or when I lose my stuff. Maybe she got scolded, that' s why she' s alone? Mommy followed my small finger with her gaze, and I caught her eyes flickered uneasily before she pulled me away and gave me a strained smile. " Let' s get some ice cream and return home, okay? " She said and dragged me towards the ice cream booth. I glanced back at the little girl and she was staring back at me, her mouth was slacked and open, and her eyes was dark and scary. I quickly looked away and hugged Mommy. Daddy fetched us from the park. After they settled me in my chair, Daddy started the car. I was happily licking the ice cream when my Mommy spoke quietly to Daddy. " Honey, R-h-e-a told me something again. She saw a g-i-r-l on the s-w-i-n-g but I saw no one. I think she' s having these hallucinations about g-h-o-s-t-s again. " I do n' t know how to spell yet, so I ca n' t follow their conversation, but when Daddy stared at me through the mirror, I had a hunch that they were talking about me. " Let' s take her to the shrink already. I always told you something is wrong with that kid. "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: The Praegon: the most malicious weapon to ever be conceived by the human race was developed in 2343 under the reign of Supreme President Jarrod Hollock of the United States Empire. It killed the world in seven minutes. The Praegon was designed to end the War of the 12th Lesser God. But the scientists involved in its creation were completely wrong about what they were building. A new material, Maron IV, found near the core of Mars, was the base of the weapon Praegon. This alien material was something the humans had never seen before. Strange in its color, and even stranger in behavior, Maron IV was a very unstable liquid. The United States Empire released The Praegon in hopes to only decimate the Lands of the Old God, thus annihilating the last remaining enemy to the USE. Maron IV was unique because unlike ancient nuclear technology, Maron IV would not destroy the O-Zone and life itself. It' s the same story every time. The weapon of mass destruction built by the highest power in existence wiped out the very planet they sought the rule. Now humanity shall live its days across the neighboring planets and galaxies; with Earth no more.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: This quilt, that my mother made, Still makes me think to this day. It' s softest brown, and brightest blue, The curved stitch here, reads " made it May ". It' s hard to see, but believe me it' s true, That' s not just a cloth but a piece of shirt. You can see a logo here, and right there, And a signature over there, someone named " Bert ". This is my favorite part, a piece from a stuffed bear. I think it was my mother' s favorite too, She always said so at least. Something from when she was two, Given by her grandad for Thanksgiving feast. My dad added this, a little button pin, Something from his mother, for being a scout. Apparently she went to a store and fished in a bin, Until night that day, to teach him what love was about. I' m sorry you had to see this, but their funeral was delayed.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: Full moon occurs, bright in the sky, light falls on the ground illuminating everything. Body hurt, feel pain, body hurts, eyes see red, brain aches. Bone grow and shrink, nose smallens. Ear shrinks, moves down. Tail shrinks, pulls into body. Hurts like worst pain ever. Hair sheds. I am bald. Muscles grow and shrink, change to human. Too much pain, I faint. As consciousness arrives, I open my eyes. I move my paws, but they are not paws. They have elongated, segmented, and evolved into digits. I have become a man, a monster, a weaker creature, a nightmare. Wind blows, makes me feel quite cold. I am bald, with no fur to insulate. The cold penetrates to my bone. I shiver, and observe my environment. I spot my cave and run to it fast. I see a tree on the way, and intuition tells me rip off some small branches off and carry them into the cave. I light a fire, my hands moving on instinct with the wood. The warmth feels good. I no longer am hypothermic. I am become human for tonight. At dawn, I turn back into wolf. I do not wish for that. I will become something inferior, a monster, a stupid creature.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: I wake up crying. Desolate Lost Alone. Strapped to a chair tied down head to toe Stitches seal my lips as I hope and pray for survival. My mouth is closed but I keep on screaming my anger is seething my heart keeps believing that I can and I will get out of this chair out this hell find a way to just make things right. I was lost and alone. Scoring smack on the streets as needles invaded my brain. Heroine Deep in my soul cutting me dry I sold my soul for a chance at something I sold my soul to succeed I sold the one thing I need And when I did die and reached the pearly gates of diamond and gold. The fluffy white clouds were too stark the black flames were calling. Kicked down by the father Almighty and great Kicked down past the devil to the iron fenced gate. Black ironed rust. I was taken to a warehouse Tied me down to this chair barbed steel on my chest. Wrapped twice around ripping holes in my chest. Then they pulled out the suture and silenced my cries An eternity in pain an eternity of screams ushered into pure silence I was once a silver tongued fellow. Spitting raps and rhymes manipulating words and bending those to my will My mouth is closed but inside I am screaming this is my hell my personalized hell. I wake up crying Desolate. Lost. Alone.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: *Crack*. A large section of an old wall came crashing down. Dust and debris flew everywhere, a beam of water sprouted from somewhere, and yelling could be heard coming from upstairs. ‘ What the hell is going on down there? Phil? PHIL? Are you okay?' Phil shook his head, coughed a few times, patted his limbs, checking whether they were all there, and made his way towards the stairs. A loud ringing noise filled his ears. ‘ Yeah, yeah, I' m okay, fine, nothing to worry about. It' s just a piece of old— ‘ He fell silent, as he saw something amidst the mist of dust. A faint green light, blinking slowly, irregularly. Phil took out his flashlight from his utility belt and flipped the ‘ on' switch. No light. ‘ Goddamn batteries. Should have bought the top brand. Where are the spare— ‘ ‘ PHIL! Do I need to come down there?' interrupted the voice from upstairs. ‘ No no, it' s okay. It' s just, the flashlight. Its, uhm, batteries— ‘ Phil looked at the light again. It had started to blink more rapidly, and appeared to have moved a bit towards him. He felt the urge to meet it halfway, as if it was a love long lost, with who he finally reunited with. *Hug me, want me, kiss me, so close now, yes, almost, here, please, yes, YES, YEEESSS!!! * * * * * * Phil regained consciousness, and Matt was standing over him. His mouth moved, but Phil heard no words, just the ringing sound. It had not faded. Phil never noticed it before, but Matt only had one green eye. *Curious, looks good on him though. Mysterious. Goes great with his fingers. Always liked that tentacle look, bet his wife appreciates the possibilities too. * Slowly sound came back to Phil, and he could make out what Matt was saying. ‘ Nakz-hal retk-ii. Nakz-hal retk-ii! NAKZ!! NAKZ!!!' Matt' s eye had started to shine, like a blinking star. Bright green. First slowly, then rapidly. Phil looked down at his body, and wondered where his legs went.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: Leon took a deep breath, " Okay. Here we go. " " L-e-o-n " he read aloud as he wrote, " is aweee-some. " Leon looked around. He did n' t feel any different, he certainly did n' t feel awesome. Maybe it does n' t work like that he thought. He adjusted the number two pencil in his hand and brought it to the page again. " I am the best. " he wrote in large bold print but again, nothing. " What the heck, " mumbled Leon. He had spent most of his allowance on this magic book and was losing his temper. The Scholastic book fair only comes to school twice a year and it was unlikely he could get his money back. He began to resent his purchase. " T-h-i-s note-book " he wrote, " is bull-shit! " Suddenly, his writing hand sunk about an inch lower and rested on his desk; his hand felt warm and sticky. Leon was very confused, and then he smelled it. At this moment the teacher walked in. " Leon, " she said. " Even though you do n' t get the best grades in the class, I just wanted to let you know how awesome we think you are. You' re the best. "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: I was there in an instant. " Wow, this thing is amazing. I ca n' t think how I lived without it. " " Well, here at Red-Tech we pride ourselves on the latest in innovation and this device will change the world forever. " I was given the tour of the facility. " So, what is the device based on. " " Oh, it creates a very fast moving portal and it moves around you, so it is not like you die or anything. It just shifts one point in space to another and then holds it there. " " Yes, it is n' t bad is it, you go from point to point in the blink of an eye. " " So how does it work? " " Well, it is very simple, it folds the space-time continuum at a location and holds it in place. " " I see. " " Yes, the effect is quite profound. " " So what happens when the device runs out of power. " " Oh that wo n' t happen in your lifetime. " " What if it malfunctions? " " Oh, then in that case you will be forcefully pulled back through every aperture you have ever crossed until you are back where you first used it. " " That does n' t sound so bad. " " Well, there is that, and the fact that your atoms may fly apart from the forces. " " What! " " This is why we perform regular services on the device. " " But they wo n' t turn off will they? " " Only if we want them to. " " You can turn them off? " " Yes, but only if you do n' t keep up your payments. " " I will tell people about this. " " It doubles as a listening device, and our AI can tell if you are going to do that based on your bodily signs. Let' s face it, the company owns you, it is just a good thing you work for the company now. "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: " Press the button... PRESS THE BUTTON NOW, " my commanding officer bellowed. The nuclear launch code had been entered. The green digits, i-11 ( ) M-iN4Ti blinked on the screen. My fingers slowly crawled over the big red button. Once again I looked at the red button in fear. " This was it, " I whispered to myself. After a few moments of hesitation, I gingerly pushed the red button. Long: -118° 10' 8. 2014 " Lat: 33° 56' 15. 5868 " the screen read. I rubbed my eyes in disbelief. These were coordinates to a local Walmart in California. " Weird, " I thought. The next few moments, were life changing. A few miles away a small group of school children were fumbling around with a soccer ball. It was then that the ground began to shake. The Earth' s roar echoed through the little children' s ears and the unkept grass began to tear. A huge ballistic missile began to push its way up to the surface of the Earth, revealing the numbers i-11 ( ) M-iN4Ti on its side. As the huge thermonuclear war head reached the surface, it began to position itself toward the sky. Immediately afterward, the ground began to tremble and warhead began to cut through the air. I watched as the warhead began to approach the local Walmart. A young women was carrying her child with one hand and holding a shopping cart with the other. The next few moments were inhuman. I watched as the warhead exploded and a mushroom cloud covered the sky. Sigh, I turned away from the screen. It was all my fault. That' s when my commanding officer began to walk towards me. After a quiet pause, he patted me on the back and whispered, " Good job soldier, You have put Walmart' s reign of terror to an end. " " Now ", he looked at me anxiously, "..... it' s Target' s turn. "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: It was a Monday morning when I woke up, groggy from a short sleep. The sky was still dark and all was quiet, so it came to my surprise that my dad was awake in a sort of silent trance, his eyes bloodshot and full of rage. " I ca n' t believe this, " he said, " this whole country has gone to shit! " " Morning, dad. " I replied. The TV had its sound muted but what he was angry at was quite obvious. It was on the news channel and the headline *ZUAFFYUL X-2739 ELECTED AS PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES* I was wholly indifferent to politics, I had no opinion on the matter. " Do you understand what this means, son? " His voice sounded genuinely scared, which I felt was an overreaction. " We' ve got to leave the country. This is the first step in a slippery slope. Eventually he' s going to announce the genocide of humans to massive applause. And we voted for him! Ha! " I decided not to argue as I needed to get ready for school. My phone beeps as I brush my teeth - text message from Zeolharxyon " Z " Y-6357. I picked up my phone and read it. " Parents are crying. Never thought that this day would come. So happy right now, see you at school. " Z was my best friend at school. The fact that today, for the first time ever, one of his kind was elected president made me extremely happy. I made sure to hide this happiness from my father the rest of the morning before heading to school.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: The biggest change since the invention of the death-date device was the impact it had on social circles. Widowhood was largely nonexistent as people factored into account their life expectancy; 2056ers dated other 2056ers, 69s married other 69s, etc. I, myself, had 2072 as my date of death, meaning I' d reach 79 years of age. About two weeks ago, I got invited to an all-expense-paid vacation to the Bahamas after my wife left me. " From a friend ", the letter said. " You' ll find love again. " Lo and behold, I get on the plane... and everyone is a 2072, specifically an August 12th like myself. " Nice work, Silas ", I thought to myself, namechecking my good friend who' d stood with me after Brenda cheated with the gardener. " I' ll send you a thank you note and definitely make you my best man. "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: You know what? The Joker is definitely not as bad as they told me he' d be. I may just be a newly graduated psychologist, but I' m fully trained, and after helping the new and improved Mr. J. Kerr through the rigors of a job search and new apartment finding, I' m honestly a little surprised he was interred here at all. He' s fully aware of his surroundings and his actions, and the consequences - which clears him of many of the major empathy disorders. He' s also un-powered, unlike some of the other patients that were slated for rehabilitation. As far as I can tell, he' s just a lonely old man, trying desperately to reclaim action in his life. He' s been nothing but sweet to me, too. I' m sure the heavily armed guards helped, but he' s never once given me reason to fear him. I suppose the only incident that stands out to me was the way he acted when someone mentioned Batman near him. He maintained that nigh-omnipresent smile, but it felt like the warmth was gone. I' m not sure what changed in him, but it suddenly made me very nervous. Maybe the rivalry truly is as bad as the reports say it was. Either that, or maybe the caped crusader should be the one doing community service. Honestly, who does he think he is, beating up poor Mr. J like that? Batman can take down anyone, even people with strange powers beyond compare, and she spends his time harassing this single man? And what, because his skin was bleached? According to the records that was actually Batman' s fault, too! I really do appreciate the company, though. Sometimes it feels like it' s me and him versus the world.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: Simon kicked at the dirt nervously as he worked up the courage to speak. " A-ahem. Umm. Well that escalated quite, ummm, q-quickly. " Simon stole a quick glance around and saw mostly downcast glances and a few quick nods. Simon paused before continuing. He decided it best not recount the hell that they all lived through. Simon did n' t have to be a religious man to realize that they had all just survived the apocalypse. He was n' t eager to relive the showers of blood and screams of agony as nearly everyone around him met their grim demise. It was so horrifying that he even felt a pang of sympathy shoot through his fear as his workplace bully, Andy, was sucked into the fiery pits of hell. He now found himself in a vast field surrounded by people as shell shocked as himself. However, as he surveyed them for the first time, he began to find comfort. Beyond their masks of fear he saw kindred spirits. He knew just by their demeanor that, like him, they were the beaten down, the unassuming, the ignored, the bullied, the kind hearted, the taken for granted. The meek, he realized. And they had inherited the earth. " Y-yeah. Soooo. I guess we should, umm, do some stuff. " A few more subtle nods.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: The sun hits its zenith as the man behind the sniper rifle sits up for a brief sip of water. Joseph Ricketzo, known as " Joey Rickets " to his friends, had worked the New York syndicate for the better part of two decades, but he' d never had an assignment this grueling. For the last several days, he' d been camped out on a hill above the carnival grounds. They had it on good intel that Walter Hallerstom had been placed here by the feds after his trial. You' d think they would have thought of something a little less blatant than a red striped shirt and hat to disguise their star witness in. Oh well, makes the job easier, Joey reasoned to himself. Suddenly, his earpiece crackles to life, an almost child-like voice coming through. " There he is, there he is! Next to the bumper cars! " Joey turns his rifle to spot, and spots a glimpse of red and white fabric. He grins, " Gotcha now, Waldo. " Just as his finger begins to tighten on the trigger, the glint off his scope shines in Waldo' s face, who wheels around. Waldo quickly hits a button on his watch. Then, something very, very interesting happens. The space next to Waldo begins to ripple, and the fabric of reality bends, opening in the form of a circular entrance, which Waldo quickly jumps through. " Son of a bitch! " Joey throws down his rifle and sprints down the hill. The wormhole begins to shiver and shake, slowly closing. Just as it collapses on itself, Joey leaps forward, and through the opening. Thud. Joey shakes his head, clearing his senses. Around him, hundreds of Crusade knights hustle around, carrying supplies and weapons to load on massive ships sitting in the Italian harbor. Waldo is nowhere in sight. Joey stands up, and grabs a crossbow from a table next to him. He racks the bolt in place, and slings it over his shoulder. " At least it ai n' t the fucking pirates this time. " He trudges off into the crowd in search of his quarry.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: I dash out the front door. As outrageous as it may seem, i' m not surprised. And I tell her: " Finally! I' ve been freezing time all my life and never met anyone who could skip right through it like you are. You must be special. Would you care to come inside for a cup of tea - and an explanation? " She does n' t know what else to do but nod. What else is there to do? She' d been looking at statues in the street. It' s like the loneliness you feel on an abandoned island - except there' s people there standing like pillars of salt, stuck in a past you' re racing away from second by lonely second. how many people would you need to add before it' s no longer basically a hopeless affair? One does n' t seem enough. Not barely enough to resume niceities or etiquette. So i' ll follow him - but.. She had no words for the thought in her mind. Her head was drooping when he was smiling like he' s watching a dragon egg hatch. There' s no balance. If this is the only other person in the world, then.. She casts a glance over her shoulder at one of the salt licks and wonders what they taste like. If they think anything. If they' re there. She' s not moving fast enough for him, his excitement urging him on he tries to drag at her elbow. She shakes loose, but does n' t respond beyond that. She keeps walking slowly towards the door. She may not seem happy about it, but knows.. you know, destiny, when it' s dragging her by the arm into a strange house.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: There is a old man and his shaky wife that make the effort to visit me. I greet them as they come into my department store. In all honesty, I doubt that they remember me, not because they can' t but because they have no reason to. They go about their business in my store, once maybe twice per month, buying socks or new kitchen towels. The man always drives and drops her off at the door before he parks the car. Patiently the old woman watches from the vestibule waiting for him like a maritime lover. She holds her purse and her cane in front of her and close to her body. As he enters, he holds the door open for her. He pushes the cart but she always places one hand on his, on the bar, for balance or for something else. Together they wander through the aisles moving slowly. Her steps are small in comparison to his lumbering broad strides. Though, she moves her feet quickly to keep up. When they arrive at my register she does all the talking. It is her store charge card they swipe. After many attempts to grasp the tiny card she offers her bag to her husband. He pulls the card from her purse and signs where she can' t. Some feeble tries at putting the card away end with him doing that for her as well, never saying a word. Despite his obvious experience with the world, the experience of the transaction seems foreign to him. His cracked dry hands were meant for working, not for shopping. The last time, the slow man walked in by himself. It was the second time in as many weeks. He did not grab a cart and did not wander through the store looking for socks. He bought one black suit jacket. I asked him if he would be using his card. He looked me in the eyes and paused. "The card was in my wife' s name. "His eyes looked through me then. He paid for the jacket in cash.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: Every time this happened I would ask myself: " Why? " Was it that I came on too strong? Maybe she just changed her mind? Maybe he was n' t that into me? Did her friends tell her not to show up? Did he find something on the internet I had though was long lost? The questions would circle in my head, taunting and answer, But the question remained: " Why? " Was it something that I did or said? Did she see me through a winder and were disillusioned? Did he simply change his mind? Was this just a joke to her? Was he just playing around? Then the silly thoughts would come to mind, made to cheer myself up, But the question remained: " Why? " Was there a conspiracy to keep me single? Was she abducted by aliens? Was he simply a trickster fairy, and this was another prank? Did she invent a time machine, and stopped herself form meeting me? Maybe he' s a secret spy, and had a mission to do? But when I returned to my house, and laid down on my bed, I' d give a little sigh, and ask the empty room: " Why? "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: It' s been a tough few months. My brother has been in the hospital with a coma due to a motorcycle accident. After hearing the news, we came running, tears already rushing down the family' s faces; we did n' t know what could be the end result of this tragic event. But to face it, our money was running out. No amount of *GoFundMe*' s could help us and we were at a loss what to do. My brother has n' t moved in weeks and his brain activity has been at an all time low. Numerous times, we' ve been extremely close to stop giving him help but today, yes, today. Today was the day we' d have to do it. My mother told me that she was sick and tired of wasting all the money on him. I worked two jobs along with being a full time student, and I could n' t handle it anymore. So we signed the paperwork. Yes, we were responsible for various costs. Yes, they were not responsible for any emotional damage. So I went into that cold hospital room with paper-thin walls and crappy decorating and said, " Goodbye. I' m sorry this has n' t worked out, but we were trying. I' ll find the bastard who hurt you and I' m sorry we never found him. But it' s going to end, and I' m so, so, sorry. I love you. " After squeezing his hand one last time, I went and swallowed any remaining fear and told the doctor, " It' s time. " So I looked back at him and went into the hallway. But I heard a voice- more masculine than anybody I was used to talking to. And it was unmistakable. " Are you sure? "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: A lot has changed between now and the warfare of Roman times. But a lot has remained as well. When you take over almost an entire continent people are going to remember you for a long time. Most of the enemies the Romans fought and are gone now, Gauls, Egyptian empire, and Carthage. But some are still out their. Some that allied themselves with Carthage in the Punic wars. Maybe this time they can work. " I' m sorry but let me be sure I know exactly what you' re saying. " Prime Minister Churchill asked me. " Elephants " I told him. " They would never expect it. " " I' m sorry corporal but we ca n' t put wild animals on the battlefield. It' s insane and too risky. " " I' ve been working with elephants for twenty years General. " I tell him. " These are some of the smartest creatures on the planet. I have seen them used in multiple theaters of warfare throughout the African continent- " " Maybe they can work against savages but it will not work here. " The general interrupts me. " The Germans are developing a super weapon while we sit here listening to a madman talk about elephants, Prime Minister this is ridiculous! " Prime Minister Churchill sat in deep thought. " Our first invasion attempt failed miserably. " He says. " The Germans will expect another and they are developing a super weapon. We need to stop them at any means necessary. " He turns to me. " I give you permission to take as many men and elephants as need to march on Berlin. " " Prime Minister with all due respect this is insane. You ca n' t allow- " the General gets interrupted as Churchill continues. " You will distract the Germans as us and the Americans form another invasion and try to take France. Do you understand? " " Yes I do sir, thank you for this opportunity. " As I leave I hear the General and Churchill begin to argue about the Germans and their super weapon. But they do n' t matter. I have my elephants.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: He stood in front of the bathroom mirror looking into his own faded blue eyes. They were puffy. He was gaunt and tired. The twenty-two thousand dollar lights he installed made him look better, but they could not hide the sickness in his face. Turning on the water, he bent over and splashed his face. The cool water felt good. It was Fiji water. He' d always wanted the best and he thought that tap water was for poor people. Reaching out to grab a monogrammed towel he stopped the waterfall faucet, catching another glimpse of his raccoon eyes. He combed through his thin, wispy hair. *This is it, * he thought to himself, *I' ve got one last show. June 16th, the beginning of my last hoorah* He dried himself and left the bathroom. Coming into his extremely large bedroom where his extremely large dog lay on his extremely large bed, his cell phone began to ring. " Sir, the press conference is go time. " The voice said. " You are at the Tower already? They are waiting for you. " He let out a calm sigh. " Of course I' m ready, " He said with an air of arrogance. " It' s gon na be great. " *click* With that he tightened his deep blue tie and tapped the american flag that was pinned to his lapel. *Showtime, * he thought. And Donald Trump left his room.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: " Well, it is a lifetime supply, inn' it? " The bent over-man gestured with the taco in his hand at me. His other hand was clutched to his chest inside of grime-coated jacket. " Go' wan, take et. " I looked up at the grubby taco held in the man' s hand. He was tall, dark, and kind of smelled like dumpster. All in all, not quite the person I had expected after I won the " Lifetime supply of tacos " contest in the local newspaper. Especially not as I walked home later that night after my winnings were announced on the radio. " Well... " I slowly started, " One taco is n' t exactly a lifetime supply, is n' t it? I mean, it' s not quite what I had expected. If I had died today, it would be. But that' s just ludicrous. In fact, I would like to speak to your employer.... " The man suddenly smiled, straightening up as he slowly slid his other hand out of his coat, The worn combat knife glistened under the lamp-post. " Well, I suppose you' re starting to get it, are n' t you? "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: My mom headed the project to upgrade all the stoplights in St. Louis from analog to digital in 1988. When the job was done, they gave her one of the analog timers as a souvenir, and it, being both sturdy and interactive, became one of my first toys. You' ve probably never seen a stoplight timer. They do n' t look like much. Most of the mechanisms live in a nondescript aluminum box, and they are controlled by a large, spinning metal wheel with ninety-two slots. An analog stoplight' s cycle is exactly ninety-two seconds long. I have known this since I was old enough to count the slots. The lights are controlled by different-colored pegs -- you put the pegs in the slots where you want the light to change. My stoplight was green almost all of the time. I got older, until I was just about the right age to take it apart. They' re built for easy repair, but it seemed that I had sprouted magical powers when my screwdriver teased the aluminum box apart at the seams. Cogs, springs, pegs easily separated from their housing. Soon, the box was empty, and the carpet was strewn with dusty metal parts. The parts went back more slowly than they had come out, but every single part wound up back inside the casing after a time. The last screws went in, and the box was complete again. I flipped the timer over, and flicked the wheel with my finger. It ground and caught. No amount of reassembly persuaded it to spin again. We' ve misplaced that timer since then. I always wanted to go back and make it work again. I never did, and now it never will.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: As I walked down Main Street, looking at the same photo of my late wife that I had been since the mid 1800' s, a stranger bumped into me, knocking me over and causing me to drop the photo. " What the hell, man? " I say, and quickly picked up the fragile, faded photograph. " So sorry, mate. Did n' t see you there. " the stranger says, helping me back up. " Who' s that? " he says, pointing to my photo. " My wife. " Oh shit. What did I just say? This picture is like 200 years old. There' s no way he' ll buy it. He' ll probably assume I' m kidding around. " Really? " asks the stranger, " That' s looks like quite an old photo. It looks like those old calotype photos. Man, I remember helping out Henry invent those things. Well, at least the stories my great grandpa always told me as a kid. " Whatever. Strange dude. " See ya later ", he says as we part ways. Wait a minute. There' s no way this guy' s great grandpa was alive when the calotype was invented, and people do n' t mistake their great grandpa' s stories for their own. I' m not alone. After losing dozens of loved ones, my life is just beginning.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: Every one has heard the story about the spear that pirced Jesus, how it will grant you immortality, that it will make you powerful beyond belief, that with it you can turn the weakest of men into the visage of death himself. Well turns out the rumors were true for the most part, but not because it was the spear head that pirced Jesus, no this one was the spear that killed him. As it happens whenever someone who has a particularly strong spirit, usually world leaders or creators of great movements, is killed they imprint a fraction of themselves on the item that did them in. The gun that killed Hitler causes someone to be poisoned to death when shot with it, the cup that Rasputin drank from will give the holder an immunity to death. Now, whenever one of these items turns up it is our job to hunt them down before they can start causing a problem. We work independently from the control of any government, but funded by every single one of them. To put it simply we are a task force to stop the evils of the past from occouring again, we are the Knights Templar, defenders of the light and purveyors of good.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: It was a calm sort of chaos that lulled through the streets today. There was not a sound to be heard. No one dared to walk outside; they all wanted to watch it happen through their screens. I guess they felt like it distanced them. Mothers held their children of all ages tight. Fathers paced the floor. Most of the kids knew what was going to happen. Most were ready. I mean, there was nothing anyone would be able to do, anyway. Asteroids tended to do what they pleased, even if that meant destroying an entire civilization. An entire world. Scientists called him NEO, and he was approximately 125, 857 miles from Earth' s surface. That' s a two hour, fifteen minute trip. In fact, if you looked up, you could see his massive, burning body hurdling towards Earth. The center of NEO was predicted to land on the small village Huacachina in the Peruvian desert at 11: 47 am, Eastern Time. By 11: 48, everyone else would be dead. Would be dead. That is, if the asteroid was n' t stopped. By who? By you. You now have two hours and eleven minutes.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: Life or Death Contractual Agreement Section 14 ( a ) 14th October 2015 Dear Micheal Phillips, It is with my regret that I must push forward written notice in regards to our Mutual Contractual Agreement in regards to your death. Having broken rule 4b in Section 14 ( a ) of the Life or Death Contractual Agreement, you must be ordered to commit suicide within 28 days from the date of this letter. Failure to do so will result in this case being forwarded to the Afterlife Small Court. Breach - Failure to be hit by a moving truck on the Littlewoods Interstate at 14: 13pm on 10th October 2015 at the age of 46. Please find attached a Defense Form where you can explain your reasonings in regards to the breach. This must be returned within 10 working days to myself ( Death ) at: 1 Death Cottage Suicide Way Murder Forest Afterlife D34TH Yours sincerely, Death


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: " Any time I want? " I asked incredulously. " Yes, but you will never return. " " Can I take anything with me? " " Only what you can carry. " " Can I have a day to think about it? " " Yes. " The voice returned the next day, and this time I was ready for it. My backpack was loaded with 2 textbooks, an eBook with hundreds more loaded on it, some tools, a solar charger, magnets, wire, some other odds-and-ends. " When would you like to go? " " Cape Cod, November 11, 1620. " And like that, I had my wish. I had all the knowledge and tools to go back to the exact date and time that settlers first came to America. I could usurp their leadership and help them to build a gleaming nation. It would be hard, and it would be tiresome, but by the end of my life, I would propel society kicking and screaming 400 years into the future, with all the knowledge they could want about how to handle it all. All the mistakes they could avoid. Dates and names of people that needed to be helped ( why kill Hitler when you can take him as a boy and raise him right? ). Warnings of wars, designs for countless new machines that would improve their lives beyond any measure. Improved government that would last for thousands of years, simple technologies hundreds of years before their time... I' d never see what came of it, but there' s always hope for a better tomorrow.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: I sat there, looking over the form in front of me for what seemed like the hundredth time, trying to make myself find *something* to change my mind. The man behind the desk did n' t seem annoyed or bothered by my delaying, leaned back in his chair, he was in the same position now as he was the first time I read that form. *she would n' t want you to do this. * whispered a small voice in the back of my mind. I looked at the man and spoke " You' re telling me that if I sign my name here, on this form, I' ll be giving up my soul, but getting what I want most? " He nodded. " But, " he said in a voice that was almost perfect, " since you' ve not signed anything yet, you can still change your mind and go back. " *do n' t do it* whispered that little voice again. A different little voice answered it, this one like an inky black serpent *sure, and then go back to your empty house, and keep living your empty life, clinging to a worthless hope. * Ten seconds later, the room sits empty, save for a single form on the desk which reads " I, Jason Aegrin, knowingly give my immortal soul to Satan, in exchange for the return to full health of my wife and her unborn child. "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: It is not right to say that we have " the most advanced " weaponry. While technically correct, it conveys entirely the wrong meaning. No, there is only one way do describe humanity as it stands apart from all other intelligent races. We have weaponry. Period. Earth, as a planet, is considered a death world by the galactic alliance. We exist in an anomalous zone, one devoid of Aether, a strange substance which can feed life to the point that no consumer-type organism has evolved anywhere else in the universe. They' re all basically plant people. Not really, but that' s the idea. The idea of eating another creature, the idea of killing another life for resources is utterly alien to them - exactly as alien as we are. The idea of murder, of war, of pillage, of conquest - all of that was even more abstract to them. Heh. They' re terrified of us now, completely, utterly petrified. It' s too profitable not to trade with them, but I ca n' t help but find it disturbing when they throw themselves on the ground and beg for their lives. I ca n' t even help them up; my hands, perfected by millions of years of evolution to be a hunter' s tool, are too strong for them. Even the lightest touch could crush the beautiful carapaces. My teeth - normal human teeth - could rend their bodies to pieces. My stomach acids could dissolve them slowly and painfully. My body, as weak as it is compared to an Earth predator' s - hell, even a bigger human' s - body, could kill them so easily. And the ships, high up in orbit, are armed with nukes.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: I stared at the house, and thought again, if I really wanted to forget everything - all the pain, loss, and suffering, as well as the good times that I had had with my family and friends. I decided that I truly wanted it. Countless nights of suffering, nightmares, panic at the slightest danger. I breathed in, and knocked on the door. It was a drab, indescript thing, and it filled me with panic - like so many other things in my life. A wizened man stood at the door, smiling upon me, as if I was a sweet child, visiting door to door and handing out presents. " What brings you to me? ", he asked, curious. " I came to forget. ", I said, blinking back tears. This was an ending, one that I would forget. A tear rolled down my cheek, and I brushed it away. " Are you sure? ", the man said, suddenly seeming frail, and somewhat... weak. " I' ve had my moments of thinking, walking here. It' s so far from the rest of the world, and it gave me the time to think. I truly want this, even though it' s an ending. ", I stated, steadfast. The tears were rolling down my cheeks, and I felt like a baby. " Now, do n' t cry. ", he stated, looking me in the eyes. " It' s the beginning of a new life. ", he said, and beaconed me in. " I just have to say, I' m proud of you for making this decision. ", he said, shaking my hand. I felt drowsy, and my vision darkened... ( part 2 coming soon )