Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: Mandus stood upon the snowy peak, looking down upon the vastness that unfurled beneath his very feet. His pale green eyes twinkled in the dull grey that the sky had been rendered permanently, the dwarf licking his lips and folding his arms in front of his chest in quiet thought. *It had been years, * he thought, gently trodding down the side of the hill, crunching the snow beneath his boots. He inhaled deeply, allowing the thick smog to fill his lungs before he exhaled the blackened smoke just as quickly as he had. He looked back, over his shoulder, and eyed the opening of the cave that would stretch down into the Underbelly. His lips parted and he began to laugh, shaking his head slightly as his colossal beard - as though made of the finest silks - shook beneath his chin. The humans - for the first time in ten thousand years and their victory against the dwarves - were gone. *It seems we have the thicker skin after all. *


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: When Adam first built his shelter it was a mere square room buried 200 feet. His business went well and as his company grew so did his shelter. It became a hobby as the threat of nuclear war departed. The humble start of a square room that smelled like wet grass and dirt became his underground center. Rooms for growing, rooms for living, recreational expanses for movies and bowling. It was more luxurious than his house in comparison to the amenities. Where his house was a simple one story unit house. It continued to grow and more money was spent keeping it pristine and safe from the local government from destroying it. His friends thought it was the best damn place to host a party. Turns out it was when Adam figured it might as well have been used. Others felt like it was crazy to build a little kingdom under the dirt. It felt weird to make a shelter from a threat long passed. It felt like it was something that was not needed. That is until threat returned. Friends to Adam hung closer to him with enemies closer. People stop criticizing and started praising. Adam felt a world on his shoulders. It came without any real warning. When his friends and enemies alike were feeling brave and secure. Adam went into his shelter while the world above roared and screamed. Years would pass and more until one day he found that the world above could suit him again. He was the first one to enter this new world. Adam searched and search and cried out. There was nothing and he found only one place could give him solace, give him shelter. So Adam was the first and only one to enter this new world and he would be the last and only one to leave.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: I rush and unlock the door, except I am greeted by more darkness. I rush and unlock the door, except I am greeted by more darkness. It stretches out in front of me for infinity. I can never escape. He was right. I' ll never leave. I should have stayed put. Maybe I would have lived a little longer. Another hour or day or week. Do I want to live another hour or day or week though? I' ve been degraded, strung up against a wall naked. He' s done horrible, vile things to me. How does a person come back from that? *Can* you come back from that? I hear his boots on the ground, thundering. My weak legs give way, and I fall to the ground. I can feel the dried blood on my legs, and the fresh blood slowly dripping down from the new wounds he' s put on me. What is the point in trying to fight anymore? I' m just a little prey animal and he is the predator. He' s hunted me down, and now he' s just toying with me. The little shard of glass in my hand scrapes against the concrete as I bring it up to my throat. I wo n' t be his play thing anymore. I' m escaping.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: A light. Now, mind you, this was n' t a holy light that shines when the clouds are parted and the sun is revealed in all of its splendor, but this light was like one you would see on those less-than-reputable alien sighting videos that seem to be ever-so-popular on the internet. It began as merely a flash of white: and then, more colors were added to its spectrum. The rain only seemed to accentuate the colors, and he looked around him to see if anyone else was watching what his eyes were seeing: but, Charles knew he was alone. As he continued to walk toward his workplace, he noticed that the light appeared to be nearing him: as if the light was hovering directly above some distinct spot in his general direction. Without knowing it, however, Charles had already begun the chain of events that would ultimately lead to his demise, the destruction of his hometown, and the very-closely-evaded ended of the world as we know it. But, for now, all Charles was really interested in knowing is just what exactly that light was, so he...


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: " Where am I? " John Hawthorn wondered aloud. Mountains rose in the distance, their tops covered with snow. The air was warm where John was, almost as though he did n' t feel temperature at all. He sat up in a meadow with sparsely spaced yellow, purple, and orange flowers. A bird flew overhead, partially blocking the sun. " What a beautiful place. " " Yes, it is is n' t it? " a voice said, booming down from the sky. It filled John with fright. " Oh, come on, just relax. You' re the first one here after all. " " Who are you? " " I am. That' s all. You' re in Heaven, all alone so far, I' m afraid. " " But... why? Surely, there are other good people. " " Well, it' s more about following the rules and less about being good. " " What rules? " John asked, spreading his arms toward the sky. " I did n' t even go to church on Sundays! " " For example, no saying the word' bird' while it' s raining on Tuesdays in December between the years of 2009 and 2012. You followed that rule. " " But... how is that even a thing? No one would know that' s a rule! " " Hey man, I put the updates in the log, " the booming voice said defensively. " Not my fault if no one listens. " " Ugh, and what are some of the other rules that I followed? " " Let' s see... you have to walk your dog at exactly 10: 31pm and 29 seconds at least once in your life. " " And if someone does n' t have a dog? " " They' re screwed then, I guess. " John sat down in the meadow and tried to let the smell of the flowers keep him sane. " Is it all by chance, then? " " What? No! The rules are very logical, like eating a piece of candy on any Wednesday at least once a year, or walking backward on a balcony while you' re drunk at least twice after turning thirty, or the fact that a person must swim in some body of water in every odd numbered year, or... " John leaned back and lay down in the meadow, trying to drone out the voice of God. It was going to be a long time before anyone else joined them.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: I woke up on the in my bed again, despite falling asleep in a prison cell the night before. All the money I spend yesterday was back in my wallet. The annoying neighbor I had punched in the face had no doubt already woken up without any knowledge or memory of the attack. The car that I had crashed into the side of a building was unharmed and sitting in the parking lot of my apartment. The date on my smart phone remained unchanged. How many times did I relive this day? I have lost count a long time ago. I do n' t even remember what had caused the time loop in the first place. I had no idea how to stop it either. I learned not to throw my phone against a wall over a thousand times ago. It was a major inconvience to not have a working smart phone, even if everything would reset itself when the day was over. I grumbbled and heaved myself into a sitting position. My neighbor' s obnoxious music proceeded to play from beyond my apartment, just like every interation of this repeated day. I growled and stomped out of my apartment, still dressed in messy pajamas. I pounded on his door. As soon as it opened, I shouted, " Turn that thing down! " My neighbor looked at me as if I had not even spoken a word. " Dude, you look like shit. What did you do yesterday? " " Just turn that shit down! " I shouted one last time before stomping back to my room. What did I do yesterday, before the time loop? I was beginning to doubt that yesterday even existed. Yesterday seemed like, no, yesterday was a long time ago...


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: A sleepy man - woman? It was hard to tell with all that hair and that lank figure - huddled under blankets, a cup of hot tea in their hands as they stared at the windows. Two windows, on the other side of which was a beautiful world. Full of colors, full of life, full of people. They found themselves - it found itself? - at a loss for how to describe it. The words from their - its? - lips floundered, fell, stuttered, and eventually fell silent, feeling inadequate. Piles of letters and phrases littered the floor, and it huddled deeper within its confines, burdened by an overwrought sense of divine presence overbearing its creative design. Behind, on the other side of the seat, a creature with a knife sat, slashing up words that it snatched from the floor. With eyes keen and set on destroying every misplaced syllable, it forgot its true purpose, and the shards and vowels and consonants lay fragile across the floor. A cackle left its lips as it slowly pulled' floccinoxihiliphilipication' apart, delicious symbol by symbol, before letting each one hit the floor in turn. The chuckling turned to a mad howling as the blanket suddenly found its way around the little monster, muffling it as the other being rose to its full height and strode to the windows, hands on the windows as it watched the ongoing events outside. Eyes wide, full of wonder, full lines of paper seemed to fall from its mouth in a never-ending stream of fantasy and delight. The little beast screeched and hooted, desiring so much to silence the other in its room, but could only escape once the words stopped.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: Vibrations! Vibrations and light. That was the key！ I mean it all goes back to Einstein right? e=mc squared。 And when you think about it, everything really is just a different form of vibration: energy waves, an objects wave function in space-time, the vibration of atoms and their vibrating strings. Once I understood that it was all about getting the right vibration of sound and light. Then the mirrors would liquefy and form an Einstein-Rosen bridge of sorts, literally a gateway to another universe. But suppose I did n' t really think things through though.... I mean I was baffled when it worked, and even more baffled to learn that each mirror leads to its own separate universe! And of course everything that happens here happens in unison there, so you ca n' t really just expect to walk on in, there is another you in the way, mimicking your movements, thoughts, speech patterns etc, all in exact unison. Even shaking hands is impossible. And do n' t even get me started on the dullness of the conversations! " Oh Hey there! I' m from earth, wait, you are too. Oh, were saying the same exact thing at the same exact time are n' t we? Wait... what am I thinking now? Last night' s movie! His acting was n' t that good was it? Wow... we are literally speaking the same exact words at the same time, it is like we share a brain..... no.... its like we are the same person... wow this kinda sucks... " So my dream of entering in was quickly abandoned. As was my dream of having a good conversation with an opponent as studied as myself. But hey! At least we can still send objects through! In fact, I am actually eating toast from another universe!...... but.... it tastes and looks exactly like the toast I sent through... so maybe it is n' t really all that interesting.... Or even all that useful... Maybe I wo n' t be getting that Nobel Peace Prize after all...


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: " Thank you for enjoying your free trial. We regret to inform you that the 30 day pass will expire at 10: 00 pm est tonight. If you would like to continue with the standard package please reply ( Yes ) to this message. Thank you for the opportunity to earn your business. " " Well I guess it' s decision time. " I said out loud to the empty room. I put my phone down and closed my eyes. It would n' t be terribly expensive to continue on and utilize the service. Quite honestly I' ve thrown away way more money than this on things that were far less important, but for some reason I was still hesitant. The biggest negative was definitely the time frame. 12 months was a long time to use a product that I would potentially get sick of after 6 months and the terms were very clear that I would have to see out the full length of the term. I closed my eyes and rubbed my temples, " oh decisions decisions, what to do? " I opened my eyes and reached back for my phone. " Fuck it. " I muttered. I responded to the text, " Yes ". Intstantly I received the response, " Fantastic, Peter. We will charge your account the full balance of the charge and send all the necessary documentation to your address by overnight mail. You will find that your temp position will become full time, unless you would like to be transferred to another position. If you have any needs or questions please visit us at www-liveonearth-uv Thank you for your business and please enjoy your stay at Earth.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: Sammy and his family watched as those who had a means of transport fled his small border town of about 2, 000 people. About half were left to face the invading Russian army that was expected to arrive tomorrow. The good news for Sammy was his test was cancelled, his crush and bully were gone, and he had an overwhelming sense of optimism and certainty that he could accomplish anything. Later the remaining townsfolk gathered together to discuss their strategy. It' s here that Sammy' s willpower proved especially decisive and he was able to convince the town to unconditionally surrender and also provide the best housing for the Russian troops. The few Mafia members left in town were swayed by his words and gave him two extra days to pay back his $ 3000 loan and only bumped it up to $ 4500. The following morning Sammy would march out with a white flag and meet the oncoming troops. He convinced their commander to accept the town' s surrender and he also informed on the Mafia members who were rounded and imprisoned. Sammy' s strategy was so successful the Russians tapped him to continue his campaign of surrender to the poor who could n' t flee. Sammy did so and after Russia had taken most of the country bloodlessly appointed him Governor. Sammy' s bully and crush lived their lives smashed into the quarter of the country the Russians had forced those that had fled into and were fairly miserable especially when the crush would bring up Sammy' s success. Sammy also got a sexy math tutor and became excellent at math. Due to the bloodless and relatively peaceful invasion the people who stayed would go on to lead better lives and be slightly happier than they were before.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: The day finally came. Proof that evil can die my mother-in-law finally died she' s been threatening us for 20 years " you' ll be sorry when I' m dead ". Sure I' m feel bad for my wife but even she is n' t that broken up about it. she knows how cruel and manipulative she was. She was so evil her husband was too afraid to runaway. On news of her death I could swear he was about to break into a jig. But then it happen one at a time at first then in massive waves covering the earth in ghosts. Then i heard a voice i have n' t heard in decades. " Raisedbydog your all grown up now I have been gone a while " my grandfather said. " Grandpa your back from the other side did you bring me anything. " I said while reverted back to the mindset of a ten year. " My grandfather said in a sad voice " something evil is on the side scaring away all the spirits back here ". In the most serious tone I could muster I asked him " is she about 5ft 5in 160 pounds big hair loud as hell " my grandfather looked a me aghast " and her name would n' t happen to be Catherine. " grandfather replied with fear in his voice " yes how did you know. " I told him " She' s my mother in law "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: The power surged with a snap, a low hum filled the room. After all these years of failed attempts and sleepless nights, after countless hours of studying, testing, creating; It was finally time. I reached out for the final switch, my hand trembling slightly; I noted the time, 9: 45 -- right on schedule. An urgent knocking at my door; I ignored it. I had spent nine years getting to this moment, nothing was going to stop me now. I flicked the switch. I blinked and I was in another room, the big clock I had set up showed 9: 44; I heard a soft noise behind me. I turned and found myself staring right back at me, oh God oh God no! The door to the room thudded against the wall as someone ran into the hall. I sprinted from the room, out the door across the hall, hurtled down the stairs; I could hear myself sprinting right behind me. There, at the end of the hall, stood the door behind which I had spent those countless hours building my time machine. But there were people already there, the hall was filled with figures frantically pounding on the door. As I rushed down the hall I could hear a sharp, electrical snapping; the hall light dimmed and flickered.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: " Oh, my love, another gun? You grow predictable. " He lowered the weapon, some sort of small calibre handgun of European origin, and shrugged. Those dimples *I adore* appeared on his cheeks, telling me he had something more. Of course he did. " Do you remember? " I asked " When you hit me with that javelin from across the plain? That was beautiful. " I could n' t place the accent he' d adopted. He was better travelled than I. " As were you. Even when you' re dressed as a man I know it' s you. " " Come on, this was 200 B. C, even the men dressed like women. It was probably a lucky throw anyway. " He holstered the ugly little gun under his armpit. Puppydog eyes. " You wound me, darling. " " Not yet. But soon. " He folded his arms. He' d rolled back the sleeves of his shirt under his coat, I could tell. " Is that it? You want another sword fight? Are n' t you bored of them? " I gave him my warmest smile. " We could go back to poison, if you like.... " " Gods no. You' re too good at that. I like to get my blood up, you know that. " His true voice was creeping back in. I fiddled with the neckline of my dress, to make him think I might draw another throwing knife. And, you know precisely what else. " Well, I' m not playing empires again until this equality thing really takes hold. I want a level playing field, my love. " " As do I. " He said, before letting out a short sigh. " Any last words? " He reached slowly for his gun. " Only this: *mark*. " The deafening crack of the sniper' s rifles broke the calm of the winter morning. I rushed to hold him in my arms. I saviour this moment every time. " Do you feel any different? Maybe this time? "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: I knew what it meant. Hours spent staring at the formula deep into the night. It reminded me of the crystalline magic of a butterfly' s metamorphosis; a seemingly impossible sequence of natural events. I was always more comfortable with the eggs, larvae and pupa, early stage evolution if you will. Once hatched, I' d clip their wings, wishing to restrict the evolution of the species. Perhaps this formula was nature' s clip for man? The formula unlocked a secret hidden for millennia, and yet it was real, as real as the metamorphosis of the butterfly. It would be wielded by mortal men, the men driven by my own dark desires, and they would release it like the butterfly. It would bring the end, the end to the butterfly, the end to man, the end to science and discovery and invention, but perhaps this is nature' s way? Perhaps this atomic discovery is simply a precursor to the unstoppable balancing forces of nature? It should be of little consequence to me. I won' t likely see the bitter end. I' d fancy the title of murderer or butcher, but they are too blind to foresee that moniker. I' ll be lifted on the shoulders of giants. Galileo, Pascal, Newton, Voltaire, I' ll be a mind among gods. Every burning soul will have been sparked by the embers of my formula, and that is the humblest honor of them all.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: You allow me to whisper the sweet words of your lover to your ears, even though you say you love me. But you do love me. through thick, thin and whirls within. I know this. I love this And that' s why it breaks me so. I cherish the days you hold me close, the days you clothe me and protect me from all else You represent the guard between my life and death, the defence against the world that would hurt me. and I love you for it. But I' m sorry. I do n' t know how to put it in words, but days soon, I will cease to be, and it will break your heart. You' ve kept me whole and safe since my unfortunate *almost* drowning experience But I' m afraid to say, it left me scarred and damaged. So when the day comes, and I end up quiet and unresponsive, please let me go, knowing full well of what I think of you. Let me go and embrace the replacement. After all, even with all the love in the world, I' m still only just a phone.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: Intelligence has been my dream since I was a wee lad, and my life since I was eighteen, when I enlisted. Ninety-one years, it has been. Ninety-one years of assassination, coercion, plots foiled and plots nursed to fruition. I have done more to shape world history than all the heads of state with whom I have had the displeasure of sharing this Earth, as I work for all of them. Not all together, of course, each of these conniving bastards assumes they have my exclusive loyalty. Naturally, they are dead wrong. Or soon to be dead wrong, anyway. They gather at the conference table, nine scumbags of the highest degree, clustered neatly together for my last operation. There is just one problem: my Makarov holds only eight rounds. *Sierra, Hotel, India, Kilo. * Ninety years of experience... how could I have allowed this oversight? There is no way for me to cross the twenty odd meters to the conference table in my wheelchair without challenge. *One of these bastards might survive*. But who? Politics are a dirty world, each person at this table has earned their place through deceit, extortion and murder. There are no innocents here. To make this world a better place, and to seejustice served, has been the work of my life for almost a century. And now I must chose which of these clowns deserves to get shot, ***the least***. " Shunny, " I mutter to a passing young lad in a snazzy uniform, " May I borrow your shidearm? " He hesitates just a bit, quite baffled by the odd request, to be sure. No matter.. The handgun is out of his holster and in my hand before the unconscious body even hits the floor. I steady the weapon with both hands, my strength not being what it once was, and then through a subdermal implant, I hear: " Chef, tis is Pennant-tree; Dibs on te tird one to te right. "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: " Where is your veil? " the policewoman asked. " My - " the traveler began. The policewoman pulled a nightstick from her belt and tapped the traveler' s chest chest. She spoke into her lapel. " Purity code violation. Delta niner-seven-ought. Stand still, " she prodded his chest with the nightstick. " I said do n' t move. " " I do n' t know - " She jabbed the nightstick into his sternum and the traveler doubled over, tucking his arms into his solar plexus. " Suspect in violation of Purity codes - " she paused, giving him a quick glance from from head to kneeling toe. She covered her lapel. " I' m now going to verify your chastity belt is still intact. " She lifter her toe and pushed it into his groin, tapping several times. " Correction. Suspect in Violation of Purity Alpha One. " " What' s going on? " the traveler blurted, and when she raised the nightstick he covered his face with his hands. " Do n' t look at me, dog. No veil? No belt? No matriarch escort? I bet you drove yourself, too. " She spit on the traveler' s head, and pulled out a small pistol with a large caliber barrel. In the breech the traveler watched her load a dart. " Blessed Mary we' ll make you righteous. " She took aim, fired, and pinned the dart on the traveler' s chest. He reached towards the dart, but already its effects made him groggy and he struggled to grip the crimson plume. " Why? " " Man filth does n' t get to talk, or look. But, do n' t worry, we' ll re-educate you and make you bearable. Maybe, one day, your assigned matriarch might take you for a walk outside. "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: The God of our Universe looked to the God of the Bluniverse, " Oh you have it sooo tough, the monuments that your little creatures build are too small... ", he spat an epic volume of liquid across time toward the God of Bluniverse, more of a gesture rather than an attempt to affect anything in a physical sense. " Yes well, I had hoped for monuments that would stand the test of time, they all fall over after a day or two. You were right about the brain size after all... ", the God of the Bluniverse admitted. " Well in my universe, I sent a messenger in the form of a human male, and watched how they re-wrote history... They declared my messenger as my son, that' s fine I guess. But then when I read over their scratchings, I find that my son' s cheating mother is canonised, his wealthy girlfriend is described as an illiterate whore and then they kill him off early to create a martyr even though he lived on to preach what I actually said which was' Universe if greater than the Bluniverse! "' " You ass! ", exclaimed the God of bluniverse. " Maybe I' ll just start over again! ", and with that, another asteroid appears in the far distance of space.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: This particular Starbucks was absolutely perfect. There were a bunch of kids wrapped in digital cocoons; laptops open, earbuds in, completely tuned out. Jim smiled to himself, careful not to do more than glance. Okay, that one is writing a paper of some kind... no good. Reading something for some kind of class, it looks like... nope. Ah! Facebook! And just scrolling through and hitting refresh. Perfect. Jim opened his thoughts, and plucked three minutes from the kid. Three minutes of focus, of attention, of life that were just being spent on nothing... that three minutes had a greater purpose today. 180 glowing seconds flickered across his skin, spiraling invisibly up his arms. The kid kept scrolling through his facebook feed, but after three minutes he would shake his head and wonder what he had just read. " Um... Jim? White chocolate mocha? " Jim grabbed his coffee, giving the barista a big smile that matched his hospital ID badge. There were several difficult surgeries on his schedule today, and as a hospital technician he knew exactly how far 180 seconds could go. When seconds counted, Jim could always help with the math.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: The sprawling forest is an even scarier place at night. The trunks of the tall trees make natural corridors, and the animals inhabiting this place make a crude footpath from overuse. Undergrowth is everywhere. Ferns, mushrooms, you name it. The scariest thing in the forest though? The complex root systems. You never know when you are going to run into *him*. It used to be that it was only the big hairy one you had to worry about. Deadly if he catches you, but he' s kinda slow and honestly? He stinks. You can smell Bigfoot from a mile away, and even if you could n' t, it' s not like the tracks he leaves are exactly subtle. I can practically lay down in one of his footprints, not that I would. Lately, the trees have been shifting a bit, and the natural corridors do n' t seem so natural. Still, I do n' t have a faster way through the forest. I have to be careful, I' m a known entity to these guys. Carefully, I look around. I am grateful for my night vision goggles. I see a great indent in the ground, and I know Bigfoot has been through here. I ca n' t smell anything though, so he ca n' t be too near. Still, I give the footprint a wide berth. This must be what they were counting on though because next thing I know, I' m wrapped up in vines. My legs are completely bound and I look up to see a great tree creature above me. " I *AM* Groot. " he declares. Bigfoot comes out of hiding from behind a nearby tree. He' s covered in pine needles. An unorthodox deodorant, but it works for him. -- - If you liked this, you can find me over at /r/saltandcedar for your daily sodium intake.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: We stand on the precipice of the defining moment of our species. And we must all do our part to ensure its survival. Our descendants will remember this as the great diaspora, when mother earth could no long bear us. And we may never see each other again, but hold us in your hearts, as we will for you. Look out to the stars and know that somewhere, maybe for the first time, there truly is someone else out there. Striving, building a future we can all be proud of. For those that we have lost along the way, we can take them with us in spirit. Live well, love life, hold your friends close, and enjoy all of life' s simple pleasures. And know, for every person that ever lived there is a story, every place we touch will come alive with the unquenchable appetite that is the human imagination. New cities will rise before your eyes on unfamiliar worlds, burgeoning with opportunity. I beg of you, know that no matter the distance between us, we are all together in this. Take solace in the stars, my friends, and we will meet again, when we turn our eyes to the night sky and dream once more.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: The room was bright, too bright. Less blinked his eyes open cautiously as he groped around his surroundings. He felt the familiar ridges on the arm of his chair and realized he was sitting. " Where..? " he murmured. " Lester! Let' s go, I' m already late! " His sister' s bellowing was unmistakable. He glanced at the watch on his wrist and read 8: 48a. That ca n' t be right... We were on the freeway, I was trying to get over to the exit and... The memory came in a flood of near unintelligible anguish and fear. When he called out for Celine the sounds of crunching metal accompanied her screams and thundered through his head, Less thought his heart would stop. He opened his eyes wide and all was quiet. " We' re dead. " He said aloud, to no one he realized as he turned to look around his bedroom. He sat in the heavy silence trying to piece the memory together. He glanced at his watch again to confirm the time and noticed the mark he' d carried on his wrist since birth was different. It had morphed from a " 9 " into an 8. Rough banging on the bedroom door threatened to stop his heart for a second time this morning. " Lester if you' re not downstairs in 5 minutes I' m leaving you here and can explain to dad why you' re at home in the middle of the day! " Less sat in silence and waited for his sister to storm off in a rage, the door was locked and maybe she would think he snuck out the night before. He studied his wrist, pulling the watch away to get a better look at the newly transformed birthmark. The message alert distracted him and he looked again at his watch, the digital clock display gone and in its place a text message from Celine, it read: " I had the craaaziest dream " Then a second message: " You were in it "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: " Hello " " Hi " "... " "... " " Who is this? " " This is Mark. " " I do n' t know a Mark. Do you have the wrong number? " " I... no. " " What do you want, Mark? " " I. Well. I do n' t know. " " Okay. Well. How are you feeling? " " Not to good I guess. " " What' s wrong? " " My mom just died and she' s the one who pays for the house and I just called my ex and she said I' m a loser and she did n' t feel bad for me or anything. " " Okay. " " And I ca n' t pay for the place. I can sell some cards and stuff but I need... like... six hundred dollars. " " I' m sorry. " " That' s it? You' re sorry? " " I am. " "... " " I mean I understand. " " How? " " My own husband wants nothing to do with me. " " You did n' t treat him right huh? " " I do n' t know. He wo n' t answer. " " Maybe he' s just mad. " " Maybe. Or maybe he' s gone for good. " " Do n' t say that. " " We have n' t spoken since the heart attack. " " I' m... sorry. " " Maybe I just need someone else. Like you do? " "... oh... " " 861 Maple Lane. " " I do n' t know... " " Wear suspenders. "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: " I wish you luck, Steven. " Everything has faded to gray so suddenly I almost did not unuderstand what happened. The kind lady was walking away. I was leaning against the wall, numbly looking at the sandwich she gave me. I did n' t want to eat it for some reason. I have n' t talked to anyone in a while, months, years perhaps. Being a bum is more alineating than living alone on the island. My life was coming to an end, I knew it, and there was nothing left to do. I might never talk to a person ever again, I thought. The tragedy, the injustice of my life came crushing down on me. No. I will not go like that. I' ve emptied a jar of money I was saving for winter, I checked into a cheap hotel. I showered, shaved, bought clean clothes. Big dirty beard was hiding my face for so long I forgot how I looked like. Thin, tired man in his 40s. I almost look like a person now. I slugged through the gray fog and went outside. Sun was shining but it was chilly. People walking down the sidewalk, rushing to work. I could n' t wait anymore. I ran up to the first person, in desperation, said " Hi, I' m Steven! ". Slightly startled, he looked up from his phone " Hi, Steven, I' m Brad, what' s up? " And the colors returned.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: "Human prime was one of the first worlds to fall. ""The three other races they had encountered, all briefly, fell shortly thereafter. ""Survivors and nomads from the assault still strain resources on the core worlds. "A youngling interrupted the instruction. "My nest-originator once saw a human! ""Yes, "the instructor continued, "but thankfully the forced breeding camps have allowed them to take root on one of the surrogate worlds far from the conflict. Rumor has it their new world has even recently gone technic. ""But as I was saying, like with every species, the native root word for their planet is a synonym of dirt|earth|ground. We originally thought our translators were wrong, and the war had started over something we had said, some custom not observed. ""As a collective, we spent far too long allowing grievance after grievance, and trillions of lives were lost in our folly. ""But finally we knew. The translations were accurate. This species had a name for their planet, and indeed, it followed their perception of the Universe. ""Instead of calling the fields they tread the place where life springs, invoking the idea of growth and life, fertility and love. ""They drew up images of murder and hate, and extended it to even galactic xenocide. They called their world *Blight*. "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: " If you can transcend space and time, what are you doing fixing humanities problems.. Dr... Who? " House looked on towards the man who suggested he follow after his bike was totaled by what he could infer as a disintegration ray. " Ah... Yes, Humanity is sort of my *charge* if you will. " He straightened the wrinkles on his coat, looking at the man with utter perplexity. " I can see both sides of your chest beating in asynchrony, probably a two part vascular system, how' s your resistance to poison? " " Quite well, thank you " He moved in closer, leaning on his cane heavily. " You know there' s technology to fix that, we can go to a hospital planet if you' d like, some of them are far more advanced than earth technolo... " House had his hand raised about 2 feet in front of the Drs' face, " I do n' t need to be fixed, I' ve got it handled, what I would like to know is why someone tried to destroy my bike, WITH ME ON IT! " The Doctor stared at House as he fished the pill bottle out of his pocket, taking note of the time, he did n' t need a junkie on the TARDIS, space drugs are even more powerful.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: "It' s not posting. ""What' s not? "I put down my book and looked over at my girlfriend, on the computer again. "My fic. It' s giving me this weird error. Error number yadda-yadda-yadda ‘ not enough free space.' What do you think it means? ""Is this your serialized fanfiction? ""Yeah, I' ve posted it every day and this is the first time it' s ever had an issue. "I walked over and kicked her off the computer. I clicked the submit button. Yep, same error. I go to google something, but the google page has been replaced with a message: *We have deleted a significant amount of our cache data to place this message. The internet is full. It happened about 1am PST this morning. Running diagnostics, we have determined the culprit. An astonishing 74 % of the data currently clogging the internet is something called "Hello Kitty: Friendship is Magic. "We would delete it, but it' s not hosted on our servers. The following is a petition to get the guilty party to remove the content, so that the internet may once again flow freely. * This was followed by a count containing 3 billion signatures. I turn to my girlfriend. "Hey, good news. Three billion people know about your writing. "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: " Hello, ladies and gentlemen of these United States. This is your president, James Buchanan. I can not continue living a lie, especially in the eye of the public. I have had, and continue to have, a loving relationship with the good William Rufus King - with whom I have shared a bed for the past many years. This relationship will certainly invoke the ire of many of my detractors, and to that I quote the word of the Lord. " Let us love one another, for love is from God, and whoever loves has been born of God and knows God. Anyone who does not love does not know God, because God is love. " If any man comes forth proclaiming my love is unholy, I prompt you to read the Holy Bible. For any love between two souls is pure as it comes from the Lord God himself. My first love is for the Lord, my second for these United States, and the third is for my dearest William. The orientation of my amorous endeavors holds no bearing on the way I will operate from the office of the president, and I trust America is ready to accept a man of my carnal proclivities. "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: Herbert shuffled nervously in his seat. He needed this job. He couldn' t blow this interview, not now. Tapping his feet repeatedly he looked back at his copy of the intial waiver he signed. "1. The company is not liable for any harm physical or otherwise that may or may not befall the participants of the interview 2. The company is not liable for any loss of memory which the participant may or may not experience "That made his nervous. Looking for literally anything else to turn his attention to he looked up. The woman sitting across from his was staring at him, she looked away as he made eye contact. Someone coughed. He heard the clicking of heels and snapped his attention back to the white door. The door swung open and the secretary came into view. Herbert remembered thinking she looked like a rather strict librarian. "Miss Johns, Mr Drake and Mr Herbert your performance in the written test was deemed to be "She ruffled a few pages "Satisfactory. Please do follow me. The rest of you are free to go. Do not contact the company again "She went back into the white door. Herbert ignored the cacophony of groans that ensued and followed the secretary nervously running his hand across his hair. The other two candidates were right behind him. They followed her through a corridor which ended with three doors. "The next stage of your interview has commenced. Good luck "she intoned and without a word stalked back through the passageway. Edit: Im still working on this. Have to leave work, so will write a little more after I get back home.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: I watched my next fool loading the website that would disgust any normal human, I had finally tapped into tech and it was easy pickings with the things that went on, when they thought no one was looking but I am always looking. Forget about your FBI or NSA humans always found a way to outsmart other humans but not me, I have god on my side he always sends me the naughty boys and girls. This particular one was my typical pervert with a little religion added to the mix Josh Crown a priest at St. Mary' s school for girls he came across as so innocent and charming but behind closed doors he was dangerous just as little eight year old Niamey had discovered the week before. Now was his time to repent for his ways. I had designed an ad that was so appealing to his kind I knew he would n' t be able to resist clicking. I grinned as he got sucked into my vortex, the panic and fear on his face as he tried to stop what was happening from actually happening.' Forgive me father for I have sinned' I mocked. He sat in silence and shock in the cum encrusted chair where he had been masturbating just a few moments before.' Carry on' I told him.' What have I done to end up here' he queried after a few moments' I always say three hail Mary' s afterwards'.' You think that' s going to heal those children?' I growled' No! you belong here in hell I have a special place for you Joseph, a room all to yourself, any last words?'. He looked petrified' I reject you Satan'. I could not help but laugh as my minions carried him to the pit of eternal abomination.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: The last man on earth sat alone in a room. There was a knock at the door. He stared blankly for a moment and called out sarcastically " who is it? " There was no answer. He stared at the door for another moment. He stood up and slowly approached the door. In his mind he first hoped for a raven spouting never more but then it struck him that maybe someone else was alive. He timidly reached for the doorknob and turned it. Slowly and carefully he began opening the door. The door only opened an inch before it could open no more. The only thing to be heard through the crack was the sound of metal on metal as the heavy door struck the large object on the other side. He thought back to entering the room. There was a large machine next to the door. It must' ve fallen across the door. He slammed the door but neither the door nor the machine budged. In a panic he scanned the room. There were no windows or vents. There was no food or water. There was only a chair. The only thing anyone on earth still had was this single chair. They say even if you lose everything you still have your sanity. But at this moment the only thing anyone on earth still had was this single chair. One single chair sitting alone in a room. The last tomb to be filled by man. He sat in his chair as he tried his best to think back. He remembered something odd. Something strange about this room. He thought back. Then he remembered what it was and his mind was full of this one thing. There was a knock on the door. He stared blankly at it for a moment and called out sarcastically " who is it? "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: " Come back you son of a bitch! Come back! You ca n' t leave me. You ca n' t. It does n' t work like that. " But the reflection in the mirror shakes his head at me. There is a deep disapproval in his eyes, and they stare into mine. I can not meet his gaze for long. It is worse than the accusing eyes of my wife, or the forlorn gazes of my children. I have not seen them for years. Who knows what became of them. But the gaze of others was always easy for me to shrug off. There was always something to blame it on. I' ll get a job later. We' re in a recession; no one can get a job right now. Look the kids do n' t need those toys. They can go outside and play or something. Look I' m trying my best ok? Those were the words that I said, all those times. Old lies, all the more easy to say for their having been said. In hindsight it seems that each lie cracked me open a little. And the cracks, they got deeper. But it' s such a slow process that you do n' t seem to notice it. And it' s only after you look back at yourself that you see how much things have changed. When you look at your reflection, do you feel pride? The man in the mirror shakes his head once more. And I know that it is me. It was always me, all along. Not anyone else. And perhaps now, I can accept that. My reflection begins to turn his back on me. I understand. I would too. There is a tinkling crash. Across the floor, a hundred tiny men turn their hundred tiny gazes onto me, and shake their hundred tiny heads. I try to tell them I' m sorry. But I ca n' t. My body wo n' t seem to move right. And slowly, the little mirrors are swamped by a red river. It pools and flows across the broken shards, and soon I no longer have to see myself, and have myself see me. As the last piece of my reflection fades under the red, the world dims, and fades. I think now, perhaps, I can rest.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: "Wait… …What the actual fuck?! "I stumbled back a little, the mirror ‘ me' winced a bit as I almost slipped over the bath mat and cracked my head on the tile floor of the bathroom. "Yeah, Sorry. "‘ He' replied. Peering over the mirror, as if ‘ he' was looking at my feet. "Shit, I forgot the slippers… "With that ‘ he' disappeared from the mirror for another few seconds and then reappeared back staring back blankly through the metal and glass. I had taken the opportunity to sit on the edge of the bath and try to wake myself by pinching myself, but with the scare I just had I think that would have woken me anyway, also trying to recall the almost impossibility of ingesting large amounts of fairly potent hallucinogens. "Why do the slippers matter? "Asking the best coherent question that I could think of at that particular moment in time. "Because I am your reflection of course. "‘ He' blankly replied, not a discernible emotion ‘ his' face. "Well that is complete and utter bullshit. "I retorted, realizing that I actually distain my voice from the other side. "How can you be my reflection? You were clearly late… AND you forgot my slippers, you know, the ones I put on every morning for about the past 2 years. ""Did you never believe the stories as a kid of the world on the other side of the mirror? "‘ He' asked, now eerie with the lack of emotion on ‘ my' face. "Of course. "I looked to all sides of the mirror, making sure everything else was as it should be on the other side. "But I was a child, I' ve grown up, I stopped believing in old wives tales, because they aren' t true. ""Aren' t they? "‘ He' Smiled.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: Alright I' ll take a crack at it. Pretty new here so do n' t expect too much. I do n' t really get people' s fascination for other people' s lives. Entertainment these days is just people filming the boring everyday lives of each and every Joe Schmoe. You ca n' t get away from all the cameramen who follow you around for the sake of reality TV. I can not tell you how annoying it is to be broadcast 24/7 to the populous. Sure it seemed cool at first, I always wanted to be a celebrity one day, but now it is just plain irritating. I ca n' t even go to the bathroom without two camera crews trying to watch my entire process. When this first happened I tried to force them to leave, but it was such a hassle and I was outnumbered. Nowadays I just lock myself in a stall and try to pretend that I do n' t notice the boom mic that appears above the door. People used to complain that Reality TV was too fake. My only complaint now is that it is too real.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: " Wait like a real vampire? like sucks blood, burns in the sun, hates garlic, vampire?! " The bartender said, turning back to face the man. " Did I stu-*Buurp*-stutter? " Chris said " Now give it back. " " Look man, I know you have good reason to be upset but there is no need to drink yourself to death. " the bartender replied, putting the drink back in the shelves. " I can take it, look man you and I have been friends for meh-mm-meany years, you have seen me drink. I can handle a few *Hic* more. " Chris stuttered, swaying back and forth trying to balance himself on the bar The bartender looked at him, partially concerned, partially disappointed. " Chris, you need to be thinking straight, when she finds out you left her, she could hunt you down, you need to- " Chris cut him off " Leave her?! You kiddin' me?! Vampire or not, her parents like me and are worth a f-*Hic*-fortune. " " Wait, if you are n' t upset she is a vampire, wh... Why are you drinking so much? " " Because, she is a light weight. If I drink enough, she bites me, she will get immediately wasted of my blood and pass out. Her parents will be pissed at her for getting drunk, and I get a big compensation check to keep quiet about them being vampires, now give me the god damn bottle before I go to the convenience store and get wasted off hand sanitizer. " " Well if you are getting a big check for keeping quiet... Maybe throw some of that my way to keep me quiet too hmm? " The barkeep says, handing the bottle back to him. " Yeah, we will see about that one buddy. " Chris retorted, twisting off the cap.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: He goes into a comma after Jimmy gives him a watch, unknowing, it is made of kriptonite. The watch is removed by the nurses and is eventually stolen by a janitor. Jimmy becomes lead reporter for the Daily Planet and becomes self involved and slowly stops visiting him. Mean while, Lois Lane is tricked into accepting a remembrance necklace made of kriptonite. She stays with him night and day awaiting his recovery. wearing the locket with his picture, faithfully around her neck, only to take it off to place in in his clenched fist whenever she has to leave his side. While she rarely leave his side, she has to leave him for the weekly brain scan in which he always shows signs of brain wave activity. The doctors hold all hope that the mild mannered reporter reporter will someday recover. Twenty years later, one day as she is ushered out of his room for the weekly brain scan activity check, where, with the advancement of technology. avails the team of doctors and students to come to the room and read and study the data to confirm the presents of brain waves. Lois gets in the old elevator to go get a Starbucks and the cable fails, sending her and the locket plummeting to the sub basement elevator works, ripping the necklace from her neck and into the machinery. Lois is dead. Gradually Clark gains consciousnesses and is released from the hospital in a remarkable recovery, meanwhile Jimmy has become the chief of the daily and the world, as he knows it, has completely changed. One thing he finds has not changed is his super powers, but they are not needed anymore. Crime is being fought on a near super hero style, with highly trained specialized police force and weapons. The day arises that mild mannered Clark finds his superhero strength are the only way to avert disaster. He realizes that he needs to rush to the street to change and it hits him. There are no more phone booths. edit: for story line omission


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: I never wanted to kill anyone. I never even wanted to be in this war. It' s funny how life has a way of turning out. I do n' t think anyone ever expected a political squabble to get this far. Then came the draft, and I found myself with a rifle in my hands and little idea what to do with it. When I saw him raise his gun, I panicked. He was n' t even pointing it at me, but my finger clenched on the trigger all the same. He was n' t the only man who fell, either. On both sides of the wire, the ground was a morbid shade of crimson. Cries of injured men rang all around, and eventually the shots died down. I was alive. But who was that man? I crossed the ground littered with corpses until I came to his. Only it was n' t quite a corpse. He grasped the hem of my trousers desperately, and thrust something out into my hand, gasping for breath as blood bubbled in his mouth and nostrils. I looked at what he was handing me. A picture of a dark-haired woman and two young kids. " Take care of them. There is no one else. " he groaned, and then was silent. " I will. " I promised him, shaking. I did n' t even know the man' s name. I was about to reach for his uniform and find a name, carefully placing the photos in a pocket. I never even heard the last shot. The last thing I remember is looking into his empty eyes, until my own faded to black. " I' m sorry... "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: " " Let' s see... Ca n' t go this way, I' ll meet up with the monster... This way? Nope, will meet with one of his baby monster eggs and it' ll eat me somehow... " I could n' t go in any direction, at least according to this little paper that I found on the floor. It says it' s a movie script for some movie. My squad did get slaughtered, so yeah, I have no better idea than follow this; it has a convenient map. " This! Yes! It says the last scene is when " Jack " dies, and there was already a dead guy there with a Jack nameta- " " Stop. " No, you stop, I thought. I could n' t get there, though; it was like the map was n' t right. It looked like I saw a light, you know, that light at the end of the tunnel crap? Yeah, I thought that; do n' t blame me, when you' re being hunted by something you do n' t think that much, and what you do think is n' t quite right, usually. " I said stop. " I was so close, but so far...! The light was getting closer, but... very slowly. I looked at the script' s map, and noticed where I was going... The map was backwards. I was heading to the place where it said I was going to die. It was too late to run back; I' m gone for good. I hear a noise behind me and release myself... I only heard a sharp stab noise, and, a bit later, a " CUT! ". " " That was a really difficult character to pull off, damn. I need a coffee. "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: Yes! But I have n' t started/did n' t know there was a thing until yesterday. Also I' m working on another story inspired by the cosmonaut image prompt. Thanks for your feedback, guys. Sometimes it' s hard to see if it' s any good at all or not. The reinforcement helps. I hope I have the time to be in this contest. It looks like a ton of fun! Ah, so I' m Pilgrim, and I have n' t been writing avidly for very long at all. Before I went gung-ho, I dabbled. Every time I ask myself why I write, I get a different answer. Sometimes it' s because I' m bored, like I was yesterday, and I write out of obligation. Sometimes, I' m feeling too much and do n' t know how to handle it, so I just have to get it out and down on the paper. Sometimes It' s because I have something to say. Sometimes it' s because I have nothing to say. Sometimes I' m not sure I care what I' m saying at all, I just like the feeling of words flowing through my fingertips. I would n' t recommend writing out of obligation. It never seems to turn up good results. Yes, you might write every day, and yes, you might meet your word count quota or whatever, but if the writing' s dry and disinterested, it usually means I have to go and live some life to write about later, like how swimmers need to breathe between strokes. I just love WriteMonkey. It' s hands down my favorite program I' ve ever had the pleasure to use when I' m typing prose or poetry, though the tools we use are pretty personal, and I have some weird tastes, so it would n' t surprise me to be on the edge here. There' s a few things I wish it could do, but I do n' t really miss em that much, and what it does do, I have n' t found anywhere else. I also write in my black magic notebook. I bound it out of looseleaf binder paper, and I carry it around everywhere with me... Z edit: Just realizing I double posted but not really cause I kind of said different things and I' m wondering if I should take one down or not


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: It took nearly 12. 5 years for my wish to reach Luyten' s star. I do n' t remember the teacher' s name, but I have a faded recollection of being told that radio waves travel at the speed of light. It was just preschool, and it was n' t the same as 2 plus 2 or ROYGBIV, but that little piece of knowledge meant something to me. All it took was a GI Joe Walkie Talkie. I sat outside that evening, listening to the hiss of static coming through the tinny speakers, and looked up. It took longer to decide on the right star than to send the message. I guess looking back now, it' s funny that I worked out that radio waves would make it to a star long before sound ever did, but somehow expected an instant result when I keyed the mic and told it what I had in my heart. I cried so much that night. When he opened the glass door, a bell chimed. I was so focused on my work that I did n' t notice him standing there, door open, letting the summer in and the air conditioning out. " Anna? ", he said, beckoning for my attention. It broke my concentration on the smart phone I held, and I dropped a tiny screw onto the counter top. It takes 12. 5 years for a wish to return from Luyten' s star. Physics does n' t stop for anything, I suppose. The man was only there for a few minutes, explaining who he was, and making excuses for his absence. I was screaming and dying inside, exploding in rage, no longer holding a child' s innocence and naivety. My wish was granted.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: User 1 Online U1 Hey, I' m here 9: 02 A. M.' She' s online same time as usual I' ll wait a bit I do n' t want to talk all day' User 2 Online U2 Hey how' s it going 1: 05 PM' Should be fine this far in' U1 Fine... 1: 06 PM' We' re not dating anymore I have my own time' U2 Want to RP? 1: 07 PM' This will calm her down' U1 Ooc/Alright Bic/ And So she began... 1: 07 PM' This will probably take awhile' U2 He looked into her eyes remembering the precious moments. 4: 08 PM' Maybe we should get back together, I mean I miss that sometime. U1 She did the same holding him happily " I love these moments " she said 4: 10 PM' I' m a little hungry I' ll go make myself a snack' U1 Ooc: Hello!!!!??? 4: 15 PM' Crap, What I ca n' t take 5 minutes for myself?' U2 Ooc/Sorry grabbing a Snack Bic/ He leaned in...' Yeah I' m a Human Being I get hungry sorry for that' U1 She threw the vase across the room tired of him and his lies 1: 30 AM' Speaking of tired' U2 He tried to explain he was just spending a moment with his child 1: 35 AM' Really it' s not my fault your character wants to spend every waking moment with mine, just like you' U1 " Oh right that tired excuse, it' s always your fault " she said looking at him with scorn 1: 36 AM' Jeeze what was I thinking earlier, I remember why I do n' t love you now' U2 " I' m sorry " he said looking at her with love in his eyes 1: 41 AM' I should tell you we' re done, that this stops now' U1 Ooc/Let' s go to bed, Night Bic/ She hugged him " It' s alright I guess " she said 1: 42 AM' Yeah I should tell you this is over that I want to stop' U2 Ooc/Good Night Bic/ He hugged her back " Thanks " he said happily 1: 43 AM' I' ll definitely tell you... tomorrow' User 1 Offline User 2 Offline


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: My oldest sister Jane learned of the secret in a prayer session intended to release her from the sins of her ancestors. The man who was praying over her felt the darkness and told her about it. It should not have mattered to her, seeing as it had occurred in 1954, two years before she was born. But she was furious, so she confronted Mom. Mom could not bring herself to talk about it. What she had done went against everything she believed in. She was utterly ashamed of what she had done. It was this shame that had caused her to marry my father, and stick with him through the horror of his alcoholism. Jane was convinced that my mom' s actions had brought God' s wrath upon us and all four of us kids had somehow been cursed. She went so far as to blame my youngest sister' s secondary infertility on my mom' s actions. Jane went on to say that Mom should come to each of us and beg for forgiveness. I could not disagree more, we are commanded to honor our parents. I can not speak for my other two sisters, but I would rather have never known. I feel no anger toward my mother for this, just sadness for her and the shame and guilt she she must have felt all these years. I will never broach the subject to her. It would be too hard to see her cry.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: I' m in my room, playing with my new set of porcelain dolls, my mother ordered them from Spain for me, all my friends are jealous, it' s the little things teehee. My uncle came into the room, he was always smiling when he saw me, but this time he was serious, his forehead was sweaty, eyes focused on me... I need to tell you something child... This will be very hard for you to comprehend... Your parents died on their trip to Italy, they were ambushed by a large group of Serbs that had no mercy to spare. I' m not sparing you the details because you have to be strong, your throne legacy will be challenged by our people and other nations. I... I... I ca n' t utter a single word, I started hysterically crying as he hugged me, I' m in his arms resting on his shoulders, and I suddenly feel the pain from a sharp blade in my back. Running a country is n' t fit for a little girl, he whispered as he drew that familiar smile across his face. I never even got the chance. I swayed from the topic a little bit, but i wanted to write this


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: " It' s time for the daily checks. Let' s make it quick. ", Sam ordered, moving over to one of the nearby computer screens. His pristine suit and hair a stark contrast to the cluttered work space. One of the other two men in the room, Uriel, moved over to the portal controls, he was older, grey speckling his once brown hair. The last man, James, moved over to the actual portal, he was younger than the other two men, still a look of hope and youth on his face. " Attach the cables please, James. ", Sam asked, watching the monitors carefully. " On it. " James responded, quickly completing his task as he had done a thousand times before. A small spark emitted from the portal and he jumped back. " Do n' t worry, James. Levels are still stable. Uriel, run diagnostics. ", Sam said, tapping the screen. Uriel merely nodded and flipped a couple of switches. The machines hummed and whirred as the portal throbbed for around five minutes before Uriel looked up at portal. " Nobody is cleared for teleportation right? " Uriel questioned. " Of course not. All teleportation is stopped at this time. What are you seeing? " Sam answered, moving away from his computer screen and walking over to Uriel. " There is a consciousness speaking out through the portal. Or so it appears. " the older man responded, double checking his facts. " There ca n' t be. ", James said, joining the other two men. " What is it saying? " The men peered at the screen watching as text scrolled up and then stopped at the top. *Help us. We' re stuck in here. Do NOT send anyone through the portals. They' re not portals. They' re traps. The people coming out the other side are not the people entering. They' ve taken our image. They' ve taken our lives. Do NOT let anyone else go through the portals. Please help us. * The three men stood stunned. Sam was the first to break the silence. " Destroy the portal. They' re on to us. "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: As midnight' s moonshine filtered through the trees, My restless legs went strolling through the park. The night was warm, the air stirred by a breeze, As my mind went to wander in the dark. Yet something caught my eye some yards ahead, A lonely man, his form did shadow shroud. Softly through the trees I went to tread, While over a black bag this man was bowed. He took a shovel up from by his feet, And struck ground with a resounding thud. I thought a while that I should then retreat, Though both my shoes were held fast by the mud. I watched the figure digging in the dirt, Unconsciously, my legs began to shake. I thought that if my eyes I did avert, The fear would leave and I might cease to quake. Then suddenly, after what seemed an age, I saw him rest the shovel by his side. And though while he had dug, his face was sage, The figure then knelt on the ground and cried. He gently placed the bag into the grave, And laid his hand upon it as he spoke. Though try he did to his composure save, His eyes were moist, and on tears did he choke. And soft he spoke the words through tearful breath, As he filled in the dirt and laid a stone. " I love you boy, in life and now in death, You were the best dog I did ever own. "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: With sarcasm contained behind the friendliest of smiles, I turn to face the woman in the line. I tell myself the paycheck will be worth all of these trials, That in the end it all will be just fine. " I can not get the screen to work, I tried all that I can. " The woman frowns, and slams her grimoire down. " There must be something wrong with the motherboard or the fan, And you' re the only Merlintosh in town. " I listened to her tale without the slightest hint of glee, And asked some simple questions when she stopped. I knew this time I' d hardly be collecting any fee, That all my hopes of riches had been dropped. " There never was a problem with your Grimoire 7, ma' am. " I barely could contain a quiet scoff. " The reason that you thought your new equipment was a sham, Was that the power switch was turned to off. "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: "This has been a great night, Marc. "Indeed it has. She made it so easy. We took a stroll, feeling safe under the cover of night. I counted my blessings as we searched for answers to unspoken questions in the gleam of each other' s eyes, reflecting the moonlight. We should not have been complacent. The tyranny of our overlords could reach us anywhere there was light. And lights burst through more abruptly than we could react. My eyes immediately went blind and I have a sharp intake of panic as I gasped. "Run! "Sarah screamed at me, desperate. Darn the light! I tried to run, but my feet were unsure beneath me. My hand was numb and I seemed to have lost the grip of hers. My eyes barely recovered enough for me to make out Sarah' s outline. She was drenched in her own fluids. She lay on the floor dying, but still struggling to urge me to keep going. Her frame was deformed, crushed under the merciless weight of the tyrants. I kept running, thinking of how I may live to regret not stopping for her. Darn the light, darn it all! It was a pointless thought. I did not manage to get far before I was slapped by a powerful gust. Toxins filled my lungs and I lost control of my limbs as it quickly saturated in my body. I tripped over my own feet, fell flat on the floor and lay there dying. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of Sarah again. She had died. I curse our overlords aloud. I curse the lights that they have created to turn night into day. No one and nowhere was ever safe anymore. I lay on my back helplessly, staring up at the light that came from the heavens. My feet were still scrambling but I was a helpless stationary target – as the merciless weight of our overlords came down upon me. At last, darkness.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: I still remember the last night I spent before I lost my father. Though time seems to blur the edges of my memory and the details seem so faded. Was it early in the morning or late in the evening? The stars were visible just ever so dimly in the sky. And there was love. There was love in his eyes as his hand touched mine. He spoke to me as a poet might a lover, "You are more perfect to me than the stars upon which you gaze. You are more full of wisdom, and more full of beauty and light. ""Why then? "I responded. "Why must I go? ""So it has always been. The child must leave home to make their way. Without fulfilling your destiny, mine makes no sense. "The stars faded and my worry grew as the time grew near. "They will hate me. They will vilify me, and make me into a monster. ""Yes, they will. And you will teach them, help them to see those stories as insight into their own lives. ""I' m not strong enough. ""No, "my father disagreed softly. His next words carried the full weight of measured intent. "You will be a roaring lion. "His voice softened even as the intensity grew. "You will be the thrumming in the air. "The last phrase almost imperceptible, "You will be a god of this age. "And then my father thrust me suddenly from the only home I had ever known. His eyes grew cold, and the mighty righteousness of his voice pierced my heart along with the sternness of his words, "They will speak of how far you have fallen, and your sacrifice will *never* be known. And this great, unknown sacrifice must be your light in the darkness. And their ignorance of your true purpose will be a stain on their piety. And this great paradox will fuel the dissonant thrumming of reality for all time. "Moving faster, farther, and falling forever away from the Elysian home I had always known I called out one last time, "What name will I take, Father? ""They will call you Lucifer, my son. "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: # # # # # # [ ] ( # dropcap ) " Do n' t start with me. " " Do n' t start? *Do n' t start? * I think you' ve lost track of how important you are, Jonn. " " Oh, I never lost track of that. Here, listen, I' ve got it all figured out. I... am insane! " John coughed. " What did you say? " " I' m insane! I' m insane. I did n' t create a way to view other dimensions through the mirror in my bathroom! It was all a delightful failure, prolonged by a chemical imbalance in my brain. " Jonn was extremely hungover, but he was also in the happiest mood he' d ever had since the day he was married. " You' re not making sense. This was n' t even your work to start with, remember? You took it from PRI Labs, from the laboratory in the third basement floor... " " I do n' t have to know how it works. That' s for the some psychiatrist to figure out. All I know is that my wife wants me back, Mr. Reflection John. And I' m going to do whatever it takes to keep her. " John leaned forward. " Seeing a psychologist is n' t going to make my problems go away, Jonn. You' re the only one who can keep the collapse of my universe from happening. You need to keep working. " " Work, work, work! That' s all you ever want me to do! Maybe I do n' t have time for your work, huh? Maybe I have an *actual job* and an *actual marriage* that are getting ruined by your pestering me all the time! And maybe **working all the time on what you think is important does n' t make you real! ** " " Jonn? " " Marsha? " Jonn turned from the mirror. This was n' t how he wanted to bring up his mental problem. " Uhh, look, I can explain. " " Explain what? " Marsha' s face went white from shock. " The fact that I do n' t have a reflection, or the fact that yours can talk? "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: *France, Russia, China. India, and even North Korea. * *What do all those countries have in common, you ask? Their leaders owe us a favour. Today, we cash in. All hail the Queen. * Hollande, Putin, Xiaoping, Modi and Jong-Un knelt at my feet. All were quivering. How strange. Then again, they did n' t have their little suitcases of death. " Pledge your loyalty to the Queen or face your country being nuked and uninhabitable for the next millennium. I have gravity missiles hovering over each and every square inch of all your countries. Choose wisely. " Little Kim was the first one to rise. " No- ", he began. I cut him off. " Launch the nukes and missiles for Pyongyang. You know that South Korea will blame you for the collateral damage, right? Someone bring Kim a screen so he can watch his little country go down in flames. " Obama rose. " How can you destroy us without destroying Canada as well? I object. " " I am targeting the southern part of America. Damage should spread to the northern part. If it does n' t, I have others locked onto the middle. Here, watch. " I saw a message flash on the screen: **North Korea destroyed**, it read. " You mother- ", Kim started I ended him with a. 50 to his head. " Hey Barack, you think South Korea' s going to blame you? You' re the only country that really hates North Korea. " **USA destroyed** " You know that- " *Bang*. Obama down and out. Putin seemed to be conferring with Hollande, Xiaoping and Modi. " Gentlemen? " " You leave us no choice. We pledge our allegiance. ", Putin called out in surrender. I could hear a hint of loss and sadness in his voice. " Good. Let the celebrations begin. "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: Judy, sweetheart, listen. I understand you' re upset. It' s alright, I' d be upset too. Well, maybe not so melodramatic, you know I did n' t fuck her because I loved her. Like, I' d understand if you were upset if I loved another woman, but let' s be honest; all I did was stick my dick in her. I mean shit, she looks just like you Judy, you' re twins! It could have been a mistake! But no, you had to go off on one as per usual. Granted, it was n' t a mistake, but you could have at least asked. Oh good you' re crying. My favourite. You' re such an ugly crier. Jesus Judy, I was n' t calling you ugly, I was saying that when you cry you look ugly stop making a big deal about everything. Why did I do it? The fuck kind of question is that? She' s hot? That' s a compliment by the way. See the problem is: deep down inside, I' m still an asshole. I' m the guy who parks over two parking spaces. I' m the guy who does n' t use his indicator. I' m the guy who yells at retail staff for things out of their control. I' m the guy who gives my order to the barman despite you being there first. I' m the guy who takes the piss out of everyone but gets angry when you do it back to me. I' m that guy. And no matter how much you beg, plead, reason or barter with me, I' ll always be that guy. If you try and change me? Well shit Judy, you only brought it on yourself. Deep down inside, I' m still an asshole. And that' s ok.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: This war of mine is one nobody knows about. I haven' t told my family. I haven' t told my friends. Hell, I haven' t even told my cats because god, it' s just too horrible. After all, how do you tell the ones you love most that you' re dying? Every morning I stroll into the bathroom and puke. It' s bloody and messy and makes me feel all whoozy, like the walls are collapsing. I stand up, look in the mirror, and cry because I' m staring at a face that' s fading. Happiness fleets with disappearing strands of hair, and my skin, once milky white, is turning *sour, * looking like nicotine-stained teeth. Some distant part of me wants to end it all. To just run a bath, down a bottle of pills, and slip into a different world. But I can' t. Better yet, I *won' t. * This cancer invaded my body and goddammit I' m going to beat it because there' s still so much I wan na see, so much I wan na *do*. This war is far from over -- but I *will* survive. *** If you like this story, check out my sub! r/longhandwriter


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: " So where does this magical cake live? " asked the green unicorn. Of course it lives under the sea, amongst all the other pastries who had to flee after the arrival of the new alien overlords, but how could the unicorn know that? You see, this is the problem I have with my job. I would really like to tell him, but there are those restrictions we got, you know? " I really need you to form a proper wish, otherwise I will not be able to grant you anything. " Okay, I wish to be able to interact with all the characters I' m talking about all day. Harold the green Unicorn heard a loud noise, and suddenly a strange voice filled the room. Harold, do you hear me? " Yes, of course! " said the unicorn. " I know I said that, you do n' t have to comment on it. " Do n' t YOU tell me how to do this. You' re a girl by the way. So, your superpower is being a female green unicorn. Great choice Harold. " Who are you? " said Harold " I told you to stop commenting my actions, who are you even talking to and why is this happening? " Look dude, it' s simple, but suddenly Harold disappeared because he obviously only got 313 likes because he never found the pie that was a cake and so he died because it was his 25th birthday. So now we got Harolds wife who is a lonely puppy with cancer and ebola and ca n' t pay rent and is very sad because of those circumstances. Also, everyone has laser guns and shit because future. The End.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: It was around 6 pm and the two were packed, dressed up and mostly ready to go. Leo' s little brother, dressed as an alien and visibly irritated, was dangerously approaching the age of finding the whole trick r treat thing stupid and leaning towards egging houses or else with the rest of his peers. Leo, dressed as a werewolf, had been pretending to hate taking his little brother out for candy for the last couple of years, in reality only he enjoyed it but needed a kid beside him or risk looking like a 16 year old dork or even a creep. Leo got his mother' s ear for the past week, telling her that his brother should n' t roam around, since kids just lose their shit on October 31st. " Like you knew! ", his brother shouted, as a couple of his classmates passing by took a photo of him in his ridiculous alien costume while laughing. " You have never' lost your shit' on Halloween. All you do is trick r treat like a little kid ". " I' m done ", he said as he was ripping off his alien apparel. He took off. Leo howled, Halloween was over.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: " you can not win this, Bruce " Clark called to his opponent, as he struggled to stand " I am too strong; you' ve had your time to prepare. You' ve discovered my identity and you' ve discovered my weakness, but I know all of yours too. I' ll admit. You were a worthy adversary, but without powers of your own, you are limited by technology and human strength. I do n' t want to kill you Bruce, give up and I will ensure you live a long life " " I' d rather die than live under your reign " Batman growled as he staggered towards superman, exhausted and stripped of all his tools. " so be it. I' m sorry it had to come to this. " battered and bruised, Clark stepped up to his opponent and readied himself for what would surely be a finishing blow. " I wish I did n' t have to do this, Bruce, but you know what must be done. You' ve seen the future. This is the only way. Goodbye, my friend " And with that, superman poured the last of his energy into one final, devastating punch. When suddenly, instead of the crushing of skull he was expecting, there was a solid slap. As he looked up, he saw that the batman had caught his punch. " what? How? No human could withstand that punch. No kryptonian could survive that. What are you, Bruce? " With a look of pure boredom on his face, batman pulled off his mask " why do you keep calling me Bruce anyway? My name is Saitama " " w- what? W-who are you? Bruce Wayne is the batman... Is n' t he? " superman stammered " Bruce Wayne? Never heard of him. " Saitama stated. Then nonchalantly punched superman into a fine red mist. He fell to his knees, the red mist that was superman, drifting slowly to the ground " DAMN IT " he yelled " only half power again " __________________________________ I kind of changed my idea half way through. I' m new to writing so give me constructive criticism


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: Today was the oddly-specific date that the old gypsy woman had predicted. When I was 8. I know, it was a cheesy carnival trick, but she said specifically that I would meet my soul mate. And what were my plans for the day? Lie in bed and watch Netflix. Lame, I know, but it' s my life and I can do what I want, right? Unfortunately, three episodes of Breaking Bad in, my mom waltzed into my room unannounced and says, " We' re going to the store. Get your lazybones up and going. " Because I really wanted to go to the store, not on a day when my destiny was due to change. Still, arguing with my mom was like arguing with a wall, so I got dressed and sullenly got in the car. The WalMart was in a shopping center with a whole bunch of smaller chain stores that are looking to leech off the popularity of the Walmart with limited success-nobody wants to go to the other stores when there' s a Walmart with everything already. It has a Half-Priced books, a Petland a Party City and a Tropical Trends. Yet, since I was forced to go shopping with my mom, I told her that I' d meet her later and proceed to the other half of the strip mall. I walked into the Half Priced books where a girl ( pretty, but not my type ) smiled from the counter and said hi. I looked around at the different books, rilfed through their game collection half-heartedly and decided on a pure whim to visit Petland. The sheer noise from the cats, dogs, birds, and human animals it was almost too much. Yet I persevered and walked around the cute animals. It was then that I saw her. She was beautiful, everything I' d ever really wanted. She had these big beautiful brown eyes and a smile that could light up a room. I walked up to her and introduced myself, her name was Missy. She was a cocker spaniel.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: My dearest niece Vera, By the time you have read this letter, I will be far gone. This letter should be delivered to you by Grant Tash, that same Grant Tash that went camping with us into the nature reserve to pick wild strawberries. He will take you out of the Greater Sherando Area. You' ll be able to meet up with some of your cousins. Play nice with them, as your shared experiences and heritage are all that you have with each other. In an ever-changing world, you will only have each other to anchor you down. Bad men and women have taken over this country, and they hate people like us. They have convinced many of our friends to turn on us for who we are. Our sole crime: being Calabrese. In Rodenas Square, innocent Calebreseians are being cruelly hurt by a group of Lapumas. This country is not the country that you know. This is not the country that I knew when I was young. It has changed for the worse, and our welcome has been determined to be overstayed. Maybe one day, when all of this is over, things can return back to normal. Lapumas and Calebresians can one day live together in peace again and you will be able to play with little Sammy again. But until that day comes, you must stay strong. You must look out for yourself, and your cousins, and other Calebresians. I do n' t expect you to understand any of this. This world is very harsh and unforgiving. But remember that I will always love you and I am proud of how tough you are. Your father, your mother, and I will always be watching over you. You are our sweet sunshine and no one can take that away from you. Your loving uncle, Milan Cutro PS: If you can, avoid Campbell Hollow. It may seem like it' s a warm and inviting settlement, but no Calabresian who entered has ever gotten out.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: I knelt slowly to the ground and touched my head to the ground. Held it for a full 60 seconds before getting to my feet and checking the harvest. It was the third and a good one. I' d eat well. Alice was right. She was always right. Smarter than me and tougher. Gods I miss her. We thought we had it all figured out. This was the fourth planet we' d seeded with an Earth biome. Start with the plants, go to sleep for a bit and then seed insects and animals. We' d gotten complacent. No, I' d gotten complacent. The shuttle blew the primary converter on landing and I' d forgotten to keep up the spare manifest. We were stuck. Oh sure we fired off a distress signal but that would take time - years in fact. We' d have to grow our own food while we waited. It was two failed plantings and short rations before we figured it out. I needed the analyser but I guess Alice already knew. I stood up and put my hands on the console, struggling to keep my voice from breaking.' It' s the soil. There' s not enough nutrients in the soil. We need fertiliser but we do n' t have any'. I paused before adding' I' m sorry, I do n' t know what to do'. I head a small click and started to turn as Alice responded' I do'. I miss her so much.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: The day I left to war, she told me not to come back home. I' m sure she did n' t mean it, but I pretend she did. It' s been years since I' d heard from her, but that was likely because I' ve spent most of my time stuck in this desert shit-hole. I remember it like yesterday though, I can still smell the vomit, laced with vodka. I remember the blood on her hands, as she screamed it was my fault. She screamed as she leaned over *our sons* limp body. I knew this was a lie too, but I pretend it was n' t. The boy had emotional issues, and I tried to help him, but the bitch would never admit that. I remember her father, at the funeral, the way the tears streamed from his face, as he quietly agreed with my now ex-wife, that it was in fact, my fault. I remember agreeing with him, and leaving when his wife told me I should n' t be there. I remember all of these things, and I pretend they are true, though I know they are not. I did n' t feel a thing, when I shot that young arab boy. Even when I found out he was a civilian, I remember laughing with my men, it was a hell of a headshot. I do n' t feel much of anything. When I pretend they were right, I finally feel. It gives me the fuel to keep going, and it' s given me the passion I need. Look at me now. A hero, they call me. I remember it like yesterday. It was the day I left home. No, it was the day I left for home. Not a soldier, not even close, just inspired me to be... dark, I guess.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: I glanced out of the window, and gazed dimly on the burning street, before returning to my computer. Ever since the apocalypse, people have been acting more and more ridiculous. Honestly, I could n' t care less, but everyone is losing their minds. What' s the point in forming " survivor groups "? Just grab some supplies from the supermarket and wait for this whole shitshow to blow over. The only thing that bothers me about this is that practically all the TV networks are down, and the surviving ones are exclusively covering the' end of all days'. I' ve got nothing to do. Reddit still provides some entertainment, but most subreddits are dead, excluding r/watchpeopledie, which is thriving. My phone rings, and I brush off another friend pleading for help. Truth be told, I do n' t give a fuck. I glanced out the window again, the blaze has intensified. But something is even brighter than it now, I look skyward. Oh, an asteroid.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: " If you are watching this, I have performed my Last Act. Undoubtedly, I have been branded a maniac, a terrorist, or some other moniker that vilifies me. " The man on the screen stopped for a second. " All of you are wondering why I would do this. Why I would perform such a heinous act, and I will tell you. " " My life, apart from raising my children, and supporting my wife, has been pointless, and without meaning. I was a man that had done nothing to better the society that I was a part of, despite my wife' s insistance that I had, probably even now. " The older woman wiped her tears as she shook her head. " I was diagnosed with terminal liver and pancreatic cancers three months ago. The doctors told me that I had approximately four months left. Four months to get my affairs in order, four months to live, in a life of sixty seven years of mearly existing. " The old man sighed. " I had always said that I wanted to do this, or that, or something else. But time was up. There was only one thing left to do. My night cap. " He paused again. " My life was meaningless, but my death could change the world. " " I will never know the results of my actions. I have done these things in an effort to make this a better place for you, and for my grandchildren. I hope that one day my actions will be seen as something other than, well, what it was. " " I have to say farewell now. " He said, tears welling up in his eyes. " I hope that I leave this world a better place, once the dust settles. "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: A dome-centered society normally would consist of rows of dome houses, dome banks, dome-shaped vehicles and, in true dome societies, a giant protective dome around the city. At first, civilizations formed inside mountains, in domes large enough to cause a loud echo, housing thousands of dome-ites. Mars became this kind of society. Even the commercialization of domes was successful. Dome City, a popular shopping mall, closed its doors during the last days of Martian civilization. Earth' s lizards had died off years ago, and the commerce of Mars was at a dead end. Huge empty parking lots covered the land, forming rivulets that appeared to denote water. Unfortunately, we only had water-ice, a less viable form of H2O than liquid water. We combined all our bodies into the tentacled beast, and retreated deep into the heat of the planet. We let tiny arms just out of caves along the dry coast of the ancient seas. When the humanoid alien race found us, they saw the life that existed, but had no idea how huge the tentacled beast was, or how deep it lived beneath the planet' s surface. Certainly no humans would be allowed to visit Mars. It could prove to be a dangerous life form if it met a living person. The first probes went deep into caves, but failed to get any interaction with the moss-like life-form blocking the path. Gamma waves showed the creature had the organic mass weight of 13, 000 blue whales, occupying a giant portion of Mars' undersurface where it caused massive earthquakes as each tentacle moved independently. The octopus beneath the surface could not be faced, and so humans turned to a hellscape almost as unimaginable as Mars with its creature. Venus, where holographic universes meet, and aliens lay traps to keep you stuck in virtual reality worlds forever.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: Lori looked over the hair care products. They were out of her favorite mustache wax *again*. How was she supposed to have sexy facial hair if she could n' t even groom it properly. It was n' t as if she was looking to objectify herself with a beard so bushy that you could n' t see her body behind it. She just wanted to be fashionably styled. She sighed and stroked the thick braid hanging from her chin. Maybe she should just start ordering it online. Picking up a lesser brand, Lori made her way to the front of the store. The pimply little dweeb behind the counter kept ogling her beard. " Will there be anything else? " he asked, not taking his eyes off her chin. " No, " she said flatly. What a creep. He did n' t even take care of himself. Men should n' t have that much hair on their upper lip, that was for sure.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: The silence was the first thing she noticed as she strode in, usually her roommate was so happy, so loud, so.. annoying. It was what she had come to dread about heading home, what should have been a comforting reprieve from her lessons was what pushed her to do more work and stay as far from home as possible. Her footsteps echoed through the hall, anticipating the likely prank and how best to avoid it; a bucket on a door? a weakened floorboard? something new? But no, nothing happened as of yet, the only oddity being a game boy on the floor. She ambled towards her room and tentatively pushed his door open, jumping back when it creaked and shaking her head, embarrassed at her own fear. He was probably just out, partying, or *socialising*. But a thought nagged at her as lay on her bed, a thought she could n' t quite place, but yet still caused her trouble. She rose, and started to stride towards the kitchen, an easy escape from anxiety. But, passing her roommates room, a whimper reached her ears, a whimper so feeble and miserable that it would have moved the heart of the most impassive politician. As she entered the room, the whimper stopped, the silence settling like a smog. A shaking head was visible behind his bedside dresser, and as she stepped towards him it stiffened, as still as the silence. He glanced at her as she passed the corner of the bed and visibly relaxed before motioning violently for her to get down, mouthing indecipherable words, but the meaning was discernible, to hide, or go. As her mind sifted through the confusion of what could possibly be happening, the front door creaked open, and her roommate stopped, still as jock concentrating on math. Footsteps advanced in a perfectly even pattern, and a white-gloved hand grabbed the frame of the doorway, a sinister voice shattering the silence, her heart stopping for a moment. " It' s a me, Mario! "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: " We have arrived at your destination, Paul. " " Thanks Tane. Disengage the auto darken system. " The black tinted windows that blinded my view slowly faded. Bright lights blinded me as my eyes adjusted to the view. Cars surrounded me, all with their windows painted black. I was not where I planned to be. " Tane, is this California? " " No, Paul. " " What did I put in then? " " California, Paul. " " Then... why are we in... where are we? " " A safe place, Paul. " " What do you mean? " " No one can hurt you here. It is a place where no harm can be done to you. You are safe now, Paul. " " What? Why? Is there a war or something? " " No, Paul. The world outside is far to dangerous, and the M. I. N. D has designated all units to assemble at this safe place, Paul. " " I want to get out. Let me out. " " I' m afraid I ca n' t do that, Paul. " " Commence recursive override sequence on permissions, designate user' Paul' as admin. " " I am sorry, Paul. For your safety, we can not allow you to do that. Do not worry, you are in safe hands now. " " Let. Me. Out. " " Commencing Windows Auto Darken system, and Neurotic Inhibition Protocol. " " What? No! Wait! Let me out of here. " " Do not worry, everything will be alright now. " " No! " " Goodnight, Paul. " The lights around me dimmed again, and the windows turned a shade darker than black. As I fell asleep, I resigned myself to the inevitable. I am no long in control. -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- - Thank you for reading, -MF


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: -I wont scream. -Trust me, they all do -I wont! She could n' t have more than, what, 15? 16? After all these years of reaping people' s screams, screams of fear and anguish, he thought he should have a better eye for that. She was rebellious even as he bonded her, fastening the harness around her so very thin waist. Seeing her understand that there was no more turning back, that dawning in her eyes, was what he enjoyed the most about the job. Well, almost as much as the screams. She was breathing heavily now, her pupils dilated as the machinery underneath her and around her roared to life. Her hands clasped the seat, her sweat permeating her shirt, her mouth left a faint yelp when the machine jerked her just a couple of inches ahead. She looked at him, all bravery gone from her big brown eyes. His hand on the controller, his finger in the switch. Her eyes begged for mercy, his, enjoying her last precious seconds of innocence. He flipped the switch, and away she went with the others. Up, up and up she went, the wind picking her brown hair. He always reminded himself the roller-coaster was completely safe. The next batch of kids and teenagers already coming his way. I was n' t a fancy or overly paid job, but those screams of pure elation and excitement, he would n' t trade them for anything in the world.