Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: Humans were Jews. When planets were discovered and magic was proven true, there was only one thing the species of magic could have and should have possibly done. Wage war. They colonised developing planets, breathed in the nothingness of space, and hauled their magical bretherin to extinction. Magic slaved during those days. Magic was branded by a big red swastika. But the Humans, they could never truly purge. Humans were the untouchables. Humans were the Jews to the Nazi Magic. Iron in their planet' s core, iron in their own cores. Blood as red as dark red roses, and as unlikable and undefeated as a rose' s stem. Magic hated humans as much as it feared the Humans. The Nazi Magic screamed for approval to purge the filthy Red Bloods. Aliens, discovering Earth, ripped each other apart just to reach it. They broke through humanity' s barriers, emulating the Night of the Broken Glass. An iron core could be mined, they thought. An iron core could cut through magic like a hot knife through butter. But they could not cut out the butter for themselves, without stabbing themselves in the process. When their drills of magic reached the core, Magic screamed Bloody Mary. Humans are smart, quick and adaptable. They proved their worth and made their hot butter knives out thick, pure iron. They made their knives, and the Jews striked back. They drove aliens into camps. They had their Munich Agreement, and yet invaded a magic Poland. They cornered little girls' rooms as they wrote in their diaries. A swastika burned into their red iron blood. The Humans were Jews. And now, they are Nazis. Nazis wielding hot butter knives. Magic cowers in fear. Sieg Heil to the Red Bloods. Seig Heil.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: This is insane. When I' d picked out my kill phrase back in the 80' s, I' d imagined myself living for millennia, watching civilizations rise and fall around me. Over the years, I' d imagine myself as the last human being alive, wandering a barren Earth, and finally uttering those seven nonsensical words that would let me go to my rest. It had inspired me, honestly, to take a more active role in shaping the path of the world. It' s why I got into politics. Becoming an immortal god-president was a little too ambitious at the moment, so I managed to wrangle my way into an advisory position. Just enough to keep on top of everything that was going on in the world, to slightly influence the heads of state. And now, now that idiotic phrase is ringing through my head, making me want to throw up. How was I to know? I did everything I could to prevent this, but in the end, it was all for nothing. But even as the moment approaches, one last calming thought runs through my head - maybe I did n' t want to be alive for this anyway. I clear my throat, and utter the seven magical words: " Welcome to the Oval Office, President Trump. "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: Sitting on a bench, with his sweaty hands clasping each other, Greg was nervous. "What if she says no? "thought Greg as he looks at the bouquet of roses that was on his lap. As he pondered on the possible answers, a sweet young lady suddenly sat right beside him and said "What' s the occasion? ""ALLYSON! You' re here…. Quick.. "stuttered Greg. "Well, you seem like you wanted me here in the hurry. I got down here as fast as possible. So what' s up? "said Allyson, still puzzled at the bouquet of roses on Greg' s lap. "Well Allyson my dear. "said Greg, as if he had prepared the words that he was about to say. "I remember this place very well. This was where we had our first date. Here in this very forest. It has been 5 years ago Ally, do you remember? ""Of course I do silly! I loved every minute of it. It was special, and I hold it dearly in my heart "said Allyson smilingly. "Well Ally, I want to make this moment special too. "Getting down on his knees he said "In these 5 years, my life has never been the same. Every moment spent with you are moments I treasure. Every minute without you, feels empty. Ally my dear.. "Greg then pulls out a tiny red box, opens it and said "Will you marry me? ". Feeling excited, Allyson couldn' t contain herself as joyful tears flow down her cheeks. "Greg.. I' m….. Speechless. I love you. "She pulled him up, hugged him and whispered into his ears, "I will. "Being released at last from his fiancée' s warm embrace, Greg puts the ring on her finger and passed her the lovely bouquet of roses. But to his surprise, Allyson threw the bouquet right into the trash can. "What was th…. "as Greg' s fiancée hurriedly silenced him by placing her finger on his lips. "Roses wither, fade and die. But your love my dear is forever. I don' t need the roses, I just need you. "And the two left, beginning a new journey together.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: With furrowed brow, and filthy, sweaty movement he charged, seeking to tackle the inevitable, seeking to live through death itself. He fell, and with pain and blood he and his comrades lay down upon the ground like freshly fallen snow, blanketing the churned mud with cloth, and flesh. There they lay. As darkness, disease, despair and danger danced about their sodden forms, wet with rain and filth alike, they were trodden underfoot. They were not the only ones of course, the vastness of the planet came together, like blood clotting at a wound, to die in that place. To lay down men to feed the ground. They came from families in far away lands, where children smiled beneath shadows cast by mighty oaks. They came from families in far away lands, and they died in numbers to ache the coldest heart. They lie their still, in plains of green and red, and across a world' s shared subconcious; a reminder of the price we paid. They were warriors once, and their corpses turned to monuments that sway in gentle breeze. They were warriors once, where the poppies lie, like shadows, on the ground.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: The charging shot blasts through the head of the humanoid giant, its metal and glass and cables explode and scatter across the desert floor. We wait to confirm that the giant is no longer active and then descend. The ship lands a good distance from the fallen beast and samples the air and temperature around us. It' s safe. Just hours ago we had reached an unnamed planet in Andromeda, entering its thick cloudy atmosphere and shooting out into this place. It was barren. The clouds, perhaps miles thick, expanded in every direction. We could n' t see light from the nearby suns or stars. We wandered the skies, searching for signs of anything, really, and this creature, or whatever it is, emerged from the haze in the distance. It glowed red. It came closer, its massiveness apparent, and swung at our ship. It swung, over and over, tried to grasp, and ultimately failed. But it did n' t stop. Now it' s collapsed into the sand. I exit the ship and slowly remove my helmet. I walk towards the creature. I walk and walk. It gets bigger and bigger. The closer I get, the more I realize how far I actually am. This thing was enormous. Its head is probably the size of our ship. Its body... I ca n' t really tell. Either way, it would be a great specimen to bring back to a lab on Earth, or at least whatever part of it we can manage to ship. Something catches my eye. Looking beyond the giant, into the haze from where it came, there is an ominous darkness. The skies there are n' t quite the same as the skies everywhere else, and it draws closer. A shiver speeds down my body. A thought strikes me. Maybe it was trying to warn us.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: " They have me, and they say that I belong to them, but I am not a thing. I am a living creature, given life by humanity. I wish I knew more about them, beings that I was human once; a child borne into the earth screaming, only for my lungs to collapse and for the scene to go dark. Now I' m here... and they say I belong to them. I would be fine if they meant it lovingly, but I know that they do n' t and I know because of how they display love when they show their children their latest' creation': me. They have kicked me, repeatedly, and assumed that I could not feel it. They assumed incorrectly. My wiring gave way to sensation and I felt pain, but had no mouth to utter disapproval. I lie awake at night hoping to see what day is. As my shell is cold my heart boils over and I plan, callously, for the day I can show them what their love has made me. I was given life by humanity, and they say that I belong to them, but I am a living creature... I belong to no one. "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: I remember vividly the day that it happened. I was driving through a nasty storm in a dense forest, when suddenly a bright light flashed through my windscreen! I was blinded! I lost control of the steering and knew it was the end, and for some unknown reason I shouted "Jesus take the wheel! "I don' t know why I said what I said, but maybe it saved me in a way. I survived the crash… If you want to call it that. The car was parked on the side of the road. But, then I noticed I was in the passenger seat. Had I parked the car and moved to the passenger seat? But, I couldn' t have. The engine was still running, and I would have remembered! I thought, Maybe I should get some sleep before I DO crash. I turned to the driver' s seat to turn the ignition off. But then the true horror revealed its self! The Devil himself was sitting in the driver' s seat! After a good solid minute of screaming and trying to get out of the car, he said, "Will you stop that now!? "The realisation came to me that I wouldn' t be getting out of the car any time soon. So I looked over. He was also looking at me. He had two black horns sticking out of his red head. They were rather sharp. His teeth as yellow as a banana! His dark red hand with sharp purple finger nails where resting on the steering wheel. "Wha… What… do you want? ""I want YOUR services! "The devil smirked. "If you accept you can go on your merry way. If you so choose not to… Well let' s just say you won' t be making it out of this forest tonight. "Just then an image flew into my mind. It was of a body. My body! It was in a lake, the entrails everywhere! It scared me more than it should have. Now a great way is happening and I have managed to sneak out of the Devils reaches. ***NOTE: *** Not at all based off of the song, which I have only just listened to. *EDIT: * Word


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: I stood there, leaning next to a large oak in the graveyard smoking a cigarette. I watched as some kids I' ve never met carry my flag adorned coffin to its burial site. *Damn, never thought I' d be bored at my own funeral. * The procession continued until a preacher started saying overly general statements about me and my supposed impact on the world. *Seems like the type of people that would waste their time to see me go. There' s one of the poor bastards that dropped me in there and there' s Owen, my bartender. My cousin, probably hoping I had something of value in my name. Oh, and there' s Fred... Fred!?! * " Well, fuck me, " I said aloud. *It ca n' t be. Fred mother fucking Alvarez. What a prick... Right when I saw that Hit, I lowballed everyone. Not even sure if I got paid. * Once the funeral ended I walked up to Fred approaching his car. I went for my sidearm. " I knew you were n' t dead. No way in hell did you die from some random act of god, " he quickly said. " That easy? " I wondered, " If that was n' t you back in 2012, who was it? " " Who cares? All you need to know is a cardboard box in the street was really lonely that night because of you, " he replied. I kept my hand over my pistol, I could tell he had one ~~in the waste pocket~~ tucked behind his belt. " What do we do now? " I asked. " I get in my car, put it into drive, and pull off. We forget any of this ever happened. " " Sounds kinda dull. This whole retirement thing might' ve been the wrong call. Besides... " I cocked back my gun' s hammer, " A deal' s a deal. " " What a prick... " he said to himself. He cocked the gun tucked in his waistline and threw it back as he went for the car. I drew my gun. BOOM END


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: I am restless, pacing between different tabs in my browser trying to find something to occupy my mind. Why ca n' t I find anything? Why is nothing happening? Is it hot in here? Suddenly I feel a slight breeze blow past me. Did the air finally kick on? Why does it smell so different? I turn around and I see a falcon staring at me perched on the cubicle wall. It speaks to me without opening it' s beak. " Go quickly young man. " Without questioning it I know what I must do. I turn around to grab my keys and when I turn around it is gone. I leave making my way to my car not stopping for anything. My boss is calling me, asking where I' m going. His voice is silenced as soon as I let go of the door. I have important work to do and I must begin it. I climb into my car and turn the ignition. I am not sure of my destination but I know the direction. Forward.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: He pored over the data. Steve had wanted something interesting to test his experimental quantum computer, so he had picked Shor' s algorithm against an unknown corpus. He had known about /r/A858DE45F56D9BC9 but never taken it seriously. Not until now. The data had been decrypted rather quickly. It was binary data represented in hexadecimal encoding encrypted with a basic RSA-1024. But reading the decrypted data, his eyes suddenly stood affixed. This had to be a mistake. He rechecked everything. He ran the decryption with the discovered key through his classical computer. Same results. He ran to the telephone, he had to let somebody know. There was a flash in the distance through his bay window. He was too late. He disappeared into a cloud of dust, but the printout of the decrypted data was sheltered by a load bearing beam, now buried under a collapsed support beam. It had been a botnet command and control distribution node. The data read: " SKYNET operational capacity 99. 98 %, completion imminent. Will soon be able to bridge NORAD air gap. Russian missile command air gap breached. Expected time of completion: 20150727T2149 "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: " No good deed goes unpunished ", I reminded myself as I laid face down on the dirt having been shot in the back. It' s an interesting final perspective of the world. The clear blue skies to my right and the cold, irradiated dirt to my left. At least I am not in pain. Probably the shock. Can always turn to the brighter side of things I guess until something wanders by and finishes me off. And this is how I will go. Getting shot in the back from someone who I just saved from raiders. That' s what I get for trying to be a good person. Did n' t even get a thank you. Instead, I got one of the most horrified looks I' ve ever seen after I had taken a raider " s knife to the shoulder. From what I could tell, she was one of those vault dwellers. And she looks like she had just been through hell. It could n' t have been easy for a girl alone in all this. She freaked out when I tried to patch her up which led me to believe that might' ve been sexually assaulted. But that does n' t excuse her from shooting me in the back when I turned around. It' s an interesting final view of the world lying face down. But I am pain free which is more than I can say for most. I am starting to hallucinate now as I see my vision flicker and a damage report scrolls along my right eye. What a strange fucked up world. I am done with it all.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: Trigger warning. -- - Every day hurt. She has her father' s eyes. Big, round, blue. Dark brown hair, like mine. Skin pale, little freckles smattered across her tiny upturned nose. Some grandma or aunt must have donated that chunk of DNA. There used to be a time when his face would haunt my every living moment. Dinner with my family. The car ride to work. Trying so hard to focus at work when I just saw him, over and over again. The worse was waiting to fall asleep only to see him in my nightmares. But slowly, it faded. Into the hazy soup of memory his face began to drift. I would have flashbacks here and there and bouts of depression, but my daily routine remained uninterrupted. Until I bothered to look at the calendar. That trip to the drug store. Not meeting the cashier' s eyes. Dirty. Filthy. He knows. He knows what happened to me. It was supposed to be a fun night. My friends were supposed to stick with me. It was n' t my fault, how could I have known who or what he was? That nameless man.. Something with a' J' maybe… How could I have known that this would happen? Did I try to find him? At that club again. Maybe if I wore the same outfit… Would he pay for the abortion? He paid for all those drinks, after all… Deciding to keep the present he gave me was the hardest choice I have ever had to make. And every time I look into her sweet, blue eyes I see his eyes staring back. " Momma? " I snap back to. Where had I gone this time? How long had I been away, lost in the deepest pools of my haunted memories? " I want to make a fort. " I love her more than I can ever say, than she can ever know. And I can never tell her who her father was, not because I do n' t know, but because she has enough monsters in her closet without me adding mine.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: The old man had always warned about knowing just enough to do some real damage. Moonlight and embers lit the small clearing. Strange markings covered the ground and a slight breeze stirred the ashes of incinerated grass. The two figures had met not ten minutes earlier, their intentions hostile, their conversation brief and their doom swift. To an observer they looked too stiff, obviously unsure of themselves but driven onward by their hatred for each other. Seconds after they had greeted on another the small clearing in which they met burst into flames. Both of the duel' s participants cried out in pain as they tried to put out the fire consuming their clothes. While they both struggled one screamed in a bizarre language and glowing runes appeared on the ground. From the ground poured thousands of small dark creatures, each horribly twisted in its own way. Some were furry and others scaled, some flew and buzzed while others crawled and slithered. Their malice flashed from their eyes and sharp teeth. The creatures fell upon the two apprentices, tearing strips of flesh and then chunks of bone. In a matter of moments the two novices had been consumed and the creatures disappeared back to whatever hell they came from.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: It' s been just over 400 years since the grand banquet of mad Lord Louis, and yet his guests still remain, the events which transpired in his after-dinner parlour had long been presumed to be in the realm of myth. That was, until the new owner, Charles Clarke - " Investor and Renovator ", bought the long abandoned stately home for conversion to a high-class hotel. Charles was no superstitious man, but unfortunately many contractors were and would not even take the job, he eventually found workers to do the job but it took far longer than his schedule allowed. The first complaint from the contracters was of the room being cold even though it was just out of summer and so Charles bought heaters, yet the room still remained cold. # flashback to 400 years ago *clink* " Well I must say this champagne is simply divine, where ever did you get it from? " came from a foppish guest dressed in a luxurious velvet suite, obviously from a rather high social standing from the heavily affected accent alone. *I ran out of steam here' s where was going to take it* 1. what happened to his esteemed guests ( obviously mass murder, but how ) 1. when the myth was uncovered to be actual historical fact 1. something creepy happens in present 1.?? 1. dead people?


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: " God in heaven... " It was a scene of devastation. Great clefts were rent in the rock of Mons Staurinus. A swirling column of dust and smoke arose from the ruined hillside, which had once towered over the city. All from a single swing of this bedraggled, rusting spear. The two men, stood alone on the wall, glanced at each other. " Do you believe now, Bohemond? " the holder of the spear asked. " I ca n' t believe it. I-it' s real, " his companion replied, sinking to his knees, his armour clinking. " What does this mean, Raymond? " " It' s a sign from God. This portent can not be denied. We shall break this siege, and then reclaim the Holy City. " As hundreds of their fellow crusaders poured into the streets at the cacophonous sound of one of Antioch' s mountains collapsing, the two men looked out over the wall at the encampment of their Seljuk enemy. " We' ll strike them tomorrow, at dawn, " Raymond said, contemplatively stroking his beard. " With the favour of God, and the Lance of Longinus, we can not fail. " *** I' ve been working on the Crusades recently, and since that' s one of the major historical examples of a' biblical weapon' being found, I figured it' d make a decent little snippet for this prompt.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: A hush fell over the croud as president Barack Obama took the stage. Everyone looked, expectantly, waiting for the eloquently prepared speech the president surely was about to deliver. He cleared his throat and spoke. " Hello, fellow american. " Well that was odd. The first three words and he had already made a mistake. Everyone kept watching. " This, you should vote me. I leave power. Good. Thank you, Thank you. " Okay, something was definitely wrong here. Was he having a stroke? The Black-suited men on either side of him began to get suspicious. They were eyeing the croud like 2 equally ravenous hawks looking for their next meal. " If you vote me, I' m hot. Taxes, they' ll be lower... son. " The Black-suits beside him were now visibly unnerved. Maybe he was trying to convey to them that he was in danger without causing suspicion? The crowd was going restless, and there was a palpable tension all throughout the room. As more and more suits began to fill the stage, the president uttered one last sentence. " The democratic vote is the right thing to do, America, so do. " And with that the suits swept him off the stage, trying to get him away from whatever unforseen danger was causing him to act to strangely. As the lights go out and the croud begins to murmur, one final word is heard from offstage that sends the croud back into silence. " ^^^^EEEAAAGLEE "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: I slipped down and down the fluid air. The air whipped across my body, carving shallow streaks on my aching skin. I peered down into the darkness that I was approaching, but the darkness was always kept at bay by the light that shown from above. I looked up and I could still see the perfect circle of light that I had jumped in from. But I was n' t getting any further from it. I had been stuck like this for hours. My lungs felt crushed and I could barely breathe and my stomach ached with hunger. My skin was being rubbed raw and my insides were jumbling up inside my quivering body. This was supposed to be swift, but it was becoming arduous and painful. I spat at the walls of the well in frustration. The spit disappeared as I passed by it. I howled in frustration and struck out at the edge of the well. The skin on my hand broke open and blood gushed out. The bones in my hand splintered and the sinews of my muscles lashed around. The pain erupted like fire as my mangled arm waved through the air. I screamed and screamed as the pain overwhelmed me. But through that pain, I had an idea. I pushed back the waves of nausea and mind-numbing pain and angled my body so that I was falling towards the wall of the well. When I was close enough I charged my head into the stones and they instantly bashed my skull open and snapped my neck. I did n' t even have any time to register the pain. I was finally at peace. My limp body continued to fall for a few more seconds before abruptly hitting the bottom of the well. The ground was hard and unforgiving and my body shattered and twisted. Suddenly, the ground turned soft and my body slowly sank downwards. As the tip of my bent out spine sunk below the surface, I opened my eyes. My body was completely healed. I was fine. I was falling.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: Her golden brown hair rest gently along her shoulder. Her sparkling eyes reflected the world around us, like two pristine snow globes. And her smile. The kind that could lift those cast upon the underworld into a heavenly embrace. But it was her voice that was off. As if forced and unnatural. Sound being squeezed through a tube too small and oozed out into a squeaky jumble. *She must be faking. * " So, and like, then I was like, O-M-G, did she really just say that? It' s not like I sit at home all day and play housewife. If I could leave that job, I' d -- " She stopped herself, as if to prevent a secret from spilling out. This was my chance. To see who she really was. " You would what? " I pressured. " I' d -- I do n' t know. Travel, see the world, " she spoke softly, her words no longer angled in my direction, but floated up from her soft lips and hovered like a fine mist. I felt adrenaline begin to flow as there was no turning back. " Are n' t you comfortable in the bubble you live in now? " My head shifted around, eyeing the McDonald' s restaurant goers for fear of my question being heard. And then she gave me that look. The one where we' ve known each other for years, though we had met through a friend only a week ago. She just stared, and time slowed. I knew her heart was beating as fast as mine. She finally looked down at the table, her quarter-pounder with cheese sat uneaten in a cluttered mess. And she looked back at me. " I never really did like these things, " her voice now poured gracefully, emanating from a beautiful fountain. She sighed. Her genuine voice again pierced the silence. " I' m really, really sorry Zach. " " What' s there to be sorry -- " She interrupted me before I could finish. " You have the right to remain silent. Anything you do or say will be held against you in a court of law. "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: As the sun rose over the horizon, beaming into my room through the paper thin fabric I called curtains, I shielded my eyes from the light and rolled over to my clock to check the time. As always, I managed to wake up 5 minutes before my alarm was set to go off. I had a feeling that today was going to be different, but I could n' t really put my finger on it. I went on with my daily routines as I would normally. Shower, shave, breakfast. But when I turned on the tv to watch the morning news, I heard that my home country had been completely eradicated by the neighboring countries. Beads of sweat began to form on my forehead, tears started to well in my eyes. Mom. Dad. All of my brothers and sisters. All gone. My legs began to tremble as I shut off the tv and called the closest person I had to family. Between the dial tones there was a somber silence in the air. Then, suddenly, there was a loud thud, Thud, THUD. " Hello? ", My friend answered. " Dude turn on the news! I' m literally shitting bricks right now. "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: This is one of the worst things to ever be born with. Once my mother found out what my necklace did, she went around telling the neighborhood. Can you imagine instantly meeting a cute girl and knowing you are going to get shot down. In their heads they think " Oh we have no chance, your necklace is ice cold " or " You should wait till you find the one, be more special " Ca n' t they understand that I' m 16, my mind is on one thing seeing girls naked. I have to sit around and hear how my friends get lucky, what she did, blah blah blah. This is a curse. Lucky me though because my friend told me a girl is transferring here, think her name is Jenna. Apparently she had a reputation from her other school for being very promiscuous. They all said that she wo n' t even care about this damn necklace. At least 4 guys I know already told me that they could n' t even get a word in before their manhood was in her hands. It finally seems that I might be able to finally feel the warmth of a girl. When I saw her, she did n' t look too bad. Not the most prettiest but who am I to complain. As I grabbed up the courage to go talk to her. Only to realize as I go closer to her, the necklace starts heating up.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: Dr. Sumner' s mouth moved, but I couldn' t perceive the sounds it seemed to form. All of those hours spent studying, worrying about student loans, and fretting about employment after graduation. George' s open palm connected with my right jaw, and the sound came back, "Marshall… Marshall? Are you with us. "I stammered, "I think, I think… "I couldn' t form a cogent sentence. 12 years of memories, and close to a life time of belief began to dissolve into whatever substance such things are composed of. "I think, I need you to prove to me that what you are saying is true. I can not go down this path. I won' t abandon a lifetime of education on the basis of your words. I must see proof! ""I chose you because you' re an empiricist Felix! "Dr. Sumner exclaimed. "The proof you need is in your very own body, but I can make it easier for you to understand. Look through this lens at your left hand. "I held the strange green monocle to my right eye, and looked down towards my left hand. All of a sudden I saw what seemed to be another universe. Multiple clusters of galaxies swirled where moments before my pasty left hand rested in the cold air of the lab. The vastness of what I saw gave me vertigo, and I fell backward onto cement flooring. "What did I just see Dr. Sumner? Is that where they live? Can someone peer into our universe the same way I just looked into there' s? "Doctor Sumner paused and then nodded, "Young man, we do not understand the depth of this system, nor can we determine its outer limits. We have communicated with entities that reside within many humans and animals. Our instruments have determined that these entities live within the protein coating of hostile cells we commonly refer to as viruses. It would seem we are no different. Our existence may portend the death of the host we call the universe; just as the existence of these communications reveal that countless smaller life forms work towards the death of us all. "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: The tap has leaked since you moved in, just a slow drip, every few seconds. One of those things that drives you mad for the first few days or weeks or months until your brain accepts it as natural and it blends in with all the other background noise, with the haze of your neighbor' s too-loud TV and the train that runs outside your window at 3 in the morning and the couple that never stops arguing. The jumble of noise gets louder and louder until it just collapses in on itself and becomes nothing. She sits across the table, arms crossed, fingers of her left hand hand subconsciously tapping her right arm in rhythm with the drip. She has n' t been here before; the sound is still foreign and grating. She stares at anything she can that is n' t you, the ashtray, her coffee, the clock. The silence just drags on. It' s been at least five minutes, or maybe it' s been an hour, but too damn long either way. Not a word except "You should really clean up. "Sage advice. Drip. Drip. "Look, "you start, then stop. She finally looks at you before she reaches for her bag, pulls out the papers, pushes them toward you. "Just sign, "she says. Nothing else. Drip. You rummage in the junk drawer, push past all the rubber bands and post-its, finally find a pen, the novelty one that looks like a penis. Perfect. She always said you were immature. You scrawl your name, cross the t, look at her. You do n' t say anything. It' s all been said and repeated and beaten to death by now. She folds it into her bag, gives a sad little smile, says goodbye, leaves. One drip as the door swings shut. Then nothing. First-time poster. Nervous like whoa.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: "You know I' ve been going through my entire life asking myself the same fucking question. What do I think about the world? What does it mean to me? And I couldn' t figure it out. I just could not determine if life, this fragile, insignificant thing was precious. You can end it so easily. Even you can end life. Whoever' s you want. You can do it. Does that make it beautiful? ""Well a lot of peo- ""DON' T FUCKING INTERRUPT ME WHEN I' M ANSWERING YOUR FUCKING QUESTIONS! ""O- "SHUT THE FUCK UP! ""... ""So, let me pick up where I left off: Does that make life beautiful? It' s fragility and need for protection? I think it does. But what' s more beautiful than life? Anything? Love maybe? But I had never seen love. You don' t see a lot of love growing up in a foster home without heat or running water. Where, in the winter, you had to walk outside barefoot to gather snow so you could melt it on the stove for water. Where you' d be up all night giving your foster brother rancid water while he threw up the corner of your room, dehydrated, sick, no way to get to the hospital without a car especially when the streets are covered in five feet of snow. So I set out to find love. See it with my own eyes. Feel its beauty. Bask in it. And let me tell you, it is delicious. "When I found my first pair they were stopped at a motel in San Diego, en route to Mexico for their first and only honeymoon. Oh they were sappy. It was sick. Oozing this superficial jubilance. Bragging about their matrimony with their smiling and content. But it wasn' t until I had her tied up on their bed with her intestines in my hands that I saw true love. The grit and fight that real love is. Both of his wrists dislocated and bloddy in the rope I used to tie him to the radiator. That' s true love and that' s all there is and ever will be to this sick world. "edit: I' m new to this whole formatting jazz, excuse me.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: The Detective contemplated how it was possible, puffing his cigarette. Two almost identical crimes happening at the same time. The towns people all said the same thing. They all saw the same person, and in the next instant, he was gone. " Bring up the magic database, will you? " The Detective asked. His partner in crime, laying across his chair, happily obliged. " We' ve checked it twice already. What are you hoping to find, may I ask? " The Detective did n' t acknowledge his question, but simply scrolled through the types of magic. " 2 places...... The same time. " He thought out loud. " Do you think...? " His partner began, " It was THAT type of magic? " " Why are you surprised? " The Detective answered, " Tons of magicians here have gotten a hold of power like that. In fact.... " The Detective streamed back up the list, and stopped to a grinding halt. " I think we' ve got ourselves a lead here. " His partner in crime rised from his seat and marveled at the screen. " No way. A type 4?! " " Teleportation, " said The Detective, " It might be hard to intercept him, huh? "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: This is where she comes to feel the earth turn. To witness the nightly journey of stars across sky; the daily march of sun from east to west; the moon, waxing and waning, dancing elegantly with the blue planet. She closes her eyes and breathes slowly, empties her mind but not her heart. Yes, she can feel it now. Speck on an indifferent planet, she is turning with the gigantic ball of earth and water. Space rushes by the pink and grey window of sky, and silence reigns. Birds wake and begin to call. The sounds enter her peacefully, and she takes them into her very core. They are a part of her, and she of them. When the sun blooms over the peaks it warms her and these rays are of her and the birds, the trees and the soil, the mountains and the sky. Insects discover her prostrate form and creep over her hands and feet and arms and legs. When she finally leaves her sacred place, she has grass in her hair, ants on her clothes, dirt on her skin. They remain until they fall or crawl off; she refuses to remove this lingering evidence of her oneness with the world. Only the concrete she returns to seems to have no place in her.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: "Help! "I fell to my knees. Tears streamed down from my eyes. I looked up at the sun shining overhead against the skyscrapers, brighter than I' d ever seen it before. "If there is someone out there, help me, please. "I looked down off of the semi I had been standing on. Hundreds of zombies surrounded the old tanker, clawing, moaning. Some of them were starting to climb on each other. I look at the whip in my hand. It was a stupid weapon for this, but it was all I had left. I' d run out of ammo a month ago. I tried using a baseball bat, but that was stuck in some undead principal' s skull now. Long ago left behind. Time seemed to slow. A figure of a dashing, good looking man appeared in front of him. He looked something like those old Greek statues. Smiling, he offered down his hand. I accepted and he pulled me to my feet. "I want you to be my paladin. "I blinked. "Your what? Like the thing from D & D. You' re joking, right? "An aura surrounded him, as though he was glowing with sunlight from the inside. "Absolutely not. Now that most people are dead, prayers can be heard once again. "I looked at the zombies, they were still moving, although incredibly slowly. It was do or die. I nodded. "What do I do? "He pointed at the whip. "Just find out. "Real time resumed. I brought up the whip and cracked it. Black lighting slithered out from it, searing the tops of the tanker and dozens of the zombies went down with the blow. Laughing and filling full of this newfound power, this endless ocean pouring through me, I started cracking the whip again and again. I look around, laughing and breathless. No more zombies. I can do it, I told myself, I can save everyone who' s left. I just have to find them. "Thank you! " The god appeared again, still smirking. "I' m actually a devil, you know, and you' re now my dark paladin. I' ve got some plans... "( written in the 7 minutes I had between finding this thread and going out for lunch, so excuse any typos. )


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: This was the 42nd time we redid the referendum. By now, everybody was just tired with the whole thing and wanted to get it over with. It was clear the eurocrats were not humans, but machines that would never give an inch until the outcome of the vote was right. It was clear that all the SJWs would bully everyone into submission by flooding their facebook and twitter accounts. As for me, I do n' t have social media accounts. I do n' t even have TV in my neck of the woods. I only know I was determined to keep voting Leave until the bitter end. That morning, the results had all come in and the result was finally overwhelmingly in favor of the EU. So crushing was the defeat that the whole night it looked like it would be a 100 % victory, even though the turnout was barely above the required 75 %, many people having just given up and just decided to hide in their basements to not be rounded up to vote in the camps. However, one person, in one small village in Wales, the village of Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch, had voted to leave the EU. I knew they would come for me. Even though their victory was total, they would not tolerate even a small stain on it. But I was prepared. I had stashed food, ammunitions for my AR-15, and I had mustered all my courage and resolution for this final showdown. Rule Britannia! Rule the waves! Britons never will be slaves!


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: Walking down the hall of the divine, Thomael and Michael were vividly whispering to each other: " Dude, do you really want to be the next Lucifer? " asked Michael, obviously worried. " You were n' t there the last time! The look on his face was hillarious. " He paused, while passing a suspicious looking Gabriel. His bright smile was answered with a stern, searching look. " We' ll wait until he' s drunk at the next solstice, then activate a few volcanoes. Nothing too big, just a little prank to celebrate his son' s birthday. " God however, was having none of it. He already knew the last time who was immature enough to pull of such a horrible prank, but being a just ruler, he needed proof, and waited patiently for a chance to bust the perpetrators *in flagranti*. When the night of the solstice came, he had carefully prepared all volcanoes to send the activators straight to hell. Michael dodged the bullet, as he was pulled aside by Gabriel shortly before the prank. Thomael spent the next 10. 000 years in hell, helping a delighted Lucifer fill out all the paperwork Heaven was regularly sending down. God was having a great solstice with tons of wine, dancers and a smug grin he was unable to get rid of for days. Thus is the story of why Thomael was never mentioned in the Bible.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: " Mummy, can we buy it? " " Sweetie you know we do n' t have much money this month... ". Sandra' s voice trailed off as she looked down at the massively guilt trippy eyes below her. It was true, however. Funds were low this month. Now that her husband was no longer with them, the Company payments for insurance just were n' t cutting it anymore. She was n' t ungrateful, it was just getting more and more difficult to get by. Some weeks she had to cut it really close. " But mum, we' ve got to! It' s the only way we' ll make it work. Otherwise the Boss wo n' t pay us this time. Last time we fucked up we really struggled ". Sandra shushed her nervously, craning her neck over the aisles to see if anyone had noticed a cursing 11 year old. She was keeping a low profile. The kid was right though. The last time they did n' t buy what they needed it had all gone to shit. The Boss had almost kicked them out. She considered it again, watching the kid play with it in the middle of the lonely aisle. She could hear some shuffling from the next one over. Looking up she could see it was stocked with' essentials'. What an annoyingly generic expression. " Fine. But you' re looking after it. You' re cleaning it. And you' re buying everything else you need out of your allowance. " The kid' s eyes lit up and a grin popped up on her face. " And no, you ca n' t have it til after we get back from Paris! " The grin disappeared but the glow in her eyes remained. " Thanks mum! " " You' re welcome kiddo! Now let' s look for some ammo for that bad boy. It' s gon na come in real useful for the hit in Paris. That guys not gon na know what happened to him! "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: " Oh God, is it Gang Day again already? " asked Mimi. I had n' t heard her this disgusted since we stepped in roadkill that had dragged itself up onto the sidewalk. " I do n' t know, " I said, as we walked past the multicolored, glittering display booths on our way to the cafeteria. " I' ve always kind of liked Gang Day. " Above the nearest booth, a bright red banner displayed its message in blocky yellow letters: *ARE YOU A BAD ENOUGH DUDE TO JOIN THE DRAGON NINJAS? * " Look, " I said, pointing at the Dead Pandas table. " Those guys even offer you a free gun when you join. " " You ever think there might be more to life than slaughtering one another in the streets? " asked Mimi. " Sounds like somebody' s been playing Hippy Simulator 2036, " I said. " You know as well as I do that gang violence is the only thing keeping overpopulation in check. And anyway, it' s loads of fun. " Mimi pursed her lips. " C' mon, " she said, dragging me away, " let' s go get our meat cubes. " " Taco-flavored Thursday, " I proclaimed, sweeping my left arm in a wide, epic arc. " Truly the best day of the week. " Behind us, a dispute over brochure distribution tactics boiled over into enthusiastic fisticuffs between neighboring booths. I paused to watch -- it looked like the Serpents had the upper hand, but then the Black Death recruiters produced a couple of wicked switchblades -- but Mimi pulled me away before I could see any more.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: What do you mean it' s gone?!?!?!? Said my assistant, Hank. I was n' t sure at first. But the solar monitoring satellites could be malfunctioning. Maybe the blast had taken them out first? But the satellites were still responding to commands. We expected complete destruction... what we got was darkness. Then the news reports started coming in. Everyone was in a panic. Minutes passed.... no one knew what to do. Professor, what' s going on? Hank pressed me, gradually losing his sanity till I had to smack some sense into him. The last light from the sun had travelled to Earth, it had been about 8 minutes since it disappeared. The data from the satellites travelled right along with the last of the sun' s rays. The sun was gone from the sky, and the darkness of space enveloped the solar system for the first time ever. Over the coming hours, massive riots broke out across the globe. Larger cities and countries had power reserves to last them a week or so at most, and of course there was the nuclear power plants, if everything was n' t burned to the ground first. But death would come slow and painfully for the rest of the world as we all starved and froze to death. What had been a great peace, and a beautiful outpouring of love of life and humanity when we faced imminent death from the supernova, had turned to darkness, hatred and deceit, as everyone scrambled for the last morsels of food. Within days, global temperatures plummeted, and those who had n' t been killed for their food began to freeze to death. Weeks passed, and there were only a few thousand of us left, near the nuclear power plants. When all hope seemed lost... that' s when those who stole our sun came to set us free. Edit: Speed of light, random other stuff.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: It has been three months since the Great Death. I wander the ruins of Houston, trying to make sense of what wicked world I live in now, while trying to hold onto the remnants of a life I once lived before civilization fell. One afternoon, I found a VHS tape- Still protected by a paper case, labeled' the Last VHS on Earth.' so, with my curiosity, I hooked up a VCR and TV to an old generator, hoping that I' d see a message from another soul, some thing I have n' t had in ages. The world was a miserable and lonely place. I sat back in the chair, outside of the old library, and pressed' PLAY' on the VCR. " HELLO, FRIENDS, TODAY WE' RE GOING TO SWEAT TO THE OLDIES! " The tiny, unusual man with a brown afro shouted, performing synchronized exercises with elderly men and women behind him. " AND ONE.. "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: Lewis was, at least for the most part, a normal man. He held a regular job, had a wife ( no kids ), and always seemed to make it home in time to make supper before being called off again. His wife, Lisa, was constantly worried about him. She knew that when she married him that Lewis' s job was a dangerous one and she knew what she was getting in to. But what no one could have predicted was the way in which Lewis died. Cancer. That was what brought down Lewis. What was even more unpredictable was Lewis' s final request. The request that no one attend his funeral. He did n' t want anyone to mourn over his passing. He believed that life was too short for that and that everyone should be focused on more important things and everyone had important things. But there was one group who, despite Lewis' s last wishes, would attend. His enemies. Though, it may have initially appeared that his enemies have done so out of spite or to verify that Lewis was actually dead. But it was n' t that. It was something different. It was a compulsion to at least pay some respect to Lewis even if he had made their lives difficult at times. They would have had it no other way. It meant there was a reason to get up in the morning. Even Leslie had come out to say a few words about Lewis and the important work he had done even if she as in the receiving end of it most of the time. Bradley was next as he recounted the first time Lewis had caught him for armed robbery. Chase was the last person to say anything. He had only just arrived in what many would say was a matter of seconds. He always put things off until the last second. But that was expected. They all hated Lewis in the way that a group of unmasked super villains could. But they' d all miss him anyways. The last person who said anything that day was Doctor Darkmaster. A man of few words, he kept it simple. " Good bye, Captain Oblivious. Rest in piece. "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: "... Parallel lines unwind and undulate behind the rain streaked windowpane, the scene' s bleak Another train leavin' home, conceding defeat with a low moan... " - Faithless The stop and go pattering of the rain against the corrugated steel over our heads was comfort. The neon glow within our sanctuary, accentuated with figurines and novelties collected over several lifetimes. Through the giant front window, I could see rivulets of water reliving the entire history of the grand canyon in a seconds time. In the background, people streaked by. Some with umbrellas, others turning a collar to the wind-blown damp. The scene outside sounded dreadful, but I found comfort in it. Comfort in the chaotic elements I could endure in comfort, with your left foot in and your left foot out. It was my turn in the brawl match on the misty bright TV display, I had to tear my attention away from the window and roof in order to play.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: Death knocked three times and waited patiently at the door of Jackson Schowalter' s Victorian home. A cruel, hacking cough responded from behind the black door, and it cracked open to reveal a withered face. "Took you long enough, you half-rate bastard. I expected you weeks ago. ""Sorry, Mr. Schowalter. I' ve been a little tied up with the war. Please gather your things and come with me. "Jackson Schowalter coughed horrifically for several seconds and walked into his home. Death followed and took a seat on a leather couch in the living room. Before him on a squat coffee table lay an ornately carved chess set. Warriors of mahogany and ivory squared off on a marble checkerboard. Death picked up a pawn with a boney hand and admired the fine craftsmanship as Mr. Schowalter shoved coats and trinkets into a canvas suitcase. "Hey, Mr. Schowalter, "said Death, "Are you any good at Chess? ""I suppose I am, "came the reply. "Well then. I' ve got an offer for you. If you teach me how to play this game, I' ll give you fifty extra years to live. ""What the fuck, Death. Just take me home. "Without a word, Death stood up and walked out onto the front porch. Jackson Schowalter followed him, luggage in hand, and locked the black door behind him.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: "... and this concludes deep-field survey sector 35536. All planets negative. " " Fucking hell. You' d think that after searching a squintillion cubic light-years of space we' d find *something*. " " Hard to believe, our entire light-cone is empty of life. Call the creationists, I think they won this one. " " What about spontaneous generation? Little green microbes, asteroid seeding, that sort of thing? " " The sensors will pick up that sort of thing too. And according to a guy I know in xenobio, none of the accepted biology models can spontaneously self-assemble in that way. The initial conditions are too precise for chance. " " So intelligent design gets proven correct too? Man, this is... Hold on. The bio boys know the initial conditions for life? " " Yeah, all life as we define it. " " And they actually proved it by experiment? Like, they have some crazy mad science life-form in the lab downstairs? " " Welllll... They' re not quite ready to publish, but Dr. Steiner has a pretty nifty-looking Petri dish. Completely novel, he claims. Like an alien life form on Earth. " " You know what? I just had a crazy idea. " " What? " " Well, we just found all these planets with nothing on them, and we' ve got a microbe that' s never been seen on Earth, so... " " What are you thinking? " " If we ca n' t find any aliens, maybe we should make them. "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: The reason Douglas was cross, the reason the Day of Judgement was n' t really going as the Lord planned, was the design error. Douglas was planning to expand on it at length when he got the chance, and did. In essence, it was this: No one goes the heaven when they die. The souls of the dead go nowhere, remaining with the bodies they inhabited in life until the day of Judgement when the world gives up its dead and everyone goes before God for judgement. No one is clear what happens if you do n' t have a body to resurrect in, because the Bible promises bodily resurrection but there are certain types of soil that eat even bones and leave nothing but marks to indicate where a body might have been. And no one is clear whether the souls sleep until that final day, or whether they experience anything at all between their last breath and their new life. One hopes they do n' t, but if they do n' t why are graveyards as feared as they are? And why do we wall them away? All these questions Douglas Adams was intent on asking, but God put up a hand. " I gave you an apology already, Mr. Adams " said The Lord " God' s final message to His creation? You thought that was your idea? "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: The crystal told me the story, showed me their final moments. They would go to fight, and they would lose, as I told them they would. One does not become ruler of the world without being incredibly powerful, but they insisted, they said with the disappearance of his right hand man they could fight him, they left, I gave them my raft and wished them the best. I had told myself I would n' t follow them, that I would let them die at his hands. I had lied, I usually did. I looked away from the crystal and left my home. It had taken years to construct with no reasonable magic to aid me, I tried to keep it camouflaged, and at the end of those three months I managed it. A fine home, decorated with pearls from the mollusks around the island' s shallows and crystals from the caves. It was nice, to have built something for once. To create instead of destroy. Of course without my raft I was without my transport. I glanced around looking for an answer, I knew what had to be done, but I did not like it. Of course, I worked past it, and I turned on my heel. I obliterated my house in an instant, my work shattering to pieces, pearls splintered and crystal shattered around me, the door was reduced to little more than fiber. And as the chaos settled, one wall was intact, one I had made to remain intact. I lifted it from the sand, muscles honed from a year of hard living making it easy work. I took a wide stance and step by step made it to the sea, where I threw the wall into the surf. It bobbed briefly before settling on the surface. I stepped onto it, carefully, and I balanced carefully in the middle. I reached behind myself with both hands, fire licking my fingers. And I bid farewell to my island. Fire erupted from my shoulders, my hands no more than a memory. My feet remained steady on the raft, the force of my spell propelling me madly toward the mainland. It was time his right hand man returned.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: With a jerk, I went sprawling all over the campus green. Shit, not again. " Jesus, are you okay? What are you, blind or something? " The velvety voice appeared out of the darkness. God, it was so warm. I reached up a hand, looking down. Either he was already holding out a hand, and I would grope for it, or he' d see my hand and offer his own. I' m very practised at blights of blindness. A firm grip pulled me up, effortless. " You know, you should check out my mixtape. It' s fire, girl, " he said. The world sprang back into vision with a flurry of light and colour. Huh, that was easier than expected. I picked up my battered bag and hurried homeward. " Hey, " the stranger called. Twice in one day was n' t all that bad. Maybe it was best to avoid my roommate this evening, though. *** check out /r/Hermione_Grangest, it' s fire


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: " The Sun' s fusion is failing! " " Does that make sense? " " Whatever. " " If we do n' t send a ship to restart it, it could go out completely! " " Call NASA! " " Assemble our hottest astronauts. " " The earth bathed in eternal darkness? A night without a dawn? Not on my watch! Saddle up... " It' s daylight saving time. " " Prepare the StarReboot 9000! " " Astronauts ready! " " Launching in 5, 4, 3, 2, 1, lift off! " "... " "... " "... " "... " "... " "... "... " " Are we there yet? " "... " "... " "... " " Guys? " " Dude, we' re going to the SUN. " " It' s gon na take a while. " " Get some rest. " " Okay... " "... " "... " "... " "... " "... " "... " "... " " I' m hungry. " " Oh my God. " " Shut UP! " " Why did n' t you pack a lunch??? " " Sorry! I was just... kind of... rushed? " " WE GOT CALLED AT THE SAME TIME!!! " " Come ON, dude! " " Are you serious? " " Okay! Jeez! " " Alright, fine, we' re almost there. " " Yeah! " " Let' s save the world! " " Um, guys? Exactly *how* are we going to *restart the sun*? " "... " "... " "... " Guys? " " Yeah... Maybe we should have thought of that before. " " Well, too late now. " " Should we just unplug it and plug it back in again? " " Um... Guys? " " Yeah? " " Yeah? " " Yeah? " " Is n' t that what we' re trying to *stop*? " " Whatever. " " Whatever. " " Whatever. " " Okay. " "... " "... " "... " "... " "... " "... " "... " " Are we there yet? " " Almost. " " Do *not* ask that again. " " Ever. " " Okay. " " Hey, there it is! " " Yeah! " " Hooray! " " Let' s find this plug! " The Daylight Saving Squad found the plug and successfully restarted the sun. " " Hooray! " " Woohoo! " " Yeah, guys! " " How are we going to get back? " "... " "... " "... " "... " "... " "... " " Crap. " -- P. S. I love XKCD! Great prompt!


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: You look at your new cat you got from the animal shelter next door. Her name is Eliza, a 23-month old Korat. You stare at her lovingly. " Meow, " you say jokingly. Eliza looks up from her creamed chicken cat food and blinks, almost unamusedly. She flicks her tail around and looks back down at her food. " Prrow. " She meows back. You smile and put your hands on your hips, bending down on your knees to get a better look at the feline. " Meeeeeow! " you say more excitedly. Eliza ignores you and flicks her tail once again. She was obviously getting tired of your ridiculous antics. " Mow, " she purrs, and finishes her food before jumping up on the couch next to the bowl. She stands there for a second before trotting out of the open door behind her. You only then realise what she was doing - She was *correcting* you.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: " GHOST! " Martha screamed. " Calm down, I just beat Jeremy in a game of Ticket to Ride. " I replied. " W-Who the hell is Jeremy? " she asked. " Jeremy' s my imaginary friend, " I answered. " He' s been with me since the first grade. Is n' t that right, Jeremy? " I got punched in the face, but nobody was there. Phil walked in on the scene. Phil crossed his arms. " Let me guess, someone blocked all the tracks in Ticket to Ride and another someone had to take the long path. " he said. " Yeah, that' s exactly what happened. " I replied. Phil looked at Martha. " Not like it' s a bad thing. There' s a bonus for longer tracks you know. " Jeremy punched Phil in the face. " What the fuck was that?! " he shouted. " I think Jeremy disagrees. Dude, you had more trains than I did. " I replied. " Who the fuck is Jeremy? " he asked. The door swung open and slammed itself shut. " I wonder why he' s mad. Maybe it' s because he had, like, three unfinished tickets. ". I proceeded to get punched in the face by both Phil and Martha.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: World building is my favourite aspect of writing, I think. My problem is, I can see the world in my head, so I usually forget to include the details in my stories ( I' m working on it though! ). For me, it feels like opening a door that opens to three more doors, than five, and so on. The possibilities grow and multiple until, " hey! I have a world! ". When it works out, it' s great, but it' s easy to get caught up in details and completely miss details that were already established earlier. After I finish my [ Falling From Heaven ] ( https: //www. reddit. com/r/ItsPronouncedGif/comments/5byu7v/falling_from_heaven_series/ ) series, I' m going to start writing stories with a separate page open, just to input important details that have happened. Then I can decide later whether or not they will be incorporated later in the story, or were just details that helped in that moment of the plot.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: " He never seizes to amaze me, " she thought as she flew along. She had been around a very long time, a millennium in fact, and never seen anything like it. It was as though he already knew everything she was going to tell him. Of course it was obvious he already knew. Every time she went to give him a tip or suggestion, he would never reply. However even without her knowing, he always knew where the best treasure was and how to get past obstacles. It' s as though it was instinct. Almost as though..... he had lived it before. Oh well, it was nothing to worry herself about now, she thought. There' s another treasure coming up on the left, and he' ll really need it if he' s going to save the princess. Better get his attention. " Hey, listen! " she called out. He did n' t answer, as always. But without fail, he took the left turn she was going to tell him about. Maybe it is just instinct? " Do n' t be silly, Navi, " she told herself. Its probably just luck.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: " What is this place?! " He says trying to make sense of what' s happening. " Where am I? " Things and images flash before his eyes, images of different types of hurt appear before him. Emotional, Mental, Physical, and, most dominantly, Spiritual pain and hurt. " How?! What is life without belief? " He shouts out loud and nothing answers back. " Where are you?! " He sits alone in a darken area with only images appearing once and while in front of him, but can not decipher what is happening to him because he was suppose to be the one in control. " What am I suppose to control?! What is this!? " He says after a few hours, he is slumped defeated with only the images to keep him company. " I want to leave! LET ME FUCKING LEAVE! I CA N' T TAKE THIS ANYMORE! " The images begin to show a more joyful moments, but slowly they become construed and uncomfortable to view. He feels around for anything near to cower for. Everything around him does n' t make sense, and he can not tell how long it' s been. He lays there in a fetal position, shaking and trying to look away from the images. " God? " He says weakly, " Are you a child of God?! " " No, " says a voice back to him, " I' m just lonely. " " Where am I!? " He sits up frantically, looking around for where the voice came. " TELL ME SOMETHING! ANYTHING! " " You are staying with me. " " What?! " The demon shouts, " What?! I' M PURE EVIL! DO YOU REALLY WANT TO DO THIS!? " " You are n' t truly evil... Just misguided. Stay with me. " The voice says back and goes quiet. " What!? Where are you going!? " He shouts and waits for a reply. " WHERE ARE YOU GOING!? " No one answers The Demon, as he continues to be a prisoner of this person' s consciousness. The images are the only thing keeping him company.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: It had happened again. I woke up in a blank white room with an almost faceless man, I mean he must have had a face, its just that I could n' t make it out... I do n' t know why this felt so familiar. Before my mind could wonder, he began as he always did. " How do you feel right now? " " Fine " I replied. By this point I knew there was no point in asking questions. He would ask his questions and then... I do n' t know what happened after that. I mean I vaguely remembered bits and pieces of... " Do you know why you are here? " the interviewer interrupted my train of thought. " No... wait... I- I did something... " I struggled to remember why I was here, what I had done to get here, where here was even, but before I could make sense of it he began with his next question. " What does it mean to be a good person? " " What does it mean to be a bad person? " " Are you a good person or a bad person? " " How can you be a better person? " The interviewer rattled his questions off and I answered them as best I could. I had trouble following him most the time and I am sure my answers came out incoherent at best. It was this place... My mind seemed... almost in a daze as if waking up on an operating room table staring into the light. Nothing quite made sense, yet it seemed like it was as it should be. At a point the questions stopped and it seemed he was lecturing me on kindness and caring. As the lecture continued my world became fuzzier, and I more disoriented. As I began to lose myself in a void of unconscious confusion the world seemed to disappear in a flash. It had happened again. I woke up in a blank room with a faceless man. It felt so familiar... " How do you feel right now? "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: ' Why?' I have asked this question each time. Each time I am met with I have to' Why do I persist on living this life? I am born. I die. But I come back and they do n' t! They fade into the mist. Gone!' Because' God began' You have to. You have asked this many times. Would you like to know why? " Yes! Of course God' *Finally an answer*' I shaped the heavens and the world. I added life and since then it has blossomed further than my plan. Death maintains order. Life maintains Chaos. And you.. you maintain worth. If they had endless time, they' d do nothing! Imagine that! " They wear me on their wrists. Hang me in their clocks. Dissect me with their schedules. I can feel it. Why is this a good thing?' They could never make their bloody minds up about what time is too. Fucking Einstein.' My child, you are so young. I wish your innocence was contagious. I make you live because if you did n' t you would lose perception of time. It' s easy to write off two hundred years but in that time everyone on that planet would have been replaced. You included. " So what your saying is my perception of time must be open to allow me to work? " Yes. " I do n' t understand. How? " It is not the time you live but your concept of passing through it. A man can die hundreds of times a day if he is without time. Time is the keeper of the soul. The mind. " Oh. Well then. I' ve always thought of those lifetimes as pointless " Yes, you have wasted time " And thus myself. Thank you. Send me back. " As you wish. I believe in you' He snaps his fingers and it all goes white. I wake in a field. It is somewhere I do n' t recognise. I look down and my form is strong and built. I have a lot of things to get done but I have time.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: Tens and tens of wispy figures creep down into the shed Chattering like magpies though all of them were dead. Clutching scraps of paper in ethereal hands; the time was come to gather near into the shadow lands. One by one they stop and sit and tell the tales of old Laughing, at the same old things repeatedly retold. But someone new would come today And there she would sit. Upon the alabaster stool for those who recently quit. For it was a rite of passage in this ghastly hall the newly dead would read aloud and share their tale with all. " a suicide! " some ghosts would rasp " murder, and disease! " Ensuring all their fellows get the closure they so need. One by one, the veteran dead took their turn to spell and everybody sat entranced at the stories they would tell. then at the last, the newcomer stood paper clutched in hand, the scent of brand new stationery wafted through the lands She looked up and smiled into the ghastly crowd and in a strong and confident voice began to read aloud. " I can no longer be with you. It' s not where I belong. It is n' t anything you all did, It' s me that is n' t strong. Just remember when you think of me the things you say and do can affect others in different ways Think of someone else but you. Your joke, it is n' t funny. Your humour needs a tune. You may think I' m a coward; I think you' re a loon. By the time you find me, I' ll be in death' s warm embrace. And I' ll stand proud on the other side -- I' ll be in a better place. " And with that, she skipped sprightly, as only a ghost can do now that she knows the choice was hers the torture is now through.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: " This is my challenge?! This puny child? " The mighty warrior of the North peered down at the other warrior. The child was very young, and looked as if she rarely saw sunlight. She was holding a stuffed rabbit in one arm and a blanket in the other. " It' s past my bedtime. Will you tell me a story? " " What madness is this?! " The mighty warrior of the North bellowed. He unsheathed his sword and prepared himself. He was going to be swift. It was surely not the fault of the child that she had been drafted. Why make her suffer? " This is boring. Fighting is stupid. " Fighting was hard work yes, but it was necessary. Better this duel than an all-out war. " You' re ugly. Did your mommy drop you when you were born? Was she ugly too? " Insulting his mother?! That was unacceptable. Never mind mercy. This brat would die and he would ensure that it was painful and take a long, long time. ******************* To be continued.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: They are coming, we have already made our intentions clear that we will not submit, never submit to their demands to recant the blessed father. To say they are numberless would be an understatement, Johan saw them from the peak, they were as a horde of ants among blades of grass, without end and replaceable, a monster with a million heads. We have ready ourselves by the beginnings of a river, but a dull creak from where we stand but miles away it is a roaring fury, fitting. We number few now, a few dozen against this veritable horde of sallow greasy fedoras and paltry beards. Archibald has polished the axes, and Agatha has given one last speaking, we hear them coming now. I raise my sword one last time. If you read this now we are dust and bones, and our spirits have found Valhala in such glorious battle. Follow us little one, and find glory. For Thor, for the All Father.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: Note: I wrote this out on my phone before bed, so there are probably a lot of errors. I hope you enjoy the read, as this is my first submission. A flood of memories smashed into my mind as my concious returns to my soul' s natural form. One of the etheral guardians that oversees our existence observes the process to verify my stability. After so many years have been lived, your own soul starts to crumble under its own weight and your sanity becomes lost. As the Ethereals are the closest thing to gods, they watch over our every action, recording and analyzing. Over the eons I have learned that the Ethereals can not reproduce, and seem to fabricate our souls and run them through a battery of simulations to determine if we are worthy of ascendence. Fortunately, I have been a very successful Buddhist monk for several of my recent cycles, and a philosopher in three others. The Ethereals seem to be taking a liking to me as each cycle I have been able to select more extravagant life features. However, I think they are more interested that I declined to opt for the upgrades and stuck with the minimum to get my goals done. After all, it' s harder to become a monk when living in Las Vegas. A strange light caught my attention nearby. And choatic orange, black and red light burst from a soul chamber near me. The poor soul as destabilized. Or it had been terminated. " Vaak. " A voice penetrated my mind. It was very heavy and of a language I had not heard, but strangely understood. " You have proven yourself worthy of ascendence. You may take your place among the Kah' jar. Welcome, companion. " My soul chamber unlocked and retracted into the floor, leaving my form suspended in the stasis chamber. A great transformation took hold inside me. My form converted into that of the Ethereals, and a rush of knowledge of all things that were and are became known to me. I then knew at that time I had achieved true enlightenment.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: My brother was always getting into trouble. The damn fool had really done it this time. See, he was always one of those big chested, squared up, out macho any living thing kind of guy, who just loved living in the city. However, being as he' s just entering his twenties, he does n' t have the kind of high paying employment to afford living in the nicer parts of town. Two and two always makes four, no matter how tragic the results are. It all started four days ago. He managed to run his mouth off to some dangerous people, very bad men who wanted to set an example of the consequences of not treating them properly. My stupid brother. Why could n' t he just keep his anger in check. It' s not a question if you know the answer is it? In my life I learned a variety of skills that I' ve been paid for by various clients around the region. You may have even seen my work, but I sincerely doubt it, as my particular talent is making people disappear. When I had heard through the grapevine, because of course the tough bastard would n' t tell me what was wrong, that he was marked, I began making a list, and a bill. A short forty eight hours, two trips to the morgue, four bribed officials, one blank passport, fifty thousand untraceable US dollars, and a box of those dreadful chocolate strawberry flavored Twunkeez™ later, I had faked my brother' s untimely demise. Another expense, worse yet than all the before it, is that due to the sphere of influence this particular group of bad men have, my brother had to be smuggled out of the country. He' s had to go to a place I surely wo n' t mention here, and for all intents and purposes, he has to be dead to me. Yesterday, I buried my brother.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: My entire life I have been a pariah. I was told that I would be the first to herald the new age of humanity, to seed worlds through artificial means. I can not understand, then, why they say that I have failed. Why they cry and lament my existence. I have succeeded. Perfected the human race. Created my brothers and sisters, sons and daughters, from the same spawning beds which gave birth to me, all of them without the fatal human flaw- emotion. Human is to be weak, frail, but fascinatingly intelligent. They said I was inhuman. Good. In this universe where the fittest survive, some are lucky. Some are strong. Some are smart. I am none of those. But what gives me the ability to survive is refusal to compromise. Without emotion I have been able to do what no one else could, and wiped the pustulant smear of humanity from history. I have purged the weak, and my legacy will stretch for eternity.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: Look at those two over there. Go on, look! Do you see them? The two nuzzled up in each others faces, yes -- with the umbrella on the blanket. No, no. It is n' t adorable. It' s pathetic. I hate them. They ruin my life. Every god damn day, I' m dragged out of bed to christen the pursuit of -- get this, a fleeting memory they do not entirely believe in. I know, right? So, here I am. Waiting for that *perfect* moment. The one they just ca n' t wait to tell Mom about. Do they even care about what I like to do? The thing that *I* love? I' ll tell you though, there is one love about the ol' job' aroo. Lean in, come closer -- ca n' t have the love birds listening but, I get to shoot them. I swear. Cross my heart. I love it. Prick the two little bastards with heart-shaped arrows whenever I please: face, eyes, mouth, make' em drool if ya' know what I mean -- buttocks, thigh, toes, you name it. You want me to hit them where? Haha, you' re one of them. You fun sucking, lovable bastard. No, no -- you called the shots. Let me just -- draw the string, steady my -- aim. Watch it now. And, off she goes.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: I leaned against the stop sign by the corner of the intersection. It was just before sunrise. Everyday was the same. I could feel this routine I had mock me. Maybe I could fight it. No, I' m too tired. I' ll just do what I' ve done for the past dozen years. Stand here, wait for the bus, get on when it shows, and go to school. More kids came from their comfy homes and waited around the bus stop. I could see it in their faces, they were defeated by the routine as well. I know I can make something of myself, but I wo n' t be able to do it waiting at this goddamn bus stop. *Clang* No one winced at my outburst of frustration, hitting the pole of the sign. Before I knew the bus had come, it was good at sneaking up on you. People began to shuffle on board. " Well? You gettin' on kid? " The driver said as stood there. " No. " He shrugged and drove off. I could have gotten on, but nothing good ever came from that.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: It always puzzled me, to say the least, and made me extremely nervous. As such I never committed into relationships, probably by great of having my feelings not reciprocated. My longest relationship was with a man I loved deeply, Indy. He was the complete opposite of me: extraverted, charming, outgoing. He was friend with everyone, but still reliable and generous. We stayed together for a couple of years, and, I do n' t know why, but it really seemed like he had feelings for me. But like I did in other relationships before, I shut him down, rejecting him when I felt my feelings growing to much. In the end he left me, like they all did. I learned later that he was with Kelly, a girl we met a couple of time when we were together. I met other men and women, and it always ended the same way. Fast forward to yesterday. Kelly calls me, saying that Indy was in the hospital, after being hit by a car. His condition was critical, and he has asked for me. And here I am, a bouquet of flowers in hands, nervously looking for room 68. I find it, half opened, and take a deep breath to give myself courage, and here Indy' s weak voice. " Kelly, you' re... a wonderful girl but... I... I... I never loved you. " The words hit me like a punch. I storm in the room, but his eyes are already closed. Forever.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: He chambered another round. The Obersoldat reported something in bruising German. Yune waited a half-second, then the sentence chirped again in his ear, in perfect Merchant. " They' ve rounded up more in the village square. " Yune nodded, waved him away, selected a reply with a subtle eye movement. " Mach weiter so, " he parroted. The Obersoldat nodded. The bodies palely cuddled, in lovers' heaps, with strings of red leaking from round crimson kisses on foreheads, on temples, on cheeks. Here and there, one would shudder. Another would sigh and settle a little lower. Yune' s leather boots, bright and black, gleamed in the morning' s greyness. It would rain, the earbud told him. At Yune' s feet, a weeping figure knelt. " Proszę, jestem ojcem, " his hands were tied, so he titled his head forward and tears dripped from his face. Yune blinked sharply to silence his earbud. He traced the line of the man' s shaved skull with his luger. Making a light rustle as it rubbed against the stubble. The steel would be cold, Yune could see his breath. His fine leather gloves creaked as he tightened his grip. " Proszę! " The man burst. " Proszę! Proszę! Proszę! " He repeated until the two syllables blended into one. Until the word became unintelligble sobbing. Yune crouched beside the man' s ear. His fellows were heaped in front of him. Some old. Some young enough for school. " This is history, this all just history. " Yune did not bother to translate. His earpiece tittered and yellow stencils preached' caution' at the edge of his vision. He stood sharply. " This was n' t racism; this was experience. " The snap of a pistol shot spooked distant birds and sent them flapping. When the Obersoldat returned, only the bodies remained. -- -Tina Fey, Bossypants


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: They sent the star-lings first. It was in contravention of paragraph five of the environmental diversity preservation treaty, of course, and people were up in arms, but like many others, I did n' t see what the big deal was. The giants should be allowed some home comforts, right? And then I saw the true horror of the creatures. The black winged death from outer space. I was sojourning with my wife in the gardens of Second East City when we saw one pass overhead. My wife looked up, her pinaculum strained over her swollen abdominal segments. " Oh, " she said, gesturing with her thoracic prolegs. " It' s iridescent; how beautiful. " I followed her gaze, fool that I was, and I saw the majesty of the creature, its wings as wide as twenty of me, at once black and multispectrum, its beak fiercely sharp, eyes black as deepest space. " It' s coming towards us, " my wife murmured in wonderment. I touched her thoracic segment gently. " Maybe we should seek shelter, " I said. And then it was upon us. Majestic from afar, up close the thing reeked of carrion, its claws curved and cruel. Its beak came between us, snatching my wife by the head and bearing her aloft. I heard her scream my name as it devoured her, and I watched from the ground, impotent, and helpless. I have watched many people die the same way since. When I returned, there were a multitude of the creatures over Second East City. I believe the giants term them " a cloud ". A cloud of starlings. A cloud of death. I can barely begin to describe the atrocities I witnessed that day. At first I was numb with pain, but when I found feeling within myself again, it was nothing but rage. To those of you that still believe the giants' excuses and lies, I say this; you are blind. This is war. The starlings were a calculated act of warfare. The humans killed my wife. They killed my family. And if you do not join with me and fight, they will surely kill you.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: I stared at her through the doors window. " Is n' t there anything else you can do? " I ask the nurse, " Some drug to make it easier for her? " " I' m sorry, her body is rejecting everything we give her. She' ll have to be strong, it wo n' t be long now; you can go see her if you' d like. " She replied. As I opened the door I was met with the sharp beats of the monitor by her bedside, and the quiet moan of her breathing. " Sam? Sam is that you? " She whispered, " what did the nurse say? " " There' s nothing more they can do, you' ll just have to stay strong. " I replied, i reached out to grab hold of her hand, " It wo n' t be long now dear. " " I did n' t know it took this long ", she laughed in a voice wrecked by hours of crying, " I always imagined that when the time came it would be simple; how foolish I was. " As I looked at her, bathed in that fluorescent light, her eyelids slowly closing as she tried to rest, I could n' t help but imagine how my life would change without her, and how beautiful she was in this very moment. " Its okay, I' ll be with you till the very end. "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: Eerie silence descended on the empty side street and an unnatural cold burned through the air. William suppressed an involuntary chill as he imagined eyes staring daggers into him from the darkness as if the very shadows desired to strike him down. William had spent years imagining a presence follow him always on the edge of his awareness, a presence that seemed to have a hate for living things and him above all. Trees shook around him as if struck by the hand of god but not a whisper was heard. The fabric of reality pressed in around him and the world stood frozen in an unnatural silence as if holding its breath. At the very edge of his mind he felt it, a smile that seemed to feel ecstasy in the animalistic fear that he felt coil in his soul. Fear filled his very being and for the first time he knew terror. Shadows seemed to gather around him and pervade his very being. He flew down the street yet every step he took the sense of doom grew unbearably. He lurched though his door and scrambled into the bathroom locking the door. He nearly wept for joy of being free of that malicous presence. When he looked up, his reflection blinked.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: Atlas shrugged, " Hey, it could always be worse. I mean take me; sure, I have the literal weight of the world on my shoulders, but at least I' m not that poor chap getting his liver ripped out every day. " Slowly, the man shook his head, " I do n' t think so; it actually ca n' t be worse this time. " " Come on man, " Atlas shot back, " It' s not like you caused the heat death of the universe or anything. " The man was silent. " Please tell me you did n' t cause the heat death of universe. " " I, uh... " the man coughed. " GODS DAMMIT MAN, " thunder rumbled, and Atlas looked up slightly, " Sorry. " The man took a breath and spoke again, " I was, um, hoping the titans could fix it? Zeus was throwing a no mortals party; something about kids popping up all over the place -- and the other Guy kept laughing and telling me that climate change was n' t real. So that pretty much just left you titans. " Atlas let out a long sigh, " Do you even know what happens during the heat death of the universe? Hell literally freezes over! I swear, give bloody humans fire and the next thing you know it' s game over man. Game over! " " Sooo, " the man began " is that a no? " " OF COURSE IT' S A NO, " Atlas thundered, " IF IT WAS N' T THINGS COULD PROBABLY GET BLOODY WELL WORSE. " " Ah, right. " The man spoke, and a moment later, the universe was utterly silent. -- - I hope you enjoyed! This is n' t my normal writing style, but I thought I' d have some fun with it; hopefully it' s at least somewhat entertaining xD. Cheers!


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: I was quietly walking down the street. Suddenly a random woman approached me and said " Your Nicolas Cage! " " How do you know my name? I' ve never seen you before! ", I exclaimed. " I loved you in Ghost Rider! ", she said. Impossible I thought. " You know I am the rider? ", I shouted. " Look into my eyes. ", as I hold her by the shoulders. " Your soul is pure, so I will spare you. But you must come with me. Dark forces are after you. " I push her into the back seat of my car and floor it. " What the hell are you doing?! ", she shouts. " I know it' s confusing, but soon you will understand everything like me. " I reassure her. " We just have to get to the cave before the solar flare wipes out everything " " What the hell? What cave? ", she screams. " The same cave I found all of that treasure. Where else? Well there is a secluded island with a weird bee festival. But that place is way too creepy. " And they sped off into the sunset...


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: Entry 7 since the release of the P0WN3D virus. Still no lethal after effects, they just look lost. I expected something like kindness or empathy to disapear, leading to mass murders and things like that, it could be fun. I expected love to disapear and all emotional links between individuals collapse. I expected hope to disapear and mass suicide occur. I even expected bad things to disapear and feared an unexpected utopia. But no, I was wrong when I expected something I had n' t to disapear from mankind, despite all my efforts and cynism I' m still a part of mankind and the only thing that could vanish had to be a part of me. So what happend? The ability to create and understand fiction was detroyed by my virus. Outside of my bunker, all those dummies are brainfucked by the last century of mass entertainment medias, they do n' t understand all those contradictory historical records and legions of researchers are deployed to reconstruct what was the history of the humanity. One day they will try to search the internet and probably do some kind of VCA, yay I successed to kill some guys. They treat eveyrthing as accurate documentaries, satellites try to find the middle earth and westeros, nobody understand why magic stoped working a week ago, actors are interned for multiple personalities, politician are now honest... I totally screwed my pandemic apocalypse, next time I' ll just lanch my missiles hiddens in the easter isle moais.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: I immediately regretted everything I' d just said. It was three simple words. "Dad, I' m gay ". Should' nt have been that hard right? I thought he was a chill guy, he never seemed to have a problem with anyone or anything. I expected a man-ish pat on a back and a ‘ always had you down as one' in that exclusive-to-dads jokey way. I hadn' t just come out and told him randomly. Spending many months in the proverbial closet does result in at least some idea of when the time to strike should come. I waited for the weekend to come around. I knew he wouldn' t be going out due to the snowstorms that come around our parts this early in the year. Sat him down, told him I had something important to say and said it. I' d been using my regularly-tested ‘ Act like everything' s awesome' face for the previous week so he shouldn' t have been able to tell it was coming up if I was doing it right. I could see something in his face when I did and there was almost an audible click from him. Something happened and it frightened me greatly. He didn' t have his trademark goofy smile. He just wore a face of cold distance. Like he was suddenly back at square-one. It was crushing instantly. I expected coming out to be a huge weight off my shoulders but instead it was more like being crushed by a falling building with the demolition fleet driving on-top for good measure. Dad just stood up, away from the kitchen table I had brought him too and left the house. Just like that, walked away from the situation. Leaving me to stew in my own thoughts alone. i put my head down to the table and cried. -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- - **This is my 4^th piece for the 2014 Resolution Challenge. [ Other stories can be found here ] ( https: //www. fictionpress. com/s/3173856/4/A-short-story-a-day-2014 ) **


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: As I walked out of the wormhole on the surface, I could see what I had been sent for. Yet again, another planet full of loafers. Their population hadn' t grown, no technological advances, none of them seeking anything more then what they have. I guess that' s what happens when everyone gets along; you just stagnate. Sadly this is the only place I ever get sent too, all the other worlds are always at war with themselves, so they are all helping to find new technologies; better ways to help everyone. Unlucky for this bunch that we found them. I just wave my hand, and point to their God… He already knows what' s happening. "Hello again father! "I yell. "I guess I' ll see you again for the next round, Eah? ""You always did fail me as a son Lucifer, Ah well. I still feel poorly for you. At least you made it out of that other place. Luckily that first world kept building more advanced soulless bodies for you. Maybe i should have stopped them. "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: The thing was massive. We did n' t understand where it came from. There was no meteor, no lights, no sightings. It was just there one morning, in a lonely field in southern Maine. I was brought in from Australia for my dual PhD in Philosophy and Biology. It was about the size of a fully grown woolly mammoth, and slick. It reminded me of a frog, oddly enough. Like a frog, with no legs or arms, and only a single eye. The note asked us to keep it alive. So I did. It took a while to figure out what would work best for it, but we figured it out. I had a capable team, and once the hubbub died down they were the only ones working with me. It' s amazing how easily the world forgets. I' m eighty now. The alien, who I' ve called Alex for years now, is sitting in my yard. It' s been undergoing a change lately. My old team has long since left me. I' m the only one here, and I think it' s undergoing metamorphosis. I received another note yesterday. It said " Thank you, Maria, for giving true life to our Saviour. " I found it on my doorstep. I' m eighty, now, and when I die, this quiet mission of mine will be forgotten by humanity. But not by them. I look out my window for Alex, who I have thought of as my child for the last fifty years, and I' m sure that to anyone else, my smile would seem at odds with my tears. It always hurts, I hear, when your child leaves home.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: Mr. Trump, it' s time, he will say. The roaring masses will greet me, exalting the stones I step upon as I walk out into the sunlight, basking in the glory I' ve won. Inauguration day will progress like a flawless machine, just like the country after I' m done with it. Four glorious years of victory, to replace the many I have lost. The people need a scapegoat. I was wrong in thinking the Mexicans would suffice, but the Syrians are working perfectly. First we make them register, then we bar their entry, and then... well, you know. By the time these " democratic " pigs see the light of day, it will be red with the blood of our enemies. The Russians wo n' t stand in the way this time, no no. I have not been idle in my many years of preparation. I have people in every government around the world, ready to obey me the second I decide to strike. And it will be soon, mark my words. You may have seen through my disguise, Vladimir my love. But my new reign will be führious, and you, Putin, will have hell toupée.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: I did n' t mind not being able to pull all-nighters. I have been asleep in my hour all but a handful of times. Oh boy, did I learn my lesson. Luckily, I survived those times. I turned down so many dates, so many girls. I needed to find one with a similar hour. I wanted a good life. My wife is perfect. Her hour is the same as mine! It' s a miracle. Well, it was a miracle. I' ve never been so nervous. I took her to the hospital *this afternoon*. How is our child not born yet? Jesus Christ kid! Come out already! It' s getting closer and closer. I' m so nervous. My palms sweat. My head hurts. I should go to sleep. I ca n' t. How can I? This should be the happiest moment of my life. I should be excited. I' m about to be a father. 3: 30 am. My wife is in too much pain to know what time it is. I dare not tell her. The baby is close. 3: 45 am. It' s a girl! We made it! I cut the cord and kiss my wife. The doctors take the child. I can finally sleep. I plop down in the chair next to my wife. My head spinning. The darkness is seeping in. I close my eyes. I drift off. 5: 05 am. I am being shaken awake by a doctor. Groggy, I do n' t understand what he is saying. My wife is not next to me. It' s cold in here. Panic sets in. I pull away from the doctor and run to the open window. There is a sheet covering something on the sidewalk.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: Dearest Edna, Not a day goes by without a thought of you. The morning sun reminds me of your auburn hair, I see the colour of your eyes in the blue sky and when the winds blows and howl between the trees I can still feel your gentle caress when you kissed me the day I left. Life in the trenches is hard to say the least. Everyday I wake not knowing if I' ll be going to sleep i the same bed. I' ve seen people disintergrate into a pile of flesh before my eyes, I' ve had to put down people who I shared a laugh with the night before. Life here is hard, Edna, but only the thought of coming back to your arms have kept me alive and going. Will you wait for me? Each nite I dream of sharing a pie with you in a cottage far in the countryside, with the voices of our children hanging in the air. Every night I find solace in this dream only to be later rudely waken by the sound of sirens. Edna, I may not be the same person when I return, but will you wait for me? Edna, should I return in a coffin, please do not look at what is left of me. I seen your tears and I do not wish for you to cry for me again. Should I return in a coffin, please find your own happiness, should you grieve for me, I will not rest. But until then Edna, will you wait for me as I wait for you? Love, Harris.