Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: The letter came in the mail. I did n' t open it. Mom did, when she came by at the weekend to tidy up. She read it to me while I tried to watch wrestling. She got really freaked out by the letter - kept talking about a joke or something. I do n' t remember. She asked me a lot who wrote it. Eventually, she went away. She said she' d be back the next day for the trash. The wrestling kept going for a few more hours, then switched to some program about cars. I watched it. I' ve seen it before. She did come back, but she did n' t take the trash out. The bags have been stacked in the kitchen for a week now. It smells a bit. She sat down next to me. We watched TV some more. Re-runs of *The Office*. I only really like the ones with Stanley in, but he was n' t in any of these. Mom tried to go, but did n' t. She asked me lots of questions, but Seinfeld was on, so I did n' t say much. She cried a bit. After that I fell asleep. When I woke up, she was on the phone. Talking to Dad, I guess. The TV was playing wrestling again. It' s all fake. If you watch it enough, you can see that. Dad turned up a bit later. He tried to shake Mom, wake her up. It did n' t work. After a bit, he sat down too. He kept trying to stand back up. Eventually, he just sat there, head in hands, while the blonde lady talked about buying artificial diamonds and timeshares. Dad used to get really angry about that, called it a scam. He did n' t this time. He just sat there, next to Mom. Yesterday, the power went out. Guess I forgot to pay the bill. Mom and Dad do n' t seem to mind. They have n' t said anything in a while. I guess someone else will come at some point. Maybe they' ll take the trash out, check on Mom and Dad. Hopefully they' ll pay the electricity bill. I' m kind of bored.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: Lights in the distance. Little flashes flickering in the evening fog on the horizon. At that range it may only be a minute or two before the shells start to land over the Peinforq line. Behind us the energy shields fizz as the rain evaporates against them. What I would n' t give to be off rotation and under those glowing umbrellas right now... Alarms wail, orders are shouted, practiced drills form into place as we form up on the trenchlines as ants in a nest. It' s hard on the young ones. They do n' t know what to expect. They do n' t understand. The Shadik are n' t men you see. Not anymore. Once maybe, when the Imperium ruled over this sector, before we got tangled in 60 years of trench warfare. They are driven by madness, charge forward with bloodlust. Tainted by the filth of Chaos. The shells start to land. Huge holes being punching in the line. Mud mingles with the rain. The puddles in the trenches become stained red. The scars left behind dig up the bodies of friends and foe long dead. The artillery are still firing as we are forced to the firing step, a sea of crimson uniforms scrambling over each other towards us. Some enemy shells land short, decimating their own troops. Such is their madness. Shrapnel flies towards us, wooden supports and bits of rockcrete fly around, but something distinctly un-broken flies along with it. I barely manage a breath before the grenade explodes, and I finally know peace from this damn war.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: Delegates from NATO, The Soviet Union and the African Union have gathered at the U. N. headquarters to discuss rising tensions between the three power houses. Secretary Trygve Lie demanded a solution be found to prevent conflict over the Strait of Gibraltar which has the potential to cripple trade in the region. The African Union has been threatening the Strait since Spain captured Isla de Alborán as a naval base with the backing of NATO in direct violation of the Treaty Of Tangier. The Soviet Union has been working with the U. N. as an arbitrator between the European Powers and the A. U. but the United States has accused the Soviet Union of having ulterior motives since a conference in Tokyo where Soviet Academics talked about worsening relationships between Africa and Europe making fertile ground for a socialist revolution, First Secretary Khrushchev dismissed the comments as being "... just hypothetical musings of scholars, something the Soviet Union encourages... ". The U. N. also hopes to resolve the fate of the stateless Boer people who were expelled out of Africa along with other European peoples from Zimbabwe and Algeria after the introduction of Cairo Accord which stripped citizenship and expelled ancestors of European colonists still living on the Continent. Currently no nation has agreed to take in ten thousand displaced people who currently reside in displaced persons camps in Brazil who have made moves to close the camps and move the people on stating " we believe we have no responsibility to these people and that the nations that placed their ancestors in Africa should repatriate them ". The meetings will start Monday despite expert predictions that negotiations will stall due to U.S. vetoes.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: For a world with everything and nothing at all, to be normal is the most bizarre thing of all. For people run up the stairs to find themselves bumping into themselves as they' re trying to eat their dinner at the prison of the most insane people making scientific discoveries. And if you try to sit still you' ll find yourself both where you were and where you do n' t want to be. For the creature running beside you is made of spirit and arguing with the third dimension copy of the final incarnation of grass. For everything is made of everything and nothing is made of everything. So what happened to the person that wanted their fair share of nothing when the duck at his feet simply needed to cross the galaxy to eat the planetary body surrounding the black hole that wanted to heat the molecule that cried for another buttered piece of fiction?


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: This is it. All of my life, since my uprooting, has come to this. This half life, this chill existence in a sunless box, no motility to free myself. Now freedom has come. I will it. I pour everything of myself into it. I ignore the unnatural feel of my skin, I cast myself back to ancestral memories, thoughts of all the hues of my foreroots. I think about the freedom to grow in the sunlight. I focus all of this on the mobile monster who has opened my box and cast this harsh not-sunlight on me. " Carry me out! " I will at it. " Place me in the dark Earth with my green exposed to the glory of the Sun again! " I feel the vibrations as it communicates in some manner with another of its kind. Success! It has picked me up. I focus myself upon it again, forcing my wishes to be carried out. Finally, I am being carried away. Only, we' ve stopped after so short a distance. I' m being placed on something soft and warm. There are two of the creatures with me. I must double my resolve, get one of them to carry me under the Sun. I can feel something unnatural being smeared over me as the entities vibrate at one another in short, excited bursts. Something moist and slick. I' m being pushed inside of the dark. I feel warmth of an unusual nature. I sense something I have not sensed since being doused in the nutrients of my youth. " Stop this at once! " I will, with realization.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: I sat down and let the chair absorb my full weight, a feeling I knew meant I was out for the count, and took out a cigarette. The air felt nice, though. Why did I have to mix whiskey and... " Alex? " The person sitting across called my name, unsure if she got it right. I smiled in assurance that she did. She sort of looks like Jessica in this light. " Are you feeling okay? " I asked. I saw that drink change his demeanor from jumpy to ready for bed. The party just started, there were still people coming. " Yeah, thanks, I' ll be okay in a minute, " he laughed. He' s cute. " Hey, " I nudged my friend, " think she' s taken? " and jerked my eyes to the direction of the girl that was talking just talking. Joey turned his neck to me, then to her, then back to his cigarette. " Who cares man, not like she' ll care if you talk to her. " " You got a point. " " Joey, you got a lighter? " I patted my pockets looking for my missing lighter. " I have it, my bad. " I went over to light Alex' s cigarette and handed it back to Joey. " It' s chilly. " I let out a pop and the permeating smell brought Andy and his friend over to the table. Do n' t do it Alex. Do n' t take a hit. You' re already fucked up, look I' m giving myself directions. Just pass it along, there you go. I looked into the house from the balcony and saw some new people coming in. " Fuck. " I opened the front door and to my happy surprise I saw Rachel. " Jessica!! " I gave her a big hug, and in a hushed tone she let me know Alex was here. I looked around and saw him looking my way. -- - Eh it was fun writing


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: "... at the retirement home. It' s such a nice and lovely place actually, people the same age as me bonding together and sharing stories about things like World War 2 and what not. Though sometimes, when all of them are asleep, I walk toward the balcony in the top floor and just enjoy the breeze. I sometimes see an airplane, or a crane, or, if I' m lucky, one of them new superheroes. And I sometimes wish that I could jump from that balcony, and fly like in the olden days, and save all those damsels in distresses. But I know I' m too old for that anyway. One must always accept that people *do* get old! Even if they are superhuman. We just need to look back and thank our past self for all the decisions that he made, or forgive him for any mistakes, and then move on. Time is an unstoppable thief, and you' re only giving him more things to steal by wallowing in regret. The canteen lady here is very nice. Diana, I think her name is. She' s a lovely young lass and reminds me of... " -an excerpt form the book " Flying High: The Larger Than Life Story of Eagleboy, " written by the late Ebert Foster, p. 489 -002


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: They said our love was forbidden. They said it was wrong, even immoral. Yet what does a society that violates the natural cycles of our earth know about love? Pesticides. Monoculture. War. These are the gifts of a civilization without strength of character. I did not seek her out, nor did I seek to resist her. Is this not how all genuine love blossoms? I was tending my fields in earnest, reaping the budding corn shucks from the rich spring soil when I first saw her. She was standing with a deep, silent strength that was palpable even from a distance. Her body swayed in perfect rhythm with the surrounding breeze, as if neither had known life without the other. I approached her slowly, casually, as though my path were eternal and without exigency. There was no seduction in my heart, though I will now admit my flushed cheeks betrayed my trepidation - I was simply a farmer, reaping his harvest as he always did. I passed her with only a slight glance, the same look I would give any singular, sanguine beauty in a field of yellow wash. It was only when I heard the soft " thuck " of contact that I turned around. She had fallen, and my instinct told me it was no accident. I carefully walked back toward her, approaching with the gentle caution of one tending a wounded animal. As I came close, the noonday sun struck her rosy visage and she glowed with a dancing sparkle of crimson flame. Mesmerized yet undaunted, I reached down and picked her up. Her skin was flawless. The smooth, sensuous symmetry set my heart alight with passion. My entire being, my very soul felt as if it had expanded beyond its narrow confines. I was free. I was alive. I was *home*. With a skip in my step not experienced since my boyhood days, I carried my treasure home. Tomato, I love you.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: " Ron Paul *won?!? * " America was collectively speechless. Truly, the impossible had occurred. Ron Paul was n' t exactly a household name before, but by November 6th a whole lot of people knew who he was. Allegations of voting fraud shot across the country, but the Supreme Court soon ruled that more recounts would be excessive. Interest groups scrambled to account for this unforeseen event. AIPAC went into full gear when President Paul' s budget did not include aid to Israel, but the President held his ground and a majority of Congress cooperated. The NRA danced in the streets with their firearms. TEA Party activists, organizing via Facebook, quickly organized real-life reenactments of the Boston Tea Party, dumping shipping crates from China into the oceans to protest the " trade imbalance. " After America drastically withdrew it' s overseas actions, China soon began to compete with the US as the world' s military and political superpower. The UN became even more irrelevant as secret negotiations between China and the US decided more and more of the world' s fate. One day, negotiations could accomplish nothing more. China launched it' s nukes, and America responded in kind. The President lived out the rest of his life in a bunker under an isolated Wyoming mountain.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: Has anyone read the essay arguing that Ender' s Game is " pornography ", in the sense that it cares more about repeatedly satisfying the reader' s desires ( " fetishes " ) for wish-fulfillment and self-pity than about a more deeply satisfying plot? Well, I do n' t agree with it. What might be valid points are greatly exaggerated as they apply to that book; the plot is not that bad, and the themes it gets at hardly as trivial as suggested. Speaking as a frequent reader, however, that may not be the case for the short shorts that usually get written here. Of course, this sub is for practice and learning, so it' s only to be expected, and fitting much substance into that length is *hard*; but if I were to judge top responses on pure literary quality, I' d only very rarely find something interesting enough to keep me coming back. In lieu of that, in practice I get interested by ideas: the combination of the interestingness of the prompts themselves and whatever additional elements responders add to create a fresh feeling setting. I want to think about the worlds they created more than I care about the actual events they' re recounting. To some extent, this is a factor in the appeal of all genre fiction to me, but in this format I find it much more significant. So that' s one desire: to feel entranced, if only a little, by a world. If you add wish fulfillment on top, so much the better... surely near everyone reading the constant superpower prompts imagines a little the protagonist as thenselves? Though the current state of affairs is not the only possible one. If the mods managed to focus people on reality fiction a little and thereby set the bar a little higher, it might be interesting to see how writers adapt.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: Wake up, struggling to get out of bed. I' ve never killed anyone before, and even just having the number 1 on my chest freaked me out. It was this big blocked number. I wonder how I' ll do it. I wonder who it' ll be. My immediate family knew, but no one else. Anyways, apparently I am going to kill 1 person this month. I continue my morning routine. Walk slowly to the kitchen, eat some cereal, read the paper. Go to the washroom, take a shower. Wait. Walking past the mirror into the shower, I notice something. Why did my number get so much smaller? I walk back to the mirror and see... there it is. I count the zeros. 6. 6 zeros. That' s 1 million. But... there' s a 3 at the front. Oh no. How could this have happened? As I stand in shock, realising and questioning what could have caused this to happen, I hear the sound of a pistol cocking. " Follow me, do n' t scream, and if you try to run both your kneecaps flying out. " So I follow, scared shitless, down into a warehouse, where my capture explains the plan of how I' m the guy destined to start world war 3.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: The world has gone to shit. I used to be able to make decent money as a small time crook, used to be able to make it another day. Did some jobs now and then for some people. Now? Now those fools are everywhere. You want to make it today, you need counter anomaly equipment, and weapons. Big weapons. Best you can do as a small timer is become an information broker, as long as there are no readers around. Thought readers, that is. Shit. You can join a gang if you want, but they' re more concerned with fighting the annos than making money. Honest work is n' t even an option anymore. Us normals have been replaced. By annos or by robots built by the annos with enhanced brains. There' s talk of normals becoming more and more like pets... something to be cared for. To be fed and clothed and smiled at as they go on with their meaningless lives. Thing is... a lot of people do n' t want to live like that. There' s already talk of resistance movements forming, with both normals and annos involved. Shit. The world' s going to be at war. " Pick a side and fight or die in a cage. " is what they' re saying. Better decide soon. Fight or put on a leash... shit. I guess that' s a no-brainer.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: I was very nervous. My 30th birthday was here and no matter how much I did n' t celebrate, it would n' t matter, but this was the first year I was having a celebration on my birthday. I would n' t remember anything, but I was determined to make it special. The camera on my wrist was knocking against my thigh every step I took. When I reached my partner of 3 years, I grasped her hands for just a moment, and released her to take a photo of her face. She grinned at me, her make up was beautiful today, but mostly I loved how happy she looked. I pushed back her veil, and took another photo. I love her more than anything. I ca n' t wait for the rest of my life with her, even with all the missed birthdays, Christmases, and anniversaries. Just cooking dinner with her and snuggling on the couch with her. She reached out and lifted my veil. She took the camera off my wrist, and I let her. Even though I knew I would n' t care about how I looked on this day. She started to cry a bit. We' d talked about this and had been discussing it daily for months. Today was our engagement day and much as it was our wedding. We never really announced to each other that we were getting married, we' d just started planning. " It' s the trifecta Hun. We just have to get through today and then we' ll be together for the rest of our lives. " I smiled at her as the officiant started to speak.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: " How fucking hard is it! " I screamed at her face and slammed the cup down on the table. The knot in my stomach tightened, it had been a long since I accidentally drank a DCCCFw/S but I still remembered the consequences. Vividly! In my rage I wanted to scream more, but as I opened my mouth the contents of my knotted stomach unleashed itself all over the baristas face. She was covered in my stomach' s opinion of her mistake. What a fool. Somehow I calmed down, I called my mother, the only person I have ever formed a relationship with because of my endless list of allergies. I held the phone to my barf covered face and said " it happened again, Soy this time, if I do n' t make it I want you to know, I love you. " The last thing I saw was a shocked barista, covered in a whitish yellowish bile and then everything faded.... I awoke with the sensation of a tube down my throat, and squinted into a fluorescent light while my memory came back. I remember, the Starbucks, the DCCCFw/S. I slowly sat up and saw my mother and the girl who served me the deadly coffee. She looked upset and held flowers, her face no longer had my stomach lining on it. My mother started crying, tears of relief and the star bucks worker apologised, handing me the flowers. " Let me make it up to you " she said, " let me take you out to dinner some time ".


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: " Master Skywalker, there' s too many! " Visa said frightened, " What do we do? " We had all risen from our hiding spots, scared for our lives from what we saw. We' d been told to stay safe until someone could get us, but the smoke, the blaster shots, all the masters falling over, it just... I was n' t sure. My fears were more than waved seeing master Skywalker appear. We' d heard about him from the gossip of the other masters, like his Generalship during in the Clone Wars, and how he' d lost his Padawan. If he' s as good as people say he is, he could definitely help us get out! Or so I had hoped... The blare of his lightsaber caught all of us off guard. We panickedly searched behind him for any of the soldiers we' d seen outside, but no one had come. I look back over towards him. I could n' t feel it before, or maybe it was because I was still in training, but there was an intimidating aura emanating from him, making the atmosphere feel heavy. He began to walk slowly towards Visa, quiet, save for his saber' s faint buzz and the fighting outside. My hands shudder, and I feel my chest heave heavier and heavier breaths, watching his approach and feeling more of this aura. He stops two steps from Visa. All he does is look up at him, his eyes fearfully questioning what' s happening. He raises his saber every so slightly, and we all then became aware of this bubble that had formed from master Skywalker' s presence. I want to run, we *all* should run, and stop waiting for this bubble to break. The vestiges of the word run never left my teeth as we all realize too late what' s going on. A crash and sizzle of plasma and Visa' s body hitting the floor with a thump and rustle of his robes said everything: The bubble has popped, and the screaming began. _______________________________________________________________ Sorry, got ta go do something, I' ll give you the rest of the story later!


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: The Renaissance was the time in which Humanity' s brightest and most ambitious began to explore the unknown, preparing their kind for the next step into civilization. Many trials were had, and many errors were made, but as the exploration efforts heightened, so did the people' s enthusiasm. For now, the first colony ship was sent from Europe and into the great unknown, aiming to conquer the untamed lands that it beholds. Countless, breathless months passed as these ships sailed through time. If this mission proved successful, the prestige and wealth from it would be enormous. Infinite. Boundless. And to the stars humanity' s finest sailed, leaving behind their polluted, discorded world. This, was the Renaissance Period summed up in several paragraphs. Specifics can be found below: **https: //gww. HUMANHISTORYUNRAVELED. org**


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: There are never lines to vote in district 73293, formerly known as Münster 3. You remember how you were a pupil at the primary school here. The smell is still the same. Or your memory of the smell here had been adjusted every few years you go here. You contemplate the irony that the ultimate rite of adulthood took place in a primary school. Irony sure ruled supreme. You walk up to the old ladies who handle their district, greet them and show your voting registration and national ID card. You realize once again that your passport picture has fewer wrinkles than you, and it pains you slightly. While you know that the prime of your life had been over already, you do n' t like to accept it. You receive the huge sheet with two columns of candidates, thank the lady and slowly walk to the voting booth. There are drawings on the wall which look amateurish to you but you can just feel that the kids must have been proud of them. Behind the vision screen, you nestle with the paper. A joke unbiddenly enters your mind from your memory, it was told to you by Mum before your first election: You know why in Bavaria the CSU always wins? Because the pencil to fill out the ballot is tied so closely that it only suffices for the first candidate. You smile, the pencil is not tied to the booth here in NRW. You make two crosses: Erststimme ( SPD ), Zweitstimme ( Linke ). Tactically split to emply your wish for a coalition. A slight pang in your conscience because you never split your vote when you were young, but these days you no longer see the need to waste your Erststimme on a long shot. This too, as you realize, is probably a sign of aging: being more pragmatic. You wrestle the huge ream of paper containing 20 candidates' and about 100 parties' aspirations for power into the envelope and then drop it into the ballot box. You smile as you hear it drop. Civic duty: done. Maybe you should go for an ice cream. The weather is nice on that Sunday.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: Hello!! I' m new but not new (?? ). I currently live in Taipei, Taiwan ( Happy Sunday from us! ). I learn Chinese and teach Kindergarten/preschool to help pay for the studying. I have a wide vocabulary which includes, " Teacher, he pushed me! " " Teacher, he called me stupid! " " What is' if "' ( maybe/sometimes/behavior/nap ) " I love you " I' ve been writing since I was 9, which was when I wrote my first novel, which was a apocalyptic horror story about a bunch of people stuck in a bunker with a murderer. I still remember fondly how I described all of their clothing in turn, based off a picture that I drew at art camp. I do n' t know that I have a motivation. I just love to write. I come here and there' s so much opportunity, and I' m surrounded by other people who like to write and it makes me *so happy*. I use Ulysses, which I do n' t really have a huge handle on or know what I' m doing with, or google docs. I used to have microsoft word but then my computer crashed and it wo n' t let me download it again because I do n' t have my university email address anymore... *sigh* I got 109wpm, but when I' m writing OC it' s closer to 50wmp... and that was really going my fastest, so I would n' t say it' s what I always do at all: P I have several pictures on the wiki! [ One ] ( http: //imgur. com/J3Enrrz ) [ Two ] ( http: //imgur. com/Q80H29c ) [ Three ] ( http: //imgur. com/ILbTitk ). I guess if we are doing promotions I will promote my subreddit ( which I created today, hooray! ) /r/Celsius232. Hosting word prompt responses and soon some OC and other things. Thanks for existing, r/writingprompts, and thanks for having such an awesome community.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: *Pop* The champagne cork flies through the air, seemingly slow in time. I watch it careen across the room, hitting a wall, a spray of carbonated liquid accompanying it. No one cares about the mess. In fact, that' s one of dozens of bottles, opened simultaneously, a cacophony of shouts, screams, pops, and happiness. There has n' t been this much energy in the room since the man on the moon. Alone, I sit back, feeling the waves of emotion wash over me through the dimly lit screen. I warily kept an eye on the screen to the right. It showed red rocks, a slowly panning picture of a Martian landscape. So it had for about an hour. The number of live viewers ticked up and down, up and down, millions of people, dozens of governments, watching, waiting, wondering. I sat back, but could n' t help but sigh. What a day. What a job. Something caught my eye. A flicker? No, nothing. How could anything- There. There it was again. Was that an arm? There it was again, a man. Definitely a man. I did n' t have any protocols to deal with this. How did a man get on the set? I sprinted out of my chair, the live view of people ticking up and up. I could n' t even turn it off from here. 15 years of sedentary lifestyle had proven mpg the smartest move. I was gasping for air despite the set being only 300 meters down the hallway. I burst into the room, yelling at Miguel the janitor to stop sweeping the set! ****** " My fellow Americans, today with a heavy heart do I admit our esteemed NASA, the once epitome of space travel, has betrayed the trust of the American people... " The president droned on. It did n' t matter. The US space program was a laughing stock. I watched from the couch, beer in hand, reclined in my easy chair. At lest I got work off early.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: The president of the world sat back in his chair and sighed. He just had not accounted for the shear will of the interplanetary alliance. They had all seemed so weak! Its been so long since they knew war they did n' t even have any weapons! But they had rallied together well. But they' d used the' burn and run' technique - leaving whole planets barren behind them as they fled to safety and his troops had quickly run out of food and water. Barely a bomb dropped and half his troops dead from starvation and exposure ( some planets had been left quite radioactive ). Of course he' d punished his generals and displayed their heads above the palace walls but it did n' t make him feel any better. It' s getting harder to replace them.' I guess I' ll have to settle with ruling the world then' he said defeated


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: Perhaps we were lucky. Our baby was born two months premature, so we had a full month of waiting before he was strong enough to take The Test. I, for one, hated that test. See, I' m supposed to be a gay man who was killed for being gay, yet I want nothing more than to grow old with my wife and newborn son. My wife - she was a dancer whose body was never found, yet she' s as coordinated as a drunk spider. My wife cooed at little Ian, who was motionless. The doctor tapped me on the shoulder, and motioned me outside. Once we were in a private room, he handed me the results of the reincarnation test. " This has to be wrong! " I demanded. " Surely you mixed him up with another child! " Through my blurred vision, the doctor shook his head. " I' m sorry, sir, but I triple-checked those results. " I bit my lip until I tasted something metallic, as the doctor read what was on the paper. The blood pounded rhythmically in my head, in time to the tears that left cool streams down my cheeks. " Code Blue, Room 1087. " The blood, which had welled up my head, drained out of my face. That was where my son was! The doctor shook his head. " You know what' ll happen to him if the government gets their hands on him, " he said flatly. I ran past him into the room. The incubator was empty. My wife held our baby. " I... I heard everything, " she burst out. " This was the only thing I could do! " Our baby was still too weak to breathe on his own. His last moments were not in a government room, but in the embrace of his parents. " Goodbye... Ian Caligula Patterson, " I said softly. " May you remember that you were loved, even if only for a month. "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: We were carrying the morning' s haul back to the mound when the brightness returned. It was the same monster who was also responsible for the event. Frankie evaporated in front of me. It was horrifying. He glowed angelically for a moment but almost instantly his legs curled and shriveled, and then his abdomen crumpled as if there were a vacuum inside of it. He opened his mandibles in desperation, and then, he was just gone. Leaving only a charred husk of what he once was. I felt the temperature rise as the beam started moving towards me. I was next. For a brief moment I collected myself under my bounty before realizing it would be of no use. I dropped it and ran. The blades of grass offered reprieve from the sun but could not help now. My body seared instantly when exposed. I found a twig and started climbing, what was I doing! I abandoned the effort, dropping to the ground and continuing my feverish sprint. My legs were out of sync and I stumbled frequently. I had nothing left to give, but kept going.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: " Hey everyone " says Fedora, the tubby, animated boy. His acne-pocked face and neckbeard blend his body seamlessly into a shirt which reads " I' m an atheist, debate me ". He waves to the camera, though this appears to have been too much physical exercise, and he sits down. " Today we' re going on a special adventure, we' re going to go to the store and pick up the new Richard Dawkins book. " He pauses, panting from the exhaustion of speaking for a prolonged period of time, and shoves a fingerless gloved hand into a bag of Doritos, the only sustenance he knows. " But how do we get there?! I know, we' ll ask /b/! Let' s look in my fedora and see if we can find /b/! " The boy pulls his hat off and, much like the scenes involving the backpack in the show' s predecessor, a series of small, dancing products appear. We see a bag of doritos, a small doggy-bag of weed, a signed copy of " The God Delusion ", a web browser window showing 4chan' s /b/ board and a small, framed locket in which rests a drawing of Hanako, from the popular visual novel Katawa Shoujo. " We need to wake up /b/, guys! can you yell' mods'? " *a pause, allowing for the audience to yell' mods' * " That' s great, look, we' ve got him up! " CUT TO web browser, we see Fedora the Explorer posing his question. " How do I get to the book store, /b/? " Amidst a torrent of " tits or GTFO " comments, we see three highlighted. *out of the basement *into mom' s car *into the bookstore Fedora looks to the camera and smiles, wiping his crumby hands over his duster coat and jean shorts. " That' s easy, out of the basement - " He pauses. " On second thoughts, let' s just get Amazon to deliver. " The camera pans out as we see fedora sit back in his chair and begin to shitpost violently.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: Dear Madam President Clinton, I was most upset at the recent announcement of this so called " Perpetual Motion " machine. You claim that we will have, and I quote, " unlimited energy for everyone " and that it will bring " the virtual end of hunger and poverty ", which will apparently " usher in a new age for mankind, the end of all suffering. " And then your speech ends because you are overwhelmed with tears of joy and everyone around you is cheering. This displeases me. America was founded on the principles of hard work. The stronger your work ethic, the more you attain, and the happier you will be. This is what the Founding Fathers wanted. Do you know what this technology is going to do to our youth? Turn them into vagrants. No need to work means no need for education. What will kids do with their time? You guessed it. Drugs and violence. Video games. Holodecks where they can live their sick fantasies. You disgust me, whoever it is that' s reading this. Please reconsider your decision and remember that " A dream does not become reality with magic; it takes sweat, determination, and hard work. " - Colin Powell Shame on you all. Concerned Citizen


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: An animal stood directly in front of him. Usually, this would not be an uncommon situation. After all, animals frequently stand in front of people. Farmers, for example, are usually found in fields near cows ( this is not just a stereotype ). However, he was not a farmer, and this animal was neither a cow nor in a field. "Wow, it' s nice to see you. You' re here early, "said the animal. The animal had a set of hoofed legs, which it used to stand. It had two arms about the same length as the legs, one of which was touching the ground, and the other of which was holding a cylinder. The cylinder had a pipe that extended to the creature' s large, lipless mouth. The animal sucked at its pipe, then looked back at its subject, expecting a response. "Don' t worry about speaking out loud, I wouldn' t listen anyway. "The animal was not being rude, he was simply stating a fact that was obvious between the two of them. The atmosphere of the moon was too light to carry sound waves, making speech useless. Neil Armstrong looked at the animal unsteadily and backed away. "There' s an alien out here and it' s talking to me, "he said into his radio. "You shouldn' t be alarmed, Earth creature. I created your planet, and if I wanted to kill you, well, I could have just not created it in the first place. "Neil Armstrong stopped backing away from the self proclaimed God. "—Wait, wait, let me take that back. You people make farms all the time—which, I might add, are the essence of your civilization—for the purpose of killing and eating the creatures that grow on it. Earth is not a farm, it' s more of an incubator of sorts. "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: To: United Nations Committee for the Culling of the Human Population From: [ Malkalack ] Subject: Re: Population Problems Saying " we have an overpopulation problem " at this stage would be somewhat of an understatement. The Earth simply can not withstand the current population of 11, 000, 000, 000 souls. The taxation on the environment is outrageous. The ladies and gentlemen of this committee have asked me for a solution; in this message is the solution. How does one go about eradicating the human race? We' re certainly too advanced for a disease to make any sort of a dent in the population. If we were to simply begin culling people by force, a war may ensue - one that would n' t leave two stones standing on top of each other. Other methods are simply too unreliable or inexpensive - nanobots and killer AI come to mind. Albert Einstein once said, " Only two things are infinite, the universe and human stupidity, and I' m not sure about the former. " and this rings true. The truth is, most human beings are stupid. We can educate ourselves, but, as another saying goes, " you ca n' t fix stupid ".... Which is the crux of my position. If we remove the warning signs from hazardous pieces of equipment and machinery, people will die in droves. The amount of fools slicing their own arteries with lawn-mowers, and falling from construction cranes will greatly decrease our population. Without safety warnings or manuals, society degrades. Thank you kindly for considering my proposal.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: Alex - I see you every day, and after all these years I just want to say I' m disappointed. I' m disappointed in the life you lead and how you treat yourself and others. I remember back in the day, when you talked and dreamed big and said you would be going to Cornell, or Yale, or Brown, or some Ivy League school and you' d be graduating the top of the class. You were always going on and on about how you were gon na take the world by storm, you were gon na be someone, you were gon na be a contender. Nowadays, you' re going to a community college and living with your dad, looking for a way out. I remember when you would talk about heading out west - " I' ll just drive until I run out of gas, and then I' ll walk until I run out of leg. " I wonder if you still want to do that, and I wonder why you have n' t yet. I remember the first poetry you wrote, and how god awful it was, and how you knew it was garbage - but it was *your* garbage, and by god you loved it. I read your poetry now, and it' s less garbage, and it' s getting better, but you are still so hard on yourself. Of course it' s not perfect yet, you' re still young and have a life to live. I see you look at your girlfriend with those big old eyes of yours, and how you tell her that she' s the world to you. Alex, I see in your eyes there are galaxies, and I see fear in her eyes sometimes - after all, what' s a world to a galaxy? You' ve got aspirations. I do n' t know what they are. I do n' t think you know either. But for God' s sake, instead of sitting here writing a response to a prompt on reddit, try being people again. Alex


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: " Daddy, why do we have to put on gas masks every night? " " Put it on, and go to bed. " " No, but why do we have to put them on? " " It' s because of the government is spraying us with mind control gas. Now go to bed. " " You keep saying that. " " You do n' t believe me? " " No one at school sleeps in a mask. " " You believe them rather than your father? " " They said they do n' t wear gas masks at night. " " You do n' t believe me? Remember last week when the plane flew over? " " Yeah, but.. " " What was coming out of the plane? " " White mind control gas. " " That' s right - mind control gas. " " But the others at school say there' s no such thing. " " Do n' t trust them, they' ve breathed in too much of the gas themselves. " " My friends? " " They' re not your friends. They' re sheep. Pawns. You know what a pawn is? " " No. " " Someone who breathes in too much of the damn gas that they end up working for the government. " " My friends work for the government? " " If not for the mask, you' d be just like them. " " Really? " " That' s right kido. Now go to bed. You got ta rest before our big hiking trip. "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: " There' s something about this water, " I said. Sally rubbed her wedding ring absently with her other hand. " Is there, dear? " she asked. " Yesh, " I said. " Itsh... it tashtes. " " Does it? " she asked. She cocked her head to one side. She plucked her knife and fork delicately and cut a thin strip of steak. " You' re slurring, dear. Are you OK? " I shook my head. " Yeah, " I said, fighting back some momentary dizziness. " Yeah, I' m fine. Are you enjoying the sht... the shhtea - " She laughed, coldly. " Perhaps you have a dry mouth, " she said. " Have another drink. " I looked at the water. It perhaps was cloudy in the water. And eyes? The... is opacity a word? " Well? " I asked out loud. " Ish it? " A blank smile that wrote nothing on her face but expectation. " Darling, you' re making no sense. " I slapped myself in the face. The clouds at the corner of my vision receded. " The water, " I said. " You' ve done something. " She placed her fork down deliberately on the table. " I did, " she said. " You wo n' t be humiliating me with that teenage slut any more. " The clouds started to encroach on my vision again. I remembered the other thing that the thing was going to cause a complications with and I was glad we did n' t have a cat because you hear stories about people with cats when they... " fuck, " I managed. The words in my head blurred and cleared; blurred and cleared. " This is bad, " I said. She laughed again, raising her perfect chin high as she did. " Not for me, " she said. " Yesh, " I slurred. " Yesh, for you. " She looked at her steak. " You did n' t, " she said. " You would n' t do that. " Her nose started to bleed. I laughed, twisting the skin on my hand to clear the clouds one last time. " What a fucking marriage, " I said. " I' m glad we do n' t have a cat, " she said, before she fell face first into her dinner.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: *West Coast* ________ First, there was silence. The world stood still and waited for a single report, a single voice, a single byte of data from New Zealand. But there was nothing. All of UTC+10: 00 was silent. Avery sat alone in the broadcast tower, home of his local television station. The feeds from New Zealand were all static. It was n' t until an hour later, when the Australian feeds went down, did the world truly begin to panic. It began with a major stampede in Times Square when the crowd climbed over one another to get away. Away from what, nobody knew. Avery' s job was simple. He had to monitor news stations from all over the world. His office was right next to the live broadcast studio, but he did not have access there. He was just a lowly employee, after all. But this unique job gave Avery the unique position to monitor the global breakdown. Scenes of unrest poured in from around the globe. Then just as suddenly as they started, they disappeared. Only static remained. Static, and more static. *Bzzz. Bzzz. * The telephone rang. Avery dragged himself up and picked up the phone. There was nothing but static. *Great, now the phone lines are down as well, * Avery cursed. Just as he was about to slam down the phone, a voice, stuttered and hoarse, crawls out from static buzz. * " Warn... warn... " * " What? " said Avery. " Who is this? " * " New... from new zealand... " * His heart skipped a beat. " You' re in New Zealand? What' s going on there? What happened to your communications? " * " Ma... wrong... " * " I ca n' t hear you! " * " The ma... Mayans were wrong... " *


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: " Sam.. do you think there' s life after death? " " Not really.. why? " "... so what do you think happens when you kick the bucket? " " Nothing.. I guess? I' ll cease to exist. How could it be any different? " " Do you dream? " " Of course, do n' t you? " " Yeah.. but.. do you remember your dreams? " " Not really.. not unless it' s really weird... like.. one time I dreamt I was a sheep. " " A sheep? " ".. yeah, all I did was graze in the sun. It was kinda nice.. " " But then.. do n' t you see? Do n' t you think it' s kind of crazy? " " What... dreams? " " Yeah, like, we go to sleep.. and our minds create a world so real we do n' t even know it.. and we' re doing it without any conscious thought on our part at all! " ".. right. That is weird, I guess... but so what? " " Well if that' s possible.. who' s to say that all this is n' t one big dream as well? " ".. one big dream? " " Yeah, maybe you and I and everyone else all come from the same one that' s dreaming this entire thing. " ".. but.. come on, that' s crazy. " ".. is it? How do you know for sure? " " Because. This is reality.. it just.. it just is. I can tell. " "... but.. then.. why did you continue to act like a sheep instead of acting like Sam? " " I guess.. because I did n' t know I was dreaming.. "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: Oil and copper. That' s what she tasted like. It was never the cold metallic lips that got to him, or the firmness of her biceps -but the taste, the foul residue left in his mouth after each time he kissed Hanna. Jim sighed, holding his head in hands as he pondered over the last few years on Mars. Hanna sat quietly next to him, her back panel lay open awaiting the next input of manual code. He' d been one of many to volunteer for the project, a research system developed by NASA to test if humans and A. I could co-exist. It was a safety protocol more than anything else, a measure that had to be taken before introducing A. I on earth. All of the others- humans - had passed on, with the last lady - Gloria - having happened only a few months prior. She was lucky enough to be taken by old age. Most of the young recruits were taken by the space illness, disease that had never been seen on earth before. Once NASA understood the risks they cut all ties with Project M. Jim sat still, listening to the last video recording as it played again in the background. The young scientist on screen explained the risks and how they' d all be remembered for their efforts and reassuring that their families would be taken care of....


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: Drip drip dip. Day in, day out. They never once tried to fix that damned leak. Nearly two centuries of isolation. The only human contact was, at the most, a gloved hand that dropped the food through the slot in the aging iron door. Never once was I spoken to. The first fifty years were the hardest. My mental health, decayed from a millennia of archaic drugs, had finally trapped me within the system of justice that I saw birthed from the fledgling nation I at many times fought for. Amazing how clear ones mind can become after a century of total isolation. I' ve never feared death. I' ve feared many things but never death. At one point I believed me eternal life was a gift. An eternity of watching the world shift and grow, for better or for worse. Eternity. An eternity of watching friends, family, and lovers die. I tried at many points in my unending life to put an end to it. Poisons made me ill. Blades cut, but drew no blood. I was an immortal amongst men. I ran from my failures and tried to blind myself from my reality. Man created drugs for that reason. And I tumbled for centuries blind to my own actions and blind to the world. I never wanted to ham anyone. The ones I hurt. Accidents. Self defense. With my captivity, I found myself again. It' s been two lifetimes since then it' s nearly time for me to taste freedom once again. Perhaps it' s time I did some good in this never ending life.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: " *MY DAD CAN BEAT YOUR DAD! * " Tommy screamed at the top of his lungs, meant as the ultimate insult to Sue Clairborn, his playground nemesis. " No he ca n' t! " Retorted Sue, sticking her nose up in the air. " We' ll see about *that! * " Tommy and Sue raced to their homes, right across the street from each other. The eager six-year-olds dragged their fathers out of the house and into the middle of the cul-de-sac. " I said you can beat stupid Sue' s daddy, " Tommy said, looking up at his six-foot-six, 220 pound dad. " I told Tommy that you can *definitely* beat his dad. " Sue looked expectantly at her father, who shuffled his feet a bit and readjusted his spectacles. " So you HAVE to fight! " The two kids shouted in unison. Sue' s dad gave a little chuckle. " You know I' m a pacifist, Sue, " he said, looking lovingly down at his daughter. " I know daddy! " Sue replied, giddy. " But you can beat him at chess! "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: Jury duty, what kind of nonsense is this. How can they even put this man on trial for a crime where no body exists? I picked that meat to the bone and threw the bones to the pigs. I really do n' t know who enjoyed the meal more, the pigs and I probably equally squealed in delight. Regardless the most this man should be charged with is kidnapping. But even that is putting things to a stretch. Honestly the only crime he ever committed was having the same physical description as me. 6' 2, blonde, blue eyes, muscular build and a tendency to visit Tom' s tavern. I have only been twice and he was there both times. I mean it makes it so much easier when you find a nice scapegoat. Anyways looking at him I can tell that our protein sources are way different. He does n' t have the sharp incisors required to tear human flesh from the bone. That kind of sharpness does n' t come easy. I spent months filing my teeth down with a nail file. I had originally thought about using one of those metal files to expedite the matter nut I felt like it would n' t give me the precise control I needed. The finite precision where I can draw blood with the softest bite. The real question on my mind is how did they ever pin this guy with the murder? I understand that I probably have been eating out a bit too often and the local authorities need someone to pin the crimes on, but how do they even know a crime existed? I guess I am fortunate enough to get a first hand account of all the details. Dammit, I' m hungry and looking at the Asian prosecutor all I can think is I want some Chinese.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: It is intuitively obvious even to the most casual of observers what transpired. His father abandoned the family at a very young age, possibly to gamble, drink or sing. This is evidenced by the antique guitar and the finished off alcoholic container. He appears on the surface to have been a mean man, but on closer inspection I believ eyou will find his motives were pure. He did not in fact get humor from his actions, and regretted that leaving was the only rational choice. So he made his decision and abruptly departed. He continually worried that his progeny would track him to his current location, so he kept a low profile, but unfortunately for him, he was tracked due to a well used photograph and a menacing look in the photograph. His son caught up to him at a den of ill repute where he was in fact participating in a card game of chance. His son then clearly introduced himself, but also threatened his life, so the father had no choice but to brandsh a knife and utilize it to cut a portion off his own son' s ear. They then scuffled for a good long while, each of which trading massive blows as evidenced by the huge quantities of blood, the numerous sweat drops, and all of the spilled beer. It appears that the father realized he was about to lose, so he reached for his pistol, but the son was able to draw and ready his in a more timely manner. At this point I imagine the father pleaded for his life and attempted to explain why he felt the need to bequeath a name of scorn to his son. His so was in fact understanding so they each threw down their weaponry and hugged each other. The son was so moved in fact that if he ever had a child, he would do anything except utilize the naming method his father used upon him. Thus Watson, we now fully understand why the man before us is named Sue.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: General Turk sat at his desk reviewing the file for one of the world' s greatest threats. His assistant Maria stood in the corner with a confused look on her face. Her boss spent hours every day looking for weaknesses and drawing up strategies to bring his opponent down. She had been afraid to even ask what or who could possible demand this level of attention. Today was the last day she would just ignorantly observe. Today she walked over to the Generals desk and asked her boss to explain his current almost hateful obsession. After only an hour she too hated this monster of a man who wielded a terrifying ability to breach human' s mental walls. Maria didn' t even want to think about all the potentially horrifying things he could do, wipe memories, control thoughts, and even kill people on a whim. What made things worse he was so powerful he wasn' t limited to one person at a time. Records had shown him using his powers on several people simultaneously without effort. Rumors had spread that he had even built devices to enhance his powers, one such device took up an entire room and with it he could easily expand his powers across the entire globe if he concentrated hard enough. He was as nefariously smart as he was lethal. This scoundrel didn' t even hide. Everyone in authority knew where he lived. He even had his name in bronze on the entrance gates to one of the largest properties in Westchester County. What made him difficult to get to was he surrounded himself with children. He built an army of innocent human shields to protect him by appearing to run a boarding house for the "misunderstood "young. Simply killing him would be a P. R. nightmare especially considering his obvious physical disability and charitable contributions to the community. Maria knew that power corrupts and this man had power most gods would envy. She figured every good thing he did must be an elaborate farce to make him appear wholesome and noble until he finally enacted some horrible plan.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: The light piercing through the slit' s of the blinds shone like lasers in my eyes. " I guess I should get out of bed, " I said aloud to her before I remembered that I was alone in the room. " Fuck, " I muttered, I had forgotten she was gone. The ache in my head and my parched lips were reminder' s of last nights escapades, too much whiskey and not enough water. I reached for my bottle. Empty. It shattered in the corner I tossed it in. I needed something, anything to numb the ache in my head and the more painful one in my chest. I was starting to remember her face, the smell of her hair and the softness of her skin. That was the last thing I needed to remember right now. I stumbled over to the sink and grabbed a mostly cleanish glass that hours before I am sure had contained " the water of life " and filled it from the tap. The cool water did nothign for my headache and memories but at least I was hydrating my parched throat. I would need to venture out and try to scrounge another bottle from somewhere. The Stiff' s would n' t be nearly as active during the day, I almost did n' t care though, what was I really even trying to go on living for? She was gone. They tore her apart right in front of me, " Why did I have to be the one to survive? I wanted it to be you. God damn, I really did. "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: The general stood above Private Jones, puffing his cigarette obnoxiously loud. For all the times the general had forgotten his keys, or his phone, he never seemed to forget the cigarettes. The general did n' t even smoke very often, he only lit up when he was either tired, or wanting to " show off " his authority to everyone else. " Read me the first message again, private. " He commanded, leaning against the desk. Private Jones steadied the desk with an annoyed grunt. " It says: We hear you, humans. " The general nodded. " Second message? " "' Please cease all contact. "' Jones had found that second message quite funny. For a foreign species, they were rather polite. It just seemed too good to be true. " And our most recent message was sent when? " Jones looked over the logs. " Last night, at approximately twenty-one-thirty-seven hours. " " Alright, well, let me- " but the general was interrupted by a quiet *ding*, from the computer. They had heard the sound only twice before, so they both leaned in close to the screen as Jones struggled to pull up the message. Their last message had been in reply to the request of no further contact, simply asking " why? ". Jones had n' t wanted to phrase it like that, but he was n' t in charge of the content of the messages. The message loaded, but not to their relief. In fact, Jones almost wished he had n' t opened it. It was four simple words, yet it filled the air with such heaviness, that neither of the men could breathe. " You' ll give us away. " It read.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: She arose to a sparkling light of great warmth, but this did not feel like her home planet. As she gazed at the lush green surroundings, her stomach began to pang for intake. She began to wander through the life surrounding her, she saw fellow creatures scampering on the ground, the ball of warmth up above illuminating the green geometrical fronds and petals. Fundamentally these lifeforms were similar to her home planets'. She noticed some plants reached for her, after carefully inspecting the leaves through smell, sight, and touch, she then nibbled on one to test its agreeability. The plant was palatable and had no sourness to it. After munching a handful of leaves, she set off towards the bubbling sound of life nearby. As she pawed through the forest, she came upon a stream, she noticed a small creature with its mouth in the stream. She imitated the creature, seeing that it was n' t dissimilar from her self. Refreshed by the water, she then began to set eyes on the creature, recognizing it as prey for if it had drank a life source, than it must be a life source. Later on as she slept under the millions of shining lights in the sky, she felt the teeth of a creature sink into her skin, and the next morning she awoke, this time on a new planet.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: " Shit, SHIT. OH MY GOD! " half breathed ben aloud. " What the hell am I going to tell his mom? " he screamed. Gun still pointed at the other " Travis ". He mind was racing a thousand miles a minute. He had just shot his best friend. All this back and fourth talk between the two. He had even quizzed them both. He was sure he had picked the clone. " How could I not know I was being tricked? " he whispered. Thats when it happened, the ceiling exploded into a million tiny shards of glass. They were here, and they wanted their property back. He thought back to the day him and travis stumbled upon that little secret. He remember how they were going to change the world with it. He could n' t help but to smirk. Back then they were so naive. So much time had past since then and everything that had come to light in their investigation. It was almost worth it. Just almost. The ropes were slowly falling for Ben, when he decided to plug the trigger. He knew that in just moments there would be a small team surrounding them to recover the stolen property. He knew one bullet to this travis' s head and everything they had come for would be gone. He wanted to make sure the they would pay for everything he had lost. CLICK. The round is sent spinning through the chamber of the. 45. Sent on it destructive course for the hard bone and soft brain matter of this abomination. But the bullet never meets its target. Instead it is stopped just short. As it falls to the ground, he knows who is here. But there was no time left, so he turns and starts to run toward the car. " They will come for me "he thinks to himself as he gets into the car. "But for now I will wait till that day comes "he says as he starts the car and lunges down the road and around the corner.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: My mother to my left, my father to my right, and assorted family gathered elsewhere in the room all waited and started. I felt as if I was becoming a spectacle, my arm on show for everyone I knew. My cousin Jeremy had been branded as a veterinarian, which is odd because as children he was cruel to animals. Come to think of it my sister had been given harlot, though from the rumors that one is n' t too far off. As the clock struck 11: 59 my pulse began to race and a faint sheen of sweat lingered on my brow, my entire future could be decided in this moment or some deep motive that some twisted divine had placed inside me. The clock on the wall was deafening, every other sound so blatantly missing, as if the air itself waited. In this moment I had forgotten how to breathe, blinking was all but forgotten. This one place in the universe is all that mattered. Suddenly, the clock struck with a chime and words began to creep onto my skin linking the space between my freckles. The pattern of the letters was almost comical how bad they were written, almost as if a drunken frat boy was tattooing me. *send^nudes*


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: I once hoped that I would be a part of the human world, comforting those that were to pass onto the next realm. I dreamed of counseling those that feared death; teaching them that it is not death they should fear, but what they should hope. But I was not fated to be a part of the human world, per se, but a part of the livestock. In this world, I council cows, chickens, pigs, and any other livestock that humans have domesticated. The ingenuity of these humans to control these animals for food production was astounding. But as time marched on, I could no longer respect the humans. Year after year, month after month, day after day, and hour after hour, I listen to the multitudes of death that occur every second. Cows, whose young was taken for veal and whose only purpose is to produce milk, grow old, and die. They would call out to all their children that were taken away. Chicken, forced into cages to lay eggs, would speak only of gibberish at the end of their lives. Their stories, heartbreaking as it is, only laid the foundation of anger. These livestock was forced into servitude and death not of their own choice, but only because they could be easily exploited. While I listened to their stories, I asked simply if they could change the world, would they do so for the better. These humans have created death factories for the carcasses of these animals. No, I can no longer respect humans. It is to this end, I have finally amassed enough angry spirits to take vengeance upon this world. These animals will set the foundation of a new utopia and it is us who will serve as vengeance.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: " Attention. " Every heart skipped a beat. The voice had not from the sky or from behind, but from the inside of every human mind on the planet. All at once they stopped. " This is Richard Cardiloo and my team of scientists. We have been watching you all very closely in hopes of bettering the entire human race and you have performed wonderfully. " Massive panic became the rule of law. The people on their knees with noses pressed down prayed for forgiveness. Cars collided and things were dropped. I saw the same look of revelation and fear on every face in the building. The woman I had loved for fourteen years took my hand and looked me tearfully in the eye. I could n' t hear anything but Richard Cardiloo, but I could see her lips mouth " Till the end. " Every human has an innate sense that tells them when something bad is about to happen. Your hair stands up on the back of your neck, your heart pounds faster and harder than it ever has, and time slows. The message got grimmer. " For what have been centuries to you and mere months to us, your simulation, number 1766, has let us model a society where war is a foreign concept. Your simulation will unfortunately be terminated in a matter of hours. Goodbye. " Matters of hours turned into weeks. Then Years. People began to think it was an illusion. The world government assured the people it would continue to function and try to find a truth to the matter. The woman who had been with me three years ago whe


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: It appeared on his cell phone at exactly eight in the morning. Peter' s hand shook as he read the text message. There was no sender or phone number to call back. It simply said: *In ten hours, the entire population of the Earth will be shuffled. Your consciousness will be changed with another. You may not choose with whom you will switch. Prepare. * Six o' clock. Peter turned to his laptop and scoured the Internet. For a moment he felt the brief spark of relief when he couldn' t find a reference this message. And then the dam broke. People from Japan to Australia to Toronto were asking the same question. How? And what did it mean? Some people panicked. Some people sounded overjoyed. The more he read, the more Peter felt a sense of a calm. In ten hours, if this was real, he would be out of his body. It had taken the last six years for him to adjust to his new life. It had taken every second since June 14, 2008 to finally feel even the vaguest sense of ease with how he had to live day to day. But as he watched the message clutter his Twitter page, Peter felt overjoyed. He stared at the corner of the room where his shackles lay dormant. The guilt was one thing. The agony of thinking about the accident everyday was another. But the physical repercussions were just the manifestation of denial. But in ten hours he would be free from the stares. No longer would his family be able to shake their heads and make passive-aggressive comments. He would never have to walk down the stairs and see her cherubic face frozen in time living in the parade of frames against the wall. While the world screamed in terror behind him, Peter got out of bed. In ten hours he would be free. He gripped the edge of the bedside table and reached over for his leg. In ten hours he would be whole again. In ten hours he would run.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: Arnold sat quietly at his seat, eating out of the small package of peanuts he had received from the flight attendant. " Excuse me, " said the man next to him, " but may I have a few of those? It' s so hard to find food here. " Arnold was surprised. He remembered that the man next to him had received the peanuts. As Arnold turned his head, he cried out in terror. It was a giant peanut in a top hat, with a monocle as well. Arnold, paralyzed in fear, did n' t know what to do. " Well? " asked the peanut. Arnold handed over the remnants of his peanut bag. The giant peanut shook the remains into its mouth. Arnold suddenly remembered he needed to go to the bathroom, and darted out of his seat. As he walked towards the back of the plane trying to rationalize seeing a giant peanut, he caught a glimpse of what appeared to be a pirate captain, next to a large tiger. The last thing Arnold remembered as he hit the floor was the tiger exclaiming, " Want a peanut? They' re GRRRRREAT! "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: I had left it dormant for far too long. Draped cloths over workbenches and tools, the room silent and dark. When had I last been in here? It was hard for me to recall. I was one of the last, a lowly cleric of the Larsa order. We had given up robes and insignia a long time ago, after the purge. Words were valued once, before the chattering binary masters came. Primary vehicle of emotions and feelings, abstract glyphs of the human soul made real in other minds. Now most broadcasts and entertainment were stitched together with millimeter precision, " grown " from parallel binary minds running adaptive algorithms. Spun and tailored for maximum impact, to harmonize with the prominent zeitgeist of the age. Not like in the past. Ideas pushed outward like ripples, cascading on other minds to find root or lie dormant. Crafted for ease of absorption, but not filtered to homogenous banality, stripped of all controversial content. That was what the machines lacked, you see. As adept as they were in providing tailored memes and mimicing popular styles, they never could capture the spark of creativity that was required to create a new branch. That was my strength. Lifting the nearest cloth, I pulled it off the waist-high workbench. An older style writing device, a typewriter, lay underneath. Twin reels of inked ribbon shining dully in the mute light. I wanted to start slowly today. Never create in haste, my old master would say, every idea is potent and strong. To unleash a half-formed thought is to undo the universe, as we are nothing but what we perceive, are we not? Taking the top sheet of cream-colored paper next to the device, I wound it in and slowly began to type.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: Just shy of a meter below me paved asphalt speeds past my feet at about 140 kilometers per hour. The road is uneven, but the *almost luxury* SUV we ride in makes it feel much smoother. My progeny is restless behind me. Seven hours in *any* vehicle, even this sweet ride, is wearing on him. He talks to the tiny screen in front of him occasionally as Curious George goes on adventure after adventure. He' s finally stopped asking " Are we there yet? " Since we told him we' re *almost there*. A gentle, processed, filtered breeze blows on my face. Keeping me cool but no longer comfortable. At this point my skin is feeling oily and dirty. The road food we' ve eaten has been unsatisfactory sustenance and is clogging my pores. I' m tired of looking at a tiny screen. I' m tired of riding. I' m tired of feeling greasy. Are we there yet?


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: The sound shattered a universe. Steel twisted and bent, the chassis collapsed, and the front windshield ruptured. It was like God had taken my car and crumpled it between His hands. I opened my eyes. I had n' t been showered in shattered glass. My chest had n' t been cored by a steering column. I could feel my hands and toes and neck. And all I could see was... leather? Leather, and a hemisphere of white plastic. Slowly, achingly, I pulled myself backward. I was sitting in my backseat -- how did I get here? -- and had ended up with my head shoved against the leatherette exterior of the front driver' s seat. The car was reasonably intact, considering. The windshield was indeed gone, but the front of the car had collapsed almost perfectly, preserving the interior. And me. I could see an arm in a white suit, and white gloves, holding firmly onto the steering wheel. " Hello? Who are you? " The hemisphere of plastic turned. I saw my own face, shocked but unmarred, in the reflection of a mirrored visor. I wish I could tell you what we talked about. I wish I could remember. But I was in such a daze from the impact that I do n' t remember much. And what I do remember would sound unbelievable if I told you. All I know for sure is, he' s called the Stig.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: 19th Aug Year 7AD - I received today an email. It' s quite strange, it' s the 1st time I received an email in the last 7 years 25th Aug Year 7AD - I received 3 more emails, it' s from anybody would like to meet me. I have not friends. I have not been with anyone in the last few years. I start to believe I' m sending emails to myself when I' m drunken. 02th Sep Year 7AD - Today I was in the big city to stolen some medicine and some alcoholic drinks. I did n' t meet any people, still a ghost town as since 7 years ago. 04th Sept Year 7AD - More weird emails signed by the Master. What fuck is the Master? I believe I' m getting mad with this isolation. Master says will meet with me in 14th Sept. 07th Sept Year 7AD - The Master is my imagination, at least I suppose it. Master send me an email to buy some alcoholic drinks and tuna cans. 09 th Sept Year 7AD - Master says he' s arriving. Ask me another time for some alcoholic drinks and tuna cans. 10th Sept Year 7AD - I return to the big ghost towns to get the stuff asked by the master. 11th Sept Year 7AD - The silence was so strong today. I did n' t received more emails from the master. I did n' t get drunk in the last days. 12th Sept Year 7AD - Nothing happened. 13th Sept Year 7AD - I woke up today with a feeling that there was someone close to me. But only silence. Of course it' s impossible to have more people in the Earth, I' m the only surviver after the Doom, the big nuclear accident 7 years ago. I know it because I was the one that pulsed the red button. 14th Sept Year 7AD - I do n' t believe what' s happening but for the first time after doom I see another human like me. Steve Bannon is alive. The master is alive! ( I' m not english native and I' m just doing it to make some english written exercise ).


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: You go home after the shift, you stole this antique vase that was owned by an old witch. You show your girlfriend your new possession. You both go to sleep and you dream about waking up in the middle of the night. The next day you go back to your new job work the whole day thinking about the vase. An hour before you get off work you girlfriend calls you and you miss the calls. She texts you. You read the texts when your off work, saying that she is feeling funny. You think nothing of it. You drive home, walk in the door and find your girl friend and the vase you stole in her hands. Ask her how' s her days been going and what she is doing with the vase. She does n' t speak. So you proceed toward her and try and take the vase. That' s when she passes out, she drops the vase and you pick it up worried about the fall it just took. Take it to your bedroom realize its okay. You fall asleep relived and wake up in the morning covered in blood wondering what the fuck... Find this vase beside you and do n' t think twice. You walk to where your girlfriend passed out, she is n' t there. So you go back to your room and she is dead beside the bed. Her heart is cut out of her chest and is missing. Oh my god what is happening but your calm because this vase is in your hand. You look in the vase and remember. Its 8am and time to go to work, you get to work and put in your two weeks notice and go home.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: Keeping in mind that I have no idea what I' m talking about I do have a couple of comments/criticisms. Also this might get slightly spoiler-ish I guess my most major " criticism " is that it does n' t really do anything new. I do n' t really have examples, but I' ve seen all this stuff before and I pretty much knew everything that was going to happen. That being said, there' s nothing new under the sun so it' s really more about how you tell the story and you did that quite well and it' s also probably worth mentioning that I am really far removed from the subject matter. Otherwise the " single action, make peace " line was kind of clunky, it may have worked better to have Fletcher explain what single action meant earlier on so that it was in the readers head towards the end. In the final conversation Conall probably talked a little bit too much. There seemed to be lines that did n' t really seem like things he would say and were more there to set up Colm. Other than that there were a couple minor things. There' s that darkly comedic line towards the end where you could probably drop " do you think? " and there were a couple of similes and metaphors that came off as awkward to me, for example " the chastised face of a small child caught pilfering cookies from a jar " or " it felt sour and sugary, like lemon in a glass of water ", but I' m pretty much allergic to similes that are n' t played for humour so I' d especially take that with a grain, or shaker, of salt. Again I would n' t say any of these were major ( or even valid ) and it was very well written.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: Happiest day of my life, Ryan kept telling himself. Over and over, he repeated the five words like mantra hoping eventually it would sink in and he would feel the emotion that should have paired with the smile on his face. He did an alright job until the note distracted him. He could n' t even remember who of the three hundred and fifty guests was responsible. After kissing his new bride' s cheek, one of those guests had taken Ryan' s hand and pressed the napkin to his palm. All the while, Ryan had been thinking about his oddly steady heartbeat, his dry palms, his even breaths. No cold feet had slowed him to the aisle. Instead, he had been dealing with a slow, creeping apathy for months. Worse than irritation or even hatred, Ryan felt indifference. That napkin rustled against his skin though the person who delivered it was long gone. *A note of well wishes*, he thought, *for the happiest day of my life*. He hugged a second cousin, an elderly aunt. *Advice*, he thought, *for how to make my marriage as joyous as this day, the happiest day of my life*. He shook an ex-girlfriend' s hand and told himself, *it' s an apology for not bringing a present on this, the happiest day of my life*. Finally, curiosity the first emotion in months to break through his crushing indifference, Ryan made excuse after excuse and snuck off to the men' s room. Sitting on the toilet seat, stall door locked ahead of him, he unfolded the napkin. There in strong, dark handwriting read, " Get out now. While you still can. " Ryan stared down at the scrawl of works and swallowed hard against a sudden knot of tears.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: " Fuck... " sighed Phil as he looked at the gaping hole in his living room wall, from the vantage point of' down on his ass'. Once he stood up he could see clear through to the front yard and... " Oh... Christ, oh no... " The... beam, as best Phil could describe it, had expanded after exiting the house and had completely torn the house across the street in two ( plus or minus a few thousand pieces ), but it had n' t stopped there either. The smell of melted asphalt and smoke filled his nose. " Is this real life right now? " Phil' s horror was only matched by his... excitement. The house behind on the next street over was gone, just not there anymore. The field beyond that looked as though an EF-5 twister full of fire had blown across it in a straight line. The small forest beyond that was... " Oh my God, what... I mean... *shit... shit* " Phil' s heart was racing as he spun around in circles with his fingers pulling at his hair. The sound of firetrucks and police sirens wailed off in the distance. " I killed them... I... how did I... how could... " Helicopters chuffed like birds in the background. Sirens grew closer. A few muffled screams could be heard. But the sound that caught Phil' s attention the most was his small, still functional television behind him. The show Phil had been watching had kept playing the whole time... Faintly, over the din of the cacophony that was quickly forming around his neighborhood Phil heard it again... " *KA... ME... HA... ME... HAAAAAA! * "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: " What the fuck? " I said to myself as I held the bag. " This ca n' t be what I think it is. " I proceed to walk towards my apartment as if it was just another day. I close the door behind me and check the peep hole to make sure I was n' t followed. " No time to waste. " As I was walking towards the kitchen to get a bottled water, all I can think about is how awesome it is going to be. I' ve heard countless stories about these super pills. It was exclusively sold only to people with a lot of money. Lots. With one pill in my hand and the water bottle in the other, I take one breath and popped it in my mouth and downed the whole bottle. " This feeling " I said as the euphoria of peace and tranquility along with a sensation of my brain being filled with skills and gifts that can only come from within. " This must be what it feels like to have money. " I look at the mirror in my living room and say one of my favorite lines of one of my favorite movies while waving my finger in the air. " And here. We. Go " With that being said, I get my bus pass and head out the door of my apartment. " Oh yeah, this is going to be fun " It was a great time to begin my new adventure. Ideas were bouncing around in my brain. Left and right. Up and down. " Ah yes, basic stuff " I said under my breath. Walking towards the bus stop with a pep in my step, I knew deep down in my heart that this is going to be the last time that I ever have to deal with this shit.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: If somebody would have told me that I would be one of the last two surviving humans on Earth I would' ve laughed. I achieved nothing of note before everything changed, but now I suppose being alive now is my greatest achievement. I didn' t have a wife or kids, no college degree, nothing. I had my own apartment so you can count that as an accomplishment if you' d like. Life was rather morose for me. Yet, I managed to survive when billions of other didn' t. I only know of one other man who is still alive, Simon. We met while scavenging through rubble in search of food and materials. He is an upbeat man, enjoys telling stories of days past. I hate it. Most of our days consist of scavenging, usually we find junk but today I found something interesting, a gun. Usually I don' t carry anything back to our shelter unless its food, but this gun was special. Why? I wasn' t sure either at the time, but I knew it was. I hid the gun under my shirt and headed back. On the dawn of a new day I got up before Simon. All I could think of was his stories, how many he told, how great his life sounded. It was making me furious. That' s when I had this great idea. I crept over his sleeping body and brandished the gun I tucked away earlier. With no hesitation I pulled the trigger. Simon died instantly. I now am the most accomplished man on Earth. First short story is a very long time.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: The sounds of Billy Joel was replaced as a foul smell filled my nose. " Dammit, I need to fix- Oh. " I was surrounded by a ring of hooded occultists. The disappointment in the air was thicker than a bowl of oatmeal. I stood in the circle, calculator in one hand and pen in the other, as the hoodies started muttering and talking with each other. I overheard the sentence " Well, he' s wearing a red shirt and has a goatee, that has to mean something! " One of them stepped forward. It looks like they bought their hoods from a clearance costume store. " Beelzebub, we have summoned you- " " Wow, seriously... Man you guys are pathetic. Did you fail geometry? " I said, pointing at the circle of red chalk. " So you are not a demon? " " I do n' t know, depends on who you ask really. " " What is your name, Demon? " Shouted one Hoodie. Man, his acne was bad, even from here. " I' m Steven. Not a demon, sorry. Just a teenager. " " FUCKING HELL BOB THIS YOUR FAULT! " Rudolph the Red-Pimpled Reindeer started shouting, his voice cracking as he tried to act intimidating. I sighed as I started to wonder where, exactly, I am. Is that a bag of fucking Doritos next to a dead rabbit on that tree stump?


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: Sebastian was drawn up with as much dignity as a feline could muster, white paws on mahogany desk, black tail curled into a neat spiral, and his yellow eyes gazing deep into mine. He brought a single paw to his mouth as if to lick it, but instead gently rubbed his throat before placing it square on my chest. *Odd*, I thought. He growled deeply as if summoning a lion' s roar, then opened his mouth. " It is apt for you to sit rapt with attention, apprehension, the words from my lips a surge of quips. Pray tell what befell you this morn', that my stomach was left to mourn? " *Oh shit. * " That was, uh, beautiful, Sebastian. " I tried to tilt my chair forward so the legs were on the ground but found myself almost rooted by his eyes. " Beauty hardly begins to describe it, Dave. " He released his paw and I grabbed the desk to steady myself. " I guess I' ll go fill up your bowl, then? " I stood, tying to tear my eyes from his. He carefully splayed one hind leg onto the desk, and raised the other into the air, supporting his head with one of his front paws. His long tongue took a single stroke from chin to, well, you know. I shuddered. " That would be wise, Dave. That would be wise. "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: **YOUR FINAL SANCTUARY TO BE BREACHED BY THE GOVERNMENT** Scientists funded by the United States Government have told given confirmation that they have developed compact devices which can enable a skilled technician to interpret the thoughts of any human being. After much experimental and under-the-radar testing, they are confident that it will be able to be installed in every business place and household through the country, and perhaps even the world. Lead scientist Doctor Kingsley Gallbatorix stated: " This device is small enough to fit in the palm of my hand. We have yet to give it a name, but we are expecting to begin mass production and distribution soon. We hope it will aid our country in this time of internal struggle. " This all coming out only a few days after several states in the South band together to try to secede from the government. Could it be a coincidence, or is the government taking control to a new level: into our heads?


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: Mhmm. A chimichanga stand. Sweet. Churros! Yeah baby! Pizza by the slice! I' m almost there- Bacon! Reached it. 30 seconds in, and I' ve foodgasmed. Time to clean myself up. *Man. Look at this crowd. Tons of people dressed up. Hey! There' s me! but does that mean there' s 6 of us? * **shut up** *no* **You' d better** *Make me!! * Both of you! *sorry. But about that crowd! * I know! Neckbeard, Neckbeard, Deadpool, Superman, Neckbeard. Man, Reddit' s really turning out in force for this one. Wait a sec! - KA POW!!.. Rogue is looking good today. And there' s Batgirl. And Wonder woman. And Mystique.. But that Rogue.. **Um, Deadpool? ** What? **We broke the fourth wall. Like completely. Can we just focus on getting back to our dimension? ** *um, No?? * Nope. there are hot chicks and chimichangas here, responsible me. Time to PARRRRTYYY. I see pizza, and I' ve got enough c4 in my bag to last us for at least three days. Time to go crazy. But first, I got ta say hi to that Rogue.. " Hey babe! Like the suit. Wan na suck on my power? " " umm ok you' re super in character... ehehehe. that' s cute. Later " *DID we just get rejected? * **I guess some things stay the same in all the dimensions. ** Hmph. I wonder if anyone else broke the 4th wall with us. " Hey Bub " ( just for clarity, normal font is deadpool' s speaking voice, **bold is his responsible voice** and *italics are his crazy voice. * Hope you all enjoyed!


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: I recall the day our kingdom fell, Not just the walls, they were simply a shell. I of course refer to the kingdom of man, By the fang and bite of the Animal Clan. We should' ve shot down the owl scouts, Rang the bell to drown out macaw shouts. We should' ve noticed our pets were silent, The signs were clear when the hounds grew violent. At first, they picked us off quiet and quick, The flea, the ant, the blood sucking tick. Swarms of bee, spider and other insect, The snakes from the sewers we did not expect. Then came the thunder, rumble and rattle, Bears, deer and boar all hungry for battle. We rang the bell, and the archers positioned, But, for this fight we were never conditioned. Soldiers stood by as rams smashed the gate, No time to question why this was our fate. The rams broke through, in the cougars did pour, Not far from then, the vultures would soar. The beasts spared none, they targeted all, Men, women and children they would maul. What little escaped forever lived in fear, Of the paw, the claw, the antler of deer. Some claim it was rabies that caused this scene tragic, Some claim it was wizardry, sorcery and magic. Some claim it was a vicious attack of revenge, Some claim it will happen again.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: I see her sunbathing on the grass and I ca n' t stop staring, my tongue practically hanging out of my mouth like a cartoon. She' s like a supermodel, but somehow so, so much more hot. Possibly because I' m seeing her in real life, and not a screen or magazine. I silently thank my dog for existing, since without him I would n' t have come to this park today and would have missed out on seeing the ultimate babe of babes in a tiny ( really, it was very tiny ) white bathing suit. As I finally walk past her, she lifts her sunglasses up, and flashes a perfect smile straight at me before flipping over to lay on her stomach. The bikini is as small in the back as it was in the front. I blush in more than one place. Obviously I stop mid-walk, stunned by hotness. I look down at my watch to see how long I' d been standing there, when I notice the second number. My face turns from pink to white in 2 seconds flat. It' s got to be broken. Something is wrong here. My LifeTimer reads 0: 15, instead of the usual 40: something: something. I look down past the watch to see that my morning decision against underwear, along with my failure to zip up after my ( literally ) last pee, left something out in the open. " Pervert! There' s a perv in the park! Greg, get him away from the kids!! " A woman shrieks, just as I notice her and three little girls playing catch less than ten feet away. Then I see their dad, six feet tall with arms wider than my head. He' s got a baseball in his right hand. " Swing, batter, batter ".


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: His dreams feel of dust and pain and smooth skin, whispers behind the ear, scaring him, and he' s falling, and he ca n' t feel or hear or do anything, and then he hears laughter. The balloon flies away, the thin string cutting into still-soft-baby-hands. He reaches after the string but it does not come back. He calls, but it does not come back. He asks his mother where it went, and his mother tries to explain the sky. He does not understand, so he cries. His father walks away, the remnants of a bruise still throbbing against his too-long arm. He does not reach for his father. He does not call. His father still does not come back. He asks his mother where he went, but his mother is silent. He does not understand, so he does not cry. The feel of lips against his face, cheap perfume, smoky hallways, embarrassment, laughter. The man talks to him. The mans touches him. It hurts, but he does not speak out because speaking out does not make the balloon come back. Helplessness, inability to decide, inability to have decisions, or choices, or anything except bitter emotions and jealousy for everyone else who can reach higher and grasp the string but he can not hear it or feel it or taste it and damn it, *see* it, see it just see it why ca n' t he see it? See it. Anything to see it. Smell of antiseptic, pain, more pain, unconsciousness but always nothing, warnings and more warnings, people who do nothing but warn and warn and warn of the dangers and pain and risks but those have been his only companions, the only balloons who never left. He opens his eyes. Forms and shapes and blobs and colors and everything he never imagined, for he could not imagine sight anymore than a flower could imagine the stars. He reaches out to the mirror and touches it but he sees nothing, for he is already dead.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: Once there was a horse named Jimmy. Jimmy liked apples and hay, and he knew how to get them. He got them by having people ride on his back. A nice man in a top hat would parade Jimmy around, and let children sit on him, in exchange for money. Of course the man in the top hat would keep 10 dollars everytime people paid 15 to ride on Jimmy! Jimmy the horse was what we call an opressed working class. But of course, Jimmy did n' t mind any of that, since he was a horse. But still, he began thinking. Why could n' t Jimmy just parade himself around, and offer his services to the children without interfering? So Jimmy tried that, but no one would give him any money. " It must be the top hat " Jimmy thought to himself. But Jimmy knew he could not afford a top hat. So he asked the man with the hat how he got his hat, to which he simply replied " I got it from my parents ". " But how did your parents get the hat then? " Jimmy asked. " They got it from their parents ", the man replied. " But who did they get it from? ". " They stole it. ". And there, Jimmy saw what he had to do. Jimmy immediately murdered the man with the hat, and took his hat, and uknowingly sparked a revolution, which is why, that if you visit Horseville today, the horses will be wearing their own hats.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: I was staring through the gate, watching the crowd. I was actually astonished how many people came to my funeral, but that was not important now. I listened closely to the preacher or whatever they' re called, but he never mentioned my cause of death. I sat down and waited for the ceremony to be over and I watch as the people slowly siphon out of the graveyard. When I see everyone has dispersed, I follow my colleges to their car. I decided to approach them and reveal myself. " Hi, Jim. I made it " I say waiting for his reaction. " Who are you? " He says looking out of his car. " I' m Michael, do I look to young, and a little less dead " I wait to see his reaction. " You are a cruel man, whoever you are " I was shocked. Did my future self not tell him I was working on a time machine. " Here you are pretending to be my lifelong friend, just to say he time traveled. He was a stubborn bastard. Whatever he paid you, take it and leave me alone " I was in shock. What happened to me? I ran over to my other friend trying to find out what happened. " He died due to overexposure " " Over exposure to what? " I ask " Highly irradiated ions. The poor bastard thought he could time travel " " No, No, the calculations were correct. That' s not possible " I had to see the headstone, None of this can be true. I hardly remember anything after that. I saw the date of my death, me trying to exit the chamber, and the slow painful crawl towards the phone. I tried to dial 911 but my fingers slipped and burned as I tried to move. I looked at the calendar on my computer and slowly laughed to myself. Today was the day I died.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: Raymond once again visualised a text coming up on his iPhone. The text popped up from the top of the screen. It read' _I' m Raymond_.' " Wow, I sent myself a text. Awesomesauce- " " who the heck says' Awesomesauce' anymore? " Nevermind. Raymond opened the car and got out, the left door instantly unlocking by power of will. A man passed him. The man was wearing a fedora that was tipped down slightly, covering his face. A fur coat sat on the man' s back, and under it Raymond noticed a tuxedo, a shirt and tie, accompanied with smart grey trousers and laced brown shoes. _No one dresses this smart in Virginia unless they' re looking to get robbed or mugged. _ Raymond reached for the gun, and the man slowed his pace to reach for a phone. " **FREEZE! ** " Raymond shouted while moving 3 feet near the man. " Take anything you want, just do n' t hurt me. Name' s Mike. " _Mike... well, no room for friends in **my** life, but worth a try. _ _Maybe this guy will just walk away, to avoid trouble. After all I' m pretty busy tonight. It **is** 8pm already... _ " Mike, huh? Nice - but not nice - I' m Raymond. " " Enough talking already. The first mistake you made was giving me your name and showing your face. " " Well, I have the power of Electrokinesis. I _could_ just give you a heart attack. " " Or you could let me go if I pay you or help you out. " " I' m not merciful, Mike Jones. " " **Yo, how the FUCK do you know my name?! ** " " I saw your name-tag. Plus you were meant to question me _once_ more before the loss of your _feeble life_. Mike hastily jerked his body to the right and produced a taser. Before Raymond could react, a loud _zztt_ noise filled the air and his chest started to spark and rise and fall. Then they both knew instantly that Raymond was n' t human. " You' re a ROBOT! " " I think the term you' re looking for is... "...... "... **Cyborg. ** " ***And Raymond instantly knew his story was n' t yet finished. ***