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[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: The Plum-Rimmed Orchid of Tonga\n\nGenre: indigenous\n\nWord Count: 2499\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story that involves a secret or magic ingredient." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "The fabled plum-rimmed orchid was what made FeFe’s faikakai so irresistible. I’ve never seen one, not even in a photograph, but I knew without a doubt that those coconut caramel-smothered dumplings wouldn’t taste the same without it. If the only thing I learned in life was how to make FeFe’s faikakai, my entire existence would be completely and unconditionally fulfilled.\nIf only FeFe ever let me set foot in the kitchen.\n“’Ikai!” she shouted, shooing me away with her wooden spoon. “No! No cook! I cook!” Her broken English carried through my dad’s house like an angry wasp. Stung like one, too.\n“FeFe, please! I’m seventeen, now! I can learn!”\nBut my grandmother wouldn’t budge on the matter. She stood with her arms crossed, nose in the air, blocking the swinging doors that led to Dad’s kitchen. “’Ikai,” she repeated. “Lopini no cook faikakai.”\nWhen she used my Tongan name, she meant business.\n“Robin, just let it go,” Al groaned from the couch in the living room. “She’s never let you in on the secret of her faikakai before, and she’s not going to let you in on it today.”\n“I know the secret, Alefosio,” I countered, emphasizing my cousin’s full name for effect.\n“What, the orchid?” Al guffawed, spilling his can of Sprite all over himself in the process. “That stupid flower is just a story. It doesn’t even exist.”\nI crossed my arms in front of me stubbornly. “Oh, yeah? How come I didn’t know you conducted an archipelago-wide expedition in Tonga?”\n“Smartass,” Al muttered under his breath.\n“Excuse me?”\n“Robin. Al. That’s enough arguing.” Dad sauntered into the living room, already looking tired at eight o’ clock in the morning. His late-night shift at the restaurant must have been rough.\nI wrapped my arms around Dad’s waist and laid my head on his shoulder. “I can take your shift, tonight,” I offered.\nDad grinned and patted my arm. “There’s no need. I’m alright, sweetheart.” Then, he heaved himself down onto the couch with Al. “Have I told you two about your great-grandfather Kui Atamai?”\nAl rolled his eyes. “Do you have to?”\nI was about to slap Al’s arm for being so disrespectful, but Dad’s disappointed gaze was enough to make him regret his words. “Your mother was one of Kui Atamai’s favorite grandchildren.”\n“What about Kui Atamai, Dad?” I pressed. Dad loved storytelling, and I surely loved to hear them. Besides, I was always down for anything that made Al stop complaining. I settled onto the floor at Dad’s feet, ready to be transported to the jungles of Tonga.\nDad gave a little smirk and spread his arms out wide, taking on a low tone as ancient as our heritage. “Kui Atamai lived with his mother and father on Niuafo’ou, the very northernmost island of Tonga. Their fale, with its doming thatched roof and strong coconut palm pillars, sat on the edge of an ancient volcanic rim, just as their ancestors had for thousands of years before them, in the village of Futu.\n“When your great-grandfather was just a little pēpeé, a terrible eruption from the ancient volcano destroyed his family’s village, and unrelenting lava flows enveloped all the huts of Futu and cut the village off from the harbor. To survive, his father Kui Malohi swam across the great crater lake, carrying his wife and Kui Atamai upon his back. He made it to the opposite bank, but the exhaustion cost him his life.”\nDad paused in silence with his eyes closed, offering this brief, quiet peace to Kui Malohi. When he opened his eyes, again, they were fiery, like staring down into the chamber of a volcano.\n“Your great-great-grandmother, Fefine Kalasia, made the decision to leave the island of our ancestors, to protect Kui Atamai. A wise decision, too, for the volcano was angry. It erupted again and again, until just seventeen years after our family left, the entire island of Niuafo’ou was evacuated, for the volcano’s fury was too great.\n“Our family’s story continued on the island of Tongatapu. Fefine Kalasia found work in the Tonga Royal Palace and built a new life for herself and Kui Atamai from the ground up. She found favor with the Queen at the time, Sālote Tupou III, and was allowed to bring Kui Atamai to work from time to time. So, Kui Atamai grew up in the Royal Palace, befriending the prince, little Tāufa’āhou.\n“'Atamai,’ Tāufa’āhou said one day while they were playing just inside the sacred stone fence, ‘what was Niuafo’ou like?’\n“Kui Atamai scratched his chin and thought hard, but he couldn’t recall anything from Niuafo’ou. ‘I only remember being surrounded by water, upon the back of a strong, giant crab, a paka, with my Mami.’\n“Tāufa’āhou looked at him skeptically. ‘A paka? I don’t believe you.’\n“'It’s true!’\n“'I won’t believe you until you find this giant paka,’ Tāufa’āhou said, crossing his arms over his chest.\n“So, years passed, and Kui Atamai set his sole purpose in life to one day return to Niuafo’ou and find the giant crab in the crater lake. His tales about the paka became more and more fantastical. The crab’s shell was covered in every color of jewel from wrecked pirate’s treasure. He was fifty feet tall and seventy feet long. His eyes were made of lava!\n“The more fanciful his paka became, the more the paka became just a myth. Not only to Tāufa’āhou, but to Kui Atamai’s family as well.\n“Finally, when Kui Atamai was old enough and strong enough, he built his own tongiaki and sailed across the sea, traveling hundreds of miles of Pacific water, back to his birthplace.\n“When he finally spotted the limestone cliffs of Niuafo’ou, he anchored his tongiakai and swam to the black-sanded shores. He had no clue where he was on the island, but as he climbed onto the black lava flows, he felt as if the hands of his ancestors were hauling him up to the top of the cliffs. Up, up, up he went, until he found himself standing atop the island. The great ocean spread around him in all directions, but the ocean was not the water he was looking for. No. He stood there, staring down into the deep crater lake.\n“'I will find you, paka!’ he swore to the lake, with his fist high in the air.\n“But Kui Atamai had horrible timing. For as he climbed down the steep limestone cliffs toward the vast lake, the wind of a tropical cyclone began to blow in off the coast. The afā would go down in history as a hundred-year-storm.\n“The cyclone ripped through the island, shaking the coconut palms clear of their fronds and sending mudslides cascading down the sides of the cliffs! Kui Atamai had no choice but to hunker down low within the jungle, taking refuge in the thick, green vegetation.\n“He found shelter in a low rock formation, but all too soon, the mudslides reached him, filling his hiding hole to the brim with mud, water, and broken tree branches.”\nAl’s excited voice interrupted my father. “What did he do?” He was leaning forward on his elbows, eyes wide.\n“Al!” I moaned, now completely irritated with my cousin. “Don’t ruin the story!”\nDad blinked a few times, seeming to come back to the present, and chuckled. “Finally showing some interest in Kui Atamai, aren’t we?” he teased Al with a nudge in the shoulder.\n“Then what happened?” I asked sharply, impatience coating my tone. “What happened to Kui Atamai?”\n“Well, he survived, of course!” Dad said matter-of-factly. “We’re all here, aren’t we?” After he cleared his throat, he reverted back to his deep, storytelling voice. “Kui Atamai had to keep moving, finding shelter where he could but avoiding any surprise floods. Slowly, he continued his way down the cliff. The weather had cleared by the time he made it to the base of the cliff. Clear, blue sky sat above him, now, the air so still that if he yelled, the entire island would hear him.\n“At his feet now was a forty-foot drop to the crater lake. He sucked in his gut, puffed out his chest, and leapt from the limestone rock face, plummeting into the deep waters of the crater lake. He was about to fulfill his life’s purpose.\n“He dove down into the depths, the water a shock to him as he had never swum in freshwater before. Where was the salt? Where was the sting?\n“Then, as he swam toward the center of the lake, a humongous, dark shadow rose in the water, far in the distance through the murkiness. ‘The paka, surely!’ he thought, excitement exploding through his limbs. He tried to approach the massive shape, but the oxygen in his lungs was running too low. He kicked to the surface for a gulp of air . . . and found tumultuous waves towering over him! For the storm had not ended; the calm had been only the eye!\n“He was thrown back and forth, side to side, pulled underneath the waters in a new winding current rippling through the lake. The dark clouds swallowed all light of day, and it was impossible to tell which way was up and which was down through the unrelenting bullets of rain. Kui Atamai kept his head above water for as long as he could, but the water was too strong. His legs could no longer keep him at the surface. He sank below the waves, and darkness overtook him.”\nMy tiny gasp broke the tense silence that followed my dad’s words.\n“But you said he lived!” Al fussed from beside me.\n“He did,” Dad said with a grin. “He woke up washed ashore on one of the little islands in the middle of the great crater lake, an island called Motu Si’i. This little island saved your great-grandfather’s life. Kui Atamai kissed the ground upon which he laid, and when he turned his head to look into the low bushes that crowned the island, he froze in his footsteps.\n“These small flowers looked back at him, white with purple rims as dark as a plum, their petals formed in such a way that it appeared they had mouths, gaping wide at the fact that a man had dared wash upon their shores.”\n“The plum-rimmed orchid,” I breathed.\nDad nodded slowly. “Kui Atamai never found his paka, but he discovered a brand new orchid, never before described in any book, or displayed at any museum.”\n“Is that what this entire story was about?” Al blew air through his lips.\nI wanted to scream, but Dad just continued on as if Al hadn’t spoken. “He collected as many flowers as he could, stuffed them wherever he could in his soaking wet clothes, and dove back into the lake. He climbed and descended the sharp limestone cliffs, left new footprints in the black sands of the beach, and swam to his tongiakai, which had been blown closer to shore by the afā. He sailed his way southward, back to Tongatapu.\n“'Faha koe! My son!’ Fefine Kalasia exclaimed when Kui Atamai waltzed back to their doorstep. ‘Where on this Earth have you been?’\n“He presented the orchids to his mother and relayed his entire journey, his search for his paka.\n“Fefine Kalasia burst into tears, but never had the chance or the courage to tell Kui Atamai the truth behind his paka until much later in his life, when he had a wife and children of his own.\n“To celebrate Kui Atamai’s return home, Fefine Kalasia brought out an old recipe for faikakai on Niuafo’ou, one that used things such as coconuts and bananas in the dumplings. Instead of coconuts or bananas, however, she gathered in her hands some of the orchids her son brought back to her.\" Dad held out his hand in front of him, turning it slowly from side to side as if he were grasping the very same orchids Fefine Kalasia had.\nThen, his eyes snapped back to us. “And, well,” he shrugged, “the rest is history. Fefine Kalasia passed her secret down to Kui Atamai’s wife, who then passed it on to her daughter, Amipa.” He nodded his head toward the swinging doors of the kitchen and winked.\nAl clapped his hands together and stood from the old couch. “I’m just here to eat the faikakai.” But as he passed Dad, he stopped, stood there for a second in some sort of deliberation, and finally wrapped his arms tightly around my father. “Thanks for the story, Uncle Atonio.” Then, as he trudged off, I caught him trying to steal a peek over the swinging kitchen doors before disappearing through the doorway to the dining room.\nI looked at Dad eagerly. “Is all of that true? Did Kui Atamai really find the orchid?”\nDad smiled a funny little grin and responded, “You tell me. You can help me plan a trip to Niuafo’ou in the next couple of years—your Fefe says it’s time for a supply run.”\nA trip to the volcanic island of our ancestors? A bolt of excitement at the idea made me squeal.\nStill, something bothered me. “But why hasn’t our family ever turned in the orchid? No one knows it exists! We could name it after Kui Atamai!”\nDad shrugged his wide shoulders, a pout of nonchalance on his face. “They make the faikakai too delicious to spare any, I suppose.”\nHis answer didn’t satisfy me. Really, we could spare one or two of the orchids, right?\nBut as I looked toward the kitchen, the clangs and bumps of Fefe bustling around in there, working backbreakingly hard over the stove, I realized—no, we couldn’t spare even the stem of one flower.\nFefine Kalasia didn’t uproot her entire life from Niuafo’ou just for us to give up her secret. Fefe and my grandfather hadn’t left Tongatapu with the hope of becoming famous off an orchid. My family’s courage led us here, to this house butted up against of the back of my dad’s restaurant, where my Fefe’s kaikakai was the star attraction. If we gave up the orchid, we would be giving up something that my family has held close to its unified heart for three generations.\nMaybe some things were better left a secret. After all, it wasn’t our secret to share. It’d been Fefe Kalasia’s and Kui Atamai’s.\nStill staring toward the kitchen, hearing the nonstop busy efforts of my grandmother, I no longer felt the urge to charge in on her this very moment. I’d learn our secret in time. I could be patient.\nThen, as if she’d been listening in on my thoughts, Fefe barged through the swinging kitchen doors and met my wide eyes with a steely gaze of her own. “Lopini. Come. I teach you to cook.”\n~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~\nReferences:\n· \"Niuafo'ou\". Global Volcanism Program. Smithsonian Institution.\n· https://www.britannica.com/topic/fale\n· https://www.momjunction.com/baby-names/tongan/\n· https://tradukka.com/translate/to/en/\n· https://www.nomlist.com/15-tongan-foods-you-must-try/\n· https://www.thecoconet.tv/coco-cookbook/pacific-recipes-and-food-tips/faikakai-topai-dumplings-in-sweet-coconut-1/\n· https://www.thecoconet.tv/know-your-roots/pacific-history-legends/tonga-a-brief-history-of-the-tongan-monarchy/" } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: The Secrets Within\n\nGenre: horror\n\nWord Count: 2998\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story that includes someone saying, “You can’t run forever.”" }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "It all started when dispatch sent him to Newberry Street to investigate a domestic disturbance call.\n\n\n\nNewberry Street…\n\n\n\nIt was an unremarkable name, one that he never anticipated would haunt his nightmares for years to come. Newberry Street was situated in a rundown part of town, with chain-link fences enclosing the houses. Signs warning \"No Trespassing\" or \"Keep Out!\" glared at him from every door and gate.\n\n\n\nThe house he’d been called to, one with a faded 27 painted above the front door, had a fence higher than any other. The driveway was riddled with cracks, and weeds sprouted defiantly from the concrete, their long green stalks reaching towards the sky like extraterrestrial invaders from beneath the pavement. Just outside the gate, a trash bag lay discarded, surrounded by buzzing flies. A pitbull dog had its head buried in the bag, tearing into the trash with unprecedented fervor.\n\n\n\nStepping out of his car, Ronny cautiously surveyed the house. Every blind was tightly shut. The small glass panels above the front door were covered in duct tape.\n\n\n\nSilence enveloped the air, broken only by the sound of the dog's ravenous chewing.\n\n\n\n“Oh, thank goodness you're here!\"\n\n\n\nRonny jumped, spinning around. A woman hurried across the street towards him, clad in nothing but a pink robe. Her eyes were a piercing shade of blue, and her snow-white hair contrasted against her tanned and wrinkled face.\n\n\n\n“Did you make the call?” Ronny inquired. The fading sun cast shadows over the two figures, while the lone tree in the yard rustled ominously in the gentle evening breeze.\n\n\n\n\"Yes, officer. You see, the residents of this house,\" she gestured towards it, \"just moved in a week ago. They're a middle-aged couple who seemed nice at first, but...\" The woman's voice quivered, her lip trembling. \"Well, at night, I hear horrifying sounds coming from their home.\"\n\n\n\nThe woman's words and her trembling voice made Ronny feel uneasy.\n\n\n\n“What kind of sounds?” He asked.\n\n\n\n\"Screams,\" the woman replied, her eyes wide with fear. \"Terrible, blood-curdling screams.\"\n\n\n\nRonny swallowed; his attention was now focused on the house.\n\n\n\nProbably a case of domestic violence, he thought, his agitation turning into anger. His own mother had been a victim of such abuse, but they had never had a neighbor who cared enough to seek help for them.\n\n\n\n\"Often, I can tell it's a woman screaming... She was screaming again just a few moments ago,\" the woman informed him, wringing her hands. \"That's why I called. But... she stopped a little while ago.\"\n\n\n\n“I’ll check it out... Do you know if he’s armed? Or,” Ronny cleared his throat. As a cop, he wasn’t technically allowed to jump to conclusions. “If there are any weapons in the house?\"\n\n\n\nThe woman shook her head.\n\n\n\n\"I don't know anything about what's happening in that house or what's inside it,\" she replied, gesturing towards the covered windows. \"I don't think they want us to know... Or at least, someone doesn't.\"\n\n\n\nHer bone-chilling words sent a shiver down Ronny's spine; even the dog seemed to sense the eerie atmosphere as it looked up, licking its lips and emitting a low whine before darting off down the street.\n\n\n\nRonny gave the woman a rigid nod. He made his way over to the house. Since the gate was unlocked, he opened it and stepped into the yard. Slowly, he made his way across the driveway, then ascended the porch steps and knocked on the red door.\n\n\n\nWith one hand resting on his gun holster, he waited.\n\n\n\nNothing.\n\n\n\n\"Hello? This is the NYPD!\" Ronny rapped on the door once more, this time with more force. \"Open up!\"\n\n\n\nFrom behind the door, he thought he detected the sound of footsteps. But nothing happened.\n\n\n\nRonny bit his lip. He hesitated to force his way in. He wasn't entirely certain if he had enough reasonable grounds to do so.\n\n\n\nI'll call for backup and see if we can obtain a warrant to search this location, Ronny contemplated, turning to depart.\n\n\n\nThe door creaked behind him, causing him to swiftly spin around.\n\n\n\n\"Hello?\" a high-pitched voice called out to him. Ronny's guard lowered as he caught sight of a young woman. She peered at him from behind the partially opened door.\n\n\n\n“Hey,” Ronny nodded in greeting. The girl refrained from fully opening the door.\n\n\n\n“What do you want?” The girl asked, her lip trembling with fear. Ronny was perplexed. The elderly woman had said a middle-aged couple lived here.\n\n\n\nThis girl couldn’t be older than sixteen.\n\n\n\n“Are your parents home?” Ronny hazarded a guess. The girl titled her head.\n\n\n\n“They’re upstairs, in the attic.” She informed him. “Do you want me to fetch them?”\n\n\n\n“Yes, that’d be great.” Ronny replied with a gentle smile. The girl reciprocated the grin, her timidity vanishing in an instant.\n\n\n\n\"Alright!\" She swung the door open wider, revealing a sight that caught Ronny's attention. A streak of red liquid was trickling down her chin, and he couldn't help but assume it was ketchup.\n\n\n\n“Just finish eating supper?” He asked. The girl nodded.\n\n\n\n“It was really good.” She purred, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. “I think we’ll be having dessert in a little while.”\n\n\n\nRonny nodded sagely, his eyes darting past the girl as he tried to catch a glimpse inside the house.\n\n\n\n“Wanna come in?” The girl asked.\n\n\n\nWithout a second thought, Ronny accepted the offer and stepped into the house.\n\n\n\n***\n\n\n\nAs the girl went upstairs to fetch her parents, Ronny sat at the dining room table. Above him, he could hear the creaking of footsteps.\n\n\n\nWhy are they in the attic? Being alone in this unfamiliar house, his mind began to wander. He absentmindedly tapped his fingers against the antique wooden tabletop while a golden chandelier swayed above his head in sync with the footsteps. The room was bathed in a soft, faded orange glow, emanating from two candles, one placed at the center of the table and another on top of a nearby cabinet.\n\n\n\nI don't typically spend my evenings hanging out in the attic, Ronny thought to himself, a hint of amusement crossing his face. But hey, maybe that's just me.\n\n\n\nHe quickly shook his head at his own stupidity. These people had just moved here. They were most likely still busy unpacking and organizing their belongings.\n\n\n\nBump! Bump! Bump!\n\n\n\nThe loud thuds from above made Ronny imagine a giant was walking above him. It sounded as if a group of trolls were having a raucous party up there.\n\n\n\nA moment later, the girl skipped back into the room, bringing an end to Ronny's musings.\n\n\n\n“I’m back, Mr. Cop Man!” She announced. A woman followed her. The woman’s face was ghastly pale. She was holding a candlestick with a lit candle at the top. Following closely behind was a man with disheveled brown hair and eyes as untamed and unpredictable as a tiger's.\n\n\n\nRonny stood up.\n\n\n\n“Sir, Ma’am.” He addressed the homeowners. The two simply stared at him. The woman licked her lips.\n\n\n\n\"Um...\" Ronny noticed that the man was vibrating; his head was slightly tilted, like that of an inquisitive cocker spaniel.\n\n\n\n\"We received a call... that...\" Ronny's voice trailed off. The man leaned forward on the table, tapping a long finger that resembled a hawk's talon against the wood.\n\n\n\n“We just moved here.” He hissed in a low voice. Ronny nodded dumbly.\n\n\n\n\"Uh, huh, I heard about that.\" He cleared his throat. “Sorry. Someone reported hearing screams coming from this residence, and-\"\n\n\n\n“Do you know why we moved here?” The man interjected. Ronny licked his lips uncomfortably.\n\n\n\n“No, sir?”\n\n\n\n\"We were forced to move here because we were banished from our home,\" the man snarled, his lip curling and his teeth bared in anger. \"They sent us to this insignificant dimension where we must pretend to be friendly with our prey and transform ourselves to resemble these feeble beings!\" He clawed at his face, as if unable to bear his own flesh. \"A place where we must keep our child hidden so that the authorities do not punish us for not providing her with 'proper' human care! After a hunt, without warning, our own kind closed the portal to our home and declared that we could never return, claiming that my family and I had become too reckless and that we would bring the wrath of humanity upon us all! They’re cowards! That’s what they are!”\n\n\n\nRonny began to sweat.\n\n\n\nThis man is off-the-rails crazy!\n\n\n\n\"Excuse me, sir, would you like to take a seat?\" Ronny glanced wearily at the wife and child; they shouldn't witness this. \n\n\n\nHowever, they didn't seem surprised or afraid. The wife's gaze burned with anger, matching her husband's. The girl's hands were tightly clenched.\n\n\n\n\"I don't need to sit. I'm not tired.\" The man's eyes blazed with an intensity that made Ronny take a step back. \"What I do need... is something to calm my nerves. Food.\"\n\n\n\n\"We can-.\"\n\n\n\n\"You want to hear screaming, Officer?\" The man grinned.\n\n\n\n\"Allow me to show you the attic, mortal.\"\n\n\n\n\"The attic! The attic! The attic!\" The girl chirped. \"Come and see, Human! Come and see!\"\n\n\n\n***\n\n\n\nRonny contacted dispatch and requested assistance. They assured him that backup was en route. He trailed the peculiar family up the stairs from the living room to the second floor, and then up another flight of stairs. At the top of the second staircase awaited the attic door, crafted from sleek, polished oak wood. The man put his hand on the golden knob and turned.\n\n\n\n\"Hey...\" Ronny spoke, maintaining a steady voice despite his unease. \"I didn't quite catch your name?\"\n\n\n\n\"Malum,\" the man, the deranged man, purred. Ronny blinked.\n\n\n\nOdd name. He mused.\n\n\n\nMalum swung open the door, holding it ajar and gesturing for Ronny to enter. Ronny cautiously approached, positioning himself beside Malum just outside the room.\n\n\n\nHe peered into the attic...\n\n\n\nAnd his stomach plummeted.\n\n\n\nThe room was a macabre tableau of horror. Blood adorned the walls like a grotesque mural, its crimson droplets cascading from the ceiling like a morbid rain. Piles of bones littered every corner, bearing the unmistakable marks of gnawing, reminiscent of bones given to dogs.\n\n\n\nOnly these weren’t dog bones. They were human remains!\n\n\n\n“PUT YOUR HANDS-.” Ronny began, his voice choked with terror, drawing his weapon and swiftly turning to confront the monsters. Yet, as he spun around, he found himself face-to-face with a pair of piercing red eyes and dagger-like fangs. Malum's once-hazel gaze had transformed into a sinister scarlet, his teeth elongated like those of a vampire. His skin contorted, bubbling and morphing into a scaly, grotesque texture. His fingers lengthened into gleaming silver claws.\n\n\n\n“Desert!” The girl said in a sing-song voice from behind Malum. Ronny stumbled backward into the attic, his mind reeling.\n\n\n\n\"What kind of...\" His body trembled uncontrollably. \"You're not human.\"\n\n\n\n“Heh, so you finally figured that one out? It never ceases to amaze me the stupidity of your race.” Malum sneered, his forked, violet tongue slithering over his fangs. He advanced menacingly toward Ronny. Ronny aimed his pistol at the creature's head.\n\n\n\n“Put your hands in the air.” He hissed, his mouth dry. “Or I'll shoot!\"\n\n\n\n“Do it.” Malum taunted. He slipped fully into the attic and shut the door behind him, his family’s wild giggling echoing from behind the closed door. Ronny felt icy beads of sweat trickle down his forehead.\n\n\n\n“I don’t want-.” He croaked. Malum let out a snarl and lunged at him, his jaws wide open. Yellow fangs gleamed in the pitch-black attic. Ronny leaped to the side. He heard those jagged teeth snap inches from his ear.\n\n\n\nThere were no windows in the attic. There were no lights now that Malum had sealed the door. It was as dark as tar in the cramped space.\n\n\n\nRonny spun around in the darkness, desperately trying to catch a glimpse of the monster. He caught a fleeting motion to his left and pulled the trigger of his weapon. He heard a thud, like a stone hitting rubber, followed by soft laughter.\n\n\n\n“Aw, that stings, human.” Malum jeered from the shadows. “I’m hurt that you would do such a beastly thing.”\n\n\n\n“L-Let me out!” Ronny gasped. He heard a cackle from behind him and dropped to his hands and knees just as something leapt over his head like a wildcat pouncing. Crawling towards a faint glimmer of light, Ronny's fingers brushed against the cold, wooden surface of the attic door. It was his only chance, his only hope of escaping. The voice of his tormentor echoed through the darkness, filled with sadistic delight.\n\n\n\n\"You can't run forever, little one!\" Malum's voice reverberated, sending chills down Ronny's spine. A cry escaped his lips as he felt a searing pain shoot through his shoulder, as if knives were being driven into his flesh. The force was overwhelming, pushing him down to the ground and rendering him helpless.\n\n\n\nAs Ronny gazed up, his eyes met the piercing gaze of two glowing rubies, radiating pure evil. Malum's repulsive breath washed over him, a putrid stench that made his stomach churn. It was a nauseating combination of decay, the scent of dead fish, spoiled milk, and rotten eggs. Ronny turned his face away, unable to bear the repugnant odor. He could feel the sharpness of Malum's fangs, teasingly grazing against his vulnerable neck.\n\n\n\nDeath seemed inevitable, a fate that Ronny was resigned to accept. But in his final moments, thoughts of his beloved fiance flooded his mind. The image of her waiting patiently at the dinner table, refusing to eat without him, fueled his determination. They had dreams, plans for a future together. Dreams of a blissful marriage, a romantic honeymoon in Paris, and a family of their own. All of it would be shattered, lost forever.\n\n\n\nRonny refused to let it end like this.\n\n\n\nWith a surge of defiance, he squeezed his eyes shut, praying for a miracle.\n\n\n\nNot like this, God, please, he pleaded silently. Summoning every ounce of strength he had left, Ronny's eyes snapped open just as Malum prepared to strike the final blow. The monster's face contorted in surprise as Ronny, fueled by sheer will, reached up and rammed his pistol into Malum’s mouth. The impact was so powerful that it dislodged one of the creature's teeth, sending it flying through the air. A deafening roar erupted from the monster as he desperately clawed at his injured face, writhing in agony.\n\n\n\nWith great effort, Ronny managed to break free from Malum's grasp and struggled to regain his footing. Blood oozed from his wounded shoulders, staining his shirt as it trickled down his side. However, he paid no mind to his injuries, for there were more pressing matters at hand.\n\n\n\nHe had to get away.\n\n\n\nHe had to run like the devil himself was after him.\n\n\n\n\"How dare you!\" Malum's voice echoed, indicating his recovery. Ronny refused to look back, but he could hear the monstrous creature bounding towards him, closing in with every passing second. \"I shall tear you limb from limb, you pitiful sack of flesh!\"\n\n\n\nNot today, you won’t. Ronny leapt for the attic door. He opened it in a flash of movement, then slammed it shut behind him. He heard Malum hit the door with a thump that seemed to shake the whole house.\n\n\n\n“Ahh!” The monster bellowed in frustration. Ronny ignored him. He whipped around to face the other two abominations. The two females were no longer laughing. They exchanged puzzled looks, as though they could not comprehend how Ronny had escaped as he had.\n\n\n\nNo one else has, Ronny thought, his head spinning. Images of the gory scene he’d seen in the attic flashed through his mind, filling his very soul with feelings of horror and disgust. That’s the source of the screaming that woman has been hearing. Only moments before I got here, they were devouring someone up here.\n\n\n\nThe girl and the woman shifted their gazes from one another and fixed their eyes on Ronny. They rushed at him together, as if controlled by a single mind, mouths open and claws slashing at the air. Ronny spotted a rusty pipe sticking out from the ceiling over his head. Like a hero in the action movies he’d grown up watching, he jumped up and snatched the pipe. He swung himself over the heads of the two creatures. Landing clumsily on his ankle, he winced but refused to halt. Ronny knew he had to keep moving.\n\n\n\nIgnoring the pain, he limped down the stairs, the sound of pursuing footsteps echoing in his ears. Tripping and sliding, he descended to the main floor. The hot breath of his pursuers seemed to graze his neck as he sprinted forward.\n\n\n\nRonny put his hand on the front door and yanked it open. He heard claws whistle through the air behind him. He flew out into the fresh air of freedom and stumbled his way across the lawn.\n\n\n\nHe heard a frustrated grunt.\n\n\n\nAnd then a door slammed shut behind him.\n\n\n\n***\n\n\n\nThe old woman saw him staggering over, bloody and panting. She put her hand over her mouth in horror.\n\n\n\n“Goodness me!” She cried. “Are you alright? W-What happened?”\n\n\n\nThere was a wailing of sirens in the distance, backup coming at last. Ronny slipped out of the gate and sagged against the fence. He didn’t speak at first, simply gazing up at the first stars in the sky and uttering a raspy prayer of absolute gratitude.\n\n\n\nTwo police cruisers made their way down the road. Ronny watched them for a moment, then gave the old woman a bitter shake of his head.\n\n\n\n“It wasn’t someone.” He told her. “It was something.\"\n\n\n\nA chilling fear gripped him, reminding him of Malum's words, \"You can't run forever!\"\n\n\n\nOh, but I could. Ronny squeezed his eyes shut. With those demons at my heels, I could run to the ends of the earth and back." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Paul\n\nGenre: indigenous\n\nWord Count: 1257\n\nPrompt:\n\nBegin your story with somebody watching the sunrise, or sunset." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "“Fourteen.” The aboriginal looked at me, aware of my turmoil. He looked at the sun, which had all but disappeared in the desert. Overhead, stars were visible. \nMy previous offer had already been below any reasonable price. At sixteen apiece, I might just make a few bucks, or I might not, depending on transport, breakage, and whatnot. Fourteen was less even than I had paid, and Paul knew that, must know that.\n“You know I can’t do that, Paul. I have to make a living, you know. Fourteen is less than I am paying. I really can’t do that.” \nPaul squinted at the sun, briefly, and looked at me again. Less than five minutes, I reckoned, and they either came to an agreement or not. Paul wouldn’t deal after sunset, for whatever reason. \n“Tell you what I’ll do, Paul. You can have them for fifteen half. Fifteen that I paid and fifty cents to get ’m here, Paul. I’m not making a penny, and you know it.”\nSuddenly I felt exhausted. The aboriginal shifted his balance slightly and squinted at the remains of the sun. \nFor no apparent reason, I thought of Francine. God, I missed her. But maybe it was better like this. I missed her, but I didn’t miss the hassle, the drama. I felt closer to myself.\nAs the final ray lit up and extinguished, I said: “Ok, Paul, you’ll have them for fourteen.” \nThe aboriginal shifted his balance again but didn’t react, otherwise. And yet, I felt, … something. I had lost money I didn’t even have, and I wouldn’t be able to tell my co-workers about this deal without looking like a total prat, but I felt ok. \nI looked at Paul again, but he had gone. \nIt started a couple of weeks ago. Ever since the split-up, I live in a tiny ground-floor apartment, which means I have to maintain the small garden and fence. I’d been planning to do it but can’t seem to find the time. When I came home, it was all done. The grass cut, the hole in the fence fixed. No one to be seen. I went to get my mail, thinking it might be some scam, but there was nothing. \nI asked around, but no one had seen anything. I’m not exactly friends with my neighbors, and why would they take notice. I’d no choice but to write it off as a mystery. Until a week later, and the girl rang my doorbell.\n“Hey, I’m Marlee. Paul said I could crash here.”\nShe walked past me; clearly, it hadn’t been a question.\n“Paul said what? Paul who? I don’t know you. What do you mean, crash?”\n“Crash as in stay. I can’t stay at home for a couple of days. You know. It’s not a healthy environment for me right now. So I asked Paul, and he said it would be ok to stay here.”\n“But Paul can’t just invite people here. It’s...”\nWords left me. I really couldn’t think how this made sense.\n“Well, maybe he didn’t say ‘would be ok.’ Maybe he said ‘might be ok.’ But it’s ok, isn’t it? I can sleep on the couch, and I can clean your kitchen and stuff. I won’t be in your way.”\n“How old are you?”\n“I’m fifteen, but I look after myself. It’s only for a couple of days.”\nFor a split second, I didn’t know what to say, and that was it. Marlee walked into the kitchen and put the kettle on. End of conversation.\nThe following day I went to work, still unsure what to say or think. She didn’t strike me as a thief, and honestly, there was nothing to steal. When I came home, she’d made dinner of sorts, and we talked a bit. She lived with her mum and stepfather, but he drank and would become amorous and/or violent. Her mum knew how to deal with him, but when she was gone to work, Marlee didn’t feel safe. \nThe next couple of days were somewhat awkward. It’s a tiny apartment. Unintentionally I walked into the bathroom when she was drying her hair after taking a shower. Embarrassed, I turned away and started packing my stuff for the day. When she came out she said: “I don’t mind you seeing me like that, but I’m not that kind of a girl.” What could I say?\nThat afternoon Miro had appeared. A young boy with a black eye, a bag of clothes, and a small sleeping bag. \n“Let me guess. You can’t stay at home, and Paul thought it might be ok if you stayed here.”\n“My dad drinks. He doesn’t want to, but it happens. It’s better if I stay away for a couple of days.”\n“Why don’t you just go to the police?”\n“And be locked up in a foster home? How is that helping? Besides. He’s not bad. He just drinks.”\nI called Paul. He didn’t have a phone, but a friend of a neighbour did, so after an hour, he called back. “You can’t be sending people here, Paul. It’s too small. Marlee doesn’t seem in a hurry, so now Miro has to sleep on the floor.”\nSilence. “Hello?” \n“Yeah. Ok.” Click\nOk, what? Not ok. Nothing was ok.\nWhen I returned home the next day, there was a half-filled ancient ute parked in front of the house. People were bringing stuff in boxes out of the house and putting them in the ute. My stuff.\n“What are you doing, mate. That’s my stuff.”\n“Yeah, I know. We’re moving it. You’re moving.”\n“I’m what?”\n“Moving. You said it was too tiny, so you’re moving. Not as fancy as this, but certainly bigger.”\n“But you can’t just move my stuff and move my home without ... talking about it.”\n“Sure. That’s what friends are for. You do stuff for us, and we do stuff for you.”\nI wanted to get mad, but I couldn’t. This was absurd, but in the end, I didn’t like the apartment that much anyway. Inside, Marlee and Miro were filling boxes. Paul and a woman called Nora were picking them up and putting them in the ute. They were nearly done. On the table was a note for my landlord and the set of keys Marlee had been using. Paul told me to call the landlord and tell him I was leaving. It would cost me the bond, but I was too baffled to think of something to do.\nWe drove to ‘my new house’; Paul, Nora, and Miro in the ute, Marlee and I in my car. It was a small house just outside the town, but still twice as big as my apartment. My stuff and some furniture stayed downstairs. Marlee and Miro each took a small room upstairs, and then a further number of boxes were taken upstairs to the bigger room. Apparently, Nora was also going to stay here. Or live here, I was beyond understanding.\nSo here I am, in a new house with new people around me. Miro left for home a couple of days ago, but an older boy, Warren, has taken his place. His room. Another boy, Darrel, 18 years or so, has taken up the attic, so we’re snug again.\nNora, Elanora, turns out to be perfect company. She was kicked out of her house by her landlord. She has a decent job as a designer, and I like to talk to her. I like more about her, but it’s early days yet." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: A cross of the sun´s wheel...\n\nGenre: indigenous\n\nWord Count: 1342\n\nPrompt:\n\nBegin your story with somebody watching the sunrise, or sunset." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Lin woke up one early ´morn, and saw the sun hit the window with a glowing glare. A brilliant tone of light from the spheres above. And this glare, this very gaze, the eye from the window was a silly salute to the dawn. A poetic heritage this Midsummer day. Lin turned around in bed, still sleepy. Still not wanting the day to chase her to yet another work. No, she was not a workaholic.\nAs a matter of fact her work at Samhall, a state-owned company, was a place for handicapped people. Handicapped both physically and mentally. But the sun gave no care of sickness or of disease. Lin turned around yet in another clumsy manner. Her body did not want to go to work. Very well. But the sun sneaked behind the curtain and made her feel the relief of light itself, as she saw the twinkling rainbow drips on the dew from the window. Glittering all over the place. Colours of the radiant sun that talked about the new day´s beginning. Oh how she wished she could explain what a sun could do. It gave summer a new fresh start. A season with its own values. No, she was certainly not a workaholic at Samhall, although she could handle all paperwork with a shift hand. And that was just about it. She stretched out like a cat. Legs between sheets. Sheets that became whiter from the hitting light of the sun…\nFinally she got up. Took a shower. Brushed her teeth. Rituals of the dawn. Rituals as old as that. Rituals that were so common she paid no notice of them anylonger. But the sun was determined to wake her up, it was stubborn about getting the new day into order and balance. The balancing point of the solstice.\nShe slowly got her sleepy mind to think it over. The balancing point made a cross on heaven. Four different point on the spheres above that made Midsummer´s feast a ritual when queens had to make friends with the thralls during the Viking era. And the thrall women could make love with the king so that nine months later brave warriors were born into all families. Although odd enogh, Lin hated war, but still liked to drink a cup of vodka. The cup for an old tradition. Also she hated to dance like the frogs. Cause frogs, when kissed at the nights of Midsummer could turn out to be princes. Oh how she hated the very idea of meeting some handsome young prince , who would give her – of his status? A highborn boy would give her – what the heck? ! Silly tradition just because of solstice´s balancing order of the sun´s wheel on heaven. Grrr, no more f-cks to give! No more love if warriors of the clan came to kill her best friends. Grrr. The sun´s wheel of heaven! Such a silly joke! Herring and vodka! Silly, nothing else than silly. But?\nHow about getting dressed for work. Samhall here she comes. Clad in colours of the rainbow…\nShe took the bus. The sun rose higher, hitting the buildings with its glare. Its one eye touched upon the whole city to make everybody wake up. And lots of them did. Children were not at school. Some people still went to work. Lin one among them.\nAt work her spiritual friend had already arrived. Now he sat down at the desk, in front of piled up paperwork. He was on a strike of his own, as usual. The dawn had no reason to let out his spirit if it was about work. He thought the job mean. He refused to do the work. He asked Lin if they could go out to smoke a cigarette or two. They did so. Sat down on two garden-chairs. Sat there gazing up at the sun. The company was gonna give them a Midsummer´s plate of herring that day, because they could be worth it. And handing over a present for the workers vacation. Something Lin did not need. Anyhow.\nLin had no Midsummer feelings. Did not know how to have them. Had been a bit lonely in her youth. Not knowing two many people. So she said to herself that because of that tradition of drinking the hell out of themselves, she could not care less. Did not like to drink anymore. Herring she could eat. Nice food.\nAt dinner time the catering firm came around with the workers plate of food. Coffee and cake afterwards. They sat indoors. The sun smiled through the windows in that huge hall. Lin could pretend it was their own Viking hall. Loads of space. And the same kind of tradition with jokes about sex. Viking tradition, see. And that lonely lovely spirit of sacrifice to the nature. Must be from a heathen tradition. In her dream-world Lin saw horses hanging from the tree of Mankind. The pigs slaughtered to give food to the highest god, Oden. Oden must have been connected to the highest spirit, although Balder was more Christ-like and kind and mild. He was to become Man´s sacrifice because of death. The nature mourned his funeral. Where was his spirit now? Inside the sun? Sun smiling gently, harsh but gently. Like a touch from the high worlds of folklore. How about it, Lin?\nBut Lin had began to ride her inner stream of consciousness, like riding on the thread of weaving web of the nornes. Those Female spirit who cared about Mankind´s destiny. Weaving a web of life. And like death could tear apart the web of future if they did not pay tribute to the gods. That meant that the web of death needed to sacrifice animals. Or Jesus Christ? Or Oden himself? Or Balder? Lin took a piece of herring in to her mouth. Chewed on it. Drank some lemonade. Had her coffee afterwards.\nHer friend of spirit was sort of nagging with a work-mate. Was sort of in love with Lin. And she had told him about the wheel of the sun. And about her poetry. That the highest god, Oden, wanted men to become warriors and tradesmen, and gave the duty of spirit to the priestess. She had to know about the ceremony of Midsummer. Although it was silly. She wanted to escape it. Wanted to go with another fresh start. From where? The new cross of a new solstice beginning? A new Messias? Where from? Where to?\nAnd as the sun stood high on the middle of heaven´s round each corner of the wheel shaped a cross. The cross of the solstice circle. Circling round and round in eternal dance from the past in to the future. The web of life was shaped by the sun, the planets and the moon.\nAnd as the herring on Lin´s plate was uneaten but still fresh she thought that everything was now back to order. The full circle should end in another cycle of six months. Midsummer was in opposition to Christmas day. Two points of the sun´s wheel. Only a priestess of the Vikings was allowed by Oden to wake up the spirit of – secrets?\nAs the hall finished their plates and coffee and their cakes the music began. Traditional Swedish songs. Folklore that began to fall into distrust because they were thought of being too commercial nowadays. Lin smiled. Commercial? As the sun would care about it? But then again, the tradesmen of the Vikings had been on routes all over Europe. Where the tradition of Midsummer came from had to do with the sun. And the sun was all over the planet to bring light, love and unity. The one and only. Weaving weaving weaving the web of rays...over and over again!\nAnd at a second thought Lin came back to an old conclusion. She did care about the heathen tradition. And had heard that Jesus Christ was taking on the burden of the four solstices...Maybe, perhaps...and then the son was webbed into the sun..." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: The Earth Strikes Back\n\nGenre: indigenous\n\nWord Count: 2546\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about the longest day of the year, or a day that never seems to end." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Inhaling the crisp morning air in the first moments of wakeful consciousness, I realized with glee that I hadn't overslept, especially on such an important day. Arising from my stack of sleeping mats bundled together for makeshift comfort, I walked toward the mouth of the cave I was sleeping in, and peered outside. A vast vista of barely illuminated mountain peaks were starting to make themselves visible, painted a prominent pink-orange by the light of the rising sun. The birds were as of yet silent, and with the wind barely blowing through the hilltop forests, the earth itself seemed to be waiting for an invitation from the sun to burst forth into life.\nI tested the light switch even though I knew the photovoltaic panels that I'd installed a month earlier probably needed to be calibrated soon. That would have to wait, I thought, as I prepared myself for a climb to the peak of the summit I was situated just below.\nIt had been ten years since the mountain village was overrun with some sort of strange people from the West. They appeared fully human, but their behaviors suggested otherwise, and autopsies of their self-terminated \"screamers\" definitely proved otherwise. Hours before these beings would erupt into shouts, cries, and scarily erratic behaviors, they started to give off a strange yellow light from the crowns of their heads. After they exhausted themselves in fits of rage and other bizarrely unspeakable behavior patterns, the yellow light would get brighter. Surgical investigation of the few specimens we could get our hands on revealed that they had strange implants in their brains; but who would endeavor to engineer people like sci-fi cyborgs is a mystery to this day.\nIt had been fifty years since worldwide communication shut down. Many local \"internet\" networks had sprung up, but had been sadly dwindling in size as the Screamers migrated and took over more and more territory. My village used to be one of the most populous, having been nestled deep in a hitherto undeveloped valley in the Altai mountain range into which thousands of refugees used to pour in yearly, from all corners of Eurasia.\nI had just begun making the first few steps toward the winding path up the mountain when I noticed a rustling in the forest below. A shiver ran down my spine. If we failed today, there'd be no telling what was in store for our community for the next century or more. It was the longest day of the year, and hence the greatest chance for us to muster all the photovoltaic technology we had, in order to make unmodified humanity's first strike against our seemingly sister-like species. As I began to smell the familiar fumes of incense and herbs being offered to the Earth Goddess and Perfected Ones as part of the morning rituals, I remembered our age-old creation stories: that the world had been going through unimaginable upheavals such as this from time immemorial, and each bottleneck of history seemed to create a curation of seed-cultures from which the next eras of history would grow from. Considering how isolated and unknown our culture was, it seemed like a strange cosmic joke that we'd be among the few to survive.\nAfter a surprisingly easy climb up the stairs carved into the mountainside, I reached the clearing atop the peak where the tent of our village Elders was perched. Tree-Nose was seated in front of his smoldering fire, mumbling prayers and spells as was his morning practice to bless the community. Eagle-Mother noticed me approaching, having been staring down the valley below, and greeted me with a look that seemed to communicate entire lifetimes of meaning. It was astonishing that she was able to carry out her affairs as such a prominent part of the Village administration despite having taken a vow of silence decades ago. The mysteries of the Elders' training fascinated everyone down to the smallest child. Unfortunately, you had to make it to three quarters of a century before the magic became a science to you, and prior to that, a difficult and decades-long training to prepare your nervous system to be able to accommodate such knowledge.\nIt was ironic, really, that I was spending time with such exalted beings with their seeming opposites having taken over every inch of the valley below. The Screamers did not appear to speak any human language except for the eponymous noises for which they were known. They were extremely quiet, restrained, virtuous, and respectful of one another, appearing to communicate with the technology imbedded in their upper cerebrums. Our fears of them took a turn for the worse with their accumulations of unsustainable numbers, and the unfortunate tendency of non-Screamers to go missing whenever they passed through an area inhabited by them en masse.\nThe most incredulous thing about them wasn't their behavior or their dangerous mysteries, though, but the fact that they seemed to come from all parts of the earth. Various groups of humans who had been killing each other based on petty differences or ideological disputes had all suddenly become part of the same family. The only problem was that we weren't part of it, and saw through their supposed orderliness because of the increasing incidence of their cyber-neurotic malfunctions. The massacres they did of all the living creatures in their vicinity upon their \"expiry\" was what spooked most of us into retreating into the wilderness in the first place. The final retreat into the mountains came at a point when malfunctioning was happening on the daily, and we were only a few thousand by then.\n\"I can only assume that this destined day of human history has been placed before us for a reason,\" said a voice coming from behind me. It was the third of the Elders, Ocean-Catcher, who also happened to be my own great-grandfather. \"What's so special about us,\" I asked, \"if we can barely survive off the mountains that our ancestors lived in for centuries?\"\n\"Oh, I think you know,\" retorted Ocean-Catcher. \"We use the tools of technology rather than have them use us, we respect the diversity of human experience without imposing one way of life, and we have a goal to our embodiment that goes much beyond multiplying and subduing the bounties of this earth.\"\nThis sort of talk was often lost on me, for I'd get angry at the fact that such a way of life had to hide high in the mountains instead of being strong enough to impact the world below. I was only 15, though, so I'd expect that the others had more satisfying answers to such ironies.\nJust then, a series of screams and shouts erupted from the valley, seemingly from all sides. It's been happening more and more commonly for the last three years, I thought, until a hand on my shoulder broke my train of thought.\n\"I know exactly what you must be thinking,\" said Tree-Nose, eyes glaring into mine, \"we don't need to risk losing all our solar panels for such a silly experiment if the enemy is going to eventually finish themselves off.\" Though I respected him greatly, his tendency to mind-read and his glaring madman gaze never failed to give me the creeps.\n\"It's not that,\" I responded, \"it's just that we have no idea what the experiment will do to them. What if it gives them immunity, or makes the malfunctions even worse?\"\n\"Rubbish!\" said Tree-Nose, \"you just don't want to get blood on your hands or take any risks for fear of being blamed afterwards. Just do the job we've assigned you and everything will go fine. I've seen it in my visions.\"\n\"Now now,\" said Ocean-Catcher, \"let the young man go and start his work with a clear mind,\" as he pushed me towards the staircase at the opposite side of the peak leading down to the outcrop below.\nI walked down, ignoring the fact that I was supposed to have gotten blessings and emotional support for such an important task on such an important day. Tree-Nose was right. I had no clue whether the transmitter we engineered using extracted brain-devices would have a painful effect on those who heard its frequency, or cause instant malfunctioning, or be harmless, or ironically cure their propensity to Scream.\nAt the outcrop, a circle of stones had been piled in a circle along the borders of the small plateau, which was covered with solar panels. Only the peak was above us, and below we could see the campfires of hundreds of cave-settlements on the sides of the mountains beside us. Eifa was already there, and despite having been a childhood friend, she seemed every time to be some sort of alien, lost genius from another world when she was at work. It was all thanks to her that this was happening in the first place.\n\"Nice of you to show up,\" she said, not lifting her eyes from the wires she was adjusting, \"I need you to go down to the transmitter and guard it for the next eight hours if you don't mind.\" This was what terrified me about today: half the Village was actively against the risk we were taking, and the other half too terrified of the potential disapproval of the Elders to say a word about it. I didn't know if I would be defending against our own people, or renegade, malfunctioning Screamers, and I didn't know which would be worse.\n\"Eifa, you know that our project is toast if I'm attacked. You should have gathered some more people for this,\" I said.\n\"Yeah, yeah, I know, I'll be right down there to save your sorry ass with this if anything goes wrong,\" said Eifa, holding up a spear with dangerous looking wires wound along it. I didn't even want to know what it was capable of; she almost caused the extinction of the local mountain goat population the last time her inventions found themselves in the wrong hands.\nI left, sensing that something was as off with her as it was with me, and made my way even further down to the edge of where the mountain began to give way to forest. The valley below was a mere kilometer from that point, and any noise on my part would reveal the location we'd worked so hard to discreetly develop.\nI reached the indent in the side of the mountain where we had set up the transmitter underground, and took a seat. If anything, I'd be the first one to get roasted if something went wrong.\nHours passed as the brilliant red sun rose in the far east and reached its ascent at the crown of the sky, blazing its protection against the cold winds of the mountains. Over the hours I heard singing and chanting, yelling and chattering, shouts and rally cries from the mountain settlements, yet no one dared to approach the rocky crag that I had settled on.\nBy the time evening began to fall, I had realized that I slept through most of the day. I slapped myself alert, turning around to see if anyone was watching. Thankfully, the plan was to activate the transmitter by the time the rays of the sun no longer shone atop the plateau, which was mere minutes away.\nI waited until I heard the signal.\n\"Get out of there if you want to live!\" screamed Eifa.\nI hurried along the indents in the mountain that we had carved, carefully placing each foot for fear of landslide. I made it to the plateau, where I saw Eifa looking forlorn, and the mute Eagle-Mother, the youngest of the Elders, with her hand on Eifa's shoulder, smiling to the valley below.\n\"I think she wants us to go down and see if anything happened,\" said Eifa, with a bewildered look in her eyes. Her inventions were the type to go out with a bang, and not the type to work in silence.\nWe made our way down, being as quiet as we could, sidestepping so much as each twig in the forest, and wading through the creek at a snail's pace, until we could see settlements in the form of strange rectangular wooden buildings. I was only five when I'd left, so I didn't remember much about what life on the plains was like, or how the Screamers lived.\nEifa walked ahead, spear in hand, and stealthily entered the first wooden building, and ran out practically ten times as fast.\n\"They're alive,\" she said, with such a heavy dread that made it hard to even make out her words.\nWe soon found ourselves surrounded by a crowd of all sorts of people, all of whom had a strangely warm look on their faces. Were they fantasizing about how to best cook us?\nOne of them stepped forward, an old lady. We're so happy for your efforts, she said, although without opening her mouth. What was going on?\n\"They're communicating to us through their implants,\" said Eifa, with tears streaming down her cheeks. I looked back at the old lady.\nWe came from a continent where we were forced to receive neurological implants in order to be more efficient in the economy. When it collapsed due to being built on a series of ponzi schemes and asset bubbles, there weren't enough skilled employees or ethically trained policymakers to continue regulating the technology, and so hackers naturally took advantage to create a totalitarian-like system. Our \"screaming\" was not a malfunction, but our very organic biology rebelling against the control unnaturally placed upon it. It's ironic that the implants were being controlled by foreign forces until we bred to the point of overtaking them on every continent. This was when the malfunctioning began to get more frequent, because no one could do a thing about it.\nI began to sweat. It was as though my entire worldview was being obliterated in seconds through thought transfer. I felt my palms getting sweaty and feared my shaking legs might give out at the intensity of the psychic transfer.\nThanks to your efforts, the programming that was written into the collective database has been shattered for all time. It's as though the rays of the sun itself re-wrote the energy signatures our brains are now processing, and we can live in harmony, without directives from what had been imposed earlier, and without the risk of spiraling out of control. We hope that we can once again live in peace and harmony, and that your people will come to trust us when they are ready to.\nI knew this wouldn't sit well with the half of the village that had spent their lives running away from these very people. The others who'd made this place their home for practically millennia might be even less open to the idea. Yet I felt that something gigantic had been accomplished, and as the fading rays of the sun gave rise to the calm shelter of moonlight, I calmed and steadied myself that the work to be done was accomplished, and that the incredible possibilities that the future held were worth all the struggles that it took to get to this point in the first place." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: The Hellhound\n\nGenre: horror\n\nWord Count: 1024\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story in which a character is running away from something, literally or metaphorically." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "I stumble through the dreamlike terrain, legs heavy, exhausted, and ready to surrender. I can either sit and down and let the beast take me or I can stand and fight. My heart pounds in my chest. I can sense it; the menacing presence that lurks in the shadows- the Hellhound.\n\nI've always been plagued by the most vivid of nightmares. In the waking world I'm just a regular guy, going about my everyday mind-numbing life but in the realm of dreams, I'm hunted by a relentless creature from the depths of hell. Night after night, the Hellhound hunts me, its fiery blood-red eyes and gnashing teeth shadowing my every step.\n\nEvery nightmare begins innocently enough, with me wondering around burnt out wastelands, searching for any sign of a way home but they never stay that way. Nightmares can be twisted; they have the ability to make the most sane of minds lose control. A growl echoes through the dream, sending shivers down my spine. I pick up my pace, peeking over my shoulder, only to catch a momentary glimpse of a shadowy creature. My instincts scream at me to run, but to where? The vast wasteland has nothing to offer but desiccated barren trees, brown plants, and miles and miles of debris.\n\nAs the nights wore on, the Hellhound closed in, its presence growing more vivid with each passing dream. Screaming, arms and legs thrashing, even tearing chunks out of my own hair and skin as I felt its hot breath on the back of my neck. A reminder that I was never truly alone in the burnt-out wasteland of my nightmares.\n\nI no longer calmly wondered through the wasteland; I ran for my life as the Hellhound materialised before me. I now understood its need to hunt me in my nightmares. Its coal black fur was near damn impossible to see. Panic gripped me as I realise, nothing escapes the fiery blood-red eyes of the Hellhound. The beast lunged at me, I awoke with a start, drenched in my sweat, my heart racing. The nightmares either mean something or are just a product of my overactive imagination. Little did I know, the Hellhound was drawing nearer, readying itself, to feast on my every fear.\n\nThe nightmares took there toll on me, dark circles formed under my eyes, fatigue filled my bones; half the man I once was. I feared the nightmares would be the death of me, I became hellbent on uncovering the meaning behind them.\n\nEach day became a challenge, the Hellhound plagued my every waking thought; a parasite, using me as its host. I questioned my sanity, wondering if the beast was part of my deepest darkest fears, or if a supernatural being had latched onto my soul. Either way, I wasn't sure what was real anymore.\n\nThe nightmares had intensified, I ran faster as the Hellhound become more ferocious, its howls now ingrained into my subconscious.\n\nOne night, as the beast homed in on me, the strangest thing happened; my house materialised out of nowhere, its shiny red door glistening in the moonlight as I made a last surging dash towards it. Was this real or just another wicked twist in my hellish nightmare? The real world appearing in my nightmares was certainly not a good sign but I didn't have the strength or the time to worry myself stupid. Using the last of the energy I had left in my depleted legs, I bounded towards the door, glancing over my shoulder only to see that the beast had vanished. Coming to a halt, I scan the area; absolutely nothing, not a single trace of the beast that had been snapping at my heels just a second ago. I turn and face the door, only to be greeted by the blood-soaked razor-sharp teeth of the Hellhound.\n\nI find myself armed with weapons, swords, shields, even axes. No idea where the weapons materialised from, I face the creature head on. The Hellhound attacked with relentless rage, its claws tearing through the air, its fiery breath scorching everything around me. Each clash a matter of life and death, fought on the wasteland of my nightmares. The beast struck the first blow, down I went, screaming in agony, a cloud of dust surrounding me as I hit the ground with almighty force. Blood sprayed from the open wound the beast had carved into my arm. The Hellhound loomed over me. Sensing victory, a sinister grin spread across its face. A wave of energy surged through me. I drew up my sword with my unwounded arm and swung for the creature. It withdrew as I lashed out, connecting with its neck, the swords blade glistening with its dark red blood.\n\nThe wasteland had now turned into a battleground, the ground, bloody beneath our feet. Sparks flew, as my blade met the beasts claws. I felt a surge of power rise through me, the Hellhound became more desperate in its attack. It became careless, allowing me to counter, cutting and slicing through its blood-soaked fur. I mustn't get complacent, one momentary lapse in concentration, and the beast would rip my throat out. As wounded as we both were, there would be no respite. Exhausted, drenched in blood and arms filled with lactic acid, still no idea how I was able to swing my sword, the battle continued.\n\nWith a final decisive blow, I thrust the tip of the sword down through the beasts skull. The Hellhound lay there, lifeless, its fiery blood-red eyes glazed over. Gazing up, I was relieved to see the shiny red door of my house was still there, I hobbled towards it, and gently, pushed it open.\n\nI awoke gasping for breath, the weight of the nightmares lifted from my shoulders. It was morning, and the realisation hit me, I figured out the meaning of my nightmares. The Hellhound must represent every single one of my fears. I battled the beast and emerged victorious. From this day on, I will tackle my fears head on, no more running but yet, how do I explain the nasty gash on my arm?" } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Work in the Minesite… Nostalgia…….\n\nGenre: indigenous\n\nWord Count: 1001\n\nPrompt:\n\nBegin your story with somebody watching the sunrise, or sunset." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "It was so cold about 9 degrees and still dark but I fixed myself in my favorite black jacket and black Reebok rubber shoes to have my morning jog with my workmate as early as 4 in the morning. I grabbed myself a warm sip of coffee to have some warm up. On the way to the airstrip of Lepanto high up in the mountains, the sky slowly lightened up and the sun appeared as we walk towards the field. I really admire the Cordillera mountains, it is so unique from its long mountain range. I always imagine the sunrise on the mountain ridges whenever I remember it. There is a dam if you look down where a long river flows. I love to stare at it from the top observing the flow of water; however it was colored brown. I looked up and the sky turned orange to yellow but it still feels cold. It took an hour for my body to produce enough sweat. I felt thirsty and out of breath. I wished to visit underground so I have to be physically strong. \nAfter having 3 to 4 rounds of running in the 10 kilometers airstrip or until we get tired, we drop by at a local store to purchase cold bottled tea or orange juice. If we forgot to bring money we just pay later or the next coming days since the Igorots are very kind in that place. Igorots are local tribes in Benguet who still retain their cultural identity despite modernization. They embrace technology but their culture is engraved in them passed from one generation to another. Respect them for that uniqueness.\nI remembered having our favorite breakfast under the pine trees at the backyard of one of the staff houses. We requested the mess girls with rice, dried fish and tomatoes while having the best brewed coffee from Mankayan. The tables and chairs are made of pine trees as well. Those were the best breakfast I had in my entire life. In the crispy fresh air with sweet smell of pine while looking at nature enjoying my food, it was like I was on vacation. \nWe usually have that morning routine ever since I arrived there before reporting to work.Then we headed down to our accommodation about 5 to 10 minute walk as we prepare for the daily work. After a warm bath we waited for our service. A white van fetches us to go to the surface mine site where we leave one identification card at the gate and do another log in near the office. We have three Identification cards there. The purpose of having multiple ID cards is for attendance check in case a disaster happens,especially those miners assigned underground. \nThe workplace at the surface mine site near the shaft was very dusty and noisy. Every morning I sweep the floor full of dust and wipe the tables which almost turned white. My eyes got myopic because of that. \nAt 8 in the morning, mine workers come in our office for their concerns after the safety meeting. At 9 I have my coffee and at noon time we have our lunch in our accommodation. The cook usually prepares food from their place and vegetables like cauliflower and carrots is always prepared. I love sayote leaves as side dish with fried chicken. We go back to site at 1 pm and leave work at 5 in the afternoon. We have to get the identification card at the gate for safety check that no one is left behind. \nWe reach our accommodation before the sun sets as I look around my favourite view there is the golf fields. Very wide and green, when I visited that place I rolled over the grassland and I felt like a child. I tried playing golf once and it was challenging. Any one can play golf there as long as you have the tools with you. No need for membership.At times cows graze on the fields and kids just play around. There is a bridge there and I walked on it with fear because it is made of wood and it moves every step I make. I was able to cross the other side with lots of bougainvillea plants. I had a remembrance photograph in that area and loved it.\nThat was how my work routine turned out in my 8 months stay in the beautiful place of Benguet. The environment provided us with work, life and balance. The project provided us free food and accommodation and all we have to do is work and just work. Everyone is like family there and they provided us everything we need. It was like I was having vacation not work. \nThe place we worked is 4 hours trip away from Baguio City in the Philippines. Every view is very picturesque on the way up to the mountains. The sky is always blue in the morning and the sea of clouds touches my face even if it is only 4 in the afternoon.The place is like you are overseas because of the tall pine trees and beautiful mountains. Forever in my heart will stay that place where It used to be home for me. I miss the afterwork parties and the cultural celebrations as part of their rituals.I was able to hold the gong and dance the canao dance.I miss my friends there from different areas in the Philippines and from different countries. I hope chance will give us to see them again.\nIn my short stay in the mountains,I left the place almost 10 years ago early in the morning and the sunrise welcomed me on the way down to Baguio City as I head down home. The lengthy mountain ridge was 4 hours equivalent to my trip. I reached our home in laguna at 11 in the evening. A dog welcomed me,small beagle and forever this dog is part of the memory of always welcoming me after leaving home." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Crow Sammiches\n\nGenre: indigenous\n\nWord Count: 1674\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a family with a long-standing tradition, whose members all have conflicting origin stories for it." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "This is how Byers’ special Saturday Crow Sammiches works: you start with two fresh slices of white bread.\nCousin Kim apparently uses whole wheat bread, but she also gives her kids Ovaltine, so take that for what it’s worth. \nAnyway, two fresh slices of white, you spread them thick with margarine or butter (whatever’s cheaper, as mom would say). Onto this you squirt classic yellow mustard, and then you sprinkle both sides with sugar. Close the sandwich, cut in triangles. Put on a paper towel, carry it to the back of the yard at dusk, near where the Shubenacadie River flows by, and leave it there. \nCrow Sammiches. \nThe first time I took Dave home, when we had been dating just weeks, it was a last Saturday of the month. Mom had just finished cutting the sandwich. When she came in, Dave looked curiously out the back window. \n“Who is the lunch for, Mrs. Carter?”\nIn 18 years, I didn’t remember ever asking that question. We called them Crow Sammiches, so I guess part of me just assumed they were for crows, although I don’t remember seeing any crows eating them.\nMom kind of shrugged. “They’re not really for anyone, David. Just a thing my family’s done since I was a little girl.”\nHis arched eyebrows suddenly reminded me of when I was 8, at Susie Archibald’s sleepover. It was a big deal, because the Archibalds lived in a big house on Young Avenue in town, which was a neighborhood the Byers rarely went to. I asked when we were going to make the crow sammiches and Mrs. Archibald’s voice had dripped with disapproval as she told me that MOST families did not leave out food to attract the animals. \n“Who started Crow Sammiches, mom?” I asked. \n“I think it was my dad, but I’m not sure,” mom replied. “Why don’t you ask Uncle Pete sometime, he might remember.”\nIt was months later at Aunt Bernie’s birthday that I remembered to ask. Uncle Pete was wearing one of those silly cardboard party hats and trying to get the rest of us to put them on. \n“Uncle Pete, who started Crow Sammiches?” \nUncle Pete leaned back in his chair and sipped his boiled tea. “Well, little Sara, a long time ago, your great-great-great grandfather Jedediah got lost in the woods late one night. He had been out hunting rabbits to feed his family, and stayed out too late. It got dark, and he settled down to sleep on a mossy hill. Suddenly he heard a growl and saw the glittering eyes of a coyote! And the coyote saw him too, and smelled the rabbits he had wrapped in leaves beside him. Well, ol’ Jed was pretty scared. He pulled out his flask of medicinal brandy and sipped some for strength as he prepared to run. He figured he could get up a tree before the coyote caught him. The coyote scrunched back to get ready to jump, and Jed scooted fast. He pelted up a tall larch tree and hauled the rabbits up with him.\n“As he settled in, he worried he’d fall asleep and fall out of the tree. Then a big crow landed beside him. He figured the crow was after the rabbits too, and thought he was knackered for sure. But the crow spoke to him, and said, I will keep you company until the coyote goes and help you find your way home, but you have to make me a promise.\nJed wondered what had happened to his brandy that he was hearing birds talk, and then he thought he must be dreaming. So he said, sure, anything. And the crow said, you have to leave me a sandwich every month, just at the edge of your property. What kind of sandwich, asked Jed. Mustard and sugar, sweet and sour, which are the two sides of every person, and every crow, said the crow. And sure enough, he led Jed home after the coyote left, and we Byers been leaving Crow Sammiches ever since.”\nEveryone at the table had paused to listen to this story and Aunt Bernie rolled her eyes at the end. “Lord, Pete. You can tell your grandfather came straight from Blarney. Talking crows.” She gathered the plates off the table, shaking her head.\nCousin Kim was only 14 then, and piped up, “but then why do we do Crow Sammiches, mom?”\n“Cause your grandfather drank lots more than ‘medicinal brandy’ and his children caught his craziness,” replied Bernie firmly, and that was that. \nThe night Dave and I were married, we put out Crow Sammiches at the edge of the golf course where the reception was. My grandmother saw us strolling back from the treeline and winked devilishly.\n“Fine night for canoodling, now that you’re married and all.”\n“GRAMMA!” I was scandalized and amused. I told her we had put out the sandwiches, as a bit of a superstitious nod to family tradition.\n“That’s nice, dear. I always figured your grandpa had some drinking buddy who got kicked out by his wife every month around check time.”\n“Interesting,” muttered Dave. \nWhen Leah was born, Dave took over the Sammich duty. One night as he came back, my oldest uncle, Leo, called from BC. Dave talked to him as Leah finished feeding. \n“Just putting out the Crow Sandwiches,” yelled Dave. His eyebrows rose a bit and he clicked on the speaker phone so I could hear Leo. \n“Oh, the Crow Sammiches. Dad always insisted mom get ‘em ready. I remember him supervising her, making sure she did it right. We kids all figured he ate those sammiches, with all that sugar. You know, Dad had the diabetes something terrible, almost lost his foot. But he loved him some sugar. He’d be so excited about that treat sometimes it would bring tears to his eyes.”\nKim was the first grandchild to officially stop doing Crow Sammiches. Made me a little sad, but then, it also allowed me to acknowledge that we went months in between remembering to do it. \nWhen Gramma died, I helped mom and Kim clean out her apartment. We sorted all the tiny treasures she had kept, teething cups and tea cups, report cards and birthday cards. Grandpa had died when I was six, and I barely remembered him, so when I found a box with his name written on it, I opened it, looking for clues to the man. I found a photo of the two of them and I stared at, trying to imagine the still image come to life. \n“What was Grandpa like, mom?” I asked.\n“He drank a little too much,” said my mother, half-smiling. “But he didn’t have a mean bone in his body. He once helped me nurse a baby bird with a broken wing for months. I thought mom would lose her mind. She was sure we were risking rabies. He loved people. He was always bringing home ‘strays’ at mealtimes. He volunteered at the food bank for years, and visited the Mi’kmaq Elders he knew with gifts every holiday. He gave away everything he had, and probably would have given more if mom didn’t hide things on him. He loved to dance. He was a terrible provider. But he was a great dad.”\nIn the box I had pulled the photo from was a yellowed, crumbling piece of paper. It looked like an old family tree. Most of it was in black ink, a fine, straight hand. But we quickly found Grandpa’s name, since next to it, in a more childish hand, was written, “Crow”. From this there was a line off to the right that said “Crow’s parents” at the end. \nMom and I stared at each other in puzzlement. Kim popped out of the bathroom she’d been cleaning and caught our expressions. “What’s up?”\nWe held out the family tree. As she read it in confusion, I looked back at the box. I lifted out another paper, a clipping from a newspaper. “INDIAN CHILD FOUND” was the headline, and the story said a runaway from the Shubenacadie residential school had been found dead. The whole story was barely a column inch. \nAnother paper. It was a handwritten page in a child's writing. It said STORY at the top. \n“My best frned is Crow. Crow has shaved hair becas the preest made him becas he mite have flees. Crow sneeks out of scool to visit on Sadurdays. Crow loves sammichs with sugar and mustard like his mom made. Crow misses his mom and dos not like beng whiped. Crow and I play in teh woods.”\nA few weeks later, Dave and I headed to the Reserve with the papers. It took about a half hour of phone calls for the Band Chief to find Anna, the granddaughter of Crow’s sister. \nWe headed to her door. I was so unsure of what to say. \n“Should we have brought tobacco?” I asked Dave. “Relax, Sara,” he replied. \nUpon our knock, Anna pulled the door open. She was holding a rosy-cheeked toddler who stared at us with dark eyes. \n“Dave called from the office and said you were coming,” she explained, holding the door open. “I put the tea on.”\nWe entered and sat down in her kitchen. She settled the toddler into a buckled chair. \n“I need to make this one a quick lunch, then we can chat.”\nWe watched her pull out two slices of white bread. Slather on the butter. Squirt the yellow mustard. Sprinkle the sugar. I felt tears well up. \nAs she put down the sandwich, she hastened to apologize. “He gets healthy food most of the time! This is a treat my mom got him going on. Sweet and sour sandwiches. Something she used to feed me.”\nI stood up and hugged her, tears streaming down my face. I said, “It seems we are family, sort of.”\nAnd Dave winked at the young boy munching the Crow Sammich, and said, “Finally. A mystery solved.”" } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Father Water\n\nGenre: indigenous\n\nWord Count: 2513\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story involving a character who cannot return home." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Rinje sat beside the river and watched it flow with fury. It was always so violent. Every time she watched it flow, she would feel some sort of calmness. She always felt so good. The river was called “Father Water” it had divided the two valleys. The valley of light and the valley of Truth. Theirs was the valley of Truth. She never knew why they were not allowed to cross the river, to the other valley. It was forbidden. But the people, they always met at the river. When farming, when fetching water to drink and for their home duties and to just relax and have a good time by the river. But that was the end of the interaction. The communities never merged. They never crossed the river. Rinje was always curious since she was a young girl, she had dreamt; no, she had promised to cross it. the curiosity was and would be the end of her. That was what her grandfather had always told her. She was rather small in size, always looked younger than her age. This had been a source of people always underestimating her. Her mother particularly was always critical of her, she always teased her. But she told her, “Rinje, I’m teaching you how to be a leader”. But she knew, she had always known how much her mother had loved her. After all she was her first. The river was lined with arrow roots. They grew well near the river, because of the massive volume of water. Every family knew each other. They knew each other through the land. They would meet at father water during the planting season, they would talk and laugh while they tilled the land. The father water served both of them equally. Rinje was always amazed at how it did that. Every community stayed on their side of the valley. Rinje put her feet in the river, and her first reaction was to jolt them right back up. Because of how freezing cold the water was. It cut through her feet. But she caught herself at an impact and decided to keep them. She held fast to the ground with her hands, to avoid being carried away. As the water flowed around her feet, it started to get warmer. She felt more relaxed. Sometimes logs and sticks would hit her on their way, but the water never stopped flowing. The day was quite chilly, but with only enough sunshine. The rays of the sun made their way through the leaves of trees, through the Banana trees and mango trees. Rinje looked up at the sky and was amazed at how blue the sky was. It kind of seemed like it was smiling. There was no one else at the river, Rinje was all alone for as far as she could see. She loved how quiet the river was and the peace it gave her. Just as she was enjoying the rays of the sun on her face, she heard the sound of crackling branches. She was sure she had heard someone, she looked behind but saw no one. “Mmmh, I think I must be imagining things” as she looked back ahead, there he was, just standing there. He was the tallest man she had ever seen. He almost seemed gigantic for the human species. He was standing holding a machete which he had firmly inserted to the ground and used it to support himself. On the other hand, he held a sugarcane. He leaned quite slightly and watched her with what she thought were burning eyes. She felt as if he could see right through her. She felt uncomfortable and shocked she just stared back. As they stared at each other they heard voices as they approached the river. It was time to fetch water before the darkness settled upon the land. Usually the communities, women, would fetch water early in the morning before sunrise and at 4 pm. Rinje immediately removed her feet from the water and washed her face. By the time she lifted her head back up again, he was gone, nowhere to be seen. She took the jerrican and started fetching water, just in time for the girls to arrive. \n“Hello, our future queen” Kinjo bowed slightly and continued “are you excited?” Rinje always hated that, she wasn’t even sure she was ready to take up the role. To add to the matter, she wanted to make her mother angry. She had vowed to make her life miserable by doing everything that she thought shouldn’t be done. But she knew, deep down in her heart she was next. Her mother was the queen of the tribe. She was the leader of the tribe. As legend goes, it was said that many many years ago, the father had put man whom he named, “Word” and woman whom he named “Creator” at the heart of the valley. On top of the mountain. He had shown them the land, its vastness had no end. As far as the eyes could see. He told them to look after the land and cater for it. In return they would never lack. They would leave it to their children and generation. Word and Creator had done so. The land was very productive. It was respected among the other tribes of the hills. Everyone knew of its richness. Word and Creator had then been blessed with nine daughters. When the nine daughters had come of age to raise their own families, they had asked their mother Creator what she had done to get her husband. Creator had taken up the matter with word, her husband and word had requested God, The Father for a solution. He then made a sacrifice and asked the daughters to each choose a stick of the height they wanted their husbands to be. The sticks had been used to burn the sacrifice. The next day, nine men had appeared under the sacred tree and each daughter had gotten a husband of the height they had chosen. Due to the nine daughters who represented the nine clans of the tribe, the ruler of the tribe had been a woman. The tradition had been passed down for generations. Currently, Rinje’s mother was the leader of the tribe, that meant that Rinje was next in line. One of the things that Rinje did not like about leading the tribe is that the women were allowed to marry more than one husband. Her mother for instance had 5 husbands. Rinje couldn’t tolerate men. If she couldn’t stand even one man, how was she going to marry more than one. However, what surprised her the most, was that her mother had only two children. Rinje and her brother. No one really knew whether her mother had relations with her five husbands. Some in the village had whispered but only her mother knew the truth. Despite the status of the men in her tribe, Rinje had respected her grandfather and her father. She had good relations with her mothers’ husbands, but somehow, that situation had always troubled her. Her father was the first husband. They finished fetching water and went back home. Rinje wouldn’t keep her mind from wandering to the strange man she had seen at the river. All she could think about was the man. During supper, her mother had noticed how distant she was, Rinje was totally unaware of her mother’s probing eyes. They had supper at the kitchen always during the evenings. There was a small fire at the center and the fire would be seen warming its way in the entire kitchen. The branches would crack up as the fire made its way to the unburned regions. Vibrant colors would be seen as the fire kept on burning. As was tradition, they would talk while having food. Usually, her grandfather would tell a story. Everybody from the eldest to the youngest would listen to the story. Rinje, especially loved that part. But tonight, her mind was far away. As they bid each other goodnight, Rinje had been asked by her mother to stay behind and help with the cleaning. Her mother had taught her that, although they as the women were the leaders, it was their duty to take care of the homestead. As they cleaned around the kitchen washing utensils, her mother asked her “Who is the man?” Rinje was caught by surprise and talked before thinking \n“What?” she asked astonished\n“Don’t play dumb, I know you heard me” her mother told her\n“How did you know?” she asked embarrassed \n“My dear, love doesn’t hide” her mother answered her. As she said it, she looked lost in thought. As if a memory was creeping back. Her mother was always careful with her emotions. Always kept them in control. It was rare to see her vulnerable. Almost never. \n“You think I’m in love?” she asked excited and afraid at the thought. She did not even know the man. What if she hated the way he spoke? She hadn’t even heard his voice, didn’t know his name and for all she knew, he might be from the other side of the river. Which would be forbidden. It would be forbidden love. \n“I know you are in love. Now who is he?” Rinje looked lost in thought for a minute as she watched the fire burn. The fire looked so beautiful. It looked as if it was calling to her. \n“I don’t know him; I just saw him by the river. On the other side of the valley” the best thing about Rinje and her mother’s relationship was that it was open. Her mother had always insisted on saying it as it is. After saying those words, her mother looked as if she would have a heart attack. The blood drained from her face and she held on to the cupboard to support herself from falling. She was a rather medium woman. \n“Mother, are you okay?” Rinje asked rushing to her mother’s side to hold her. \n“Ah, Yes I’m fine. It’s just my leg, you know how stubborn it can be. Tell me more, how did he look like?”\n“Very tall and gigantic, almost like a God. He was the most magnificent person I have ever seen” Rinje told her mother looking dreamy and excited. Just as her mother had feared, it was him. The prophecy had been fulfilled. Her mother had dreaded this day. But somehow, it gave her satisfaction to know that she would see it being fulfilled, even if that meant her downfall. \n“Okay, be very careful and don’t get involved with him. Do you understand me?” Immediately her mother had said that, Rinje knew then that she must know who the man is. She hated being given orders and her mother knew that. \n“Okay mother” they had already finished washing the utensils and cleaning the kitchen. \n“Have a good night my daughter” it was long since her mother had called her that. That statement settled on her mind and couldn’t leave her as she went to bed. Why does mother not want me to know who the man is? She asked herself as she went to bed. The next day she went to the river and there he was. It was as if he was waiting for her. Rinje sat down and immersed her legs into the river. He did the same. They stared at each other and Rinje threw a handful of water at him. He was startled but he smiled, he did the same in return. When they were done, he introduced himself.\n“Hi, I’m Njithe” it was the most amazing voice she had ever heard.\n“I’m Rinje” she said in return. They went on chatting. All this they did while sitting by the river. Eventually it was time to go and they each went back to their valley. This continued for quite some time. Rinje got to know that he was from the light valley. He told her all about their traditions and life. He even asked her to visit him on their village. To this request she denied. He did not know who she was. Rinje on the other hand, never spoke about her status in the tribe. She was rather happy to meet someone who did not know who she was. Things had not been going so well back home. There were rumors of a ploy to remove her mother from power. The rumor around town had been that men had finally had it with being ruled by women. The women were being unjust and treating them badly. Thus, they had decided to overthrow the women and come to power. No one knew if it was true and how they proposed to doing that. Njithe was the only good thing in her life. Her mother’s health had been deteriorating too. After one year of having met Njithe, the women in tribe had all announced that they were pregnant. The men had taken over power by getting the women pregnant at the same time. Rinje’s mother had been unable to bear more than two children due to her health. To this, since she was not pregnant, she had refused to give up power. One day after coming back from the river to meet Njithe, Rinje had found a multitude of people around her homestead. She went in to her mother’s house and found her laying on the bed.\n“Mother, are you okay? What’s going on?”\n“Listen, my daughter, I’m dying. It’s your time to rule the tribe”\n“But I can’t, I don’t want to!”\n“Your heart will guide you. You are meant to journey through life, just like the river that you love so much” to this her mother had smiled. \n“Now go, get out of here, I don’t want you to see me breathe my last”\n Rinje felt confused and unsure of what to do, she ran back to the river to cry and find peace. And just as she got there, he was there, waiting for her. This time she agreed to cross the river. He held her tight and she had never felt such electricity flow through her body. She felt right at home. As if that was where she was meant to be. They held tight and the darkness carried away their secret. That night, she betrayed her tribe. She never went back home that night. She had betrayed the tribe by crossing the river, she had forsaken her family, her community and even failed her mother. Later on, she heard that her mother had died that night and buried in her homestead. She had been poisoned and the men had taken up leadership of the tribe. However, to keep peace with the women, the men had agreed that the clans still have the names of the original nine daughters, failure to which, the women would kill every male child they gave birth to and their generation would never be realized. The men had agreed to the terms." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: The River's Warning\n\nGenre: indigenous\n\nWord Count: 1015\n\nPrompt:\n\nSet your story on (or in) a winding river." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "The River’s Warning\nFor millennia, Aboriginal folk have explored the relationship between the land, the people and the animals. Our totems, or our ‘spirit animals’ (so to speak), are our protectors. We must never eat or harm them. A lot of the time, our totems are like our guardian angels, forever watching over us in this life and the next.\nThere is a story in our family where my dad, being a man from the Gamillaraay (Kamilaroi) clan, had a recurring dream. It has turned into a ‘Familial Dreamtime Story’, one where the river and its creatures created a warning, a siren for trouble that was brewing during my workplace at the time.\n…\nI am fishing along a long and winding river. Stranded in the middle on a raised sand bank, I am somehow oblivious within a bask of crocodiles. Some were small and some were of a size that could swallow me whole. The river is brown and murky; everything is unclear to me, just like the water. It is whilst fishing I notice the crocodiles getting thicker and more aggressive. Clearly congregating ready to have their morsel of human flesh. The largest of the crocodiles lay 7 metres long, his scarred and ancient body rippling among the mud and mangroves. He lifts his head, bearing his yellowed teeth, “look at this girl! How stupid of her to fish in the middle of our river!”\nFor some reason I remain grounded, unable to see the congregation of man eaters making their way towards me. The closer they got, the less aware I became. Before too long there were hundreds of crocodiles all snapping in anticipation, keen to rip me limb from limb.\n“Hey Erin, move over to the other bank…”\n“What?”\n“Move…now… you need to hide in those trees away from all these crocs.”\nI look down and see a small crocodile, barely longer than my forearm, nudging me with its snout. The small crocodile appeared female. She was small but had many scars over her course skin. Badges of battles won.\nHow did this small croc survive among all these big ones? How was she not eaten?\n“I don’t want to leave you, you’ll be eaten!” My voice was squeaky, I was unlike myself. Feeling the pressure of danger closing in, I began to panic but still did not move.\n“I’m ok, I’m one of them, they know to leave me alone. You are in danger here, you must move… you must move now!”\nWith her warning I suddenly had the strength the move. My legs, once heavy and stuck in the mud were now nimble and agile. The crocodiles launched themselves at me, every which way, snapping and turning their bodies in grotesque shapes. Their claws were scraping, desperately trying to push each other out of the way…who would get the first bite? Leaping like a bullfrog I narrowly dodged their jaws, stepping on hardened skin as I moved. Their anger was immediate.\n“Get her, get her now!” CRUNCH! SPLASH! CRACK!\nQuick like a flash I made my way across the crocs, using their bodies as my moving bridge.\n“Go Erin! Go now into the bush there, go fishing where you can’t be seen!” The little croc yelled out, her small yet flexible tail swishing and disappearing into the murky water. She easily avoided all the other crocs now swearing and slashing at each other showing their clear disgust.\nTaking on her final warning I stayed in the bushes, covered by mangroves and leafy terrain. The crocs could no longer see me. They swam up and down the dirty river, swearing, angry that their meal had gotten away. They never got me, and they never got the little crocodile.\n…\nThis story came about at a time when I was experiencing harassment and bullying in the workplace. My dad, being my greatest mentor and friend, would often console me over the phone before and after work; hearing my pain through the receiver. It was after he had this dream multiple times that he recited it to me, and we soon figured out its contents. The crocodiles trying to eat me were the heads of department and senior employees desperate to cut me down, desperate to rip me apart. The better I did at work, the worse it got. I was ‘out in the middle of the river’, an easy target for those wanting me gone. Easy pickings for these ‘old crocs’. The little crocodile, clearly an accomplice and friendly co-worker was telling me to ‘hide’ to stay away to be safe from these horrible river creatures. I took this to mean that I needed to keep my distance, not try and integrate and to keep my head down.\nI no longer work in this place (thankfully) and have since moved on to greater things. But I will never forget the little crocodile and her wise words through my father. His dream had come at such a good time, and through its interpretation we have experienced our totems looking out for us. Keeping their mob safe. \nI would like to acknowledging and pay my respects to the Traditional Custodians of the land (in particular to my mob the Gamillaraay people of south west Queensland and North-west of New South Wales). I would like to pay my respects to the Elders, past, present and emerging, and acknowledge and extend this respect to all Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islanders. It is important to me to pay my respects to all Elders, past, present and emerging, regardless of mob or country.\nI pay my respect for their continuation of our culture and the contributions they make to country and community.\nWe respect the land, the animals and waterways from the roots of the earth to the tops of the trees.\nA better understanding and respect for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander cultures develops an enriched appreciation of Australia’s cultural heritage and will lead to reconciliation. This is essential to the maturity of Australia as a nation and fundamental to the development of the Australian identity." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: General\n\nGenre: horror\n\nWord Count: 2954\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story in which a character is running away from something, literally or metaphorically." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "My eyes fly open like I’m waking from the dead. I start up, tossing aside the blanket that had been tangled around my legs. Something woke me up. I kick dirty laundry out of the way and shift my body to sitting up. Head swimming. The sunlight is too bright in the room and I find myself squinting around.\nWhen I lean forward, my phone tumbles off my lap, hits the edge of the coffee table, and clatters to the floor. I wince.\n“Shh!” I hiss at it. Why is that so loud? It echoes through the whole house. I look down at the dark phone way far away on the floor, and can’t convince my arms to swing down to grab it. What’s the point? So I can open it up and do what? I breathe in, smelling the stale smell of the old blankets wrapped around me in a cocoon, and because there’s nothing better to do, breathe out again. I can feel stiffness in my stomach from the surgery, the stitches stretching with my skin.\nI’m hungry. I should haul myself to my feet, drag myself into the kitchen, and find something to eat. I try to imagine doing all of that. Standing up, moving, opening the fridge, getting out ingredients, putting things in a bowl—\nI swing my head to the right. There’s my water bottle. I can drink some water. I try to force my brain to imagine telling my husband, when he gets home from work, what I did today.\n“I drank some water from my water bottle. I breathed in and I breathed back out. I decided to keep breathing in and keep breathing out because it was easier than not doing that.”\nI look down at my right arm, and because it would be embarrassing if I can’t even manage that, I lift my arm, pick up my water bottle with fingers made of lead, and swallow some water. I have been back from the hospital almost a week after my ordeal, and somehow swallowing water is still the most I can manage.\nThe TV is on, and there’s a very serious news lady droning on. She’s talking about the spread of the virus and there’s a map with splotches of red. I don’t want to listen to this, to see the red slowly seeping into our state, getting closer and closer to us. I want it to be quiet. She’s talking so loud, she needs to be quiet. But I don’t know where the remote is, and I don’t know if I can remember which buttons to press.\nI lean my head back, and think about going back to sleep. But if I go back to sleep, at some point I’ll be woken up again, and then what? Once, I liked waking up in the morning, greeting the fresh world and whatever the day held. Now, after what happened, when my eyes open I just wonder when I can shut them again. I don’t have to feel hungry when I’m sleeping, and don’t have to worry about finding something to eat.\nThump, there’s a thump on the porch steps. My eyes trace past the cluttered living room, past the TV, out the window, and as he moves, I catch a glimpse of him. There’s a zombie climbing the porch steps.\nI start to stand. Sharp pain shoots through my stomach. I stiffen and pause. Is that pain new? I don’t remember it from yesterday. I leverage with my arms, stiff and sore, and haul myself to my feet. I kick at one sock that’s slowly coming off my foot, and shuffle around the pile of laundry to get to the window.\nSurely I saw something else. Right? I’m sure I didn’t see a zombie.\nThe lady on the news is saying to be very, very careful. She’s saying that the virus spreads not just from the bite, but that it’s in the water supply, too. She’s impressing on us how dangerous it is, because everyone knows that zombies are incapable of hurting other zombies. That’s why it’s spreading so fast.\nI reach the window and stop. My arms are limp at my sides, and I can feel the lopsided bun on my head, slowly falling out. There’s something damp on my sweatshirt. What did I spill on my sweatshirt?\nOutside the window, I see him. He’s climbing the porch steps. He’s lifting one foot, and he’s looking down at it, then he’s dropping it—thump—onto the step. He’s lifting the next foot, he’s looking at it, then he’s dropping it. Thump.\nI take a step back. He’s an old man, a stranger I don’t know, with stringy gray hair and mottled green skin. The brass buttons on his moldy wool coat still shine in the sunlight. Looking at them makes one half of my head ping with pain. His fingers are curled into claws. His face is gnarled into a wince, his teeth slimy and yellowed.\nI turn away. Thump. He’s a step closer. I turn again. On the floor of the living room is a bath towel. Oh, that’s why my shirt is wet. I took a shower this morning.\nI start to move, pushing my feet forward. One, then the next, then the other again. I reach for the doorway to the kitchen, like if I can find it with my fingers I can draw myself through the doorway faster than my feet can move me. Why are my feet so slow?\nI kick the bath towel out of the way. It’s still damp, like my sweatshirt.\n“What do I do?” I say, careful to keep my voice low. I’m somewhat surprised to hear my own slurred speech. Who am I talking to? What do I do? What was the plan? Was there a plan? My brain tried to slog through the past day to remember the plan. I remember my husband this morning. He was leaving the house to go to work, I think—he must have been, because he was wearing his jacket and was standing in the doorway—and I was sitting on the couch, heavy-armed and tired, and he’d told me—what had he told me?\nThe same thing he told me every day. “Do something for yourself today. Just one thing.”\nI must have said something back, because he smiled at whatever it was. “One specific thing.”\nI reach the kitchen doorway. That’s why I took the shower, I remember now, that was something for myself.\nThump. The newest thump was so much louder than the others that I grasped the kitchen doorway to keep myself from falling. A needle of pain wriggled through my abdomen.\n“Quiet!” I hiss toward the front porch. The zombie had made it up the steps and is at the door. I can see his shadow through the window as he leans heavily on the door. Thump, he hammers again.\n“Shh!” I say desperately. He needs to be quiet. Doesn’t he know he needs to be quiet?\nI start to draw myself around the kitchen island, one hand over the other, guiding my stiff body. It’s not as bright in here and I can see better. My eyes fumble over old takeout containers, and empty water bottles, and the sink piled high with dishes. Piled so high with dishes. Before I went to the hospital I would have never let it get this bad. The gloves I usually use to wash the dishes are a thousand miles away, down on the floor by several pairs of socks.\nThump, crack, creak. Creak. I stop, my hands placed on the kitchen counter, holding me still. I know that creak, it is a sound that washes over me every evening and fills me with relief. Why? Why do I love that sound?\nNow, it’s the sound of the door opening, as the zombie walks into my house. The zombie is walking into my house.\n“No, oh no…” I whisper, and look around the dim kitchen. Where’s my phone? It’s in the living room.\nThump, thump. Footsteps in the living room, and I hear a ragged, rancid breath.\nSuddenly my hands let go of the kitchen counter and I’m moving, my feet carrying me careening through the house, stumbling, unmoored, out into the hall, and across, and into the dark, dark, bathroom. The door shuts behind me and I blink once and again and again, images of the spinning rooms spiraling in my vision before settling into the dark outline of the bathroom. Sink, toilet, empty toilet paper rolls, trash overflowing.\nAnd from down the hall, from the living room, I hear a voice.\n“I can hear you in here.”\nNo one ever told me they talk. The zombie’s voice drips under the bathroom door, snaking up my leg and draining into the pit of my stomach. His speech is slow and meticulous, his dead mouth trying to remember how to form words.\n“You are breathing,” the voice says. “You are breathing so slow. Why are you breathing so slow?”\nWhy am I? I can’t think. I can’t make my brain think. All I can see, when I close my eyes and remember, is my husband standing in the doorway, looking at me. Why is he looking at me like that? Full of pity? Why is he speaking to me so slowly?\n“Do one thing,” he says, the words echoing in my sluggish mind. “Do one specific thing, just for you.”\nI did! I did what he said! I look at the bathtub. I took a shower. A few water droplets are still dripping down from the shower head. I move forward, leaving the bathroom door. I hear heavy footsteps moving so slowly through the house behind me. I need to tell the zombie to walk quieter. He needs to be quiet.\nI hold out a hand and I shiver as a cold water droplet splashes into my palm. I can barely see it in the dark, but my heart starts to sink, slowly, dropping from my chest down into my stomach where slow, steady panic is building just under my ribcage. Why am I full of dread? Why does the water on my skin make me feel sick? Why can’t I move fast enough to get to safety? My brain used to be smart and quick. Now it isn’t. I’m never going to be quick again.\n\"I will find you.”\nI jump as the voice sounds again, this time closer. He’s just across the hall in the kitchen. He’s looking at the sink full of dirty dishes.\nI yank my hand out of the shower like it’s a fire, and start moving again, letting my feet stumble and rush. My hand fumbles on the doorknob and the door swings open, and I see a shadow cutting across the floor of the hall. I’ve lost a sock, and my feet stamp, one two, one two, down the hall. I pass a closed bedroom door on my way. Shh! I need to be quiet. Stop being so loud.\n“Why are you running?” The rasping voice grates through the house. “I can feel you. You’re tired. You want to sleep.”\nI reach the basement stairs, and I stop. To my left, the backdoor of the house, leading out into the overgrown backyard and the bright sunlight dappling on the grass and flowers. I think I can smell the fresh grass and perfume of the flowers even from here. And to my right, the rickety basement stairs, leading down, down into moldy darkness.\n“You don’t want to escape.”\nWhere is there to escape to, anyway? My feet are stuck to the floor. I can’t run. I look down at my hand, damp from the water from the shower, and I remember. I remember that I took that shower for me, and that when I was done, I sat on the toilet in my towel, shivering and shaking, and I didn’t feel better, and my ears were ringing with screaming, and my head was aching and my stomach was twisting, and I was tired. I told them at the hospital, I was so tired, and they sent me home anyway. It’s all I can think anymore, and no amount of warm showers make me feel better. Why not? I can’t seem to feel better.\nI’m tired. I turn away from the backdoor, and my feet drop onto the basement steps. I hear him, behind me. Thump, thump. He’s following. My feet hit the basement steps. Thump, thump. He’s following.\nI reach out, raking my fingers along the concrete walls, balancing my stumbling legs and feet. Where are my feet? Where did I leave them? Oh, they’re here, right underneath me.\nI reach the cold, cold floor of the basement, and step over a puddle at the base of the steps, and I pass the light switch on the wall. I can see from the pale light that shines in through the small windows. Bins and boxes piled up where I left them, half open and spilling their contents on the floor. That was from before, when I cared about organization and neatness. Now I can’t even look at them.\n“That’s right,” the croaking voice says. It’s coming from the top of the stairs. It’s grinding down the wood steps and splashing onto the concrete floor. “Go down into your grave. Go down to drown alone. You do not want to walk back up again.”\nMy fingers trail along the dusty top of a box, then the edge of a bookshelf loaded with cans of beans and tomatoes and vegetables. My glazed eyes trail over the rows of cans and I have to blink myself awake. I used to be different, I used to be awake. After what happened, whatever else there is, it’s like I’m gone. I have to press a hand to my stomach, holding in my stitches and my guts even to walk. I miss the person I used to be.\nMy feet shuffle along, one foot warm, one foot cold, one sock on, one sock off. I weave my way through the old bikes and laundry baskets, to where the washer and dryer are crouching in the corner.\nI can hear his loud feet on the steps. One thing. One specific thing, just for me. I want to scream, to fill my lungs and holler, as loud as I can, but instead it comes out as barely a whisper.\n“Be quiet,” I hiss. “You need to be quiet!”\nMy hands rest, one on the washer, one on the dryer. I pause. I need to remember how to use my knees. I look down, and I remember, and bend, bend, twisting at the waist and bending my creaking knees, all the way down until I’m on the floor. It’s damp down here, water trickling in through the cinderblocks and oozing through the cracks in the floor. I place one hand on the cold floor, the water stinging my fingers with how cold it is. I reach behind me with the other hand.\nHe’s on his way down the steps, the steady thump, thump, thump echoing through the house. He’s going faster because he knows, he knows why I came down here. Shh!\nBehind me, a dial on a metal safe clicks.\nThump, thump, then, splash. He reaches the puddle at the bottom of the stairs, and my eyes slowly look up, up. He’s tall, and broad-shouldered, and I can see, in the dim light, the glint of his yellow teeth gnashing together. His eyes narrow when he sees me.\nClick click, the dial behind me.\n“There you are,” he says, and he’s moving, his hands bumping into dusty boxes and canned goods.\nI’m still crouching, and I can feel the water seeping into my sweatpants. I should be shivering, but I’m not. It feels almost warm, warm like blood, like my blood, pumping through me, swift and sure.\n“Here you are,” he says. The safe clicks open, and my hand closes over something familiar and solid.\n“You’re hiding down here to be found,” he says, an ugly smile curling his gray lips. I’m holding the familiar object in my hand, and his eyes land on it. The smile widens, his teeth grinding together, spit dripping out of his mouth and onto his moldy coat.\nI raise a shaking hand. I pull in breath, and I let it out again.\n“You can’t do that,” he says, his mouth fumbling over the words, spitting them out one at a time. He raises a crooked finger with a broken, bloody nail, pointing toward the ceiling, and the floor above us. “If you do that, you won’t be quiet. Don’t you want to be quiet?”\nI do want to be quiet, I want to curl up down here in the warm water and sleep, where I can’t feel hungry and my stomach and hips and back don’t hurt, where my head doesn’t ache.\nHe must see my shoulders sag, because he takes a shuddering step forward. “You came down here to die.”\n“No,” I say, and my voice is louder than it should be.\nOne specific thing, just for me.\nI can feel my hands again as they raise the gun I’d pulled from the safe, and level it at the zombie. His old, dead eyes don’t change or look alarmed.\n“I’m here because I want to live.”\nBang!\nThump.\nUpstairs, in the bedroom I had skipped, suddenly startled awake, my newborn baby starts to cry. I look at the rows of canned goods, vegetables and beans and soup. I think it’s time to cook some lunch." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: The Figment of a Footprint\n\nGenre: horror\n\nWord Count: 1610\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character who suddenly cannot run anymore." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "I have been running; for how long, I can not tell. A wrong turn, a trailblazing disaster, lost and never to be found. How did I get here? Does it even matter anymore?\nWith each labored breath, pacing my strides, my body is consumed by a primal battle, the stale air thick with rancid decay. The forest engulfs me in a suffocating terror, its ancient malevolence seeping into every inch of its murky darkness. Twisted trees writhe and contort in agony, their branches reaching out like gnarled claws to ensnare me.\nBut it is not just the physical realm that haunts me - my senses are assaulted from all sides by unseen eyes and unearthly sounds. Whispers and murmurs taunt and torment my mind, pulling me deeper into a maddening spiral of delusion. I push forward blindly, driven by an unrelenting need to escape this waking nightmare.\nBut my pursuer is unyielding, its form shifting and morphing with each step. It is a being beyond human comprehension to gaze upon such a cosmic horror to bring insanity that relentlessly stalks me through the shadow-laden tunnels of tangled trees.\nDoubt and fear plague me at every turn, as reality blurs with hallucination. But then I see it - a fleeting glimpse of ethereal color against the oppressive backdrop of the forest. Is it another trick of my treacherous mind? Or a terrifying glimpse into the twisted reality that surrounds me?\nMy question is quickly answered as heavy footsteps close in on me from behind. They are not of this world, but they are coming for me all the same. Panic consumes me once again as I realize there is no escape from this eldritch horror that has invaded my existence.\nI must not stop. I can not stop.\nAnd so I succumb to the all-consuming terror that lurks just beyond our grasp, my mind shattered by the relentless onslaught of otherworldly sights and sounds. The darkness claims me, forever lost to its insidious grip....\n***\nMy eyes burn with the insipid stench surrounding me. The pounding of my heart keeping the beat of the incessant steps. The forest is alive with the sound of rustling leaves and creaking branches. The damp earth clinging to my shoes, trying to suck me downward, as I navigate my way through the labyrinth of warped roots and jagged rocks.\nEach stride felt like a precarious balance between life and death, as though one wrong move could mean falling into the jaws of some monstrous creature lying in wait for unsuspecting prey.\nI continue to hear the heavy footsteps behind me, growing closer with every passing second. Pushing harder, can I continue? My heart thumps wildly in my chest, my breaths coming in ragged gasps as I push myself to run faster.\nBut no matter how damp I cry, the footsteps kept pace with me, growing faster, deeper, closer, their ominous rhythm echoing through my trees and sending shivers down the spine.\nI stumble into a small clearing, my hope of escape quickly fading - there is no way out here. The dying light cast an eerie glow on the grass, creating an otherworldly atmosphere that sends chills down my spine.\nFor a brief moment, I allow myself to relax, retreat to a slow, mild jog, thinking that maybe I had lost my... something. But then, the silence descends upon me like a suffocating blanket, pressing down on me with its oppressive weight. I must be still there, mocking it, encroaching ever closer.\nMy feet refused to hold still as if they were being held captive by some unseen force - possessed by cursed trail shoes, forcing me to dance eternally to the screaming pipes oozing from the center of this arboreal void. Sweat stings my eyes as I try to look from side to side - around at the broken trees and crumpled branches; I can't shake off the feeling that this isn't just a natural part of the woodland nymphs - it is something far more sinister.\nBut what scares me even more is the unshakable thought that it isn't all in my head. Crazy. Crazy. I was crazy once. My mind is playing tricks on the forest, luring it deeper into my terrifying grasp and driving, running, sprinting towards... somewhere. But is realization enough? Or is it a symptom of the sickness winding its way through my veins? Or are my veins merely a symptom of my larger problem? The shouts echo through my feeble mind as I try to order my senses.\nUncertainty gnawing me like a piston, a prison within my own thoughts, driving me onward. I force myself to keep moving, picking a new direction, hoping that my sacrifice and offering will be accepted, praying that I will lead myself out of this nightmare. But with every leap forward, doubt continues to creep in, unable to turn the screaming questions out - what if there is no escape? What if I am but a ghost of a memory fed by the chains of tangled roots surrounding me, crushing me.\nAs the evening's darkness crushes in around me, night enveloping me in its suffocating embrace, I couldn't shake off the feeling of being watched by something far more malevolent than anything I could ever imagine. To imagine it would only bring insanity. I must imagine it. I must keep going.....\n***\nFootprints trail behind me, filled with viscous liquid, reminders of the terror I am filled with for each lurch forward I continue to make. My racing blood pump reaching the point of explosion echoes in my ears, a constant reminder of the unknown dangers lurking in this twisted forest. The moon's harsh glare casts a haunting glow over everything as if daring me to venture further into its depths. I am beckoned, and I can not stop.\nMy body aches from exhaustion, but the forest seems to mock my weakness. Its branches reach out like malevolent hands, their shadows whispering words of doubt and fear, scratching me, bleeding me drip by slow drop. Yet, amidst this darkness, a faint glimmer of light offers a glimmer of hope.\nThe flaming sphere of fire begins to rise from the east, the blood-tinged sky is shocked awake by its appearance, and the forest seems to transform into an entirely new world. The eerie stillness is replaced by the soothing, unsettling sounds of nature. Despite the comforting surroundings, the watching never stops. Going. Keep going. Stop looking at me!\nLeaving the safety of the treeline behind, my face is slammed with the frigid air, causing me to miss the monstrous scene rising from the quaint village below. It beckons me with its warm lights and promise of shelter, smoke tendrils streaming out of the chimney like organic arms, pulsating rhythmically in the orange hue. Yet, as I quickly glance back at the menacing forest, doubt creeps in once again - was I really pursuing something, or was it my mind striving itself towards a paranoid fragmentation?\nI care not to understand the answer, forever it will elude me. I am conflicted and unsure. But if I can just make my heart faster, further, the moist embrace of the morning dew climbing up my legs like the cold nails of a coffin. This forest won't hold a strange power over me now - one that both terrifies and fascinates me. And as I race my way toward the village, my mind swirls with conflicting emotions - fear and curiosity, doubt and wonder.....\n***\nEach pace towards the village is a cruel taunt, the forest looming from behind, jeering and cackling with malicious glee through the corners of my blood-shot eyes sounds still playing havoc on my eardrums, the needles reaching deep into my nervous tissue trying to claw me back. The air is thick with a putrid stench, a heavyweight that suffocates me as I struggle to push forward. I must not fear, the mind-killer; my pace can not waver - to reach forward is my only goal.\nEvery sound is magnified, each creak of branches and rustle of leaves echoing like a death knell in my ears. The rising sun casts long shadows that seem to twist and writhe, reaching out with bony fingers to drag me into its abyss. Cutting, grasping, slicing.\nMy body screams for rest, muscles burning and joints protesting with every desperate stride. But no matter how far I run, the relentless forest eternally looms behind me, its twisted branches morphing into grotesque creatures that feed on my fear.\nI catch sight of the quaint village through the dense fog, the palpable sense of relief almost beckoning me. Calmness refuses to flood over me, a sense of foreboding grips my heart in it's vice-like gaping maw.\nSearing pain, infinitely torturous, tears through my side like a hot blade. I collapse to my knees, gasping for the acrid oxygen that refuses to enter my collapsing lungs.\nI lay here, writhing in agony, the spines between reality and nightmare blur beyond recognition. The forest myself and I are livid, a dying entity, playing with the tissues in our head, fading, crimson essence flooding my field of vision, until......\nI am no longer chased by some external force; instead, I am the one chasing - consuming madness and becoming one with this cursed landscape forever. And in those final moments after devouring my fresh meal, satiated completely, a perverse sense of terror washes over me – for in this cosmic space we call life, I have found my true refuge, forever to torment and be tormented, amongst the twisted trees and malevolent shadows." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: SILENT PRAYERS.\n\nGenre: indigenous\n\nWord Count: 1916\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart your story with an unexpected knock on a window." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Balaram called his daughter Shilpa and told her that he had arranged for funds for her admission in the course she wanted to join. She was thrilled and expressed her tons of thanks to him. Balaram wanted her to know that it was much beyond his capacity to spend so much on one girl. So, he insisted that she should realize her responsibilities and be sincere in her studies and come out with flying colours. He also wanted to tell her that she, being the eldest, must ensure that her two younger sisters also come up well in life. But he did not say it to her. After all, Shilpa was just a teenager.\n ”Why load her with too many burdens at this tender age? There is enough time to bother about future of Savitha and Savithri.“ He told his wife Ramaprabha about his plans for their future. “I am just an autorickshaw driver. I have a limited scope to grow further. But my children should not be like me … limited to a small circle. They must grow big, soar high and of course shine well and have a bright future.”\nRama was a bit concerned about his heavy indebtedness. He had recently borrowed huge amount for Shilpa. Now he was talking about incurring further loans for Savitha and Savithri. She wanted to advise him to go slow. “No body gives loan without any security and we don’t have anything to offer as security. That apart, it is just a matter of time that these girls will grow up and be ready for marriage. What do we do then and how are we going to manage that? So, keep in mind and pay attention to that and draw your plans accordingly.”\nBalaram comforted her. “Don’t worry Rama. Once Shilpa completes her education, she will get employment easily. She can earn enough for us to wade through our financial crises. I am counting on that and building these castles. Only thing is that we should still continue to be very stringent in our expenses. ‘Spend less save more.’ We must teach our children also to be frugal. Okay!”\nBoth Savitha and Savithri were staring at Shilpa as she was going for taking up her new course. She turned to them and in a lighter vein, quoted a filmi dialog, “You too will get your time. Your turn will be there Wait for it. (Apna time Aayega)” They too smiled back and acknowledged her ready wits. Rama also was watching the scene … the girls and exchange of lively conversations. She was happy that things were going in right direction. The girls were not jealous of each other. In fact, they were taking the elder one as their roll model. Rama told everyone. “Always remember one thing. Your father has been squeezing his tummy to fulfill all your dreams. So be conscious of his efforts. He does not want you people to forego your desires. Therefore, you have one binding duty and that is only one thing. Give your best in whatever you do.” She silently prayed for the success of her daughters. It was for this purpose only Balaram was going beyond his limits. He wanted his daughters to come up well in life. He too joined her and sent his silent prayers. He dreamt of his three girls, … Shilpa doing well in her computer coding programmes and getting honours, Savitha doing well in Fashion designing and getting recognitions and awards for her work and third one Savithri too doing her best as a teacher. \nIf everything in life moves as per our plans, then what is the role of our fate? Balaram and Ramaprabha saw that days rolled onto weeks and weeks onto months. Before months would roll onto years, there was a big jolt. A bolt from the blue.\nThere was an unexpected knock on window. Earlier Ramaprabha had closed the door and was waiting for Balaram to come home. The girls had already come home by evening, finished their homework, had their dinner and were waiting for their father to come home. Since he was an autorickshaw driver, there was no fixed time for him to come home. But Rama had emphatically told him to give her a call if he would be getting late beyond 8-30 pm. Neither there was a phone-call, nor a text message from him. What happened to him and why was he late and that too without informing them? Rama felt her adrenal rising. Balaram had warned them a good number of times earlier, not to open the door unless and otherwise it was absolutely essential. That too particularly at night. Now there was a knock at the window.\nThe girls cuddled themselves to each other and were staring at their mother. Again, there was a knock at the window with a shrill voice calling her out. Rama remained silent and was gathering guts. She was in two minds whether to open the window and peep out or, open the door and see what was happening. Soon the dilemma came to an end. There was a heavy pounding of sounds on the door and some male members calling them aloud. In spite of those indistinct and mixed voices she could recognize them. Oh! They were their neighbours only. But then too she felt something fishy and uneasy. As soon as she opened the door, Vimala her neighbouring lady, clung to her and wailed loudly. “Oh, you unlucky woman! Should the sky befall on you? So soon and so sudden? Whose evils eyes have smitten you and rained curses on your family? I am unable to bear. How are you going to take this blow? Oh God! Why are you so merciless?” Her blabbering went on and on. Ramaprabha understood something had gone wrong drastically. But details were not shared. Shilpa took the lead. She stamped her foot hard on the ground and raised her voice. “What is the matter? What happened to Papa? Where is my father? Why are you all crowding here without telling us anything?”\nThen Someshwar, another man from neighbourhood said that Balaram met with an accident and he was taken to hospital. He was fatally wounded. There was heavy loss of blood also. The hospital pronounced that he was brought dead. The hospital generally would not entertain patients brought dead. But in Balaram’s case, those who brought him there, did not know who he was and where he belonged to. His phone also got smashed on the spot of the accident. Hence, they were hesitant as to leave him then and there and leave the place. By then a passerby identified Balaram vaguely and informed Someshwar. As per hospital’s rules, the body could be handed over to very close relatives and no other person. Ramaprabha stood speechless. Shilpa shook her heavily and said “Let us rush to hospital and get Appa’s body. Let Savitha and Savithri be with Vimala Auntie. Someshwar uncle, please come with us and help us. Amma take some cash if you have.”\nThe news of sudden death came as a bolt from the blue. Rama was terribly shaken. She wanted to cry. But no sound would come forth from her throat. Tears from eyes turned dry. A mysterious cloud of sorrow and grief overpowered her. Her wits and brain had bluntly stopped functioning. She was motionless. She was simply driven by others. Someshwar told Shilpa to hurry up or else the hospital authorities would dump the body in Mortuary, from where it would be very difficult to fetch the body. Shilpa identified her father’s body. Since it was a road accident, lot of formalities had to be observed before releasing the body. On seeing Balaram’s body, Ramaprabha broke down. But hospital authorities warned her to remain silent as crying was forbidden within the premises. Both Shilpa and Rama had to swallow their grief and engulf their wailing woes.\nA knock at the window and things went topsy-turvy. All three girls sat down and were unable to grapple with the harsh truth. Sole bread winner – sudden death – no savings - dark future – no hope – no body to turn to – no well-wisher – A big jolt. They were afraid that they should not lose their mother as her condition was getting worse. Savithri told Shilpa to seek help from Someshwar and find out next course of action. All the time mourning, remaining idle, not attending to their daily chores, not attending schools, … all would lead them to nowhere. Someshwar told them to apply immediately for death certificate, without which nothing could be done. He got the address and contact details and asked them to proceed. He excused himself for not accompanying. He had his own worries to bother about. He too was a daily wager. He advised them that mother’s presence was essential at the office.\nRamaprabha and all three girls went to the Corporation office and met the concerned officer. Application was given. Forms were filled up. The officer turned out to be a very good guy. He patiently listened to their unfortunate miseries. He could visualize their family situation. “Sole bread winner – sudden death – no savings - dark future – no hope – no body to turn to – no well-wisher” and so on. He told his assistant to take care of their case and in the meanwhile, he enquired from Shilpa about her computer programme classes and her sisters’ school details. With just a phone call and a few more strokes on his mobile phone, he rewrote their future.\nHe told Ramaprabha, “Don’t worry Sister. I have paid your three daughters’ fees for their school and computer coding course. Don’t break their studies. Let them continue their studies till end. All I can do, is this much. I cannot undo your misfortunes. But I can reduce your burden to some extent. You leave with me copies of your educational certificates and other credentials. I shall ask my friends and fellows in my contact if they can help in getting some job. My personal advice to you is, don’t insist on white-collar jobs and don’t hesitate to accept any menial jobs. Whatever you may get just hold on to it. For survival, this is very essential.”\nFor the first time in their lifetime, Ramaprabha and Shilpa had a full view of holy God who had descended on earth to shower His blessings. With folded hands and tear-filled eyes Ramaprabha searched for suitable words to express her feelings. It was as though her silent prayers were answered. Shilpa urged her two sisters to follow her and three of them folded their hands and touched his feet. “Sir, you are God-sent angel to us. ‘Our sincere thanks’ is too shallow a word. God had closed one main door for us forever, by snatching our father. But you have opened many windows for us. We shall remain grateful to you forever.”\nThe officer smiled and blessed the girls and told them to extend their helping hands in a similar manner as and when they could. \nRamaprabha could see her silent prayers being recommended and presented by Balaram from heaven above to the lotus feet of God. God unable to say NO to Balaram had answered through this gentleman. She who came to collect death certificate was now returning home, with a bountiful shower of blessing.\nSilent Prayers are effective. No doubt. Proved once again." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Soul Asylum\n\nGenre: horror\n\nWord Count: 1565\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story that includes someone saying, “You can’t run forever.”" }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "“You can’t run forever.”\nThe voice echoed off the dingy, tiled walls in a burst of pulsating static. I cowered behind an old rack of medical brochures, clutching my aching chest. My breath came in such gasping bursts I was afraid it’d give my position away. Though I’d spent the last three years on the track team, the run up the stairwell had been taxing and I doubted I’d make it out alive.\nA trickle of blood dripped from my hand as I gripped a long shard of glass. Even though I’d wrapped it in strips of a pillowcase, the sharp edge still cut into my hand. I wasn’t even sure if it would cause the thing that chased me any harm, but I had to try something.\nWhy did I let Damion talk me into coming to this damned place?\nFootsteps.\nRagged breathing, no longer accompanied by the static of the overhead intercoms.\nIt was in the room.\nI fought to conceal aching sobs and waited until the steps faded to silence, then I ran, flicking on my light only when I was uncertain of my surroundings. Curtained partitions and door after door zoomed by. The chipped green metal looked sick against the graffitied, eggshell tiles.\nOne. Two. Three. I counted until thirty seconds had passed. I was out of time. I hurried through one of the puke-colored doors.\nThe beam of the flashlight darted around the space only seconds before I shut it off again. Shit. Just another room. An overturned bed with a rotting plastic-covered mattress was the only offer of salvation. I dove behind it, thankful that it wasn’t like the others. Nothing more than skeletal frames of headboards and cleats lined the abandoned hallways.\n“Get your shit together, Maggie,” I whispered to myself, waiting for it to start its search for me once again. I was in its territory. We had trespassed into a place we didn’t belong and Damion’s body lying twisted and broken in one of the padded rooms below was proof enough of that.\nIt seemed like an eternity before the footsteps finally came and even longer for them to fade away.\nI counted the moments as I ran, sweat trickling down my bare spine. Why in the hell did I allow Damion to get as far as he did? Well, Hudson got to third base, but that was in the backseat of his mom’s minivan, not in some derelict insane asylum.\nThirty-two. Thirty-three. Shit! I’d gotten distracted. I ducked into a dark room to my right. Something was off. Nothing here looked even slightly familiar. I hadn’t been this way. My stomach churned. I was lost. When did I make a wrong turn? If it wasn’t for the fact that the beam of my flashlight seemed to draw the thing near, I might not have gotten so turned around. Even as I ducked into the room, its footfalls resounded around me, but I risked a quick use of my flashlight.\n“Oh, God!” My breath caught, holding back a wave of vomit. The only protection this room offered was a single chair resembling an old-timey rocker with its high back and slatted bottom. But that was where the resemblance ended. I’d never seen one with leather cuffs nailed to the armrests. Deep red stains covered the seat and beneath it a corona of dried blood spread out with scattered fractures like a layer of crimson marble. \nWhat the hell had happened here?\nThe bloody plaster crunched beneath my knees as I knelt, hoping I was hidden well enough. The thing’s steps grew closer, falling in time with the speed of my pounding heart.\n“You can’t hide forever,” it said through ragged breaths.\nDamn it! How did it always know where I was?\nI listened for an eternity as it moved through the hallway. Doors creaked as it checked the rooms. \nFinally… silence.\nI stumbled from behind the chair and switched on the flashlight to judge my surroundings. Another stairwell lay at the end of the hall. That had to be the way out. Without switching off the light, I ran hard. Mounting the stairs, I swung my way around each bend and propelled myself up each landing.\nAround the bend.\nChest heaving.\nAround the bend.\nLegs aching.\nAround the bend.\nLungs blazing.\nAnother long hallway intersected to the last landing. Two wide swinging doors to my left. The cafeteria? I remember it was on my left as Damian and I went toward the stairs. If I could get through to the other side and take a right, I’d be home free.\nI slammed through the doors and gave the room a quick survey before dousing the light.\nTwenty-eight. No! thirty-eight! Was it already looking for me? Had it seen me?\nI dropped to my knees hearing a rasp of words I couldn’t quite make out but there was something recognizable about the tone. I couldn’t place the familiarity, but I had no time to think about that. The space was wide open and I was far too exposed. Though there were a few round tables overturned here and there, the area was large and if it moved in just the right direction, it would see me.\nI was so close now and I couldn’t just sit and wait. I shoved the flashlight into the waistband of my shorts and crawled toward the doors opposite me. Bits of glass from years of broken beer bottles scraped painfully at my knees. Careful to avoid banging into an overturned table or shoving discarded luncheon trays across the floor, I slid my hands in front, making certain the path was clear.\nThe ragged breathing returned, and I hurried to find a spot to hide. Four metal legs greeted my trembling hands. Though I knew it offered too little cover, I scurried beneath it and waited.\nThe door behind me fwumped fwumped fwumped as it opened and swung back to rest against the other. \nIt had tracked me down once again. My mind raced with possibilities. I could switch on the light and fling it across the room. Would it fall for the trick? Would the gesture give me enough time to reach the exit that lay not far beyond those ugly green doors?\nCould I outrun it? The thought teased my brain.\nMy body ached to flee but fear kept me anchored in place. The sharp edge of the makeshift weapon I’d made bit into the knuckles of the opposite hand as I grasped the leg of the table. No, it would stop soon maybe disappear into another room. I just need to wait for the…\nSilence. Sweet silence.\nWithout survey, I shot from under the table. Without care, I barreled through the dark. I counted the seconds. Within five I was out the cafeteria doors. Five more, and the exit lay in sight. I’d reach it with time to spare! I gave no heed to the pounding of my feet.\nMy breath, suddenly visible despite the warm summer air outside nearly obscured my vision but I wasn’t going to give up. I ran harder just as an icy chill surged up my spine. The exit was blocked. The thing that stood in my way to freedom was incredibly tall easily the height of the door, but it sagged forward as though deformity kept it in such a hunched posture. Its raggedly clothed body was a patchwork of rotting leathery skin and I screamed. My brain pleaded for my eyes to look away and find some place to hide. But where could I go that it wouldn’t follow? It knew every inch of this building, and I knew nothing.\nI was too late.\nWithin seconds, the thing was on me, moving faster than I thought possible for its size and disfigurement. Rasping breaths escaped a mouth teeming with far too many teeth for anything humanoid. Its eyes tracked my own as I took in the grotesque figure. Eyes. So many eyes.\nWeaponless, it reached to take hold of my face and dozens of fingers crawled against my cheeks like fat, wriggling worms.\nRUN! I screamed inside my head, but I couldn’t. I was frozen in place, frozen in fear.\nLeaning closer, its putrid breath pulled me from my momentary stupor and my eyes locked with its own. No, his… They were Damion’s. The patchwork of a dozen eyes stared back at me, but only one was blue with a grey outline and a speck of gold. Just like the pair that had stared into mine as Damion leaned in for a kiss a few hours before. A roiling pain overruled the confusion as a fire ignited inside my head and spread throughout my body. I could feel clicks and jerks as tendons stretched beyond capability and every joint bent and broke in all directions. Then all was black.\nA light appears, hazy in the distance, much like a beam distorted and cutting through the dark. It’s drawing me closer, pulling me toward it. Urging me despite my unwillingness to answer its call. I hear a faint, panicked whisper.\n“It’s coming.” The light disappears, casting the room into a darkness of achromatic shapes and shadows.\nI cannot stop myself as I move toward where the beam had been and raspy words float from me with a ghostly echo.\n“You can’t run forever.”" } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Reckless Blue Sky\n\nGenre: indigenous\n\nWord Count: 1670\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart your story with a character looking out of a window in the middle of the night." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "The smooth, predictable ride of the train was doing nothing to soothe the nerves Rena was feeling. Instead, the ambiguous shapes, camouflaged by the darkness outside of the large train window calmed her beating heart. The two day, one night train ride from Corix, the island's most populated city, to Ara, a region closest to the mountains, had just begun. two thirds of the trip ahead of her, Rena scratched at the cashmere pinching her neck. She cursed herself for not taking the shop attendant's advice to wear something under the sweater, since it was an unfamiliar fabric to her skin. She'd shrugged it off and threw it on her bed to wear it on this trip. It would be the one and only time she would wear it anyway. She did admit that she fit in almost seamlessly with the rest of the passengers. The women wore expensive sweaters with high heeled shoes and tied back hair. Rena swiped her hands across her thick black hair, ensuring that her braids were not too noticeable. Her friends had done a good enough job of tucking them into her low bun while creating a smooth and inconspicuous outer surface.\n\"I can't wait to get off this stuffy train and move into our new house!\" exclaimed a woman behind Rena, her accent making her out as a typical city slicker. Rena noted that all the people here spoke in ways that were unlike her and the people she knew. More eloquent. She wasn't jealous though, she just turned her left ear slightly to listen.\n\"I'm anxious to move in as well. We were always eager to solidify our relationship with the Founders, but now I see that we were doing a great job. Being asked to move to their new development is a great sign,\" a man, most likely her husband replied.\n\"Oh. How so?\" his wife asked.\n\"It means that they trust us to make the move look safe and attractive to others. They trust us to make their investment succeed and to handle any problems that arise from the location of the development,\" he explained in a whisper. He knew better than to be caught dead looking like a social climber. Rena was certain that he wasn't the only one on this train thinking the same way he did. Almost everyone sitting here was rich but not that high on the social hierarchy. Proximity to the Founders was the quickest way to bump up another echelon.\nRena had known that there was a big, government sponsored migration to the region of Ara, but she didn't know why until now. As she continued to listen to their hushed conversation she was made aware that Corix was becoming less and less like the utopia it was made out to be. Advertised as a place for the elite to live in harmony while the working class stuck to the farms inland; all of that changed when the seaside city of Corix got its first ever textile mill. Overpopulation, unbreathable air, and most importantly, the mixing of drastically different socioeconomic classes was the driving force of the Founders to gather their money and invest in settling another colony. The region of Ara wasn't unpopulated, but the Founder's weren't concerned with that. They never have been. Finally, while Rena was gazing at the window, listening to bits and pieces of their conversation, the conductor announced that the public areas except for the bathrooms and kitchen, that passengers could order from 24/7, would be closing for bedtime. Both the couple and Rena stood up and made their way to their rooms. Behind her still, the couple continued their risky conversation.\n\"I hear that the Founders are on this train, somewhere in a private car and that they'll be making their rounds tomorrow morning so make sure to look pretty and wear that perfume I bought you last weekend,\" the husband ordered.\n\"Sir, yes sir,\" the wife replied dryly, not taking well to being ordered around.\nRena went to bed in more comfortable pajamas, but to say that she slept would be an exaggeration. She tossed and turned all night, and awoke with a groan, remembering that she had another day of uncomfortable clothes to wear all day. She made quick work of doing her hair, following the instructions that her friends wrote for her.\nBreakfast consisted of the cheapest thing on the menu, eggs and toast. Although she was hungry, the food just didn’t suit her taste, so she picked at it until a waiter came to take it away. Sitting in the same spot she fidgeted in all yesterday, she waited for the famed Founders to make their rounds. The rumor of the Founders being in the same train had kept her tossing round and round all night. Rena had this crazy assumption that the Founders would sense that she was a scam. That her pearls were fake or that her heels were painted to make them look less old, her scent didn’t match the popular fragrances of the times. Thinking more about these systems and the ridiculous ways that they operate, Rena concluded that the people who created them were the only ones who could truly tell the truth from a forger. She hid her feet under the table and gripped the cup of complimentary water she was given. Suddenly, the couple from yesterday stomped into the seating area. Clearly, they’d fought over the wife’s appearance and rushed out of the room thinking they'd miss the Founders. Ultimately she left the room with uneven eyebrows, mismatched jewelry, and smelling of both lavender and ocean breeze. Rena sighed out of relief knowing that her own smell was being drowned out by the couple behind her.\nNo matter how hard Rena tried to look more relaxed by the second day, she couldn’t help but think of how out of place she was. She never much cared for these things, but for this one time and one time only, she wanted to be as normal as possible. \nJust as Rena was about to doze off, the couple behind her began their boxing match of complaints.\n“I told you that we had more time! The Brian’s probably gave us an early time so we’d fight and look like fools,” The wife spat out. Rena assumed that she was planning on keeping that to herself until about the second hour of waiting rolled around with no Founders to be seen.\n“How was I supposed to know that Alice? They seemed like a nice enough couple,” he said in defense of himself.\n“Ugh! You really are a townie aren’t you? This is how it’s done in Corix. You play nice until it’s time to get ahead,” she explained coldly. He didn’t say much after that.\nRena nodded slightly, finally understanding the dynamics of their relationship. She was more well off than him but he was a hard worker and competent enough to take over her family business. He was handsome enough, pretty smart, and tried his hardest to appeal to her. Little did she know that he was just some inexperienced social climber. The times weren’t so strict that she couldn’t divorce him if she wanted, so Rena wondered what was keeping her with him. Out of nowhere, the familiar crackle of the speakers went on. Rena’s detective activities switched gears, preparing her mind for a whole new mystery.\n“Ladies and Gentlemen of Corix and beyond, please rise for the Founders!” Loud cheers and the sound of booth seats being relieved of their weights erupted around the car. Rena jumped up and followed the leader, clapping passionately and fixing her dress. Just as the car door opened, the train had finally left the mountain it was traveling under. The blue sky was cloudless and you could almost see heaven. A good day to do something reckless.\nOne Founder and one resident at least. Then, get out of there if you can. If you can’t...take out as many Founders as possible. You know where your exit is. You only get one chance.\nThese were her orders as a spy for the village of Ara, a small indigenous tribe that’s been pushed around too long, and she would carry them out without fail.\nPulling her bun down, she released two handmade daggers that held a little message for the Founders and those who thought that her and her people were simply obstacles in their way to high society: ARA’S NOT YOURS\nWith all of the attention on the Founders, the collective gasp from the passengers and staff was quite loud when the dagger flew swiftly from Rena’s hand and right in between the eyes of an old, well dressed woman. She had the displeasure of being the first Founder to greet her adoring citizens. Before her body could hit the ground, Rena was sending her next dagger. She thought that it would be hard to choose from these strangers. She was less aware of their crimes. Maybe some of them were just going with the flow. But after listening to the couple behind her for hours, she was certain with her choice. Rena skillfully sent the blade straight towards the booth behind her, scratching the wife’s left ear and piercing her husband’s left eye. Rena took one moment to catch her breath and gather her strength but that was all the time she had left. With the Founders’ security pulling out their weapons, Rena got a jump start and ran.\nWeeks before this day, other members of her village had taken this train, sat by this window, secretly wiping it down with a fluid that weakens glass. She had no idea if it would work, but she had no choice but to try. Hopping onto the booth table she led with her shoulder where she inspected the weakest spot might be and jumped.\nCrack! \nFresh air. She ran as fast as she could, glass in her hair and freedom on her mind." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Window of Dimensional Transposition\n\nGenre: indigenous\n\nWord Count: 1031\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story that involves a magic window — or a window like no other." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "On display in the Museum of Quantum Phenomenon is a window. It is 1.524 meters tall and 0.914 meters wide with clear glass separated into 9 panels on the top and 9 on the bottom. It has a white, matte frame and a small placard providing a narrow history of the window, the seemingly most boring exhibit within the museum. The placard reads: Window of Dimensional Transposition, ca. 900 AD, Rome, Italy; discovered by Rinaldo Russo and donated in 2105 by the University of Bologna.\n\nStanding before the window is Dr. Una Harlowe, a quantum physicist who received a Nobel Prize in 2103 for mapping the temporal plane using the quantum spin of the subatomic particles that comprise non-baryonic matter. No one in the museum recognizes her as she stares at the window, the phenomenon that spurred her work forward. While studying physics at the University of Bologna, she worked under Dr. Marco Bianchi, and when he showed her a complex quantum spin pattern resembling a double helix, she smiled like she'd never heard of the window. She smiled like she didn't know about every instance of its use, accidental or otherwise.\n\nIn 1492, Christopher Columbus was in the midst of his journey towards the Caribbean when an unnamed individual opened the window and stepped through, pulling the entirety of the world into another \"dimension\" where Christopher Columbus landed in North America instead of the Caribbean and was killed by the Tequesta Tribe of Native Americans in Southern Florida. This precipitated the\nEuropean Conflict of 1501; the increased colonialism attempts led to the Native American Costal Expansion and the first Native American Coalition. \n\nIn 1776, during the Holy Roman Empire's invasion of the Unified American Tribes, local authorities in Rome, Italy were in pursuit of Englishman William Jacobson, a thief running away with over ten pounds of diamonds, when he found an unlocked window at street level, opened it, and brought the world into a new timeline. A timeline where the Holy Roman Empire successfully invaded the Unified American Tribes and was on a path to conquer all of North America, which instigated the enslavement of Native Americans. William Jacobson was caught and sentenced to death.\n\nIn 1812, in the midst of a successful Hopi Revolution, Alessandra Moretti fled through the window in an attempt to escape her arranged betrothal. Before being able to flee through the window, servants pulled her back in and shut it. When Alessandra beat her new husband unconscious with a candelabra, she successfully\nescaped through the window. The new timeline saw the Hopi Revolution crushed, and Alessandra confined to her husband's estate for life. \n\nAs one European said in 1969: \"[The Indigenous American's] misfortune is no fault of their own; but alas, so it goes.\"\n\nHundreds of years, thousands of opportunities, fallen through their grasp. Una feels the dampness on her face but does not wipe it away. Twenty-five years in Europe for this moment. Twenty-five years of no contact with her tribe in the Americas. Twenty-five years of pretending to be of Indo-European descent. Her albinism\nserved her well.\n\n\"The museum closes in ten minutes,\" a delicate voice claims over the intercom. \"Please stop by the guest shop on your way out!\" \n\nUna swallows and pulls out her tablet. A probable rendering of the temporal plane displays when she unlocks the device. Her fingers trace the double helix, branching variant spirals that all stretched on indefinitely. Time is finite, she learned during the mapping process. Everything ends. Every deviant branch of a road not taken withers and collapses. Particles stop spinning. Entropy reaches a maximum. \n\nLife is finite.\n\nShe would make suffering finite as well.\n\nAt this moment in 2113, the Alliance of Indigenous Peoples is in the midst of a coup. Having hoarded supplies for twenty-five years, they march on the European Confederacy Embassy. Armed drones first, followed by remote operated artillery vehicles and programmed automatons, and finally the foot soldiers. Inside the Embassy, ambassadors and politicians watch on 24 screens that cycle through the various cameras as the insurrection marches forth with determination. The Italian ambassador calls Enzo De Luca, captain of the Trans Dimensional Task Force and tells him to take Dr. Marco Bianchi to the Museum of Quantum Phenomenon to use the window and fix this, dammit.\n\nTwenty meters away from the window, a security guard notices Una and makes his way towards her as she types on her tablet with vigor, trying to find the derivative of the temporal plane to manipulate the window into getting her to the correct timeline. The one where her people aren't suffering and confined like animals to 3,200 square kilometers. The one where they can get a job. The one where slurs aren't thrown at them like rotten food. The one where they're equal. \n\nArmed men guard the Embassy. Their weapons more modernized, their bellies more full. But they stand against the indigenous peoples who have suffered for almost a millennium. Let the blood the of interlopers nourish the earth.\n\nThe security guard reaches out to grab Una, her hand on the glass of the window. \"You can't touch that. You need to leave.\" But Una opens the window, sees yellow grass just on the other side, a light dusting of snow. The security guard grabs her arm, and Una uses her free hand, the one with the tablet, and breaks the device on his face, shards of glass caught there and blood dribbling down. He staggers and falls, releasing her. \n\nOpen fire echoes against the promenade of the Embassy. The ambassadors clamber under their desks, hands above their heads, as if this were a tornado drill. As if that act alone could protect them of the rage of suppressed.\n\nUna steps through the window, clambering down the ground. She is still in Europe, the weather is a touch colder. She looks back at the window, shut now. With great care, she takes off a shoe, her sock absorbing the cold snow, and throws it at the window. The sound of the glass breaking is the sound of any other glass breaking, and for the first time in twenty-five years, her smile is genuine." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: It Looks Back\n\nGenre: indigenous\n\nWord Count: 1615\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart your story with a character looking out of a window in the middle of the night." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "The Dark\nWhen we look into the darkness, our deepest selves understand that something looks back. Anthony looked out the window as midnight struck.... looked into a dark so crushing, that it felt tangible, encompassing..... stifling.... toxic. The thing looking back at him, its grotesque, teeth filled mouth, scowled more than smiled. Soon, it’s hunger would end. Anthony smiled back and thought “we’ll see whose hunger will be sated this night”. The thing of the darkness, whose very existence had struck a fear so primal into the hearts of such varied creatures, that it itself, knew not the feeling, recoiled unexpectedly, not understanding what had caused this reaction. Unknowingly, it now knew fear’s strangling grasp. \nBefore.........\nAnthony was anything, but typical. He always thought himself unique, set apart, viciously intelligent, decidedly smart, a man among men. He thought the world unappreciative of what he contributed to it. The world, and fairly so, thought him average. Anthony therefore thought the measuring stick was broken. His thoughts on the matter were reinforced by the rejection letters he’d recently gotten from all the big and small publishing houses, for his novels. Anthony knew his works were without equal, speaking to realities and fantasies, through a written medium so good that people should count themselves fortunate to live at the same time as an author so rarely gifted. \nLetter after letter came back however, and Anthony became increasingly paranoid that some where, some floundering author would find his stories discarded by these blind editors and use his words to break out into the writing world. He started to research the copy right laws to ensure he could fight these battles, that he was sure would come. From his small town, he wondered how he’d even find out that his stories were out there? Can a writer become famous, recognized and paid with his stories, without him knowing? Yes, he answered himself.\nAnthony however, could not hide the deep shame he felt having been rejected though. \nThe ever lessening ashamed yet sensible part of him told him that he just was not that good, and should just accept that and carry on being a good average guy, with an average job, average girl, average family.....average life, and die being not remembered as nothing but average. As he was rejected, Anthony rejected this. He was more, and more for this world, and he’d make the world know it, until it felt it in the very deepest parts of its deepest oceans, till it resounded from the highest parts of the tallest mountains. Anthony would be remembered when he was no more, and lauded when he was here. He’d just have to give them all a little nudge in the right direction. It should not take much he thought, his work was really good. \nBeing a small town boy, Anthony was always confused as to why the folks around were so cliquish. It was not like they had all these options. Being however, a boy in a town he moved too as a young teen, in the middle of middle America, being the only black family for as far as the eye could see.... and the only Trinidadians for as far as bird could fly.... well.... that made it a tad more difficult. Anthony’s parents were determined however to have a different American story. His dad, as the town doctor was liked well enough, and his mom as the town dentist brought smiles, not just owing to her trade. \nAnthony was accepted well enough, but the divisions between the other young adults and himself was more owing to him than them. Anthony lived mostly in his mind, in his books, in his sci fi movies. He was an expert introvert. He really then, never fit in. Anthony however desperately wanted to not just fit in, but to be recognized as the most important element in any grouping. And Anthony felt that this was not asking too much. The world however did not seem to agree \nAnthony had been back to Trinidad with his parents a number of times, back to his rural village to the south of the island and like them was glad to get back home to their nice house in their nice town. On one visit however, unknown to his parents, Anthony had met up with the village witch doctor. Anthony never knew that the obeya man had sought him out..... the rich little village boy who lived away, was reserved and noted to be into stories of fantasy and fiction. \nThe witch doctor understood that here lay fertile ground for his demons to plant their seeds, migrate and multiply in a whole new country. The obeya man had met up with Anthony and seemingly granted a small favor..... the next day Anthony got a call from a big magazine that he’d won a short story competition. All it had cost Anthony was $1,000.00 US, negligible, as the prize money was $5,000.00 and Anthony would be interviewed and featured in the magazine. Anthony thought himself on his way to recognition. The witch doctor knew Anthony’s soul was on its way to hell. \nThe witch doctor was aware that he no more controlled the demons than the olden people who danced around their fires controlled the rain. He was a channel though which the demons came and he was granted longevity and through his consultations, prosperity. All it had cost him was his soul. When the demons came, they needed fertile ground in which to grow, to rest, to wait.....their growing field was the unsuspecting soul of a victim. \nYes, the demons granted favors....little things.... that led to little bigger things... but never enough to make their consorts not ask for more.The demons had a practiced trade. They gave just enough to make people need them desperately..... hungrily, greedily..... until giving to the demon was like breathing. All the while, the person would think that it was the witch doctor who granted them the favors, not knowing that the deal was now between them and the devil. Until there was nothing of them left, nothing left to give. Then a master demon, a demon prince would come from hell and would take over and walk this world in the shell of the former person. It was a formula that had worked forever. \nHis parents were shocked when Anthony told them that he’d like to go to Trinidad on his own, to visit family and friends. His parents had always thought him too reserved, too shut in, for a young man, so were glad when he offered the suggestion. And the recent events in town had everyone on edge. The disappearances were more than concerning..... kids Anthony’s age. One or two that he knew. Maybe the time away was ideal. \nWhen Anthony arrived to his native village he followed the expected routine. Met all he was supposed to, made the usual rounds, laughed at the oft told jokes about when he was young, about his parents, before they made the bold move to migrate. He followed the usual patterns until he could get away on his own. This time however, he sought out the witch doctor..... or so he thought. The doctor was waiting for him. \nAnthony’s request was small. He just wanted to be the most famous writer ever. The witch doctor, what ever little piece of humanity was left in him shuddered. The obeya man had been born with the sight.... the ability to see demons, and see them attached to people. The more the people fed the demon, the more the demon grew....resilient in their evil. He saw the demon that wrapped around Anthony now, whispering in his ear. And even the witch doctor wanted to scream and run away. He’d never seen a demon so strong. What he did not know was that Anthony had asked ever growing little favors. And Anthony kept giving of his soul.... and then when that was not enough, Anthony had...... decided that other souls should pay his price.\nThe witch doctor knew the look of a demon fed by murder. And this demon looked more fed than any he’d ever seen. His last human shred, wanted to turn the boy away..... but the witch doctor knew\nit was too late for him to take such a righteous stance. He was as lost as Anthony, and never able to see the demon that whispered in his witch doctor’s ear. \nThe boy had come to ask why his favors were no longer being granted. He had.....done......what was asked of him. The witch doctor told the boy that sacrificing strangers fed little favors.... sacrificing a loved one would satisfy the greatest need. Anthony new then that this was his role to play.... the “tragic orphan” would make for a better biography at the back of his novels in any even.....Anthony made up his mind, paid the witch doctor for his consultation..... only $10,000.00 US and left. The two whispering demons smiled. \nNow...... \nSo yes, Anthony looked out the window and what he really saw was not the grotesque creature of the dark.....but the reflection of the demon wrapped around him, mouth close to his ear. Behind him lay the decapitated, dismembered and decomposing bodies of his parents......through the mail chute was acceptance letter after acceptance letter from every major publishing house, anxious to give this hot new author his taste of fame.....but they all remained unopened...... Anthony was no longer home to open them..... a prince had taken up residence in Anthony’s shell..... and even Anthony’s whispering demon was afraid. The demon prince looked out at the new world and smiled. Tonight we begin." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: C-Section Scar\n\nGenre: horror\n\nWord Count: 1073\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story that includes someone saying, “You can’t run forever.”" }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "I can pack all of my belongings and my son’s in under thirty minutes. I attribute part of this to my military kid upbringing. My parents liked to live the minimalist lifestyle, they’d only put a few decorations up here and there. And while I hated seeing bare walls on each house or apartment we lived in; I definitely see the appeal now.\nMy son is homeschooled because it is easier to do that then explain to his teachers why we move so often. And before you ask, it’s not because of the military. Granted, my son is only in first grade, so I’m finding the material relatively easy to teach, but I’m sure in a few years it’ll get hairy.\nMy son, Carter, is always a good sport about leaving, He may not fully understand why at times, but he’s too young for me to tell the whole story and I don’t want to burden him with that right now. This has been the longest we’ve stayed in one place; it’s almost been eight months now. Which I’ve found is long enough for Carter to make friends and I loved and hated that at the same time. Not at the thought of him making friends, but the inevitable conversation I’m going to have to have with him when the time comes to leave. \nHe took the last move a little hard, and frankly I did too. I moved us to the West Coast, a place I had always wanted to live since I was little but never got the chance to. I wanted Carter to breathe in the saltiness of the seawater, put his feet in the sand and build sandcastles. I wanted him to experience what it was like to just be a kid for once and put hopefully put down roots. And he got to do that but only for a measly four weeks. \nNow living in dreary Seattle, a place I never wanted to move because of its constant gloominess and downpouring rain, is the place we get to call home. Well at least until she finds us again, and I hope for Carter’s sake she won’t.\nI supposed I should now tell you the story of why we are running. On the day that I turned 38 I realized how quickly my biological clock was ticking. I had two failed marriages at that point, and I was desperate to have my own child. I did a few rounds of IVF using a sperm donor and when I received countless negative pregnancy tests, my hope dwindled and so did my bank account. I felt hopeless until my sister volunteered to carry my child for me and be my surrogate. \n I was surprised to say in the least, considering we had a rocky relationship over the years and rarely saw eye to eye. But when she offered to be my surrogate it was as though we had a clean slate. Though I’ll admit at times that I was jealous that she could be pregnant while I couldn’t. But I knew without her, I wouldn’t be having a child. I was just thankful she was doing this for me. \nHer labor was horrendous. She pushed and pushed for hours and wanted nothing more than a natural home birth. The home birth was one she planned for as soon as she found out she was pregnant, instead she was taken to the hospital for an emergency c-section. I held her hand the entire time throughout the ride in the ambulance and to the surgery. \nI felt as though I had taken a breath for the first time when I heard his cry. When he was set in my arms instead of hers, I watched her joyous expression turn to envy.\nAs she laid in the hospital bed, recovering, she stared at him in the bassinet before turning to me. “Can I name him?”\nMy eyes flickered towards her, her mouth agape as she gave me a sweet smile. “Name him?” I asked, still in awe.\n“Yeah, I had a whole list of names while I was pregnant and now that I’ve seen him, I have the perfect name.” She paused, waiting for my reaction. I raised my eyebrow and she replied, “Elliot.” Excitement was written all over her face as soon as she said it. While I didn’t hate the name, I have always wanted to name my son, Carter. There were no words to explain how grateful I was that she did this for me, but I couldn’t just give up the name that I’ve been wanting to use for years.\n“Carter Elliot Smith.” Her face dimmed when I said this.\n“So, you won’t use Elliot as his first name?”\nI shook my head, and she plastered on a fake smile, one that I thought was real at the time. “I love it.”\nWhen I left to go to the bathroom, I thought I heard her call him Elliot. But I didn’t know if I was just being paranoid and hearing things, so I brushed it off. \nThe first couple months were hard, way harder than I was expecting. He was colicky, barely sleeping and therefore neither did I. My sister was more than helpful and even started living in my guestroom to help with those late-night feeds and anything else I needed. It was perfect, until I woke up one morning and they were gone. It took me almost a week to find them and that was only because my mom managed to trap them at her house. My mom knew that she took him as her own when she called him Elliot. \nNow looking back at it, I wish I never would have taken her up on her offer. Not that I don’t love my son, but I don’t love having to move every time she discovers where we live. I hoped she would move on by now, but she’s reminded of Carter anytime she glances down at her c-section scar. \nI heard feet scuffle in the hallway, and my breath hitches every time I hear the sound of shoes close to our door. Not knowing whose they were, I walked over to the door and stood on my tiptoes. She’s standing right in front of the door. As if she knows I’m standing behind it, she smiles that sinister smile of hers and says, “You can’t run forever.”" } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: The window of feelings\n\nGenre: indigenous\n\nWord Count: 2612\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story that involves a magic window — or a window like no other." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "John is a young man in his thirties who has not had much satisfaction in life. He was born in a small town and grew up in another where everyone observed his behavior and if he fulfilled-the-foundations-of-life, that is: study, marry, have children and a good job, but John could not achieve anything of that in his life.\nOne autumn day, tired of waiting for life to smile on him, he decided to take a vacation and visit different places within his country for which he decided to stay in hostels or country houses. He did not want to go to big cities or luxurious hotels, he preferred the tranquility of those country places that abound so much in the interior. For this he had put together a map where he had marked some places where he would spend a night in each of them.\nHe took the first train that would drop him off at a station close to his first destination. Upon arrival, he observed a picturesque welcome sign, which he already liked about the place because he made him feel at ease. Upon entering the lodge, a familiar, cozy place, with its owners serving behind the entrance counter with the face of good people and with a good-natured air that inspired confidence and whom they received with a beautiful smile and a strong and warm: “Welcome Mr. John! We were waiting for it! \" And there he already felt that he had not made a mistake in choosing that place to stay. Kindly, they accompanied him to what would be his room that night, which looked and felt clean and tidy and very tastefully decorated, but what caught John's attention the most was the window that was as beautiful as the rest of the room, its white frame, and its crystals so clean and bright that it seemed not to have them. He did not think about it too much and he dropped his suitcase on the floor and leaped to see that he could be seen from there. Everything that was seen was beautiful! The people seemed happy, radiant; some were even singing along the path that adjoined the lodge. Juan saw beauty wherever he looked, the sounds that came from outside were harmonious and very charming. The sound of the stream that was near there, the chirping of the birds, the laughter of the children scampering around the place, the breeze lifting the fallen leaves on the ground and making them dance through the air with an extraordinary and worthy magic and charm. watch. And the aromas were of damp grass after the rain and wet earth, of the flowers in the garden that overlooked just below the window of John's room, of freshly washed clothes that were lying a little further on in the house next to the lodge.\nJohn was EUPHORIC and this made all that he saw through this window was EUPHORIA as well. That night, he slept so peacefully that he thanked him for deciding to take that vacation.\nThe next day, he left for his next destination, a place that at first, he did not agree very much to mark on his map because he had to take the train and a bus to get there and that already put him off. Bad mood. And he was not wrong! It happened that the train was delayed and after almost two hours of travel, when he went to take the only bus that passed there that day to take him to his destination, it left because of course, the I arrived later as the train was delayed. Juan was no longer the same as the day before and as the next bus would pass again the next day, he had to spend the night in a boarding house where, upon entering, his owner did not answer him good night or accompany him to the room, simply He gave him the key and indicated with his finger that he should go up the stairs to the second floor. Upon entering the room, I noticed a musty smell coming from under the old and not very clean carpet, the walls were covered with wallpaper with huge and grotesque flowers, and, in some corners, it was somewhat unstuck. John sighed and went to the tiny window that had the room with a dark and rough wooden frame due to the lack of varnish the glass was not clean so the images he saw through it were not truly clear and in fact even somewhat distorted. Outside it was already dark and the only light that shone was in the corner in front, below it, you could see people going by with their heads down, other people in the opposite corner had started a fight, who knows why but their screams and faces they were of fury and ANGER very notorious at the same time that a dog barked non-stop making Juan feel more and more ANGRY for having to spend a night in that horrible place but unfortunately he could do nothing but wait until the next day until he took the bus that would drop you off at your destination. That night he hardly slept because the dog continued barking without stopping and for worse a storm broke out that the sound of the wind was so intense that it seemed that everything was going to end. The rain hit hard on the roof and against the glass of the window which made Juan less able to fall asleep and he only wished that morning would come. His IMPACIENCE revealed him even more and when the first rays of the sun finally appeared and he looked out the window, he saw people walking in a hurry, looking at their watches, as if everyone were late somewhere, they looked IMPATIENT, and he also started to hurry to rearm his suitcase to go to the bus stop. He waited there for more than an hour and did not even appear; he already wanted to leave that place and reach the destination that he had chosen.\nAlready on the trip he began to feel that everything was going wrong for him as, in fact, he felt that in his life it was also so and when observing the rest of the passengers, I notice that, for the most part, he was dealing with elderly people , with the skin of their faces tanned by the sun and the years working outdoors in the fields, their hands rustic and old from cultivating the land. They all looked SAD, with a look of having lost hope, perhaps longing for a distant land or for a love of youth that was not. Finally, the bus stopped at its stop and John got out with a heaviness in his chest and a lump in his throat. He entered the lodge that he had reserved for the night before but when he reported what had happened, they also kept his room. When I enter it, I observe the walls were painted a faded blue and the only painting located on the wall at the head of the bed showed an image of a ship in a storm, also in blue tones and could be seen in the prow at its crew members scared by the fate that awaited them. Again, John gave a sigh and slowly went to the small window and from there he observed a dead bird that was lying under a tree that, surely, with the storm of the previous night, fell from its nest. Children walked by in dark uniforms on their way to school. There was no garden or flowers nearby, all the way around the lodge was covered by gray concrete and in the distance, he could see the silhouette of a man sitting by the door of the only open store, wearing old and torn clothes, begging for alms. This whole scene awakened in John a SADNESS so deep that that lump in his throat and those tears that he had been holding exposed him with all his strength in a disconsolate cry. That night, John did not sleep very well either because that pain in his chest stayed there without finding a real reason.\nThe next morning, he woke up with OPTIMISM, took a shower, got dressed, had breakfast in a bar that offered delicious homemade bread, had a cup of coffee, and went for a walk to tour the town. On the way he passed children running and laughing, an elderly couple holding hands and looking at each other with the same love as when they met more than fifty years ago. He saw an OPTIMIST young woman put up the open sign to her new bakery with delicious sweets and cakes that she baked and sold herself. He saw her with a radiant smile and placing some pots with beautiful flowers on the side of the entrance door to make the welcome to her new clients who did not take long to arrive.\nJohn already had another more relaxed face when he returned to the inn, he went up to his room and looked out the same window as he had done the night before, but this time, he discovered that in the nest of the tree that he saw the dead bird now other hungry birds could be seen and heard chirping waiting for their mother to return with food in her beak and feed them. He also noticed, which he had not done on his first day, that, on the side of that gray concrete path, there were large planters with beautiful and colorful flowers that gave off a fresh and exquisite aroma that reached where he was. I also notice that that man in rags that he saw begging the day before, now wore clean clothes that surely someone would have given him and that a woman offered him a cup of coffee and a sandwich in exchange for sweeping the leaves from the entrance of his house simply so that he would feel useful doing something without feeling ashamed to receive money as he had seen it before.\nThat night John went back to sleep peacefully and even had beautiful dreams that he would remember the next day when he left for his last destination marked on the map, which was nothing more and nothing less than the town where he was born but that he hardly remembered since his parents They moved in when he was still a little boy.\nWhen he got to that little town, he felt at ease. You breathed fresh air and also the occasional aroma of coffee and freshly baked bread coming out of a cafeteria where he passed to ask where the address that he had as his birthplace was located. The man in the cafe noticed his familiar face and asked him if it was something from Joseph and, indeed, he was his father! Then he welcomed him, invited him with a coffee and a portion of cake and told him many and incredibly beautiful stories of his father's adolescence and youth since they had gone to the same school together and that made Juan very happy because his father He had died when he was a teenager and he had almost no memory of his father nor did he keep photos of his youth. The man accompanied him a few meters until he took the street that would take him directly to what was his house. Arriving there, I hesitate at first, but he decided to ring the bell and ask if it was possible for him to enter and go through it to see if any memory appeared in his memory as a child. As she did so, she opened the door to a beautiful young woman about her age with golden curls and eyes as blue as the sky. John introduced himself, explained the situation and her intention to see her house and the young woman, with a bright smile, immediately ushered him in. Inside were her grandparents, since that was actually her house and she had simply stopped by to visit them since she lived and worked in an even smaller town nearby. When the man saw Juan, he was moved to tears and gave him a hug full of LOVE to what Juan was not used to receiving since his family had always been quite distant in terms of feelings. The woman did the same as her husband and immediately served him a cup of tea with such an exquisite aroma that John closed his eyes and for a moment, he returned to being that little boy that he once was and of whom he no longer remembered anything. After touring the house and seeing what had been his room that was empty because the only daughter of the marriage had gone to study, then he got married and did not return to live with them, but it was not a reason for nostalgia because they were happy because she had found a good man to raise a family with and they had this curly-haired young woman who was their adoration. When saying goodbye to her and thanking them for so much kindness, the young woman offered to accompany him to tour the town and show him some places that he had surely been and did not remember but that when she saw them, she would surely do so. That is how they walked for a long time through the streets of the place, and, at sunset, she invited him to a last place that she promised she would love. John was so excited and happy that he followed her without asking and then they climbed a small hill covered with an intense green grass and covered in some parts by a blanket of very pretty little white flowers and in front of them… the incredibly beautiful sunset! The orange and reddish colors of the sky and the sinking sun reflected and intensified even more the gold of her curls and her eyes turned bluer. The breeze was cool and suddenly they were surprised by a bird that came out of nowhere and made their faces get closer, they looked into each other's eyes and for a moment, almost without planning it, they kissed, their immediate reaction was to blush. and smile like two teenagers, then they hugged and finished watching that magnificent sunset that seemed like a gift that someone very dear to give them to bring these two souls together since Eloise, that is the name of the young woman with golden curls, had had many heartbreaks in life but knew that one day, someone with a kind heart would come to heal her wounds and fill her with LOVE.\nJohn returned to the hostel where he was, once again, he went to the window of the room and through the crystal, crystalline and impeccable, he saw a couple walking hand in hand, a girl and a boy giving a tender kiss on the cheek, the birds in their nests with their chicks, and the flowers, ahh the flowers, in all their splendor full of color and giving off an aroma that attracted the bees and the butterflies that flew and settled on them creating a perfect picture that sweetened the all those who passed by.\nJohn sighed again, but this time his sigh was with a LOVING attitude and satisfaction for having decided to make that trip without expecting to find there the one who would later become the woman of his life." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: The window beast\n\nGenre: indigenous\n\nWord Count: 1058\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart your story with a character looking out of a window in the middle of the night." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "In our old house, was a window. A window that steals children at night. That is what my grandfather used to tell us. Us little kids running around in the house barefoot on a hot summer day.\n\nGrandpa rarely visited, but whenever he did, he used to stare out of the window just like I'm doing now. Wearing a smile and enjoying a cup of tea, he would sit on a chair facing the window situated in our kitchen just next to our green refrigerator. For hours, long into the night, where sounds and emotions went quiet and then dead.\n\nI remember him sometimes. Whenever I sit at night on the same chair staring out at the darkness, examining the night shades of the sky, searching for stars and guessing their constellations’ name.\n\nI always thought that we came from space. Our family, I mean. Or even the entire human race. That we somehow ended up here in this planet, stuck with nowhere else to go, but ourselves. Our precious little selves, running around barefoot on a hot summer day.\n\nFrom the window, I can see the sea. The Mediterranean.\nFrom the window, I can see an old railway. Rusted and unused since the civil war. Maybe people didn’t need to commute that much, during the war, I often said to myself. The truth was that many regions where cut off from each other. People were cut off as well. That is what wars do. Cut off things, limbs and souls, families and destinies, states and minorities.\n\nIt was a chilly night, but I kept the window fully open, to receive the night air as a decent guest, as a grandfather long gone.\nOur grandpa used to visit, because we could not go. The complications of the war prohibited my father from returning to his natal town up north for several years.\nSometimes, when I was thirsty at night after a long day at the beach, I would come go to the kitchen to drink, and there he was. Sitting, facing the window enjoying the cooler wind, looking through the emptiness, looking at the north.\n\nOur flat was on the second floor, right above a gas station. That’s right. A gas station, no kidding. Well at least, we never ran out of gas. But who would ever think of building such a 5 story building above a gas station in the middle of a crowded city. Well I would not know, but I can tell you who rent such an apartment, well you’ve guested it, my parents.\n\nI can blame the war, the currency depreciation, the economic crisis. I can blame every factor of the situation, but the truth is that it was a dangerous thing to do. However not as half dangerous as rising your children in a war. For that I still don’t know how they made it. I still don’t know how they remain sane. But I know that our grandpa was here, with his histories to add a sense of normality to our perilous existence.\n\nOur grandpa stories would usually start something like this:\n“The window is really a beast. An enormous beast, disguised as a simple window”\n- But you’re not serious grandpa. My little sister would response.\n- I am serious, racha. See how big his mouth is. He would reply pointing to the edges.\n- But where is the rest? I would ask.\n- Invisible of course.\n- Invisible?\n- He stays invisible? I ask.\n- Most of the time. Don’t you hear it rage sometimes at night?\n- True, sometimes we hear big sounds at night.\n- And after that where would you go?\n- To the shelter. I responded.\n- Where you’re safe from this window beast. No one should ever approach it. Especially at night. Especially when he roar. He would add.\n- But I see you sitting next to the window sometimes. I see you grandpa.\n- That is right. All beasts should be watched.\n- And you’re not afraid when you close or open the window. You’re not afraid it will take your hand?\n- Of course I am, but I wait till there is no more sound. When he’s asleep.\n- Do beast sleep?\n- Sometimes they even die.\n- I hope the window beast dies soon.\n\nBut he didn’t. After a couple of months the window beast ate one of the children in the neighborhood. That’s when I knew that every house had a window beast. I knew him, he was called mike and we rarely played football together at the church yard on Saturdays. I didn’t know his house had a window monster too.\n- Grandpa, did you know that the window beast took mike as well.\n- Very very sad. One should always be careful of these windows. As I told you before. He looked worried and depressed.\n- Where did mike go?\n- I don’t know, child. I would like to think to a place where one can play all day long.\n- And go to the beach?\n- Sure.\n- And eat ice cream?\nMy grandpa smiled. His was tired he said. And went to bed early that night. We all did. Without electricity, and TV, the night seemed like a time hole where entering it was an unnecessary risk.\n\nAfter 3 years, the window beast left. There was no sounds at night. No shelter visits and no lights exploding in the sky. The window was finally tranquil, plain and boring, like any other window. I could touch it, stare at it, cross my hands on its edge without any fear. \nAs I stare from my window tonight, I remember everything. Although I was only 5 when the events took place, I still recall the words, the colors, and the fears. The heartbeats of a child descending the stairs to reach a shelter. The sound that woke me first and the broken glass of the window when we came back to our house the morning after.\nWe were able visit the north with dad, and get to know his coastal town. We were able to sit and stare from our grandpa’s window even when he was not here no more, when his window beast, came at night and took him, to the sea or to space where he always belonged." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Gone by Morning\n\nGenre: horror\n\nWord Count: 1361\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story in which a character is running away from something, literally or metaphorically." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "When going downtown, say for a walk in the old park, in the early hours of the morning – especially when the sun has yet to rise – it’s never a bad idea to be aware of your surroundings; you’ll never know what else is there in the dark with you.\n This public park is not unlike any other; you’ve probably seen one just like it near your home. In this particular park, a young man named Michael Wren is walking home from the night shift at the twenty-four-hour McDonald’s. He walks this same route every work night as his home is only a few miles away and he doesn’t feel like using the gas. Besides, traffic is so bad on his way that he would bet that it would take longer for him to drive to work than to walk there, anyway.\n The time is approximately five-thirty in the a.m., and the sun is still less than an hour away. Michael was walking with his hands tucked in his Dickie pants as he absently chewed on a pull string from his hood on his Green Bay Packers hoodie, his tired feet making a lazy plop on the paved walkway beneath him. He badly wished to himself that he remembered to bring his headphones today – Though he had gotten fairly used to this walk, it had become increasingly boring with each trip to and from his house to the greasy burger joint. He began to have some serious worries that he might go insane from the monotonous nothingness that was happening around him. Now and then he would hear a car driving somewhere in between the buildings nearby, but for the most part, the streets remained empty and all the windows around him were dark. He felt a pang of envy as he pictured them all still asleep in their beds and yearned for his own, telling himself he might not even set the alarm when he got home and just let himself sleep until he simply could not sleep a second more.\n Overhead electrical lamps cast a dim yellow glow, the light of which barely stretched beyond a small cone pointed down, and when Michael looked at his arm under these lamps, he would see that his skin looked orange as its pigment mixed with the gloomy yellow. He thought about trying to find a way to make a game out of this to pass the time, but just then he noticed the electrical lamp starting to rapidly flicker on and off, emanating a horribly irritating buzzing sound. Michael found he might be able to find a tune in the bzz, bzz-zz, rzz, if it wasn’t such a mind-splitting high-pitched ring.\n Then, there was another sound he could hear through the buzzing of the short-circuiting lights. A distant and rapid thun-thun-thun-thun was coming from behind him, and it sounded like it was getting closer – and it was fast, too. He quickly turned around and swung his head back and forth, looking for the source of the sound. As his head turned too far to the left or the right, he felt he could see something moving towards him in his peripherals. He focused on the direction he thought he saw it coming from but saw nothing.\n He peered hard in that direction, squinting his eyes to filter away the yellow glow of the street lamps. Yes, there was something there. Michael thought he could make out a faint outline of a person halfway behind a tree, though it was hard to say for sure. “Hello?” he called out. But the thing that looked like a person did not reply. He shrugged, turned around, and continued walking.\n Thun-thun-thun-thun. That intense sprinting-like sound again. Even closer, now.\n Michael spun back around again, and he saw that same silhouette, though now it was behind a much closer tree near the walkway, and it was very clear now that this was the outline of a person. He called out to the figure, “Yo, I can see you! What do you want?” But just like before, it did not respond. He stared at the person, holding his gaze until he scoffed, muttering, “Just try something, man. I can take you easy.” He turned his back to the shadow. Thun-thun.\n He turned to face them again and saw the shadow had fully emerged from behind the tree – only now that it was fully underneath an electric lamp, it remained a full shadow, fully blacked, darker than the night sky above. Worse, Michael could see this shadow had glowing crimson eyes. He always questioned whether or not time would appear to stand still during moments of great stress, but assumed that this was what was happening now, as with this brief glance it looked like this shadowy creature was caught in mid-sprint, one leg far out behind it and the other stretching uncannily long ahead of it. Both its arms were stretched long out before it, towards Michael.\n Michael inhaled deeply and exclaimed, “What in the fuck?!” as he turned briskly on his heel and tried to break out into a sprint of his own. He tripped as he accidentally kicked against the back of his left heel and fell forward onto his palms. Thun-thun-thun-thun-thun! The thing pounded eagerly toward him, and Michael pushed his hands on the ground in a modified push-up, kicking his legs forward, and ran as hard as he could. “Help!” he cried out, “somebody please help me!” But the slumbering neighborhood remained sleeping, all the windows remained dark and lifeless. It was as if they had no choice but to ignore his pleas.\n He seemed to have forgotten all the ache and tiredness in his limbs from working his overnight shift, and an extra hour at that because of a late coworker meant to relieve him. All Michael did know was that he had to get away as fast as he could. He continued to scream, but now with a wordless howl – a desperate cry for anyone to turn and look – which no one did, of course.\n Thun-thun-thun-THUN-THUN-THUN!\n Michael could feel the space behind him getting cold. It was worse than any cold from a winter night; it was what he would imagine absolute zero felt like. It crept up to him as the shadow advanced like a wall of ice eating away the rest of the heat around him as it desired to close in around him. He saw before him the sun had started to rise, and the realization dawned on him that this would be the last sunrise he would ever see. I wish I had taken more time to look at more of these, he thought miserably to himself.\n A hand that felt as icy as death itself gripped the back of his hoodie. Michael stumbled to the ground without a coherent thought in his mind, only existential terror spiking through him like he never felt before and assumed he never would again. He heard the fabric of his hoodie tear behind him as he slammed onto the concrete. He squeezed his eyes shut as he huddled in a fetal position, his arms instinctively up to shield his face from whatever came next.\n He lay there for several seconds until he found the courage to slowly open one eyelid. Then another. He cautiously lifted his head, and up to a sitting position. Natural light had filled the air around him, and there was no sign of a red-eyed shadow anywhere around him. He reached around and found a large patch of his hoodie had been torn clean off; a patch of green fabric that was nowhere to be seen – that was now adrift on another plane of existence that was very far from where Michael existed.\n Michael would later commit himself to start running more regularly and to get in better shape. More importantly, however, a much larger commitment was that he would leave home earlier, in his car, and would never walk alone in the night again; because who can say if one is truly alone when walking in the dark?" } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Home away from Home\n\nGenre: indigenous\n\nWord Count: 1560\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart your story in an empty guest room." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "I sat down with a sigh. The midday heat was creasing through my body and I felt the beads of sweat on that rollercoaster down my spine. The pony tail at the back of my head was making me really uncomfortable so I just remove my hair band and prop it all up in a bun. I knew I look tragic wearing my hair that way, but the extreme heat gave me no other option.\nI fanned my hands in defense but it was of no avail, so I strained forwards to pick up the newspaper. A quiet creak. I dust it off on my pants and start fanning myself.\nAfter a few moments I casually look at the paper , Lakbima* , and skim through the headlines. Provincial elections around the corner and politicians on their brim of campaigning while on the other end human-elephant conflicts avail with no promising solution. It’s a week old, but I dwell on its content with human interest.\nI feel exhausted that I lie back. The quiet cream louder again, now back and forth and then to a stop. I look around. Here I am in a strange room, sitting on a small creaky bed with a coir mattress covered in a beautifully flowered bed dress. It smells fresh of washing and kapuru*, direct from folding in our tradition wooden cupboard architecture.\nA small bedside table and a chair sat facing the open window that brought in the sweet cool breeze that enlightened my mood in the current heat. A white laced curtain was pulled back and the view extended to a lush greenery glistening under the bright sunshine. Fields of paddy stood in the horizon flashing its pride to all onlookers. It was breathtaking.\nThe heat was affecting the plucked jasmine that sat on the saucer at the bedside. The smell was fresh as ever. It was indeed this fragrance that aroused me the most.\nThe room had a small cabinet in one corner and a few hooks upholstered for cloth. A wall cupboard stood facing the west wall , that enshrined a small Buddha statue on top and below were a couple of framed wedding photographs and graduation pictures along with glassware and cutlery that was only taken out for special occasions, I could say.\nThe incandescent light bulb hung from the bare roof right at the center of the small room and the blackened surface etched at the ages of cobweb stuck on its glass outer surface.\nI stand up and stretch myself. I was extremely exhausted. Now where was I and how did I come here.\n“Puthe, kaama laasthiy. Muuna kata hondagena kaaala hitiyanan. Mahansith athine.” that was my queue that told me to go freshen up to have some lunch, as I was obviously exhausted.\n“Haaa nande. Mama ennam”, I call out to my auntie that I will come, and I drink the glass of water she had already kept on my table.\nI look around, place my cloth bag on the cabinet and pull out a towel.\nThe water was soothing and refreshing. And I emerge out of the outdoor bathroom freshened out of the midday mood, looking all triumphant and glowing internally.\n‘Wathura tika nan harima shook nande’, I compliment the cool water as I head inside for lunch . The smell of fried sprats and polos* curry had been hinting at my olfactory sense for a long time now.\nNow again, where was I. I couldn’t still tell my story.\nThis all began one day when my teaching application was approved and I got my appointment. I was so excited, but just as it happens, this wasn’t at a school anywhere closer to my residences at Colombo*. It was in Sooriyawewa*.\nSo much far away from the central city in the hottest area in Sri Lanka. In the quiet dry zone of the southern province. It was my first official governmental appointment. I was finally going to be a mathematics teacher.\nNow this wasn’t a daily travel job, as 300 odd kilometers really took more than 7-8 hours to exactly reach the location I was given.\nI was confused and so were my parents. We weighed all situations into no avail. It was Friday morning and I just had the weekend as I was starting Monday.\nSuddenly, I get a call from an unknown number that evening.\nIt’s from the school’s principal Sir. He exchanges formalities and extends very happy regards for accepting the job, as the kids there didn’t have a formal math teacher in a really long time.\n“ Sir I have a small issue though…” I start off. “I need accommodation”\n“Yes, yes, that’s why I mainly spoke in urgency dear” he continues.\n“The official dorm room needs to be repaired and it’s going to take a month or two, to bring it fully back to a residential existence. Well, you know how it happens when left closed. It wasn’t occupied for a very long time as no teachers came in for any appointment here. All complaining about the rurality and no offense, the heats taking up courage I should say”\nNothing was affecting me from taking up this great job other than just a roof and a bed to sleep in the meantime.\n“I called in to say that my wife and I would happily lend you our spare room for the time being, if you are interested and comfortable. We don’t have the biggest luxuries here, just a normal household we upkeep.” He says adding a little laughter at the end.\nI was shocked. Taken aback. My heart was in awe of this strangers love and hospitality and suddenly I held back happy tears. I was extremely grateful. here I was helpless and a stranger from the other end of the country extends his helping hand.\n“That… that will be such a great help Sir! Thank you so much! I was really helpless trying to figure it all out! Thank you!” I exclaim.\nAnd that’s how it started. Today, Sunday I set off early in the morning with my parents. It was a tiring journey. My parents couldn’t stay for lunch so they enjoyed the sweet tea and auntie’s fresh halapa* before they head out back to Colombo. I was sad to see them go.\nSir lived in a mediocre style village house in the rural neighborhood away from town. It was approximately 10km back to the nearest urban town. The house was in the middle of a large garden. A siyambala* tree overlooked the spring well on one corner. The paddy field overlooked the house from the window side of room, extending far, far away.\nThe wind was dry in the heat, but the country view was refreshing than the urban smoked up lifestyle I had back home. I just loved the countryside so much more.\nSir had his daughter studying at a university in Colombo. It was just Sir, Aunty and Kalu, the small black pet dog and kitty, the brown and white cat that were also family.\nI was their new temporary member.\nNow I was getting really hungry. I sat down with sir and Aunty. And we had a heavy meal of white rice, fried sprats, polos* curry, polsambol* and papadam*. This was one of the best meals I’ve ever had!\nI returned to my little room later after tea. The warm chit chat on the front porch was so good. From family stories to the school and to the village lads, my heart was already sinking into this new warmth.\nThe dusk was settling off and the sun was setting in my windowed horizon. I close my Windows to keep out the mosquitos and flick on the light switch. The yellow glow fills my small room. I take out my clothes for tomorrow and set them ironed off. I call my mother to see they arrived home safe.\nThe crickets chirping in the background with the paddy blowing in the gush of the wind. The occasional hoot of an owl breaking the serenity. The cool chill was now settling down as the heat drew away. I pull back the cane-woven chair and sit down. I smile. I remember life when I was a kid at our village home. I’ve missed it all so much.\nAnother chapter of my life was about to begin. It was my new home away from home. Strangers that turned into family. I hear the sir listening the radio, one of our most-renowned song play\n‘wana siwupawun wani minisun atha,\ndevi devathawun wani minisun atha,\neh dewathawan, divyanganawan,\nmanu loe thalaye waasanaawan…’\nIt means, there are people like animals and so are there people like gods. The ones that are the gods and goddesses are the spirited luck of this human world. I was feeling it. That love.\nThe night dawns into a whole new world.\nI open my diary and start writing.\n*\nLakbima – A popular newspaper in Sri Lanka\nkapuru- scented moth balls used inside cloth cupboards to keep away insects\npolos- young jack-fruit\nColombo- main city in the Western province of Sri Lanka\nSooriyawewa- a city in the Southern province of Sri Lanka\nhalapa- a traditional sweet food made from special flour and coconut.\nsiyambala - tamarind\npolsambol – scraped coconut dish\npapadam – thin flatbread crackers" } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: A Decently Modest Proposal\n\nGenre: horror\n\nWord Count: 2451\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story that includes someone saying, “You can’t run forever.”" }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Hey you! Yes you, reading this story! Don’t worry, this isn’t some piece of meta fiction, I’m dictating what I say to a gracious volunteer who’ll post it for me. I’ve got an offer for you – and no, not like a door to door salesman peddling dull kitchen knives or what have you. You see, my offer is as genuine as a baby’s first laugh.\nMy name is Donald Basemore-Cooper – quite a mouthful I know, my friends call me Donnie, DB, Coop, Basement, and so on, take your pick, they're like paint samples. But the people I do business with? Oh, they call me a lifesaver.\nBelieve it or not, old Donnie here knows a thing or two about you. I’d wager nine out of ten of the people reading this are sitting down. Maybe you’re lucky number ten though, standing up at work, browsing your phone, blessed enough to have clicked this offer. Maybe your job doesn’t let you sit down, like a cashier or that guy who takes the stubs off movie tickets. Regardless, whether you’re sitting or standing, you’ll realize that your feet probably hurt! Maybe a little, maybe a lot, maybe sitting down is just a temporary oasis from the desert of swollen soles and pained pinky toes. But we’ve all been there, we all know what it’s like to have our dogs barking!\nThink about it. From the moment you were born, your mommy or your daddy had a countdown going for the day you’d take your first steps. Maybe they even filmed it, a joyous occasion to look back on! But was it really? Because after that, you might’ve found walking fun for a year or two. Then you might’ve graduated to running, sweating off the sugar highs you’d get from your candies and such. But at some point, I’m confident walking and running just became… y’know, vanilla. Plain and simple. Boring even. Hell, I’m taking it one proverbial step further and guessing it’s just plain tiring too!\nNow as an adult, say you can’t find a parking space close to where you need to go. Now you gotta walk. Or maybe the bus station isn’t that close to where you work – we haven’t exactly designed cities around those of us without cars. Maybe your job keeps you on your toes: go run this, go clean this, go serve that table of assholes their food knowing they won’t tip you. More walking! And even if you try and relax on a weekend, guess what? How long can you last until you go shopping at a store, or even a mega shopping center, floor after floor dedicated to glorious capitalism. A shrine to enjoyment and consumerism! But your feet will have hell to pay!\nAnd I know, I can hear some of you thinking to yourselves, “But Donnie, I like to walk, run, and jog! Hell, I eat marathons for breakfast!” I hear you; I promise you still gotta listen to my offer. You see, why do we do those things? If you ask me, it boils down to three different reasons.\nFirst reason, maybe you like an early morning stroll through the woods because you gotta de-stress. It’s calming, serene, reminds you of your momma’s womb. I get that! But it can’t be the only way you know how to destress. I'm sure your buddies the bed and the couch would like to chime in and remind you how relaxing they are! And if you still wanna be in nature, watch a bird or two, park benches are right there, singing a siren song to rest your feet.\nSecond reason! Weight loss! You wanna be sexy, you wanna look thin, you gotta shave those pounds off of you! But I’m sorry to say, it’s really all a sham. Society made up these rules as to who counts as hot, who gets to be on the big screens and such. They want you to look thin because there’s more money for them in looking thin. Exercise machines, designer clothes, beauty products – all that costs way more than a bag of chips and cookie dough if you know what I’m saying. And then they have the gall to make food so tasty yet so fattening to keep this endless cycle going. You pay money to get thin only to pay money to get fattened again. That’s the secret to beauty. It’s just money wearing a mask. Don’t fall for it, live how you want, don’t worry about running to get thin.\nReason the third! Maybe you run for sport. Y’know, it happens, you could’ve had a lazy eye and couldn’t hit or throw a ball right, but boy howdy you sure could run like hell in a straight line! Now, your pal Coop here wasn’t much of an athlete, most of my running came from evading the school bullies – who are now hopefully adult has-beens and burnouts. But that spirit of competition is a wonderful thing! It’s food for the heart and soul, but it won’t last. Sooner or later your body gives out and you’ll just be yearning for the glory days like a college alum still visiting their frat house on homecoming.\nYou can’t run forever!\nSo you see where I’m coming from now? Almost everyone reading this declaration of mine is going to tragically fall victim to one day being so pained, so hurt, so egregiously tired. All from walking. Biologically speaking, we aren’t even designed to be standing up straight for so long. Our spines are an affront to God if anything!\nSo, what do we do? What is Mr. Basemore-Cooper here leading up to? What is my offer to you, my dear reader?\nWell, let me tell you a story. Growing up, my grandfather, or my Boompa as I called him, lived on his own. He’d come visit me, walking up the three stone steps to my house, back and knee pains the whole time. Of course, I didn’t know at the time how much he hurt. He was just Boompa to me! So friendly, so kind, bringing over an apple or two to help keep the doctor away for me, y’know? As a kid, I’d run around the house or the yard, trying to play with Boompa, never realizing how he struggled to catch up. Then, inside, I’d jump on his lap as he sought relief on our couch. He’s the one who taught me “my dogs are barking” instead of saying “my feet hurt” – hell, he’d put a spin on it with, “the whole pound is a-barking Donnie!”\nAnd then he’d leave. To go home to his apartment, up several flights of stairs. All by himself. And I’d beg him to stay, “please Boompa, I wanna play every day,” and I’d wonder why my parents were just letting him go off by himself. In retrospect, it’s even worse. They had to have known his legs were hurting but they basically kicked him out into the cold every time he finished visiting. Why couldn’t Boompa just live with us? Would it really have been that hard?\nDon’t you get ahead of yourselves, dear readers. There isn’t some skeleton in Boompa’s closet, no sins of the grandfather, no wicked reason why baby Donald couldn’t see him every day. The real reason? Independence. As long as he could walk, he insisted on taking care of himself, living on his own, and thus seeing me only a dozen times a year. Tragic, right, your hearts must be breaking, boo hoo for Donnie? Nah, I get that I was still lucky to even have Boompa.\nBut you know who wasn’t lucky? Boompa. Knees sore, feet aching, a lifetime of walking amounting to chronic pain. It really shouldn’t be a surprise that he couldn’t cross the street at a normal speed. So if you think about the number of stupid people combined with the number of impatient people in this country, it was really only a matter of time. Boompa couldn’t possibly react fast enough to that car.\nDon’t grab your tissues and start weeping, he lived. It’s actually funny how tires crushing your bones, grinding your flesh, and spilling your blood across the pavement isn’t enough to kill you sometimes. I wonder if Boompa found it funny too, lying there, waiting for the ambulance, dragging himself away from the mangled remains of his legs. Just a clean cut, the kind that would make a butcher blush with how precise it was.\nJust like that… no more legs and feet to hurt.\nJust like that, Boompa was at home, my home, to live with us. I could talk to him all day, my parents would take care of him, and he’d never have to walk again in his wheelchair. I couldn’t be happier that he lived out the last few years of his life with us, fully provided for and loved. I’m sure he’d agree – I’ll have to ask him when I go to heaven.\nAnd we could’ve had all that for longer if he had just gotten rid of his legs sooner, don’t you think?\nWhat I’m proposing is a free service, all done by me on the house, to give yourself the same kind of life Boompa had at the end. Fully taken care of, free from the stress of walking. You’ll find new ways to relax, new games to play to pass the time, and losing weight? Well, a leg is a little under a fifth of your weight, so losing both? You’re talking upwards of fifty pounds off, all at once, way more efficient that exercise ever could be! C’mon, working out is hell, all the sweat and the pains and finding time to do it! I’m telling you, my offer is way better than that!\nYou might be hesitant because you don’t have a spare wheelchair lying around. No worries, part of the service is that I’ll help you procure one suited just to your needs. What about housing, making sure you can still move around? Your boy Donnie is right here! We can rearrange your house to be a more wheelchair friendly space! What’s that? Your job? Going out in public? Right now, I’m working on pushing the government to pass legislature to increase disability pay. Most public places have to be wheelchair accessible already, but with an increase to monthly payments, you’ll have more than enough free money to use on both living and entertainment. You’ll see it really won’t be a big deal to use ride sharing services once you have the money from selling your car.\nHow is the procedure done? Well, there are too many hoops to jump through to doing this in a hospital, God forbid us red blooded Americans exercising the freedom we’ve been promised. I’ll gladly come to your house instead. Just give me your address and we’ll pick a time that works best for you. Maybe you want the kids out of the house, maybe you’ve been looking for an excuse to get off of work on a Monday. Certainly won’t be going back to that job after we’re done!\nI’ve got my bag of tools with me here. We’ve got some chloroform here, a new set of rags, some ropes too – I find it decreases the squirming if you happen to wake up. You don’t have to worry about carpet stains either, I’ll throw down a tarp. We could even set you up in bed for maximum comfort as well. Then you’ve got your choice of tool. The chainsaw is a wonderful choice for those horror fanatics out there, plus the noise will drown out any screaming that might occur – again, if you wake up. But maybe you want quick and painless, or at least as painless as possible. That’s where the elegant Japanese katana comes in, fully capable of slicing through bone. Maybe you want to savor the moment you give into a lifetime of relaxation and sitting. Or maybe you find your jollies from a little bit of pain here and there – no judgment here! But I’ve still got my trusty hacksaw here, still good to go from the first time I did this procedure! Now the forums will tell you that a bone saw might cut better but ignore that hogwash. With enough elbow grease and a can do attitude, my hacksaw and I will easily get your legs on a one way trip to Aruba, never to bother you again.\nDon’t you worry a hair on your pretty head, I know what I’m doing here. It’s not my first rodeo, I’ve had plenty of satisfied customers in the past! It does take a little convincing, but if you met me in person, my pearly white smile would knock your socks off. Be warned ladies, I’m quite the charmer! I wouldn’t be surprised if we end up chitchatting mid-procedure too! Why yes, I’d love to take you out to dinner in your fine new wheelchair this Friday! I’ll hold the door open for you and make sure you get home safe before I lift you and tuck you into bed, nice and snug.\nNow, in full honesty, not everyone is fully onboard with this procedure yet. But I really am doing people a huge favor here – the couple of times they hesitated to say “yes” didn’t stop me from grabbing the old chloroform here. I remember this one gentleman, surely an upstanding and strong man, didn’t hesitate to start crying and begging me to stop once he was tied down. Those tears reminded me a lot of myself when I used to cry when Boompa left. Oh how things got better for me, and soon they’d get better for him too!\nIn fact, this young gentleman typing this all out is my latest customer! You see, I'm not the best with computers, so we cut a deal. He could keep one of his legs if he helped me spread my word far and wide, so here we are! If only you could see him hobble, a little tear in his eye. There won’t be any tears once he moves into his wheelchair, with my help of course. I'm not a monster after all.\nSo folks, if you’re interested in changing your life for the better, taking a stand against pain by sitting down permanently, then I’m your man! For Donald Basemore-Cooper, call 555-NO-LEGS4ME! You wanna be free, call your pal DB!\nAnd make sure you hold onto those legs once they’re off you because I’ve got a great home recipe to share with you in the kitchen!" } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Full Loop\n\nGenre: indigenous\n\nWord Count: 2389\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart your story with the arrival of a strange visitor in a small town." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Full Loop\n by George Key\nI and Tim spent hot summer days as children beneath the umbrella of a weeping willow. When heavy rains came, we sailed makeshift vessels until they were devoured by the sewer drains. Those friends from our childhood are always somewhere ready to pick up right where you left off. The bonds created in simpler times when the world was kind and the people were real, last forever.\nI was out circulating the oil in my motorcycle one hot summer day. Riding in from the North Star Saloon, my bike’s autopilot latched on to the Pheasant Bar tracker beam. Once that occurs, there was nothing left to do but put the kickstand down. There were several bikes there. One of the bikes I recognized as belonging to my childhood brother from another mother, Tim Medicine Eagle. We sat at the bar near the glass door that allowed us to look out at our bikes. We swapped lies and then took them back and laughed. I nursed my Jack and sipped on the coke back until closing time.\nTim’s adjustable main-jet Bendix carburetor was spitting and sputtering as we pulled away from the Pheasant Bar headed to the truck stop at the West edge of town for our ritual late-night breakfast. Being old school, I always packed tools and parts, as anyone that rode would before there were Harley shops every sixty-three miles. Being a wrench, I not only carried parts that I might need to get down the road, but I also carried certain items that would aid with emergent repairs for other bikes that may be broken down along the way. My brother adjusted his carburetor in the parking lot after breakfast. He got the bike to run somewhat well in the brisk air that always crept along the creek beds which cut through those West-River Flatlands of South Dakota.\nThe ability to get yourself down the road was the norm of the American Biker Sub-culture. Even though Tim knew I could rebuild that carburetor in the dark, he did not ask for help, and out of respect, I did not offer. No words need to be spoken between brothers, for we always could hear each other especially when we were quiet. Our words came with more power when spoken with our eyes and the language of our whole selves told the rest of any present story.\nHe could hear from my eyes that I was proud of him for making his bike smile again, nonetheless, my body language revealed my desire to teach. When Tim cocked his head like a prairie chicken unveiling the tell-tale sign of the one-eyed squint, it was the non-verbal way of his telling me, “Okay now then cousin, what you know, ain't it now, teach me\".\n I let Tim know that to make the final, \"dial -it -in \", adjustment it had to be done at 9:30 in the morning, on a flat paved road, traveling at 60 mph, over 120 miles, and there must be no more than five hundred feet in elevation variance within the middle 60 miles of the road test. We both nodded affirmatively knowing that meant only one strip of I-90, North of where the antelope herds grazed along the White River. We prepared for the 400-mile loop around the Rosebud.\nWe rode fast and hard North to I-90, then West doing the test. After the test, it was beer-thirty so we glided down an off-ramp. into a small farming community. We filled our tanks at a Sinclair gas station. There were some good old boys watching an old man change a truck tire. The cashier ran out to admire our bikes. Her attentiveness did not rub well on the good old boys. You could almost feel the holes being burned through our leathers by their green eyes. Two girls in short shorts and not much else licking soft-serve cones to death started giggling as they leaned against the tire display batting their eyes as country girls do. The ice cream cones looked inviting. The girls however we knew were nothing but trouble. So, we paid for our gas and blasted across the highway, up a dirt street. At the top of the hill where the old dirt road was severed by progress was an old roadhouse saloon. Small towns died when the freeways were built. Some locals blamed those people that used I-90 for it being built in the first place.\nOur cloud of kicked-up dust laid down behind us as we pulled in. We parked them near the hitching post where locals tied their horses knowing that we would be able to see our scooters from the bar. We pushed our way in cautiously through the swinging saloon doors. The music stopped and all eyes were upon us. Slowly we made our way through the entire length of the narrow saloon to the men's room. Every eye followed us as if a string attached them to us. An old pig farmer spat his opinion of us ringing a large brass spittoon like a bell. An old unimpressed hound dog nearly lifted his head from its resting place, but then did not.\n Still, not a sound but for the occasional squeak of the old wooden floor as we stepped our way to the back. There was no need to ask where the urinal was because we could smell it when we put our kickstands down. Again, we did not have to speak words, after all, we both spotted the shotgun that the bartender held under the bar in the reflection of the huge mirror in that 1890 circa mahogany bar. Parched and now noon we bellied up to the bar. The first words spoken were not of the normal, “ what may I get you”, that might be expected, rather it was, \"you all ain't from around here, are ya now?\"\nThere were tales of people disappearing in the flatlands being burned, chopped up, and either turned under a plow or fed to the hogs. Knowing the old pig farmers wearing the John Deer and Farmer Union caps most likely would not be breaking bread with us, we both ordered cokes. Cokes were safe because they did not have the opportunity to slip us a mickey. We positioned ourselves that we had each other's back and set a wide enough distance to ensure that one blast of that scattergun that the bartender controlled could not instantly kill us both. With the last frosty swallow, we heard the bartender's eyes as they simultaneously peered at the ten-dollar bill we had placed upon the bar. No change had yet to appear for the purchase of our cokes. Even though neither I nor Tim were brothers with the bartender, we understood his eyes to say, \"leave that ten and walk out alive\". Not that we ran, but the saloon doors fluttered till they stopped, and our bikes started on the first kick. As dust arose from the dirt parking lot, we continued our loop.\n Tim's bike sounded tight as we rolled through the Badlands. The essence of Cow Pee clover brought fond memories of simpler times in my youth. Cow Pee clover, with its yellow blossom, smells much like the backside of a milk barn on a hot afternoon. Winding through the Badlands we headed South to the monument at the burial site at Wounded Knee.\nOnce there, we stopped to reflect for a while as memories upon the untold truth of Yellow Bird and other friends from the 1973 civil rights protest. Subsequently, those reflections turned to the bitter taste of our disgust resenting the lies that are still taught at schools in textbooks. The prairie grass was so tall that all we could see of the buffalo along the way were those distinct humps one might find on the backside of an old nickel. Many cobwebs can be blown out as the wind cleans our minds from anxious thoughts. A good long ride can prove therapeutically beneficial.\n A human being whose shared wisdom I did not grasp until well after his death continues to inspire me. Some of his wisdom remains the foundation of my life's journey. current existence, and passion for what I am called yet to do. We knew him as John Fire. He was John Fire Lame Deer, a medicine person and the Indian Council leader of my hometown. Some elders spoke poorly of him saying to me, \" Don't listen to him, boy, ain't it, you know, he's just an old drunk, he don't know nothing, you know? Ain't it?\"\nJohn was misunderstood by many. My redirection toward helping others through ministry and counseling was partially inspired by John Fire. It took the right moment to understand the true lesson, for it was up to me when I would hear his message. To listen is one thing, but to hear is another. John said that to be a good medicine person, you must experience everything life has to offer, how else can you expect to teach or heal others?\", he was truly a seeker of visions that made a great impression and fundamental base of what I have become and provided me a clearer view of who I am today. I recall the elder describing himself and his duty, \"I'm the Spirit's janitor, all I do is wipe the windows a little bit, so, they can see out for themselves\". These teachings were but two of many.\nMuch truth of wisdom lays dormant until we are gifted with the true message empowered to understand the rest of the story. John saw diabetes and addiction were two major problems that were destroying the Tribe. He was experiencing what he needed to be a good medicine man. Alcohol played both fiddles. His teaching fueled my passion to utilize my wisdom collected from having been there and done that to teach. Moreover, to become that janitor that wipes the windows of troubled human beings just enough that they might see out for themselves. Being charged with the duty to convey the wisdom so that the message can survive mainstream resistance is an honor leading to peace as we fade.\n Tim's son was to be a medicine person. This was told to Tim in a vision before his son was born. When you looked into the eyes of his wife Kathy, you could see that this truth brought her pride with honor. Kathy and Tim lived in the camp known as Antelope directly across the road from the University that honors their namesake Spotted Tail,(Sinte Gleska). Sinte Gleska was a visionary leader that believed the way to preserve Lakota culture, language, dance, song, and ways of life were through education.\nCatching a bite of freshly fried pan bread, on our way out the door we rolled East continuing our loop. Our intention was to be riding when the sun dogs kissed the moon bringing the stars to dance with the fireflies. The lighted tails of the fireflies were especially viewable while riding the stretch between the Oak Creek and the Eastern rise of the Jordan Valley. It proved an amazing full sensory experience watching the complete transition as the sky opened revealing the love that God had for us. If not for taking the time to appreciate God's touch upon the canvas of the universe, we might become detached from what is truly most important.\nLittle white crosses littered the way, marking each the death sites of individuals. Often mislabeled, by those not knowing the truth, as drunken bums walking into traffic. This was another fallacious misrepresentation spun to benefit the oppressors. Many of the markers evinced the influence of superstition upon the traditionalists. There was a belief that evil spirits followed you as close as any shadow cast when the sun was high. To destroy the evil spirit one could, in theory, dart in front of oncoming traffic. If done just right, to a point of near-miss, then the individual would be rid of this evil. Whether accident or suicide becomes the perceived conclusion, either way, that pain would no longer be the power of the evil spirit. The superstition became a tool of ethnic cleansers, excusing away the tragic accidental elimination of non-conformant undesirables.\nAt the base of the final rise out of Jordan Valley, we detoured North up Rocky Raccoon Road to the township correction road where we stopped at the one-room schoolhouse where my maternal grandfather had acted as schoolmaster about the time Sitting Bull was murdered up at the Standing Rock. We continued over to the North County Road riding South downhill into Winner, (our hometown), we could see the moon reflecting in the placid waters of the municipal sewer lagoon.\nNow nearly home, we geared down quietly in respect for the dead children. Passing the cemetery, we could clearly see the headstones in the moonlight. I flashed back to the sounds of many military gun salutes from the disposal of unopened, non-viewable remains. Children killing children, ponds of the machine exposed the common enemy that united locally the Lakota and the non-Lakota. Richard Nixon did great things for the unification of a previous divisive cultural clash. One of the first sun dances since Washington declared them illegal was a collaborative protest of the War in Viet Nam. Both the Indian council and white council along with merchants, civic leaders, and guests from politically influential Eastern civil rights concerned families supported the ceremony. Our family stood proudly in support quite tired of the body count. Next to me stood one of the loves of my life and to this day dear friend Elizabeth. She now is a nurse at Fort Meade Hospital sandwiched between a seventh calvary cemetery and Bear Butte, a sacred Lakota holy ground.\nAs in everything in the universe, the most powerful forces come to us as circles, and that that geometry is prominent in Lakota culture, history, and way of life. So, to end this reflective narrative as the loop closes full circle back to where it began as we roll on to Main Street, our hometown, Winner. We find ourselves, full circle, putting our kickstands down in front of the Pheasant Bar, where we keep our eyes on the world from our barstools." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: One Last Thing\n\nGenre: indigenous\n\nWord Count: 1605\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about someone welcoming a stranger into their home." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "One Last Thing\nStrangers Meet\nAn old man, somewhere in his late seventies or early eighties gets off the bus, and starts walking. He is carrying a bag that holds a change of clothes, and little else. These are all his worldly possessions He moves slowly, but with what looks like a sense of purpose. If you walked past him, you might hear him mutter about doing “one last thing.’\nHe is aware that no one probably knows him in this small town. And likewise he feels quite sure he will not see anyone that he knew way back when. It has been decades since he was here. He is definitely a stranger in town, a place where he was born and raised.\nHe heads north to a place he once knew well. It was there where he intends, how he isn’t exactly sure, to do his one last thing. \nIt is on his way there, walking on the sidewalk beside main street (it is actually called that) where he meets a creature who will change his life, a little dog running scared. The old man put his bag down, then bends over, knowing that it will be hard to get back up again. His hands dance in an effort to get the attention of the dog long enough to grab him by the collar. His hands are still fast enough to be able to do that. The next thing he does is rather acrobatic for him. He takes his belt off with one hand, while still holding onto the dog’s collar. The belt is to act as a temporary leash. He isn’t sure what he should do next, but that problem is solved shortly. A man and a girl that is obviously his daughter, come running down the sidewalk. Their anxious looks turn into smiles when they see their dog held by a belt running through it collar by an old man whose pants he has to keep hiking up.\nThe girl says “Thank you sir. You rescued our dog.” Her father attaches the leash in his hands to the dog, allowing the old man to return his belt to its customary location and occupation. He thanks the old man as well, and asks him his name. “I’m called Carl. Few still around here know that.”\n“My daughter and I would like to reward you for what you just did.” Looking across the street to a burger truck, the younger man says. “My name’s George, have you had lunch yet? We would like to buy you a burger and anything that goes with it.”\n“Sure”, was Carl’s short reply. Later, when all three are sitting on a bench, many questions are asked by father and daughter, but few words are uttered in reply. And every so often Carl would say, more to himself than to the others “I must do this one last thing.”, without an explanation of what he means by that. \nAn Invitation Given and Accepted\nBut George and his daughter Shirley do learn that Carl has no concrete plans as to where he will be staying while in town. So George asks him, “Why don’t you stay with us for a few days? We have a big house, with a spare room that you can use. Carl nods his head, muttering another “Sure”, following it with yet another reference to “one last thing.”\nSo they all walk in the direction of the family house on the outskirts of town. George and Shirley and dog Sam are all startled somewhat when Carl stops suddenly a short distance away from their home, raises his hand to point, and says “school,” followed by the now inevitable phrase, “one last thing.”\nGeorge replied by saying, “Yes, there used to be an old school there, a residential school for Indians…Indigenous children. It was torn down a few years ago. How did you know about that?”\nThere is no answer to that question, just a shaking of Carl’s head, followed by a downward look at the ground. They would find out days later.\nA Long Term Guest\nCarl becomes a resident, not just a short term guest. He has been there for several weeks now. It is like he is an eccentric member of the family whom father, mother Carol, daughter, son Paul and dog have always known. At first he just stays inside the house, but within a few days he starts to wander.\nHe does not inform the family of his past in the town, or what his intentions are. What make them truly wonder is that one day he asks for the use of a shovel. Of course the answer is ‘yes.’ Of course, no questions were asked by anyone. That would be rude. \n But that does not mean that Paul is not sent out to follow him, when, with the shovel, Carl goes a-wandering. He follows him at a discrete distance until the old man makes his way to the property where what was called the Indian Residential School had been located. He goes to the back of the property and starts digging right beside a large jutting rock. He doesn’t do this long before he collapses. It is too much hard labour for his frail body to handle well.\n Paul runs to him, helps him up, and assists his walking back to the house. The old man leans on him the whole way back to the house. Carl is put into the bed now known as his.\n When Paul tells the family what Carl had been doing. Carol, a teacher of social studies in the local middle school, remembers reading a story recently about another Indian Residential School concerning an issue that might relate to what Carl might have been doing. She checks on the internet to read up on the story, and then does a search concerning the school that had been in town. There she finds a number of pictures of the students and staff of the school. The Indigenous kids look like they have been bathed and groomed right before the pictures were taken. There are no smiles, just a neat and shiny presentation.\n Then something else catches her eye. She calls her husband over to maybe confirm what she thinks that she has discovered . There is in one of the pictures a young boy there who works for the school. He looks to be in his early teens. He is neat and shiny as well. His name is Carl Davidson. It is hard to tell from just one picture, but it could very well have been the Carl that they had come to know.\n The couple walk briskly over to Carl’s room. He is awake, his eyes open, but not focused on anything in particular. George asks him whether his last name is Davidson. He merely nods, and looks up at them with questions in his eyes.\n “We jut saw a picture of you when you worked for the school. Does your ‘one last thing’ relate to what you had to do there then, and what you want to do now? Again there is a nodding, more vigorous this time.\n A colleague of Carol’s is Loretta, an Indigenous woman who belongs to the local band. She calls Loretta and tells her the story of what she knows about Carl, and about the Residential School that she had read about. Loretta replies, “I read the same article that you did. The band council is thinking about doing what that other band did. Maybe Carl knows where to look. We have no idea where the children might be buried, although we long wondered what happened to them.”\n It wasn’t long before the band hires a local archaeologist who has access to ground-penetrating radar. Carl shows him where to search. The archaeologist eventually finds the bones of over 100 children who had been buried anonymously by the school officials. Carl had to do that dirty work. He told those who wanted to hear that he had been shocked at the time that the families were not told of the deaths, which were the results of a lethal combination of poor nutrition, working hard on the school-run farm, and waves of various deadly diseases. It had been bad enough that the children had been forcibly taken from the families by the police and visiting them by family members was strongly discouraged, and closely supervised when they did occur. Carl was sympathetic to the plight of the children, as he had been given to the church by a very religious uncle and aunt when his parents died in a car accident when he was 12. \nThe band decides that rather than dig up the bones, they would prefer to consecrate the land with traditional ceremony. The town now owns the land. At first. town officials are reluctant to transfer ownership of the small parcel of land where the children are buried. But with Carl there is an eye-witness to the morally and legally questionable burials, so they eventually grant this small part of the former church property to the band. A formal ceremony marks the occasion. Carl stands proud as it takes place. He stands next to the family. When the ceremony is over, he turn to them and says, “This is my one last thing. My conscience is now clear.”\n Carl stays with the family for a little over a year, and then quietly dies. The band agrees that he should be laid in the ground beside those he had been forced to bury, those who had haunted him for decades." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Mother Nature\n\nGenre: indigenous\n\nWord Count: 1001\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart your story with the arrival of a strange visitor in a small town." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "In a quiet Valley, by a lake and forest, there was a peaceful farming village. The Farmers tended to the land and lived humble, but happy lives. Mother Nature watched over the world from her sanctuary in a glade in a deep forest.\nMother Nature was worried about the villagers becoming selfish from the Bountiful Harvests she provided them, so she decided to test the villagers in a most ingenious way. Every day she would visit the homes of the villagers in disguise to determine their character.\nA family of a husband, a wife, and 2 daughters were about to sit down to dinner in their humble abode when there was a knock on the door. The Husband opened the door to find a frail old Woman in a burlap cloak.\n\"Good evening, sir! I hate to bother you, but I have no home of my own, and I am so very hungry...Can you spare a small amount of Food?\" said the old Woman.\n\"Oh, my family and I were about to eat supper for the night! Do come in and join us!\" said the Father.\n\"Oh, are you sure of this?\" asked the old lady.\n\"Oh, honey! Do we have a guest?\" asked the mother.\n\"A Guest! A Guest! Yay!!!\" cheered the little girls.\nThe Old Woman saw that the family wasn't going to change their mind, so entered the home and sat with the family for supper with them. They all dined on a simple supper of Lentils and Corn Bread. Having had her fill of Sustenance, the Old Woman waved goodbye, said \"Thank you very much for your generosity!\" and went about on her way.\nThe next day, the Family was shocked and delighted to see an abundance in all manner of crops in their field. Apples, Corn, Wheat, Beans, Squash, Grapes, Lentils, and Cotton were all plentiful in their crop field.\nThat next late afternoon, a family of a Husband, a Wife and a son were about to sit down for supper when there was a knock on their door. The father opened the door to find a frail old woman in a burlap cloak standing in front of their home.\n\"Good evening, sir! I hate to bother you, but I have no home of my own, and I am so very hungry...Can you spare a small amount of Food?\" said the old Woman.\n\"Get lost! We take care of our own! If you need food, I suggest you get your own food!\" yelled the father. The father then slammed the door shut.\nThe Old Woman walked away. The boy took pity on the old lady, so he walked after her and presented her with a single Tomato.\n\"Thank you, young man. What's your name?\" asked the old lady.\n\"Chachi!\" said the boy.\n\"Would you be so kind as to accompany me on my walk, Chachi?\" asked the old lady, offering her hand. \n\"Sure!\" Chachi replied.\nThe Old Woman and the little boy walked to another home. A woman and her son and daughter answered the door.\n\"Good evening, miss! I hate to bother you, but I have no home of my own, and I am so very hungry...Can you spare a small amount of Food?\" said the old Woman.\n\"Oh, sure. Come in and make yourself at home!\" The mother than turned to her son and daughter. \"Tikal, Cuzco, We have dinner guests tonight, so let's be nice to them!\" \nSo the family, the old woman and the boy happily enjoyed a simple supper of Potatoes, Beans, and Rice. After saying \"Goodbye\", the old woman lead the boy out of the Village.\n\"Where are we going, ma'am?\" the Boy asked.\n\"To my sanctuary in the forest.\" said the old lady.\nThe Old lady lead the boy to a glade in a forest where there was a temple inside of the roots of a massive tree. Birds chirped and Deer and Rabbits frolicked. The \"Old Lady\" then removed her cloak to reveal that she was Mother Nature in disguise the whole time. Mother Nature had Green Skin and the Crown of a Blossoming Tree for hair.\n\"Welcome to your new home, Chachi. I was the old lady that begged for food from your family. You passed my test by sharing in your bounty, but your father failed my test by being selfish, so his farm will no longer be able to bear crops again. As long as you take care of the Glade, I will take care of you from now on! Tomorrow I will test the rest of the families.\" Mother Nature declared.\nThe next day, the Woman and her son and daughter woke up to find that there crop field was abundant with Potatoes, Beans, Apples, Plums, Tomatoes, and Cabbages, whereas Chachi's father's field was dry, dead and barren. A Man, woman and their two sons were about to have supper for the evening when there was a knock on their humble abode. The Mother opened the door to find an old woman.\n\"Good evening, miss! I hate to bother you, but I have no home of my own, and I am so very hungry...Can you spare a small amount of Food?\" said the old Woman.\n\"Come on in, have some food with us!\" said the mother.\n\"Welcome!\" Said the two boys simultaneously.\nAfter a simple dinner of Tomatoes and Corn Bread, the Old lady went on her way.\nLater that evening, the old woman saw a man tending to his plum trees. She approached the man.\n\"Please, sir, I am a humble poor old woman, can you spare a single Plum?\" she asked.\n\"These are MY Plums! Not yours! MINE! Go away, beggar woman!\" snarled the grower.\nThe old Woman walked away.\nThe next day, the woman and her two sons found that their crops were growing in abundance. Corn, Wheat, Cabbage, Tomatoes, Lentils and Cotton were plentiful in their plot. Whereas the Plum Grower's Plum Trees had all died in a single night." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: The Impersonator\n\nGenre: horror\n\nWord Count: 2935\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story in which a character is running away from something, literally or metaphorically." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Jason and Tricia had only been running for five minutes, but it felt like it had been an hour. Their lungs were burning, and they were already out of breath. No matter how fast they ran, they couldn’t seem to get any closer to the person who was calling for help.\nIt was nearing dusk. If they didn’t find the person soon, it would be next to impossible to find them in the dense woods, especially since there was a light fog in the forest.\nTricia stopped to catch her breath for a moment.\n“You okay?” Jason asked.\nHe worried about his sister. She wasn’t used to running like this. Even though she only suffered mildly from asthma, this was the last place he wanted her to be if she were to have an asthma attack. If only their cell phone signals hadn’t given out, they could have called for help.\n“You have your inhaler, don’t you?” he added.\n“Yeah, but I’m fine,” Tricia replied. “I just need to catch my breath. Besides, it might help to try to pinpoint where the cries for help are coming from. What if we’re going the wrong direction?”\nThat was when they both noticed it. The absence of sound in the woods.\n“They’re not calling for help anymore,” Jason said.\nTricia stood more upright. Her lungs were rested enough that she could breathe more easily now.\n“You’re right,” she said. “Perhaps we went too far.”\n“No,” Jason replied. “The sound wouldn’t dissipate that quickly. The person has gone silent.”\nNeither of them wanted to think about why that might be. They feared that whatever had caused the person to stop calling for help couldn’t be good. They stood quietly and listened for a moment until another sound began to emerge. It was no longer a call for help, but a slight whimpering.\n“Over there!” Jason said. “It sounds like it’s only a few yards away.”\nHe started to go toward the sound, but Tricia stopped him.\n“Don’t,” she said, sounding worried.\n“What?” Jason asked. “Didn’t we come all this way to help whoever was calling for help?”\n“Yeah, but something is off,” Tricia said. “I can sense it. Something isn’t right.”\nJason stared at his sister for a moment. He didn’t dismiss what she was saying. He had learned not to do so years ago. She had the strongest sense of extrasensory perception of anyone he had ever known. In fact, she had had a few premonitions that had saved both of them from near accidents many times.\n“What are you sensing?” he asked, hoping she could be more specific.\n“Not much,” Tricia answered. “It isn’t strong like it sometimes is. I can’t give you any details. I just know that this could be dangerous.”\nIt was that danger that worried Jason. Perhaps whatever had nearly silenced the person in distress was now going to endanger them also. But what could it be? It was probably a wild animal. Perhaps a cougar. But why hadn’t they heard it? If a cougar had attacked a person, wouldn’t it have made some growling noises? Jason reached into his pocket and pulled out a can of pepper spray.\nWhen Tricia saw what he was doing, her heart raced. She knew that Jason still wanted to find the person. She couldn’t blame him. It was the right thing to do, but she knew there was a very real risk in doing so.\n“Jason,” she said.\n“I’ll be careful,” Jason assured her. “You stay here.”\n“No,” Tricia replied. “I’m going with you.”\n“Don’t argue with me,” Jason said. “Let me scout on ahead.”\n“Whatever is out here might come after me while you’re scouting up ahead. There’s safety in numbers,” Tricia replied.\n“You might be right,” Jason conceded. “Then fine, but stay close to me.”\n“You don’t have to worry about that,” Tricia replied.\nThe whimpering noise came again. It didn’t sound like a person now but more like an injured animal. As they got close to the sound, everything went silent again. There was no sign of anyone nearby. Both Jason and Tricia felt their heartrates increase. Jason held his pepper spray tightly.\n“Where are you?” he called as loudly as he could.\nHe tried to keep his voice from sounding too shaky, but he wasn’t very successful.\n“Over here!” the person called to them.\nEarlier, they had thought it was a man who was calling them. The voice had been deep, and it had seemed obvious. But now, the voice was definitely female.\n“That sounds like another person,” Tricia whispered.\n“I noticed that also,” Jason replied.\n“What if it’s a trap?” Tricia said. “Perhaps they were just trying to lure us into the woods.”\n“Is that what you think or what you know?” Jason asked.\nTricia thought about it. She finally realized that she had no extra perception that could explain her feelings. She was simply frightened and was imagining the worst.\n“Just a guess,” she answered.\n“Please! Help me!” the woman called again.\nJason and Tricia didn’t move for a moment.\n“What’s wrong?” Jason finally responded. “Tell us what happened to you!”\n“I can’t!” the woman replied. “I don’t know. I just know that I don’t have much time left!”\n“I really don’t like this,” Tricia said. “It doesn’t make sense. Why wouldn’t she know what happened to her? It’s some sort of trap. I’m sure of it now!”\n“I think you’re right,” Jason replied.\nFinally, he did the only thing he felt comfortable doing.\n“We’re going to go get help!” he called to the woman.\n“No! Please! Don’t leave me out here!” the woman pleaded with him.\nTricia could see that her brother was torn. He couldn’t stand to hear someone in trouble, but she knew now that this wasn’t a legitimate cry for help.\n“I’m telling you that it’s a trap,” she repeated. “I can sense it more greatly now.”\nJason took a deep breath and let it out.\n“I trust you,” he said. “Come on. Let’s go. We’ll notify the authorities. We’ll just say we couldn’t find the person.”\nTricia nodded. They turned around and started retreating back the way they had come when there was suddenly a bloodcurdling scream. Instinctively, they both started sprinting forward, trying to put distance between themselves and the woman. Only, the scream hadn’t come from behind them. It had come from above. Tricia and Jason were so frightened that they didn’t even realize where the scream had come from.\nWhen the creature swooped down from the tree and snatched Jason’s can of pepper spray, it knocked Jason to the ground before it darted away. It took both Jason and Tricia by surprise. Tricia tripped over Jason and fell to the ground also. It all happened so quickly that they barely caught a glimpse of the creature’s green fur.\n“Come on! Get up!” Tricia said frantically.\nAs she got up, she reached down to give her brother a hand. It was only then that she saw that his shirt was torn. The slash mark on his shoulder was long.\n“Oh, Jason!” Tricia said.\nJason was the one who was trying to catch his breath now. His shoulder felt like it was on fire. He took Tricia’s hand and stumbled to his feet.\n“We’ve got to get out of here,” he stated the obvious.\nHe tried to push the pain aside. He couldn’t let it slow him down.\n“Come on,” Tricia replied.\n“Bet you can’t catch me!” a voice called to them.\nIt was coming from the direction where the creature had fled. It was a man’s voice again.\n“Tricked you! Tricked you! I’m the trickster! Yes, I am!” the voice sounded like a woman again.\n“It wasn’t even a human!” Tricia said. “It was that creature!”\n“What kind of creature can talk like a person?” Jason asked.\nThey both scanned the woods as best as they could. Neither of them thought that running away would help. The creature was fast. It would only surprise them with another attack. Somehow, they had to be the one to surprise it.\n“Do you have your knife with you?” Tricia whispered quietly, not wanting to alert the creature to their intentions.\n“Yeah,” Jason whispered back. “But I can’t get it out. Not yet. The creature will just take it.”\nAfter the first theft, he knew that the creature was much too fast for them.\n“We need to head back, but we need to walk slowly. We need to be watching for it,” Jason said.\nIt went against everything that Tricia wanted to do. Her instinct was telling her to run for her life, but she knew Jason was right. She stayed close to her brother as they crept slowly along.\nThe woods were eerily silent. Tricia could have never imagined how creepy silence could be. At the rate they were going, it would take them much too long to get out of the woods.\n“The sun’s going down,” Jason pointed out. “Come on. Let’s speed up a little.”\nAs they walked, it was almost as if the creature had decided to leave them alone. There was no sign of it, nor any sound. Tricia and Jason picked up their speed. Maybe, just maybe, the creature had had its fun and would leave them alone.\nThey had been walking for about ten minutes when they came to a small clearing. They had passed it on their way into the woods. It was good to see that they were headed the right way. The path they had first been on shouldn’t be too far away. If they could just get past the clearing, then maybe they would be okay. At least, the fog was lifting. It was a bit easier to see.\nThey had crossed most of the clearing when the creature swooped down from a tree and sat on its haunches at the edge of the clearing, facing them. They could see the creature more clearly now. It was similar in shape to a chimpanzee and stood about three feet tall. It had horns on its head and two tails.\n“Darkness is coming!” the creature said, its voice now sounding like a child.\n“Or do you prefer this voice?” it added, once more sounding like the man they had heard earlier.\nAs if to taunt them further, it changed its voice once again as it screamed like the woman it had been impersonating earlier.\n“What are you?” Jason asked, frightened.\nHe instinctively kept himself in front of his sister. If possible, he had to protect Tricia somehow.\nThe creature laughed.\n“What do you think I am?” it asked.\n“A monster!” Jason replied. “No animal can speak like a human!”\nWell, maybe a parrot, but this was no parrot that was hunting them!\n“It’s easy,” the creature replied. “All I have to do is kill someone, and then I can sound like them whenever I want. Soon, I’ll sound like both of you!”\n“Why do you want to hurt us?” Tricia asked, coming to stand beside her brother.\n“Tricia, stay back!” Jason warned.\n“Like she’s any safer behind you!” the creature said, laughing again and ignoring Tricia’s question. “I’ll get what I want!”\nThe creature suddenly spread invisible wings and flew upward, flying above them. It laughed maniacally as it circled them.\n“Darkness is coming!” it repeated.\nThere wasn’t much light left.\n“I could kill you in the daylight, but it’ll be easier in the dark!” it added.\n“Jason, I’m scared,” Tricia whispered.\n“You aren’t the only one,” Jason whispered back.\nThey tried to keep an eye on the creature, but it was so fast that they couldn’t keep track of it. Jason knew he had to do something. It was probably suicide, but he had to try to save Tricia.\n“I’ll make you a deal,” he called to the creature.\nThis caught the creature’s attention. It stopped flying and hovered in the air above them.\n“I’m listening,” it said. “Tell me. What do you want?”\n“I’ll let you kill me. I won’t even put up a fight. Just give my sister a head start,” Jason said.\n“Why would I want to do that?” the creature replied. “I don’t care if you put up a fight. I’m stronger than you. I can kill you easily.”\n“But doesn’t that get boring after a while?” Jason asked. “It’ll be more of a challenge to you if you give my sister a head start while you kill me.”\nThe creature thought about it for a moment. Soon, it realized that Jason was right. Things had gotten rather monotonous lately. Perhaps it should do things the human’s way. It wasn’t like it couldn’t still catch the girl easily also.\n“Fine,” it said. “I’ll even count to five before I kill you. But you can’t run away. If you do, I’ll go after your sister first.”\n“Deal!” Jason agreed.\n“Jason, no!” Tricia said.\n“I know what I’m doing,” Jason replied. “Now, go!”\n“I can’t!” Tricia said.\n“One!” the creature started counting.\n“Just go!” Jason shouted. “Please!”\nTricia fought back tears.\n“Two! Time’s a wasting!” the creature shouted.\n“Please,” Jason begged Tricia again. “I love you.”\n“I love you too,” Tricia replied.\n“Three!”\nWith tears in her eyes, Tricia started running away from the clearing. She didn’t want to, but she knew they would both die if she didn’t. She knew she couldn’t talk her brother out of sacrificing himself for her.\n“Four!”\nJason looked up at the creature.\n“I’m right here!” he said in a fierce voice.\nHis hand inched into his pocket. He had to be careful. If the creature knew what he was doing, he wouldn’t have a chance.\n“Five!” the creature shouted victoriously as it swooped down from the air and grabbed Jason, picking him up and flying upward.\nIt took Jason by surprise. His shoulder was still burning, but he was somehow able to find his knife in his pocket and pull it out. He almost lost his grip on it but was able to barely keep it from falling to the ground below. He thrust his hand upward, slashing the knife into the creature’s belly. The creature screamed in a loud, screeching voice as it let go of Jason.\nJason started to pummel to the ground when a tree branch broke his fall. Fortunately, he hadn’t fallen too far, but it still hurt. From the tree branch, he watched as the creature spiraled in a circle until it landed on the forest floor.\nThe creature lay on the ground. It stared up at Jason as yellow blood oozed from its abdomen. It started to cry like a child.\n“No fair!” it said. “You don’t play nice!”\nThen, a short burst of flames came out of its ear before its body disintegrated.\nIt took Jason a moment to catch his breath. But then, he realized the danger was gone. He knew he had to call to his sister.\n“Tricia, help!” he called.\nAs Tricia ran, she heard her brother call to her. He needed her help. Or did he? The creature had said that it could sound like people it had killed. She stopped in her tracks, not knowing what to do. If she returned to her brother and the creature killed her, her brother would have died in vain.\n“Please, Tricia! The creature’s dead!” Jason called.\nFinally, Tricia knew she had to trust her instincts. It was Jason. It just had to be!\nIt was a little difficult making her way back to him since the sun had gone down. There was at least a little moonlight to guide her. She called to Jason frequently and followed the sound of his voice until she got to him.\nTricia saw him stranded on the tree branch. There weren’t any branches close enough to him for him to climb down. She got some rope out of her backpack and threw it up to him. Jason tied the rope to the branch and lowered himself down from the tree.\nOnce on the ground, he gave his sister a warm embrace.\n“I didn’t think I’d ever see you again,” he said.\n“I didn’t think I’d see you either,” Tricia replied.\nThey went and stood over the ashes that were the only remains of the creature.\n“You’ll have to tell me how you killed it,” Tricia said.\n“I will,” Jason replied. “Later.”\n“What do you think it was?” Tricia wondered aloud.\n“A monster,” Jason answered. “That’s what it was, but it’s dead now.”\n“Oh, Jason!” Tricia said. “All those poor people that it killed!”\n“It’s sad,” Jason agreed. “But it’ll never hurt anyone again.”\n“Thanks to you,” Tricia said. “I’m proud of you! You didn’t just save me. You saved anyone else from ever being harmed by it.”\n“Yeah, well, let’s just get out of here. I’d like to get this shoulder tended to,” Jason replied, rubbing his sore shoulder.\n“That sounds like a good idea,” Tricia agreed.\nThe two of them left to go find their vehicle. They had just gotten to their car when they heard a long, mournful wail coming from the woods. The two of them wasted no time getting in the car. They couldn’t get out of there fast enough!\nIn the clearing in the woods, another creature sat on her haunches beside the remains of her friend. She let out a loud scream as tears rolled down her face. Now that her mate was dead, she was the last of her kind. Tormented, she let out another scream as she rose to the sky and flew away." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Breaking Free\n\nGenre: indigenous\n\nWord Count: 1034\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about someone finally making their own choices." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "47 year old Shantha watched the thin and tall frame of her daughter striding toward the security checks, a stride of elegance and homeliness at the same time. She watched her stop suddenly in the middle and adjust her dupatta that had been displaced by a gust from the air conditioner. The growing gap reminded her that it was time to search for a groom. It wouldn’t be very difficult, she had raised her well. Rashmi’s thick black plaits and fair complexion that beautifully contrasted her black, round bindi, only added to her conventional beauty that would definitely fetch her many proposals from well placed Brahmin boys. Her only concern was Rashmi’s extremely good placement that could put off many potential grooms. She would have to teach her how to hide her intelligence.\n\nAs soon as Rashmi went out of sight, Shantha took out her phone from her handbag, opened her Whatsapp and hovered straight over her display picture. A fluffy white rabbit looked back at her. Shantha never allowed Rashmi to put up a picture of herself on any form of social media. “Kannu padum ma,” she’d patiently offer her reason. Rashmi would smile and nod her head. Just the right kind of smile, a gentle curve of her lips which never revealed her teeth. Shantha scrolled up and down the conversation restlessly waiting for Rashmi to come online and inform her when she was about to board the flight.\n\n--------------\n\n“This is an announcement for passengers on flight 232 from Chennai to Hyderabad. The flight has been delayed due to delayed arrival from Coimbatore. Our new departure time is 10:50 AM”\n\nRashmi had 2 hours to kill. She took out her phone and opened up her Whatsapp. A flurry of unopened messages were waiting. She headed over straight to Amma’s conversation. Amma was online.\n\n“Flight delayed by a couple of hours.” She typed.\n\nAmma had already started typing. It would take a while though considering how slow her typing was. She began to quickly send messages to Reshma, Rahul, George and Azif to add her back to the class group, club groups and friends’ groups that she’d temporarily quit before going home. She was once again ready for the meme spam and gossip, for a longer timespan this time, perhaps until wedding bells would start ringing and she’d have to kill that small dose of fun forever.\n\nThe notification from Amma surfaced finally. “That’s so much time. Enna panra? Video call pannu.” She had just reached the last full stop when Amma video called herself. She stumbled in her bag for her earphones while it rang and rushed to hit the Accept button.\n\n“When are you coming home next?”\n\n“I will come for Diwali for sure. Don’t worry” Rashmi smiled. Just the right kind of smile, a gentle curve of her lips which never revealed her teeth. Which never reached her eyes as she kept the trace of annoyance locked deep inside. “Amma, there’s a book store here. I’ll go buy a book and read. I’ll call you once I reach Hyderabad.”\n\n“Okay kanna, bye. Take care.”\n\n-------------------\n\nRashmi strolled past the gates, lost in thought. A gust displaced her dupatta again. But, this time, she tore it off her chest, crumpled it, put it away in her backpack and headed straight for the rest room. It was difficult enough to deal with that, her backpack and her fat suitcase.\n\nShe washed her face thoroughly this time, making sure to peel off the bindi. She removed her hair band, slowly, watching her thick black curls unfurl and billow in all directions.\n\nTie up your hair, don’t roam like a prostitute, Appa’s voice would echo at home right after she washed her hair and left it open under the fan for it to dry.\n\nShe prised the jhumkis off her ears. A weight lifted. She lifted off her khameez leaving behind a black tank top that was to be worn in case her salwar khameez was too transparent, which for the general public, translated to barely even translucent. It went well with her black leggings.\n\nBe careful in college kanna, don’t make friends with perverted girls who think they have the right to do anything just because they’re female, even strip and manipulate poor men. Amma’s voice echoed as flashbacks of college admissions returned. How she scoffed at those girls who donned off shoulders, crop tops and shorts.\n\nIt was time for a selfie and she smiled again. This time, her teeth sparkled and her eyes twinkled as she uploaded it on her secret instagram account captioned “Breaking Free”.\n\nShe looked again into the mirror, finally recognizing her reflection. She was the freak her parents had warned her about.\n\n-----------------\n\nAs she walked past the gates, she glanced in all directions to see if she had turned any heads. Everyone seemed to be minding their own business.\n\nShe could stay this way for a long time now. Until the wedding bells started to ring. Or not.\n\nShe could go home for Diwali, or she needn’t. A few months into Hyderabad, and she’d go home for Diwali, however tempting the possibility of avoiding going seemed right now. The price to keep her parents happy was actually quite small, she would grow to realize.\n\nShe could go to Goa now, just like her batch mates in college had done in their final year. She was a little late to the party, but it was okay, at least it was a possibility.\n\nShe could marry, or she needn’t. If she did, she could agree to her parents’ choice. Or she needn’t.\n\nShe just had to cover up a little. She was always good with that. The Salwar Khameez was not the only mask after all. Now, she just had to channel the inconvenience into a more fuller life.\n\nAnd if it all came crashing down, she could still survive. On some bread and butter. That was hers.\n\nShe settled down on a seat near her gate of departure. There was still an hour and a half to kill. Hyderabad biryani to look forward to. Time would pass quickly.\n\nAnd it did. With every moment truly lived." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Our Ancestors Governing Us\n\nGenre: indigenous\n\nWord Count: 1581\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart your story with someone being presented with a dilemma." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "I’ve spent so much on building my relationship with her and now mom says no. she’s the only lady I find peace with but mother doesn’t want her. She’s not my tribes mate and that’s mother’s problem. Mother is the lone parent I have and I’ve dated thousands but she’s the lone girl who supports my dreams.\nHer charisma is unique. Can’t get her off my mind. Her words of encouragement and hardworking nature will attract her any man but what of me? She’s an answered prayers from God but I’m bound by tradition. I’m caught up with choosing between the two most important women in my world.\nIn my community, it’s like a taboo marrying from “outside”. Why? Because, the ancestors of the land didn't marry women nor men out of the clan.\nWhile I was a child, I saw so many people being betrothed as children. As they grow up, those who were lucky to find love in each other build their relationship and marry when it’s due.\nBut there was a problem. Out of 10 children betrothed just 2 of them would have a happy marital life. The rest ended up enduring pains in the name of marriage and, in some cases, this led to death. In other cases, children from such homes tend to be wayward.\nYou may be wondering why I was not betrothed. I wasn’t born in my village. Dad was one of the wealthiest in my community. Mom and Dad’s marriage was one of the few that succeeded. \nSince I spent most of my holidays in the village with granny, she told me stories of how people were forced in to marriage and how those who denied marrying from the clan and tribe were cursed by the gods of the land. They believed so much in the gods of the land because their ancestors too did so.\nGranny was a victim of forced marriage. She went through hell before her husband grandpa left her. She strongly stood against this gruesome act. She could not intervene when mother was betrothed because, women do not have a say when it comes to issues as this.\nGranny told me so much about the different gods of the land. One evening, I asked her;\nMe; granny what happens to a person who marries a man or woman out of our clan?\nGranny; Hmmm... Son, do you see that family before we get to the stream where we fetch water?\n; yes grandma? That man's children are all wayward. Worst of all the one who was succeeding in life has now grown mad...\nGranny; yes! Most people that went against the rules of the land have ended up that way. That man's case is better. At least his children are still alive and disturb just him with their needs... There was this very wealthy young man who got married to girl from a different tribe. As he came to the village to seek his parents blessings, he didn't go back the same. Before he went back to the city, he lost his job, his house equally got burnt mysteriously and worst of all, he's insane now.\nMe; God...is that how the gods make the mighty fall? Where is this man now granny?\nGranny; I think you must have come across zuazua in the market? He even came here one time begging for food? That's him. He who lifted his family has fallen all because of ancient laws.\nMy child, I'm not telling you this so you get scared. It's to tell you that someone needs to stand against this. Because I failed doesn't mean you should too...\n\nThis story amongst the many she told me encouraged me to grow and change the trend of things. Many innocent children are pushed to become rebellious and evil all in the name of tradition.\nI grew up to hate this aspect about my people and promised granny never to support such evil. Little did I know mother has the same view as that of the traditional rulers. She strongly supported marriage within the clan and did not want to hear us talk of anything relating to “external marriage” as she called it.\nMother and granny weren’t very close because of their diverse view on marriage. Mother was closer to Dad than granny so, she tends to copy all of father’s doctrines.\nOur mother tongue was the main language of communication. Yes, it is beautiful but I thought it is important we know a bit of everything. \nTime quickly flew. Primary and secondary school days were over. I enrolled in to the university studying accounting. I had less time to visit granny but, her teachings never left my mind. We always talked on phone and she kept reminding me to bring a change to my people. It sounded simple but I didn’t know “how”.\nMy ego pushed me to work and make granny, mother and myself proud. Life was fair enough to me that I got a part-time job while schooling. I had a good pay and my parents were rich. My wealth attracted several girls to me and I played along. \nDuring my last year of school, while at my job site, I encountered someone. Her speech was succulent, the way she walked said a lot, her brain was worth connecting with. Her decency was worth recommending. She was all over my mind.\nI did findings about her and connected with her. Being a liberal person who seizes every opportunity to learn, we flowed like the two sides of a coin. She was in her first year in the university, studying electrical engineering. \nSoon enough I graduated from school. I was able to have a full time job in a new company in town. Gilian was in her second year. She was taking a four years programme. We started dating. \nGilian was from an average home. Her dad too was of late. I had to assist their family. I took over from her guardians. Her mom was placed on an allowance. I ensured she lived the most comfortable life a damsel like her deserves. \nBack home, mother was putting pressure on me to go get a wife from the village. I told her I will bring her the girl I want to marry when the time was ready. Granny died before I could introduce Gilian to her.\nGilian and I had planned that, she should at least get to her third year before we tell our parents of our plans. Her performance in school was quite outstanding. Although she studied something quite different from me, she had so much to contribute that helped me grow. A gem like her is rare.\nThe time came for us to talk to our mothers about our marriage plans. Ancestors were not rulling their land as was the case in my land. Her locals are so welcoming and open hearted.\nIt was time to see my mom. As her only biological child, I thought she would support me on who ever I wanted to marry. But I was wrong. Mother sent Gilian away on the basis that, she isn’t a daughter of my clan. She said she can’t stand her lone child being cursed and doomed. I somehow understood her but I had promised granny.\nMom gave me two weeks to choose between she and Gilian. I was indecisive for a week. Gilian cried throughout that period. \nDid I mention she was a Christian? That’s what I admired most about her. She embarked on a fast for our relationship. She and her mom. She never for once asked me to go contrary to mother. All she said was; “Gabriel make the right decision”.\nHer mother tried talking to mine but the old woman wasn’t given a listening ear. \nRoland my closest friend invited me for a programme one time in church. The words of the man of God kept playing a bell in my head.\nI loved my mom but I could not sacrifice my new faith to please her. Not as if I was pleasing Gilian, but I had to do the right thing. \nI soon joined Gilian in the fasting programme. All I wanted from God was direction.\nFunny enough, I did not actually have to choose, I just had to cast my burden on the one who died for me. With one stone, I was able to kill two birds.\nTwo weeks quickly ran out. Mother had already looked for a girl from the village for me. She was already in my new house and in my bed room all under mother's instructions.\nI took courage and walked in to mother’s compound with Gilian. She quickly stood up to retaliate but something none of us knows held her back. \nI had decided to marry Gilian and mother was going to bless me. It did not matter how long it was going to take her to do so. I became a pastor in the house. I talked to mom about God. I told her nothing will happen to me if I married Gilian. Although it was tough for her to bear, she yielded by saying she will need to compare Gilian with the girl she brought from the village.\nThe difference was clear. In less than no time Gilian won mother’s heart and today, we are happily married with three beautiful kids.\nThis has encouraged many disgruntled people in my village to do same." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Dead Last\n\nGenre: horror\n\nWord Count: 1689\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story that includes someone saying, “You can’t run forever.”" }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "His running outfit lay on the bed, with his number bib—ninety-four, a jab at his increasing age?—set to the side.\n\nEdmund Lyndone sighed. He’d been at this running malarkey for years and had never cracked the top ten even once. Still, today could be his lucky day. What was it the kids said? You miss 100% of the shots you don’t take. He pulled off his t-shirt and slipped his designer running shirt over his head.\n\nDena groaned from the doorway behind him. ‘You’re not actually doing another one, are you Dad? It took you almost two weeks to recover from the last one. Don’t you remember all the ice packs and heating pads? I can still smell the muscle-relief gel.’\n\nEdmund sagged. His daughter had been supportive at first, but as the years passed, her interest had waned. He glanced at her as he picked up his shorts. ‘I have to, Dena. If I keep doing this, I’m bound to win one. It’s all a matter of averages. The more I enter, the greater the chances that one of them will be my lucky day.’\n\nDena looked at him with sympathy. ‘You can’t run forever, Dad.’\n\nThe only thing keeping him from reaching his goal was his pathetic human frame. It had begun failing him many years ago, and it would give up the ghost long before his spirit had faded. It wasn’t fair, damn it. In response, Edmund opened his mouth to say something but realised he had no retort. He closed it again and sighed. ‘Gonna try,’ was all he could manage.\n\nDena left him with one last sad smile. ‘Good luck. I’ll get the packs and pads ready for when you get home. Remember to drink plenty of water. Don’t want you coming home on a stretcher.’\n\nEdmund’s stomach rolled over. He felt hopeless. And yet, he couldn’t stop himself. One—that was all he needed. He had to win one. Or come second. Or third. Or, hell, top ten. That would please him, and he could put the entire thing to rest. He put on the rest of his gear and pinned his number bib to his shirt. ‘Oh dear,’ he said to himself.\n\nThe car radio promised a crisp October afternoon, perfect conditions for today’s run. Van Halen’s ‘Runnin’ With the Devil’ came on, which the station’s DJ must have thought pretty clever. But halfway through the first chorus, the music cut out. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, this is an emergency bulletin from the authorities. There have been reports of an undead outbreak over on the east side of town. Police say the origin is the cemetery, and request that all civilians avoid this area. They promise they will soon have this threat contained, and that today’s marathon can still go ahead. They thank you for your cooperation.’\n\nEdmund jerked the wheel when he heard. He couldn’t run forever. Not as a human. But as an undead? Yes. Yes, that might work out. Sure, he’d have to convince the vampire not to kill him, only turn him. But Edmund had no qualms about that. And yes, he’d have to attend night races from now on. But he’d be able to run on and on and on. For years. For decades. For centuries. At some point, he’d have to win something. And didn’t vampires have super strength and fast reflexes? Before he even knew he’d made a decision, Edmund flicked on his indicator. He drove away from the running event—toward the cemetery.\n\nPolice tape wavered back and forth around the cemetery gate. The wrought-iron fencing jutted towards the Heavens, black and rusted. But—for the time being—no police guarded the area.\n\nEdmund grinned. The marathon must have exhausted the town’s resources. It was as if God was parting all the obstacles before him, like Moses and the Red Sea. He parked his car and ducked under the tape. The gate squealed and clanged shut behind him.\n\nRows and rows of wonky, weathered headstones stretched over the hill before him. Crosses and angels adorned the sleeping places of the dead. The stones ranged from square to round to ornate—a few hundred years of changing tastes. Moss and lichen clung to everything. The rain had softened the words to the point of illegibility. The vaults and mausoleums waited in the distance, crumbling and ancient.\n\nEdmund shivered. These places always creeped him out. And knowing that there was a paranormal presence here didn’t disabuse him of this sensation. He crept forward, inspecting the earth underfoot. He found his first sign several metres into the cemetery. ‘Ah,’ he said to nobody.\n\nA bloody smear streaked across the face of one tombstone. It had dried and darkened to the point of almost being black.\n\nHe didn’t know that vampires were that messy. But its usual elegance might have fallen by the wayside if it had been hungry. Edmund shrugged and passed the bloodstain.\n\nFurther on up ahead, more blood and speckles of gore beckoned him. The mess intensified deeper into the cemetery. The next stone had a complete handprint slapped on the side. And a few paces beyond that, a pool of purple intestines lay coiled like a slimy snake. Flies buzzed around the organs in a cloud.\n\nEdmund inhaled through his nose. He was on the right track. Edmund followed the trail of mess, trying hard not to look at the bits of flesh and pools of blood. ‘C’mon, Ed,’ he said through gritted teeth.\n\nThe path led him deeper and deeper into the cemetery, right up to the descending steps of a mausoleum. The splashes of blood around the entrance gave the impression that a balloon of red dye had exploded. Cold breath yawned out of the crypt’s mouth, foul and decaying.\n\nHis stomach shrivelled, and his bladder tightened. If he were to turn back, now would be the moment to do it. But then Edmund remembered the sympathy on Dena’s face. He couldn’t face that again. No, he wanted to be a winner the next time he greeted his daughter. An undead winner, granted. But someone she could be proud of. Dressed in his running gear with his number pinned to his shirt, Edmund Lyndone descended.\n\nThe light was dim inside the vault, as if a hazy filter blocked the doorway, robbing it of its usual vivacity. From the outside, the rays of sunshine trickled down the steps. It moved like sludge, slow and gloopy.\n\nEdmund blinked as his eyes adjusted. The cold—not kept at bay by warm clothes—penetrated his skin. It seeped into his bones and chilled him to the core. He looked around and crept further in.\n\nOn all sides, shelves of coffins waited as though this were an office for skeletons. Dust and cobwebs covered the walls, and a century’s autumn leaves decayed on the stone floor. The stone pulled the heat from his skin and released waves of ice in return.\n\nHe felt hungry eyes upon him, but that couldn’t be the case because vampires should be asleep during the day. ‘H-Hello?’ he called out. ‘It’s okay, I’m not a hunter. I don’t have—’ Edmund’s voice cracked. He cleared his throat. ‘I don’t have any stakes or holy water on me.’\n\nMovement, slow and sluggish at first, stirred all around him. They crept out of the shadows like spiders responding to vibrations on their sticky webs. They came for him, all rotted and dead. Their putrefying flesh stank up the confines of the mausoleum. Their growing choir of moans echoed off the walls.\n\nEdmund whimpered. No. Not vampires. Zombies. And zombies couldn’t run. He turned to flee and ran straight into a six-foot dead man. He bounced off the creature’s chest and flopped to the floor, screaming.\n\nThe undead fell upon him like seagulls on chips. They bit and scratched, tore and chew. Edmund’s screams fell upon dead ears.\n\nEdmund punched and kicked and scrambled and shrieked. Even as the blood drained from every vein and artery, he struggled on. It was a testament to his fighting spirit—the same mindset that had kept him running all these years. He managed to break free and roll away from their cold, grabbing hands. Head swimming, he launched himself to his feet and scrambled up the stairs. He moved faster than he’d ever done in any marathon.\n\nThe zombies followed him, but—of course—they could only shamble and shuffle. They soon fell behind, unable to keep up with the living-but-soon-to-be-dead human.\n\nEdmund sobbed as he ran, missing a few chunks of flesh. If he’d attempted the race without the use of paranormal enhancements, he might have won. Who was to say? But with the zombie virus squeezing his brain and stiffening his limbs, Edmund had no chance. If only he had not tried to trick his way into victory. In all his failure of a career, Edmund had run clean, with no cheats whatsoever. Why did he have to start now?\n\nThe graves passed by him in reverse, the gore lessening with each frantic footstep. The gates loomed up ahead. The police tape—which any sane human would have heeded—flickered in the light breeze. His car waited beyond.\n\nHe made it to the cemetery gates before collapsing and dying. Edmund woke up a short while later and limped out into the town. As fortune would have it, he shuffled into the race start, chasing the runners ahead of him. ‘Gurrrr.’\n\nThe people cheered and applauded. It didn’t matter if you were the best or the worst; having a go was everything. The crowd respected the older man—a war veteran of some sort—staggering and giving it his all.\n\nAt one point, he lurched towards the crowds, cheering beyond the barriers. ‘Raahhh!’\n\nThe onlookers, mistaking his death groans for dehydration, tossed him water bottles.\n\nEdmund failed to catch any of them, and they pelted him like artillery. He recoiled from their barrage and stumbled on. Edmund resumed his pursuit of the fleshy, blood-filled runners. He made it over the finish line to a smattering of light applause. ‘Unnnnnh.’\n\nThe officials noted down his times with sympathetic smiles.\n\nHe had finished dead last." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Destiny\n\nGenre: indigenous\n\nWord Count: 1036\n\nPrompt:\n\nA character stands in front of two doors. Write a story about what happens after they choose one to enter." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Patrolling In a dimly lit room, gazing as far he could, it really was a massive room; he just couldn't see any end. Gerik was feeling warm and contended (it was winter) still the lights seemed to be providing him a relaxing atmosphere.He was walking at a normal pace; his each footstep was making a heart thumping sound, desperately waiting what's coming up next. His choices or his decisions are going to decide his destiny. He was ready. He told himself or maybe to the others(he was alone). And to his surprise,someone seemed to have heard it. He was standing in front of doors. His body seemed to be letting his every movement resist. He swallowed. The doors were not ordinary ones. They looked so beautiful and perfectly oriented. Now,he had to make a choice which is which is going to decide like everything. His life, his pain, his fears, his - his destiny. That was a pregnant pause moment, he just couldn't,but he also knew he had to.He had come till here, every part of is body was vibrating furiously as he tried to extend his hand to the handle. But he was also not a baby boy to get scared and run away, he could only think of two possible options that could be present behind the door, either death or heaven. I mean,he knew that there were fair chances of having something really horrible at the back of his door it could be anything that could give him death or pain beyond death; which is even worse. The intensity of his heart was getting heavier that he could not bear it. \"Do it, just do it\", he repeated desperately to his mind. But-but its hard really hard , it's insane, who would want death to simply knock over the door and u just open the door to get it , but he also knew if death was meant to be u can't just stop it.Better die like a passionate noble than a filthy ordinary man. He was actually now ready, he was now able to get more control over his mind and think properly, he ordered his mind to let the hand open the door. This time it worked, it listened to him. His hands gripped the handle and he simply pushed the second one; he closed his eyes , it was done now,he must face whatever is the result. He took a step or two without opening his eyes to feel whether everything was okay or not. There was no sound except soft movement of air. He opened em'. And-\nIt was heaven. Seriously a heaven.His mouth fell open. It was splendiferous. I mean,honestly it ws so beautiful; nature, waterfalls and continuously falling crystal white snowflakes. The air was soo refreshing and it seemed like his eyes were dreaming. He couldn't believe it was - it was a right choice. He forgot all the sufferings, all the bad memories he ever had. There was some other level of happiness and a relief in his heart. His destiny was not so bad after all. He was happy he was satisfied for the first ever time in his life . Even if it was a dream he longed never to wake up. Gerik was proud of his choice and actually believed that -that it is our choices that can make the all difference in life. No matter how many failures u face, no matter how hatred u get one day; u will get and surely get the paying of ur hardwork. Believe it!You surely will. There he was enjoying and enjoying. Well he deserved it didn't he?\nNow,before entering that door. He was just a regular man or maybe lesser than regular. He has done so much in his life but his destiny didn't seem to work for him. He was an engineer, a really good engineer but he never got any importance for his work. I mean, they are loads of people like that. But u could not just give up.You have got to work even harder . So did he. But sometimes u cannot do anything in front of circumstances. You have just got to accept it. U can't be happy without getting what u want. That is the truth. But u have to accept if it doesn't work the way u want it to be. U still have to find a way a way to be happy. I know that's difficult, really difficult plus what to do when u also don't have anything else to be happy about well in that case leave it to the destiny and do the best possible stuff u can. Don't leave everything like a coward. Don't let anyone show u sympathy. Be strong not weak cuz we know that no one likes to be a friend with the weaklings not even the air. Life is not meant to be fair but atleast don't ruin the little bit fairness left in ur life. U feel completely breakdown at some moment, the only person who overcomes with that is the real king or if u are girl like me :)) a queen.! U are not weak. You are the one and only. You are good, I believe that. And if u would also,no one can stop you from getting what u want not even the destiny. Gerik did so and now he is happy. Well, not academically but naturally. You can find happiness even if in the smallest stuff if u only remember to turn on light like Dumbledore said. He is now glad till then he is having this enjoyment, it's not for his whole life but he is going to change really after this and so would u if you make little changes in ur life and try the best possibilities to give yourself a nice piece of satisfaction deep down ur heart. Share, explore, trust and do it, it will so happen some day or the day after that someday:D . Gerik is changed. He is now understanding the truth and accepting it. That's the strength u need; and i am sure u will get it soon . REALLY SOON.\nThanking You\nDIVYA GUPTA" } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: A family race\n\nGenre: horror\n\nWord Count: 2557\n\nPrompt:\n\nMake a race an important element of your story." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "When the starting gun rang out on the lonely racetrack, everyone in the crowd leapt like deer in the presence of a hunter. All except John, who with adrenaline pumping through his veins was running with the agility and speed of a wolf going after tender, juicy prey, ready to overtake the nearest of his competitors.\nHe felt the blood rushing through him from head to toe.\nHis heart raced in his chest, when he ran like that before that night, he felt like he was dying. The air was short of breath and his lungs burned as if he had burning coals in them.\nBut now on that run. He had never felt so alive.\nWith a total of seven people scattered around this particular track, John knew that in reality there were only eight competitors, for he was not competing, the certainty of victory was his, he had only decided to challenge himself on this particular occasion.\nLess than a mile away the choked breath and a familiar disheveled ponytail greeted him. His first opponent barely had time to let out a gasp of surprise before she was far behind John. When he passed her by a few inches, he decided to slow down for a few seconds. His calf muscles felt stiff and sore, but the sweet taste of a first victory drove him to keep going harder than ever.\nThe blonde curly haired woman in a gallant cocktail dress overtook him for a few moments. Although she was running in heels, he had never seen anyone run like that.\n\"Quite a choice of clothes for a race. Style comes first,\" he said to himself.\nAs he overtook her quite easily leaving her behind. John swore he heard an aftershock of the starting gun.\nHis mind wanted to give him the strength to have the same momentum he felt at the start of the race.\nWith a total of eight people scattered around this particular track, John knew that in reality there were only seven competitors, for he was not competing, the certainty of victory was his, he had only decided to challenge himself on this particular occasion.\nLess than a mile away the choked breath and a familiar disheveled ponytail greeted him. His first opponent barely had time to let out a gasp of surprise before she was far behind John. Closer... Just a little closer. And at that moment it was as if an aftershock of the starting shot was ringing in his ears, as if the world was celebrating the first of his victories.\nWhen he passed her by a few centimeters he decided to slow down for a few seconds. His calf muscles felt stiff and sore, but the sweet taste of a first victory drove him to continue on his way with more strength than ever.\nSoon he saw a man only slightly older than him, wearing a three-piece suit and a now loose tie to match.\n“Please, brother... Just give me a moment...”\nThe plea of the panting fellow leaning against a tree was greedily ignored. The glorious sound replayed in his mind again as he left his opponent defeated leaning back against that old tree.\nNext up was his favorite contestant. His grandmother Greta. She had her hair in a high updo that was now matted, she wanted to run as much as she could, but like him, she had inherited his initial weakness in running. Now she was trying to run as much as she could. But the effort had overcome her and now she was bent over like the branch of an old tree. Her high heels had been forgotten inches back. Which, like breadcrumbs, had guided her into the bushes behind which she had stopped to rest, trying to buy herself a few more minutes before she was overtaken.\nThe melodious rustling kept her company as she left behind her surrendered grandmother in her lustrous satin gown marred by mud.\nShe supposed it had been partly her fault for not announcing to her beloved relatives her intentions to organize this impromptu race in the confines of her property when she had decided to invite them. Perhaps, had he said so, they would all have been spared the effort of going toe” to” toe and ruining their only good outfits.\nHe supposed that if he had told them the nature of the meeting they would not have come. But at least I thought it would have been more interesting if they had running shoes and such. It would have made the race more interesting. He was wearing his running shoes and the knee-length black coat that covered him from the bone” chilling cold.\nThere was someone else present during his long” for the defeat of Grandma. For as he turned away, he heard the muffled cry of his dear cousin, who, taking advantage of the cover of night, had hoped to remain very still and unnoticed. But she gave herself away when she noticed the nearness of her relative.\nFor her in particular he had mixed feelings. Even though the times when they had to live together frequently were long gone, she still had long memories of long afternoons spent playing while their respective mothers did the laundry in the only house with running water.\n“It's been a long time, little cousin,” he said with a big smile. He stood very still as he giggled and giggled. “Come on, let's play, like when we were kids!”\nHis cousin shrieked in horror as she chased. Her body moved morbidly. She had never thought that her dear cousin so willing to show off her most attractive body to be fucked by the first man she would meet would now move outrageously in a disastrous way. Her arms flailed as she squealed. She was trying to run but was looking backwards twisting her neck like a circus sideshow. As she cried and pleaded. He was getting closer and closer. He was undecided whether he should go around her from behind and put the gun to her head or to her mouth, where only perfidious words were coming out of it. Or if it would be better to shoot him in the back while his eyes were focused on his gun.\nFinally, she decided to confront him directly. With the same smile, she had looked at him with the day she had pushed his small body against the cabinet with mirrors on the doors and made one of them explode from the collision with her head.\nTheir eyes met and their breaths collided, but now only anguished gasps came out instead of that childish laughter. John took his time to rest the barrel of the gun on her chest, at the very spot where she placed her feet to propel him against the cupboard in punishment for taking a small doll. The sound of the gunshot and the ghost of Lao's broken glass falling on his head seemed to merge in his ears as the body fell with a dull thud to the floor.\nA scream, from her uncle pierced her soul. It was her cousin's father.\nUncle Fred.\n“You bastard, you're a bastard!\nFred was still in his plaid jumper and white shirt. His hair was greying. Seeing his daughter like that, he wanted to rush at him. But when she saw how he was aiming at her without any hesitation. His face cringed.\n“You already have my daughter... No...\" John sighed.\nJohn sighed. How sick would he have to be to want to fight him at first, but when he saw that he had been holding the gun in front of him, he would have preferred to run away?\n“You're a fucking coward. Fred.\nThen he shot him in the right leg. Fred screamed in pain as he fell to the ground. His leg was bleeding deeply while his knee had shattered into a thousand pieces. He screamed as Fred stood in front of him.\n“Crawl like the dog you are. Come on. If you can get past me, I'll forgive you.\nHe well knew that such a thing would be impossible. The entire wooded area that belonged to his property was fenced off by a high wall of electrified wire put up, especially for this competition. So, if Uncle Fred did not eventually die from exposure to the elements it would not be so difficult for him to return to finish the job at another time. For now, he had the bullets counted in the drum of his revolver. And he wanted to enjoy watching that chubby little fellow wriggling around in the dirt like the earthworm he was.\nHe decided to leave it there and go on to the next one.\nThere was one still running. She was crying, but trying to ignore everything around her and keep running. He still had his smartwatch on his arm. The watch was completely broken on the screen as it had fallen off the table unconscious and shattered into pieces.\nStill, her poor Aunt Hannah, who could never tear herself away from her phone to gossip, was clinging to the fact that the little device was going to save her.\nShe tried every way she could to get it to turn on. But there was no response. She cried and despaired as she tried to get it to react.\nHer beloved cousin Lauren's mother, Fred's wife and Grandma Greta's favorite daughter were running with all the desperation of a survivor who hadn't minded leaving her husband and daughter behind to reach the precious finish line.\nThe rules were easy. The entire forest behind their property, which they had reached once the sedative in their plates had taken effect, was their race track. They could run in any direction, but only the one who made it to the proverbial finish line, which was the small gate at some point, any point, in the trellis, would live. And since the first shot went off, leaving him with only one bullet for each member of the family, Aunt Hannah hadn't stopped running even to look back for a second.\nShe decided it would be best to shoot him in the arm with the watch. And so, from a distance, he shot her. She screamed as the blood gushed out. He was a few feet from the gate of the fence and she was screaming in pain. John approached her slowly and slowly got in front of her and squatted down on his knees.\n“You're too close now. So, I can make a deal with you, dear aunt. See over there? “He said as his aunt whimpered. Taking her face and forcing her eyes in the direction of her husband.\nStill several feet away was that despicable worm, Fred. Who hadn't even been able to stand up on his one sound foot to at least try to make it with some dignity. Instead, he had preferred to crawl along like the crawling, living parasite that he was.\n“There goes your dear husband. Sure, it's not like you loved him very much, but he was still the \"big lawyer,\" wasn't he?\nAunt Hannah shook her head repeatedly.\n“Don't make me choose whether he lives or dies.\nJohn smiled as he looked at Hannah's mangled arm, which had begun to turn pale.\n“Oh no, nothing like that. You're just going to help me choose who the winner of the race is. Look at him go; he's almost caught up. But let's be fair, it's not like the primary school competitions anymore where everyone gets a prize or else, they'll cry. Only one can be the winner. So, tell me, auntie, dear. Your arm is bleeding a lot, if you don't go to a hospital soon, you'll be dry as a sheet. But look at him, from here I can see his lips are turning blue, if he doesn't go to the hospital soon, he's still going to die. So, you have little time, tell me, who is going to be the lucky winner?\nI didn't even have to wait for an answer, for, as I had anticipated, Aunt Hannah didn't falter for a moment before running with what little strength she had left to her towards the door framed with bright orange reflective tape.\nBehind the pitiful spectacle, Uncle Fred stopped his pitiful shuffling as he watched his wife run without a backward glance. Maybe somewhere in the back of his deluded head, he thought that thirty” five years of marriage and a life of luxury had bought him at least a little space in the cold, dry heart of that skinny bitch.\nJohn took just a few seconds to appreciate the \"touching\" scene before he grabbed a thick branch that conveniently waited near his grasp and barred Hanna's wire legs.\nHannah fell to her knees in a scream as Fred crawled over to his beloved wife, I watched the spectacle as Fred shouted at her between whimpers about how she could have wanted to run away, she cried as she wanted to get closer to the goal as he stopped her, I decided that she was the one who had to die. Each of them had already been shot, and I decided that letting time take care of killing them was too boring. So, with the branch that had a slightly pointed tip for a thorn, I decided that would be optimal. I then reached behind her and took her neck in my hands, as I pressed against it while Fred looked on in disbelief, she opened her mouth looking for a breath. It was the perfect moment to take the branch by the pointed end and insert it into her mouth, as she made a gagging sound, I pushed it into her pharynx as she squirmed, and she began to suffocate. Fred was sobbing, even though that bitch had chosen him over him, he was pleading, she was still choking, trying to cling to me, but finally between whimpers and spasms, I had cut off her breath.\nStill breathing hard and his leg muscles stiff and sore John took a moment to appreciate his victory. Stubborn bubbles of air continued to rise around the branch, refusing to leave the almost inert body.\nWhile that pathetic attempt at a husband... well... he was a point apart.\nWell, he was a point apart. From the way the blood was pouring out of his wounded leg, it was obvious that he had pierced the femoral artery. Maybe not completely, but the movement certainly finished the job. He wouldn't even have to stay to complete the job.\nHow sweet the irony. Fred would die for the same indifference with which he allowed years of beatings, insults and mistreatment to kill John bit by bit.\nThey both fell side by side. And then he looked at his handiwork, he had been victorious over them all, as he wondered whether to bury them or use them as compost to nourish the lush trees of the forest, he sighed. That would be for another day, the night was young and surely the dinner they had prepared in celebration of their timely new fortune would still be half” hot. Smiling and humming a merry ballad, he limped back to t" } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: The Gecko\n\nGenre: indigenous\n\nWord Count: 1642\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about someone finally making their own choices." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Dear diary,\n\nTauktae. Tau’Te.\n\nWeird name, right?\n\nWell, it may sound absurd, maybe funny even, but it did quite a lot of damage to us. You see, (well, you read) I live on this little island in the Lakshadweep group of islands. I am the daughter of the tribal chief of our island where we've been living for over a century now, which, thanks to the Government of India, acts as a safe haven for us. No one can come here to preserve our culture and our heritage.. Whenever I go to Kavaratti {the capital of Lakshadweep Islands}, I hear India is developing and all, but I feel we have still not received the recognition we deserve.\n\nNow, the day I am writing about was a few days ago, after which, I was pondering and thought to write a diary. After all, this might be an once-in-a-lifetime experience for me.\n\nThe day started like any other. Get up, get dressed, and roam on the island and so on. It was almost lunchtime when I saw the sea, for the first time that day. I didn't know why, but I was feeling a tingling sensation in my body. As if something was about to happen. Something scary.\n\nAs on cue, the sea started rising. In the distance, I could see the waves crashing against each other. I would be delighted by it, on a normal day. But there was something to it. I just couldn't infer what it was.\n\nThen it came. The Gecko.\n\nSlowly at first, and then gradually increasing its speed, winds blew from the sea and into my face. I realized soon enough that it was a cyclone. I rushed into the village, to inform my father. He was sitting in utmost silence, listening to the two farmers who were arguing about some petty issue. I told him what I saw, \"Father, there is a storm in the sea, a cyclone. I saw it with my own eyes. The winds are getting stronger and stronger by the second.\"\n\n\"Go,\" he said, \"Go home and gather the emergency supplies. Get ready to evacuate. Use that weird black thingie to tell the government. We need help, fast.\"\n\nI ran into our small cottage, and hastened to explain my mother the whole situation. She was right there, sitting near the stove as always during lunch, preparing chapattis. She got up hurriedly and started packing lunchboxes.\n\n\"Mother, you know that it is an emergency. We have to contact the government and ensure that all the villagers are transported to Kerala {a South Indian state} safe and sound. There is no time to pack lunch. Come on. Go. Get the emergency survival kit. I am going to find that sate...phony...thing under my bed.\"\n\n\"Fine.\"\n\nAs I made my way to my bedroom, I was trying to remember what that kind lady told when she had handed me the satellite...phony. I felt my brain heating up. It was so difficult to put up with the technology these days, especially because we don't have the exposure, or maybe, we've ourselves restricted that exposure.\n\nNonetheless, I realized that I had to press that red button with some weird snake-like figure, a circle and another snake-like figure on it. I pressed it.\n\nI went outside to my neighbour's homes, to help them evacuate safely. They had heard about the cyclone and were doing the same thing that my mother was doing. Packing. We had done it a lot many times, sometimes twice or thrice a year, to escape from the cyclones and the storms in the sea.\n\nA lady's voice rang in my ear. I remembered the phony and talked to her, giving her all the details and asking for help. At first, I believe she didn't understand me, seeing that I was speaking in my mother tongue. I quickly shifted to the tit-bits of English I knew.\n\n\"Help. Cyclone. Danger. Help.\"\n\nThat was all I could recall and that was all that the lady needed to know to understand the situation here. I knew that the government was going to help us. They had sent us flying things that looked like a giant ball, with a very long stick attached to it. We had then gone off to some place in Kerala where we stayed safely until the storm came to a halt. Then, we were transported back to our island by modern boats.\n\nBoats. Realization struck. Boats! Our fishermen were out there, in the sea! All alone, facing the storm. I had to do something. I had to save them. We couldn't lose more men, especially after the last cyclone.\n\nThe whole island was in panic mode. That was enough to make me forget about the fishermen for a while. People were rushing here and there, trying to find their loved ones and looking for resources. I heard someone saying, \"The Water God is angry. We're all going to die. We'll die.\"\n\nI shout out loud enough for everyone to hear, \"No one will die. I have contacted the government. They are sending us help. We just need to be patient.\"\n\nWith that, I see that the people of the island have now gathered outside their homes. Generally, it is my father's job and girls aren't even allowed to do this, it is the responsibility of our future chief, my infant brother. Since this was an emergency, I thought that I would be excused and led the people through the jungle and towards the peak of the mountain.\n\nIt was the highest and the safest point for us to be at that moment. The storm came in closer to the island. We could feel the strong winds blowing even on the top. There, we saw our homes being destroyed by the strong winds, our harbours being hit by the splashing waves and the trees being broken into pieces as if they were twigs. Our island was being destroyed, in front of our own eyes, and we could do nothing about it. Then, I heard a cheer.\n\nSoon, everyone started cheering. They had sent it. They had helped us again. The government had sent us their flying object to transport us. I was overjoyed.\n\nSpeaking to the villagers, I said, \"Please let the elderly, the children and the women go in first.\" Everyone agreed and made way for the flyers to land. Gradually, most of the population of the island was in the flyers, flying overhead and heading towards the mainland.\n\nMy father and I were the last two people to board the flyers. It was the last one. No one was there except us. As we started to fly east, my father told me, \"Dear, I never thought about it earlier, but now you are big enough to make your own decisions and lead our tribe. I saw the shimmer in your eyes when you were looking at the people while they were cheering on the boats of the skies. You have started to take your own decisions, and if I may add myself, they are very wise. You are the future of our tribe.\"\n\nI couldn't believe it. My father was saying these lines. He continued, \"You will be the next leader of our tribe. And I know that you will be even better than me, or any other leader before me.\"\n\nAs he was saying this, I felt proud. I thought, 'I can't believe that I saved everyone on our island!'\n\nA thought crossed my mind. 'Not everyone' my inner voice said, 'You forgot the fishermen. They will not be able to survive the storm.'\n\n\"STOP!\" I shouted. The pilot started hovering the flyer. I said, looking at my father, \"There are still some people who need my help. Father, please, listen to me. You've just now said that I am capable of taking my own decisions, please listen to me. Take the other flyer. I need to go to the north side of the island. There are still two fishermen who are in the ocean. I will go with the pilot and bring them to Kerala, safe.\"\n\n\"But dear...\"\n\n\"No father. You are going to do as I say. Go, our people need you.\"\n\nWith this, I instructed the pilot to hover closer to another flyer so that my father could change vehicles. Thank God he knew my language!\n\nWe then headed towards the north of our island. Surely, there in the sea, I saw two of our most skilled fishermen. I nodded to the pilot and he released a rope ladder. The fishermen safely boarded the flyer.\n\nAfter some time, I could see the mainland. We landed and were given some water, warm clothes and a towel. As I came out of the washroom, I saw my family, sitting on the benches, waiting for me.\n\nI was hugged, kissed and scolded by my parents to have tried to do such a dangerous and a heroic act. Then, my father announced, addressing the villagers, \"My daughter is the reason we all are safe and sound here. It was her decision to inform me about the storm as soon as she saw it approaching, it was her decision to call the government, even if they failed to understand her the first time, it was her decision to go up on the mountain; and it was her decision to go back for the fishermen. I hereby declare her the heir to the legacy of my family. She will become the next leader of this tribe.\" The whole crowd started cheering and whooping.\n\n\"And a fine one too.\" My father said to me, in a proud tone.\n\nSo, for me, The Gecko, or the Tauktae wasn't all bad. It helped me to take my own decisions and take the decisions for our whole community in the future." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Plans for my future\n\nGenre: indigenous\n\nWord Count: 1007\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about someone finally making their own choices." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "If you are like most people. Your parents had plans for your future.\nMy parents planned not only my future but every step of the way.\nI was not a rebellious child I would conform to what I was told and accepted my parents guild to everything I did. The problem with that is when it is time to decide for yourself. I felt like I had been a robot programmed to do only what my parents deem acceptable.\nWe belong to a tribe. The wisdom of our elders is cherished above any outside knowledge. Our Chief is very old but still in sound mind and body. The pond in our village is about 1/4 mile across. The chief swims every morning weather permitting. If you want to talk with him you must get up at daybreak and join him swimming across the pond and back. Today I made the swim with him. I ask him for his wisdom on my future. My parents planned for me to be a dentist. I have attended the community college and it is time to move into a larger school that can give me a degree in dentistry. The Chief has told me \"No\"! He has told me I am no longer a boy. You are a man. I must take time for myself and make decisions base on who I am as a man. For the next year I am not allowed to ask my parents for any advise. I must make my own choices. Where I should go. Where I should work. where I should live. The Chief told me I can then return and ask again.\nTo my knowledge everyone in our tribe has there own quest. The timing is different and the quest they must fulfill different. It is tailored to each members strengths and weakness. It is not always shared with the whole tribe. The one I remembered most was my younger sisters. She was the wild child got caught doing all the wrong things at a young age. I love her but, never understood the rebellion. She is Polar opposite of me in almost everyway. Very out spoken and sure of herself. She told me that when she went to talk to the Chief when she was 16. She asked him to allow her to marry her boyfriend. The Chief told her she must first spend 90 days doing everything her boyfriend told her to do no matter how silly. She agreed to do so and told her boyfriend what the Chief had said. It lasted 5 days and the relationship was over. They both went separate ways in life. Found that there was almost nothing in common with each other. Her boyfriend went into acting and modeling. My sister is now a member of the tribal counsel and teaches Marital Arts classes to the entire tribe young and old. A great honor for someone who just turn 20.\nI have a mixture of emotions from total empowerment to scared to death. So Where do I start? Do I change where I live? I live in a small flat that my Aunt provided for me to go to the community college. I secretly dislike everything about it. Next to the railroad tracks and across from the freeway. The noise never ends. I would rather live somewhere away from the city. I am a quiet person but I do not like being alone. I have a few friends but, no one close. I want to be apart of something that is away from any town. I still want to be around people. I just want them to be a small group I am working with.\nThe Guadalupe Mountains Nation Park come to mind.\nI remember as a boy reading about a job there. You are with a crew who goes in and repairs the trails for hikers. You have to hike into the mountains. You are in the wild for three weeks at a time. The pay wasn't great and you had to buy your supplies for the whole year. I was too young at the time and too timid to ask. I am not athletic. Yet, I yearn for the outdoors and the chance to be a part of a working crew. This will be the first carrier change I have made without asking anyone for permission. I am not one who has been in the wild. I have no idea all the skills I will need to succeed.\nI make a call to the National Park Service and there is a position open. I filled out the paperwork online. There is a list of everything I will need before coming. I was told that training was OJT (on the Job) I just had to commit for a one year stay. It is going to take all my savings to buy the equipment and supplies I will need. This is the best day of my life. The excitement of finding a job on my own and a new place to live is the most pleasing thing I have ever felt.\nThis probably sound very child like to you. I have always follow someone else. It like a dream to me.\nI told the Chief this and he responded this is a wise choice. My brothers and sisters are in disbelief that I would want to do such a thing. My parents remain silent honoring the chiefs request. The next year will be a test given to myself. Will I be able to make the right choices? Am I ready to deal with the consequences of those choices? I am proud that I live within a tribe that follows a belief that each person should make there own way in life. I am also humble by the support of those who hardly even know me within the tribe. So I ask you. Do you have a tribe? Do you honor those around you by allowing them to chose from themselves. Go ask you chief !" } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: THE DUST SETTLES\n\nGenre: indigenous\n\nWord Count: 1897\n\nPrompt:\n\nSet your story at a party that has gone horribly wrong." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "The dust had not even completely settled when the junior intermediates dragged the chief midwife from the dance arena. Her blood-curdling scream pierced the African night – the drummers halted their rhythmic poundings, the elderly women poring over calabashes of fermented maize drink, hwahwa, ignored the gourds that impatient young men of drinking age waved irritably in their ancient brown faces. Dancers, swishing and gyrating in decorated hides, mhapa neshashiko,–for it was a special occasion- had paused. The festivities had only just begun….. \n\nColored beads and necklaces adorned the young women who had attended the celebration, mhandara, they are called in the language of Shona. Ribbons of green, red, yellow and blue tied to their ankles appeared in a kaleidoscope through the dust as the girls danced, their hides flying up as they leapt into the air. The young men, majaya, donned majestic headpieces decorated with striking feathers from the rarest of birds. Around some of the young men’s necks were lion or hyena teeth held firmly with treated bark, a testament to past deadly encounters with the beasts. The necklaces impressed ladies to no end, and some small groups of young women huddled around alpha males to hear fables of peril and victory. The people of Dzimbabwe feasted on game meat and sadza, a hardened maize porridge, and drank to good life and good harvest.\nPairs had formed on the circular dance arena, in whose centre was a blazing inferno tended to by small herd boys who added bits of wood to it in faithful fashion. A cloud of dust had erupted from the frantic dancing which was characterised by gigantic leaps into the air and continuous swivelling. Sweat glazed the dancers’ skin where dust particles glued to and accumulated. At this point, the dancers’ thick bushy black hair had become grey with dust - they resembled zvigure, a social group of outcasts who had been banished from Dzimbabwe, the great city of stone. The city was a thing of wonder, not one blob of plaster or cement kept the city in place – everyone knew the great ancestors, madzitateguru, kept the stones intact, one on top of each other, until the walls of the city threatened to reach up to them in the hallowed skies. The walls had never once toppled. Zvigure were a group of murderers, thieves and social pariahs whom, the whole city presumed, had abandoned personal hygiene once outside the city walls and had morphed into cannibals. The dancers looked quite like how the savages were thought to look like.\n\nChayarutsa, the chief midwife, had stumbled into the dance arena from the surrounding darkness and thrown herself onto the hard dust in languish, wallowing in her grief and making a scene. The theatrics drew everyone’s attention, including the king, Ishe, and his table of advisors and tribal chiefs. They sat on an elevated platform of stone to the north of the bonfire, the Ishe at the head of the table in a stone throne, while his immediate subordinates were seated in significantly lower carved wooden stools, flanking the king. On the platform was the only sign of foreign possession – the throne was padded with fleece blankets and the king’s assortment of meats, as well as drink, was served in china. Each chief owned something of foreign make, some socks or a cotton shirt brought in by traders from the East in exchange for minerals, or hunting rights. Presently, some servants had been ushered onto the Ishe’s platform to serve some more goats’ meat, but they too had stopped dead in their tracks. \nMurmers rose from those gathered at the Festival of the First Harvest, Zhizha. The Queen’s first child had surely died, they chattered amongst themselves. Or she herself had succumbed to child birth - the gods took whom they pleased; as long as it was time to reunite with the ancestors, even the Queen could go. It was the norm of the land that when royalty died the whole city wept and rolled in the dust in agony and pain. Chayarutsa was that exact picture of misery. She lay still on the grass, small twigs protruding from her knotted hair which was grey with dirt. One could easily mistake her for the outcasts. The junior midwives consoled her so she could speak, as she was the only midwife who could address a crowd in the presence of the Ishe. Those gathered looked on in bewilderment as the king arose and uttered in a commanding voice: \n\n“Taura Chayarutsa! Speak Chayarutsa!”\n\nChayarutsa composed herself and bowed to the king. She quaked, and so did everyone at the festival; the king rarely stood and he almost never addressed common folk by name. There still he stood, a menacing hulk of a man, clothed in leopard skin from head to toe. Leopard skin, mbada, was a symbol of kingship, the king himself had to hunt and catch the elusive creature; \nthat alone was a mountain of a task. Chayarutsa spoke, her head bowed and her voice trembling. It was hardly audible when she said: \n“The Queen, she has given birth to two sons.”\nBut they heard her. A quiet enveloped the place. So much so, that the birds of night could be heard clearly as if the city grounds were deserted. Owls, the infamous companions of evil witches that made children sick and charmed away their neighbours’ harvests, hooted in the still night. The gibber of monkeys high up on the stone castle’s summit, the resting place of the king, could be heard quite loudly by those on the ground. Some screeched and the groan of nearby trees as they swung from one branch to another was resounding.\n “Two sons, you say?” the king repeated, more loudly.\n\nChayarutsa nodded then bowed. The common folk whispered amongst themselves. Some pieces of conversation resounded from all corners of the crowd: “It’s the first moon, blood cannot be spilled….”, “But the gods instructed explicitly……”, “Surely they must die……”\nHushed conversation befell the king and his subordinates also. They deliberated for a short period amongst themselves until the chief justice stood to address the crowd. He silenced them then spoke:\n\n“This news, of the two sons, has vexed us. How this evil could have befallen our beloved queen, our king is at a loss. But no one is above the truth of the gods. If we keep this abomination amongst us, a bad omen will wash over the land, queen or not. Surely, the sons must both die, for between them is a demon and we cannot tell which is which. But we do not forget. This is the first moon, the Festival of the First Harvest. No blood can be spilled on such a day, the ancestors forbid it. Even the gods will not allow it, and our harvest will be cursed for ten seasons. We cannot risk it. The sons will die tomorrow.”\n\nThe Ishe’s expression was stone, quite like the throne on which he sat. There was no pain in his eyes and no underlying emotions he seemed to be harbouring. He concluded the festival and dispersed the gatherers. The Ishe’s courtyard was soon empty, the red hot ambers of the fire the only reminder of the dead celebration. The Ishe hurried to Imba Huru, the Queen’s abode. He refused escort and wielded his gilded assegai, a short spear, just in case. He exited the Great Enclosure; a stone walled monument apt to its name for it held the spirits of past kings and ancestors that dwelled in the inner caverns below the Ishe’s own royal abode. He made the uphill trek to Imba Huru which was also a stone-walled construction with big mauyu trees looming above the walls. A conical tower grew high and mighty from the centre of Imba Huru, a symbol of power and economic wellbeing that drew in traders from far and wide. Ishe entered the queen’s abode and handmaiden fell to the ground at the sight of him. \nEven in night his royal regalia was imposing. He was let in to see his wife, whom he found lying meekly on a bundle of blankets on top of a reed mat, rupasa. A junior midwife attended to the perspiring Queen in candlelight. She dabbed the Queen’s forehead with a damp and soft cotton towel and adjusted her bedding.\n“Go get my sons” the king ordered her.\nThe junior midwife hesitated for a moment, and then withdrew from the Ishe’s presence to do what she had been commanded.\nThey were left alone in the eerie light of the candle, husband and wife, Ishe and the queen, their shadows dancing on the walls with each movement.The Queen turned to look into her husband’s eyes. Her pain seeped through from her being, and her eyes were red from crying.\n“Ishe, before you see them…” she said weakly\n“No, rest.” The king paused. He looked outside the entrance of the room then returned to his wife’s side and spoke in a hushed tone: \n“The gods be damned. You must run away from this place, before sunrise. There’s not long. I will tell Taurai to escort you and the babies outside the city. To a safe place, you can……”\n\n“Please, I must….”\n\nThe Queen fell silent. The junior midwife had returned, clasping a small bundle of blankets in her arms. Another midwife followed closely behind, holding the other identical baby. They both eyed the king in reserved fashion as he took one baby in his arms. He gazed down at the wriggly child in the blanket. \n\n“What is this?” he demanded. \n\nThe queen broke into hysterical and convulsive sobs. The midwives rushed to her side to calm her -wiping away the mucus that ran freely from her nostrils- but they failed to subdue her. The baby – both of them – were white little children with pink lips. The Ishe shook with rage. \n\n“It is Gonzalo, the missionary eh? You betray me so?” The Queen sobbed more loudly.\nShe shook as she cried and in between gasps of air she tried to talk.\n“I didn’t mean for it……my Ishe, please I….. pardon me I beg of you….”\n“It is the white Gonzalo, a man with no knees, that you go to and bring this atrocity among my people” The king was black with fury.\nHe took a deep breath, so deep he felt rivulets of tension escape his body and leave a numb serenity in their place. Ishe finally spoke, in his stately voice: \n\n“I do not hear your pleas. The gods decided your fate before your inception. You turned away from them, and committed an abomination with the Portuguese who openly condemns the gods. This is the price, you see for yourself. And you will justly pay it.”\n\n~.~\nOn the other side of the city, a harrowing scream was heard in every mud hut. Men clenched their spears, and some women gave out shrieks of fear. Dogs barked in the silence of night as if in response. The scream shook even the heaviest sleepers from their dreams and many woke up with a jolt. Parents who were still up, bolstered by the scream, recited ancient stories of zvigure to their petrified children. Some said that maybe a witch had been caught mid-act in someone’s house. Others joked that it was Chayarutsa practising for tomorrow." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: All For Science\n\nGenre: horror\n\nWord Count: 1318\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about someone whose time is running out." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "All For Science\nIt's a jungle out here. I'd been warned. Predators and prey of every size and description around every corner. Anywhere can be breathtakingly beautiful and equally breathtakingly deadly. Stay alert to stay alive.\nEven with safeguards in place I find myself in terrifying peril. Time's running out. The end is near. I fear no help is in the offering. I am on my own...no hope left. It's getting more... and more difficult...to breathe. Humidity so thick it's like...sucking a wet sponge. But I can't give up... yet. I...I see my short life flashing before me. Might pass out soon. How...how can this be happening?\n<> <> <>\nWon a grant to study... rain forest...in Amazon. All for...science. Far back as I can...remember I had a love for...for plants. Instilled by my...my mother. Rest her soul. She raised...exotic plants. So, I wanted...I wanted to emulate her. Made it into a great uni...university.\nOh, that hurt. Can't think straight. Getting...light headed. Most of my...history will be found in...in my journals. When did I last make an entry? Right. When I arrived. Was going to...add more tonight. Oh, well. Best laid plans...\nHe has me pinned...right where he wants me...trembling in fear. Grip tightens. Ohh...\nHope Adam knows...knows I really did love him. Wanted to be his wife...but...but...So ironic when I think about it now. How...we were saving ourselves...for marriage. Mutually agreed. The right thing to do...with our bodies. Not give in...to temptation and...all that. Yeah, we made it to...some bases but...overall. Still a virgin...at twenty three. Could have...gotten married...long ago...But we wanted...our master degrees first.\nI tried to scream...at first. Takes too much...breath. Ohhh...owwww!\nNow look at my body. I tried so hard...stay in shape...stay healthy. Exercise...eat right. There'll be...nothing left...A pith helmet and...designer cargo pants...if that.\nOw! Think that was a rib...that cracked. Snap...crackle...pop. If lung punctured... maybe put me...out of misery...sooner. Yes, yes. I should pray...for that. Make this end...Please. Oh, hurts so much! Get it over with...already! Ommm.\nMust...confess all my sins and beg...forgiveness. Please...forgive me for not serving...You and my fellow man...better. Thank You for...saving grace. Re...remember me in Your Kingdom...Pleeease.\nSo ex...cruci...ating. Think pleasant...thoughts. Hmm...omm...\nNight first met Adam. Halloween party...college...junior year. Friend...convinced me ...wear outlandish...costume. A pleathery...sleeping bag looking...wrap that looked like a...a giant anaconda swallowing...me whole. Ironic...Right? Lower jaw...pushed up my D-cup cleavage...to my neck. Only my arms and head stuck out...above the form-hugging...diamond studded snake skin. Created quite the...shapely bulge--40/26/36. The upper jaw...looked like a hoodie...coming over my head. Adam...and every other straight male...took notice.\nBut Adam's field of study...is snakes. They're his...passion. More so than me...I fear. He seemed jealous of...my trip here. I only...look at plants. He would...have so many snakes to...admire.\nSnakes. Ah...I...believe...he would classify...this charmer as...a reticulated python. He has me...wrapped in multiple...coils. Intending...to make me his meal...I'm afraid...Enjoying squeezing...every last breath...out of me. Until I pass out...or die. Making me easier...to devour...whole...without a struggle. More bones he can...break will make me slide down so...much easier...It won't be long...now. Being crushed...like a tin can. Everything hurts...Breaths getting...shallower.\nAll alone...on a hike. Not far...from camp. Stopped to...examine...flora. He dropped...out of canopy...above. Even if I...looked up...he would...resemble...dripping vines...Was he stalking me...or I happened to...stumble into his domain? Easy prey...fast delivery!\nKnife...strapped to my thigh. Once he had me...in his grip...he moved so fast I didn't...stand a chance. Maybe...butt dial help? Phone...in my back pocket. Reached for it...now arms pinned...behind me. Chest thrust out...between coils. Pretty picture...No doubt. Oh...ow...ooohhh.\nTry not to...imagine the...coming horror. Maw's above me...already drooling. Smells putrid...I can hear...his forked tongue testing...tapping...my pith helmet. It...deflects saliva away...from my face...for now. It's strapped on. If he tries to dislodge it...my head may be...ripped off, too. Less misery...for me? Please let...this end.\nWith each exhale...he takes up the space...crushing me more...making impossible to get air. Oh, the pain! Agonizing pain!\nAdam once...told me. This guy is...one of...most efficient killers in world. Only the best...for me. Oh, don't laugh. Takes too much...breath. He's getting...more efficient. Once I pass out...he'll easily...swallow me...whole. Connective tissue...allows jaws....to open wide...He'll...'walk' them over...my head...and face. Hope he chokes...on helmet...Backward pointing fangs...prevent me from...escaping if I'm still...alive. Sure, as if...\nOnce prey in...throat...strong muscular contractions...work mass down through...long esophagus...into...juicy thick stomach...all prepared...for heavy task of...digestion. May...slow him down...several days. My body...quivering in terror. Hmmm...\nCarnivorous...one-hundred percent...No flora...for him. Can...swallow prey...much larger...thicker than himself. He'll bathe it in...lots of...slimy acidic juices...and digest everything...except hair and nails...things with keratin. Those will be...expelled as pellets. Wonder about...cargo pants and...hiking boots? Someone...someday find pile of...designer scat? I'm such a...comedian...sometimes. Maybe I'll taste funny...so he'll spit me out? Don't wanna be...snake food. OHhhhhh...AWwwww...\n<> <> <>\n“Is someone...over there? Behind those...ferns? Augh...Help me...Help me, please. Fading...fast. Out...of time.”\n“Hello, Eve, my love. Imagine finding you here hanging out with a serpent. Uh, you're turning a bit purple.\"\n“Oh, oh, Adam! Thank...goodness! Save me. Can't...breathe. He's breaking...every bone. The pain is...unbearable. Awwww...Destroy this...this monster.”\n\"Let me beat him with this stick. Let go of her you horrible purple people eater!\n\"Sorry, not working, Doll. Can't say I didn't try.\n“Besides, how could I possibly forgive myself for destroying such a magnificent specimen. He's only doing what comes naturally. You look like a piece of meat to him. Can't blame him. He's made a delectable selection.\nJust look at the way he is working you over. Kind of like the way you twisted everything around in your journal I found back home when I was watering your plants. You were ready to dump me after all our dreams and plans. Simply because I gave into temptation and bedded that perky waitress. She didn't deny me any of her body, unlike you. 'Oh, can't touch this.' Now who is touching you everywhere? And you expect me to save you.”\n“Adam, please...Can't last...much longer. The end...is near.”\n“Tell you what, Sweetheart. How about I make you a movie star? You look hotter than I have ever seen you all coiled up cozy-like with that hungry python. Your boobs are sticking out between the coils and look good enough to eat. Oh, that is his plan alright. Such a tasty morsel for him. I'm gonna film it all in the name of research. 'The eating and mating habits of the reticulated python.' My favorite subject. It will pay for this nice little vacation I granted myself.”\n“But...but...”\n“He'll get a good portion of that, too. Let me help him out by taking off that ridiculous hat and those heavy boots. Maybe I can slip off those long pants as you are slipping down the hatch. Don't want to be too hard on his delicate system. Hard enough swallowing a prickly prude. Smile pretty for the camera. Look like you are enjoying this once in a lifetime experience. It's all for science.\n“There you go now. You'll make a sexy, shapely bulge in his belly, my dear. You'll stay alive for a few hours. Be sure to thrash around in all the sweet smelling bile. He'll like that. Gives him satisfaction. And it'll speed up the digestion so the burning won't last as long. I did mention it's gonna burn a bit, didn't I? Have fun.”\n\nThe End (of Eve as we knew her)\n\nEpilogue: Adam, “I'm funning with you folks. Of course. I waited a couple of hours then showed up at her camp where they were missing poor Eve. I led a search party and we happened upon this large, long, legless lizard lounging languidly along a sunny ledge with a bulging bobble about the belly. In the name of science, we opened it up and found a slime covered, beet-red, boiling mad but still beautiful, busty, blonde botanist.\n“She never would marry me but she made a fortune telling her tale of what it felt like to be swallowed whole. (And my secret porn video went viral!) All for science, you understand.”" } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Ghosting Family\n\nGenre: indigenous\n\nWord Count: 1611\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about a character who’s nervous to attend a party - their first in a long time." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Creeeeek! The house was always making weird noses and Lila was used to it. She lived in a small countryside house with her grandparents. They lived on a small farm in Texas where the sun was always shining even when it was raining. The only problem was their house was full of shadows no matter how many lights were on. Every now and then Lila swore she saw something move. This was one of those days. Lila had been on red alert since this morning when she saw a shadow in the kitchen move. So, when the floorboards creaked she jumped so far and so quick that she could’ve won the long jump. She looked around everywhere and screamed when the shadow behind the couch moved. “What on this goll darn earth are you screaming about.” Lila’s grand mother, Anne, was in a bath robe and her hair, which was usually in long braids, was down and wet. She did not seem happy about her bath being cut short. Especially after an extra long day in the fields. Lila was scared of all the shadows, but she was even more scared of her grandmother when her bath was cut short. “There.... was....a.... I mean....and... oh, nothing.” Lila didn’t expect her grandmother to believe her. She was the type of grandmother that was all stories and cookies until someone does something wrong; then, she is all wooden spoons and burnt bread. “Well, if nothings wrong then I’ll get back to my bath,”she said with a skeptical look. “Preheat the oven for me will you suga’?” Lila couldn’t get words out, so she just nodded. Lila heated the oven to 375 and checked to made sure the meat was thawing out good enough. Lila went to take a long bath to calm herself down. When she got out her hands were so pruned and red that they looked like the tomatoes on the pasta that their neighbor dropped off. That pasta never got eaten. Lila put on some comfy pajamas and went to meet her grandparents in the kitchen. When she walked in her grandmother looked real mad. “Lila O’Moore, are you trying to poison me?!” Lila was confused. “No ma’am, what’s wrong?” Lila took a few more steps and got a whiff of what was wrong. “You put the meat out for 2 hours! It went bad! You didn’t even thaw the peas out at all!” Lila felt so stupid. She had put the meat out of the fridge to thaw and the peas in the fridge instead of other way around. She told her grandmother and she looked ready to smack her. “No dinner for you tonight.” As Lila turned to leave her grandmother said, “Actually, we can’t have this sitting in the fridge forever. You will have one serving of this. You will eat all of it. Then, you will go to bed. I’m gonna go get some supper for me and your granddaddy. Where is that man?” Lila said, “He milking Daisy.” Anne left and Sarah obediently ate that nasty pasta and went to bed. When she woke up that next morning she knew she heard voices. Her grandmother must have been having one of those church meetings in the living room that Lila got kicked out of. Lila rolled her eyes and tried to go back to sleep. Her grandparents were supposed to be setting for her birthday party this afternoon. The voices were to annoying. She grabbed her phone and checked to see if she had any texts. Her WiFi was acting weird. She never had great WiFi but this was different. It was going up and down. She didn’t want to leave, so she played a game. She found that old ghost finder app that she got when she first started hearing noises and seeing shadows. As she got older, she realized it was fake. She decided to play on it. The “ghost levels” were extremely high. Lila just laughed at it. She put her phone down and grabbed a book. Soon, she realized the church group voices weren’t speaking English. It wasn’t a language Lila ever heard of. Why, of all days did this have to happen on her birthday?She got out of bed and crept into the living room. The shadows were moving so much. Lila was frozen with fear. She, finally, regained movement in her body and crept back to grab her phone. She pulled up the ghost app and found the “language converter” setting. She started recording for about 15 minutes. Then, while still recording she put her phone on a chair and crept back to her grandparents room. They looked dead asleep. They were snoring so loud though. She went back to the living room and grabbed her phone. She stopped recording and listened back to it. She heard the words they were saying in English. “We must move houses. This one has been so good to us for many years, but the girl is on the verge of figuring out our secret.” Another more feminine voice came on then. “We should leave. If the girl figures out that there are ghosts in her house there’s no telling what would happen.” The first, more male, voice came back. “What is that dreadful noise?” The other voice came back. “It’s the recording noise. She knows.” Then, all the voices stop and all you can hear is snoring. Lila drops her phone and runs to her grandparents. She shakes them awake and says “There are ghosts in our house!” Her grandparents look at each other and then look back at her and say, “We know.”They get up and lead her to the living room. They say, “Lila, meet your great grandmother Pia.” She heard the female voice in English and then saw a very beautiful lady that looked like Anne fade into view. She still was slightly transparent. “Umm, hi?” Lila was scared and confused. This was all new to her. “Lila, don’t be scared. Give her a hug.” Lila stepped forward and tried to give Pia a hug. Instead of feeling a solid body she fell right through her. She felt cold for a split second. Pia and Anne just laughed so hard. Pia looked around then said, “Elijah, come meet her.” Suddenly, a man that looked straight out of World War 2 came into sight. He had graying brown hair, a mustache that curled at the ends, and a smoke pipe in hand. He became completely solid and gave her a good grandpa hug, just like the ones that her grandpa, John, gave her. Then, Pia did the exact same thing. These hugs were both warm. Lila felt tears forming in her eyes and blinked them away. She wondered if her late parents were here as ghosts. Apparently, Anne could tell what she was thinking and said, “Your parents aren’t here. I’m sorry, Sweets.” This time, Lila didn’t try to hold back her tears. She gripped her grandmother like her life depended on it. Earlier, she had been worried because she was having her first middle school birthday party, now all she wanted was her parents. “There in Denver, though.” Lila looked up so fast. “We’re going, now!” Lila pulled her grandparents and told Pia and Elijah to follow. She grabbed the keys and shoved them into her grandmother’s hands. “Lila wait, go get some clothes for all of us.” Pia and Elijah shook their hands and said, “None for us, we don’t change.” Lila sprinted around grabbing clothes and food. When she came back, Anne was holding three plane tickets to Denver. Apparently she had them for a while and they were special because they didn’t have a date on them. They rode to the planes and boarded. It was a very boring flight. All Lila did was read. Ghosts can take the form of many different things, Pia and Elijah both took the form of earbuds so that they could still talk to them. When they got off the plane Lila ran to the rental car place in the airport. “It’s either under Anne and John O’Moore or Pia and Willis Carter. Here’s the card.” The lady at the desk said “It is under Anne and John O’Moore. I’m guessing you’re excited.” Lila vigorously nodded her head an the lady laughed. “You’re gonna need an adults signature.” Lila ran to Anne and dragged her to the cast and pointed at the sheet of paper and said “Sign!” Anne laughed and signed. They got the keys and found the car. They drove to this house that looked extremely old. Lila tried to run to the house but was held back by John. “You can’t go yet. There’s a special knock. Anne went and did the knock. Lila was let free and she ran up to the door. She yelled “Mom, Dad, please come out! It’s me Lila O’Moore, your daughter!” Suddenly, a man with Lila’s deep, blue eyes and hooked nose came into sight. Then, a lady came into view with Lila’s black hair and long legs. Her hair was braided into long black braids like Lila’s and Anne’s. Lila had known she had an Native American heritage, but this was even more proof. Lila’s mom was tearing up and trying not to cry. She stuttered over and over again trying to say Lila. She finally said, “Lila, my baby.” Her father gave her mom a hug and motioned for Lila to join them. “Happy Birthday!”She didn’t know how long she hugged them. All she knew, was that she was with her parents and that was all she cared about." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: A Trip Into Adowa Dance\n\nGenre: indigenous\n\nWord Count: 1009\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about a character who gets lost at a carnival or festival." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "The Adowa dance is a dance by the Akan people of Ghana which is believed to have originated from mimicking the unusual steps of a sacrificial antelope. It is danced at ceremonies such as marriage, naming ceremony, funerals, festivals, enstoolment and destoolment of chiefs and queen mothers etc.\nAt about 9am on Friday, Kwame and Amma set out to attend Adowa dance at the square. The morning sun was just peeping over the mountain tops, casting its golden rays over the peaceful village of Akan people of Ghana. After Kwame and Amma had fully prepared themselves with agbada attire, and Amma dressed with female attire, they told their parents, bye bye.. This was a big day to them! A trip into the Adowa dance!\nKwame and Amma parents have warned them not to go Adowa dance square, but they failed to adhere to their parents advice. And their plan was that they would come back before 5:30pm. \nAfter about 1hour 30minutes of walking, they got to the Adowa dance square. At the entrance of the square, four mainguard, was standing straight, without smiling, waving their hands as a sign of welcome to everyone coming to Adowa dance square. And at once, they speeks \"Welcome to Adowa dance!\" There voices were deep. And Kwame and his sister waved their hands at them. \nKwame and Amma looked at each other and smiled in astonishment still looking around. There hearts were filled with excitement. Cus, it was their first time at Adowa dance square. Just then, they started to get angry at their parents for advising them initially not to attend Adowa dance. Look the amazement they were trying to deny us! They thought.\nWhen they had walked a little further to take a seat. A masquerade man jumped into them and was flagging them with a wipe of cloth at his hand. Soon, the masquerade man stopped, started looking at them. Kwame and Amma became scared, Wondering what is going on. Suddenly, Kwame and Amma heard a loud voice behind them. \"It is time!\" When they turned back, it was another masked man. At this point, they both almost collapsed. But it was all play, and the masked men went their way dancing on stage before the Adowa dance commence.\nWhen the masked men had gone, Kwame and Amma breathe in deeply and exhaled. They thought they would beaten and throw out from Adowa dance hall. \nNow, it was already 4pm before the dancing commenced. While the dancing was going on, about an hour later, there was outbreak of bomb blast inside and outside Adowa dance venue, and everyone began to run for their lives. Kwame and Amma, with many other people who survived alive escape into the nearby bush to hide until the bombing stops. \nNow, Kwame and Amma had run deep inside the bush trying to escape and find their way out. And part of the bush were burning with fire affected by the bomb blast. Before they could realized, it was dark, stuck inside the bush with a torch light. This time, Kwame and Amma had gone gone missing inside inside the bush, and we're shouting for help. Amma was just thirteen years of age this time, and she started crying “Don’t cry Amma” said Kwame her elder brother. \nHours had gone, they were still in the bush wandering and lost their way out. It come to a point, they were feeling terribly scared, at the same time feeling dizzy. But they couldn't sleep. They thought they were going to die inside the bush because everywhere was dark. Soon, at about 11:30pm in the night, they heard the voice of people talking, it was a nearby village. And they traced the voice, and saw a flashlight ahead of them, and they head straight to it, and they were helped and accommodated until following morning. When it dawn, the people of the village showed them way home. \nTheir parents have been searching for them since they heard the news of bomb blast. Their parents knew how bad sometimes Adowa dance square is, and that why, they advised their kids earlier not attend Adowa dance.\nAll through the night Kwame and Amma parents didn't sleep, they keeps searching for them from place to place. The following morning, they went to Adowa dance square to see if they will see their kids or their dead bodies, but nothing was found. \nKwame and Amma parents decided to search the burnt bush, if they will see any remnants of dead bodies, paredventure, they might at well see the dead bodies of their children. They searched the burnt part of the bush and saw dead dried bodies, and couldn't recognized any of them. And they went into the unburnt part of the bush searching, when they have searched, they couldn't see them. And they returned back home.\nWhen they got home, Kwame and Amma was already inside waiting for them. \"What you are both alive?\" Kwame and Amma parents said. And they started thanking the heavens for preserving their kids in the midst of bomb blast.\nWhen they have rested, Kwame and Amma's mother hurried up to the kitchen to prepare meals for their kids. They were lost but now found. Kwame went to bathroom and had his shower. Likewise Amma after Kwame had finished taking his bath. When they had finished taking their bath, they sat at the sitting room looking at each other. And their father stepped in, \"So children tell me how you escaped?\" Kwame sighed, \"Papa wait a bit, we are seriously famished right now!\" \nWhile they all sat in the sitting room, food was ready, their mother set food at the dinning table, and called to eat. After they have eaten...Amma started narrating every bit of the story that happened at Adowa dance square until the bomb blast.\nPapa,,, Mama,,, Kwame called his both parents, \"If we had know, we would have listened to your advice!\" \nFrom that day on ward, Kwame and Amma never disobeyed their parents advice." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Darkness Good\n\nGenre: indigenous\n\nWord Count: 1098\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story set in a city where the power suddenly goes out, leaving everyone in darkness." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "“Where is the flash light? It was right here in the drawer!”, Josepi said. There was a hint of panic in his voice.\n\n“… .. … ….. ….”, said the girl.\n\n“Could you please speak up, sweet pea?”, said Josepi.\n\nThe girl took her C-3PO mask off.\n“I said, it’s in the Death Star!”, she repeated impatiently the way kids do when grown ups are too slow to get what they’re saying.\n“Don’t take things out of the kitchen, my love! You never know when daddy might need them…”\n“But daddy! I need my light saber!”\n“Oh! In that case, young Jedi, I AM YOUR FATHER!”, Josepi changed his voice to Darth Vader's, “AND AS YOUR FATHER I’M ASKING YOU: GO TO THE DEATH STAR AND BRING BACK THE LIGHT SABER FOR DADDY! KHHHH HHHHH…”\nThe girl giggled as she felt her way through the completely dark living room towards the Death Star: a makeshift teepee-like structure assembled out of ski poles, chairs and blankets.\n\nThe generator had enough juice to keep the heat up for now. With negative 52°F outside, it was wise to turn off all the less essential stuff.\nThat meant no TV, no video games and no WiFi either! Who knows how long before the gas runs out. Some of those blackouts can take hours if not days! Josepi threw a couple of logs into the stove just in case. The illusion of motion from the fluttering shadows made everything in the room seem unstable and fleeting.\n\nVera stayed in her comfy chair. She was a little out of it since the surgery but she seemed to be doing much better. If there was anything she could be bothered by right now, the city wide power outage rendering everything pitch black on an Alaskan winter night would be on the very bottom of her list, that’s for sure!\n\n“Mommy? Are you asleep?”, Kirima whispered quietly just in case the answer to her question was ‘yes’.\n“No, honey. I was just thinking about some things…”, Vera answered after a slight pause.\nKirima sat down on the floor beside her feet.\n“Are you afraid of the dark, mommy?”\n“No. Not anymore… How about you?”\n“Not with you and daddy around”, said Kirima, “but why do you think people are so afraid of it?”\n“I’m not sure. Maybe because everybody always keeps telling them that darkness is bad and over time they just start to believe it…”\n“Maybe it’s like with the Dark Side of the Force? It’s dark so it must be bad, right?”, said Kirima.\n“In stories yes, but not in real life, darling! People always told stories about darkness being bad. Maybe it's because they worry about things they can't see that might be lurking in the dark. They prefer to see everything clearly and if they can’t, they just don’t know what to do so they sweep all the dark things under the rug, except…”\n“Except… what?”\n“Except darkness is everywhere and light is just a tiny speck, like a faint star blinking against the night sky.”\n“You mean like Death Star?”\n“Almost…”, Vera laughed, “...but Death Star was just a dark, man made object with a very confusing name. You see, stars are larger and brighter than we can imagine, yet in the grand scheme of things they are still overwhelmed by darkness. And as for death... Well, death just is...\n\"But, death is sad!\", Kirima pointed out\n\"Yes. Darkness and death are sad only because of our emotions but when we think about them calmly, they seem neither good nor bad…”\n\nJosepi came by from the kitchen with three cups of tea and sat on the armrest of Vera's comfy chair.\n\n“Looks like I walked in on a very serious discussion\", he said, \"and I think, mommy is onto something here”, he pointed the flashlight towards his scruffy chin.\n“If I shine the light like this, you will only see parts of my face. Light doesn’t brighten things entirely and sometimes it distorts familiar objects to the point where we can barely recognize them. The dark is always with us, no matter how hard we try to shine our light. See?”\nHe distorted his face into a spooky grimace.\n“Wow! Daddy! You look like a monster!”, Kirima gasped.\n“Stop frightening her, Josepi! Now she will never fall asleep!”, Vera worried half jokingly.\n\"A Jedi is never frightened!\", Josepi winked at Kirima.\n“But when is darkness good?”, the girl asked.\n“Well, that depends”, said Vera.\n“On what?”\n“Let’s say, you are a tree…”\n“I’m a tree!”, Kirima stood tall with her arms outstretched.\n“You've got a trunk and branches and leaves or perhaps needles. You stand there proudly, doing your best to always turn your crown towards the sun…”\n“So…?”\n“So... What about the rest of the tree?”\n“The rest?”, Kirima asked.\n“The root systems. They stretch far down into the dark soil even further than their top branches reach up into the sky but people always forget about them. The parts that are in the dark are very important, like roots are to trees but the thing about roots is that they can be easily forgotten when they're out of sight…”\n“Ooh! I know! I always forget about the roots when I draw trees but from now on I will always try to remember!”, Kirima pledged.\n“Mommy?”\n“Yes, Darling!”\n“Do you miss daylight ?”\n“Sometimes I do but much less now…”\n“What would it be like if I couldn't see things at all for the rest of my life?”, Kirima asked and closed her eyes very tightly, \"When I close my eyes all I see is darkness. It makes me sad...\"\n“Well… It would feel strange and sad at first but with time you would just forget what it was like to be able to tell light from dark.\"\n\"Cool!\"\n\nSudden buzzing sound brought the lights in the house back to their former glory.\nThe sound of the generator died down. It was hard to believe how excessive the lights now seemed.\n\n“Daddy? Can we turn the lights back off?”, Kirima asked. “I decided to cross over to the Dark Side of the Force with mommy!”\n\nKirima found her Darth Vader mask, put it on her head and settled snugly in her blind mother's lap.\n\nJosepi turned the lights off. Since his eyes adjusted to the dark, the flashlight was no longer necessary.\n\nThe northern lights now stretched over town matching their graceful dance moves with the flames inside the stove.\n\nEverything else was darkness.\nAnd God knew it was good." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: The power of deep observation\n\nGenre: indigenous\n\nWord Count: 1279\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character stumbling upon a library book that changes the course of their life, for better or worse." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "The boy rushed passed where we were standing and jesting. A woman was heard shouting: ‘stop him!, stop him!’. We turned towards the voice and one of us concluded that it was ‘as usual'. Yeah, as usual has become how we describe the incident that has became rampant with students and restaurant keepers that has somehow became normal too. \nThe economy of most families have become so bad that most of their wards in tertiary institutions were on 0-0-1 food formulas. That is: no food in the morning, no food in the afternoon and one half plate of food popularly known as ‘half chop' in the evening so that they would be able to read and sleep.\nMost will enter restaurants to order food and after eating the food would take to their heels without paying. Most of the restaurants keepers had came out with the idea of collecting their money first before service, but the few students that can afford food four times a day had in the spirit of ‘being your brothers keeper' spoke out against it, claiming that it was to insult their person that restaurant keepers came out with that embarrassing idea. \n“ Are you implying that we can not afford a plate of food?, or do I look like an urchin to you?, I will never pay till after eating, if you don’t want to sell, tell me. Who knows the rubbish you want to sell to me, only after eating you will see your money.”\nRestaurant keepers knowing fully well the competition going on among the food sellers and not wanting to lose paying customers had agreed to serve food first before asking for money.\nBut alas!, our conclusion was faulty. It wasn’t a restaurant keeper shouting, it was one of the ladies managing upstairs library shouting.\nIt happened that the boy running away was one of those boys in love with foreign magazine that the school management subscribed for, for the lecturers that usually spend two weeks reading them before returning them to the school library.\nSo, some news inclined guys and gals would enter library and any that captured their interest would disappear from the library for two weeks before reappearing again. Some never found their way back. \nThe upstairs library was mainly for magazines and newspapers, so library cards are not required to enter there unlike the downstairs, where textbooks and other academic texts where housed. You need to register with the school librarian before being issued a card to enter there. \nSo, the runaway guy moved the foreign magazine, the lady saw him, he took off and the lady raised her voice. \nFederal polytechnic Ubiina was founded in late 70’s as College of Education before being converted into state polytechnic in 1987.\nWhen it seemed that the state government was wasting the state resources in running it, it was handed over to the federal government in 1998 and it became federal property. Just like most federal agencies, it was poorly managed. \nThe notion that federal property is every bodies property was at play how the polytechnic was being run. ‘I don’t care' attitude visibly manifest itself in the running of the institution. The managers of federally owned agencies believed that where the resources they were wasting comes from, there are still many there and federal government is far from them.\nNo one was monitoring, no one was even hiding anything or cares to learn the act of continuously looking over ones shoulder to know if anyone was watching. Impunity reigns. \nThe chief librarian read Town and Regional planning in school, since no one was planning anything whether in town, region, economy or family, Rector of the school who happened to be the man in-law imported him from one dilapidated room he called office into federal institution and that was how Mr. Ubiam Okeke turned into chief librarian of federal poly Ubiina.\nEither he found it difficult or that he doesn’t care a hoot to import the planning that was in the course he read into the new position he found himself, no one knows.\nHis staffs were not organized, let alone thousands of books under his care.\nEverything was haphazardly done by his staffs that were trying their possible best to make sure no serious chief was fostered on them. They like the ‘I don’t care' attitude of their boss who only pays attention when new shipment comes.\nThe federal government through the state education board had been quasi managing the distribution of new books since five years after the riot that rocked the state and Ubiina community.\nThe students had been complaining of the low quality books the lecturers had been selling to them at an exorbitant prices and nothing happened till they organized riot that nearly damaged about 60 percent of the shops in Ubiina community and School compound.\nSince them, the lecturers were prevented from selling books not recommended or supplied by the board.\nThe board on their parts at times, subsidies some quality books for the students. It happened that the Chief librarian were always interested only whenever any new shipment that concerns his department comes.\nHis orders were that no one should tamper with anything till he had seen and sign them and give instruction on what to do with them. That, had been Mr. Ubiam Okeke's modus operandi for three years now.\nOgbete main market is the biggest market in the vicinity of federal poly Ubiina. Almost all West African nations goes there to buy things. It is a very large market. It is only 30 minutes by bus from the campus. Most students that like sampling themselves go there for their shopping instead of the supermarkets that litters Ubiina.\nOn one of those their samplings, some students accidentally noticed that some of the books on sale there had the theme of their school in it, They became curious. They did little exploration have the other shops that have the same book on display and their findings were the same. So, they decided to contact education board and narrated their findings to them.\nThe board officials went on secret mission to the market and confirmed what they heard. \nThe following day, the education board rd invited the Rector for explanation, the Rector referred them to the School librarian, he went there opening and closing his mouth trying to staff the blame to his staffs. \n“Tell this August assembly how the books supplied to your school developed wings and found their ways into Ogbete main markets?.”\n“ Truly, I am as a surprise as you, it must be some of my staffs at work there”\n“ This is the fourth week since the books were supplied to your school, how come you have not handed it over to the HOD of the department?”\n“We were following due process of counting and recounting to make sure there wasn't any fault”\n“ Faults as how from which quarters?”\n“From everyone involved: staffs, delivery personnel, etc.”\n“What are you implying, are you saying that one of them sold the books with confirming papers given to you without your knowledge?”\n“No, I saw all, it must be after counting that it disappeared.”\nHe was served sack papers, his bank account frozen. Meanwhile, the students that reported the incident were silently rewarded we’ll accordingly with the problem they helped solve. The books were taken over from the sellers that were referred to as the accomplice.\nThe school, librarians, and the sellers never knew that the education board stamped the name of each institution they supplied books to at the center of the books before sending them out to schools." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: A sign from Ikah\n\nGenre: indigenous\n\nWord Count: 1884\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a community that worships Mother Nature." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "The teenage girls were up before the crack of dawn headed to the swift but shallow river for a bath in preparation for the Ikah ritual. The villagers of Tenzi north of South Africa believed ‘the Divine’ Ikah, the goddess of earth inhabited the oldest and largest baobab in their village. The tree was so large it took over 20 people to form a link chain around it. The elders say the tree is over 1000 years old and when Ikah would speak, her voice would be heard at the tip of North Africa.\nThe harvest season was over and it was time to give thanks to Ikah for the bounty. Only girls took part in the ceremony, the area around the baobab tree was sacred. If an intruder stepped into the scared ground, their private parts were infected with a disease that looked like cauliflower heads.\nThe morning breeze was gentle on the girls’ radiant faces, they were chit chatting and giggling more than usual. Bahati the group leader towered the rest of the girls, she appeared intimidating, which was in direct contrast with her warm, friendly smile. She silenced their chattering with one thunderous beat of the drum. She was well known for hitting the drums, she had done it since she was ten. She beat the drum in intervals, da-da-dum high-high-low in intervals as they walked to the river, this sound also let the villagers know the girls were headed to the river. \nBahati kept watch for the girls at the back of the line by shuffling them with the girls in front, she was militant like her dad. At the river, the girls stripped off jumped and splashed in the cold icy water. They washed each other’s long braids and tied them in an upright bun so that they would drip dry instead of having wet hair as a cloak over their shoulders. It was not uncommon for boys to follow the girls to the river and hide in the bushes but as soon as they were spotted the girls would hurl stones and pebbles while cursing them. Bahati was a sharpshooter, after a few stone throws, you’d hear running feet and promises of revenge as the girls laughed at the young boys scattering in the riverbank bushes.\nThey returned to the village, just in time to be painted and covered with tribal marks in celebration of Ikah. Bahati apologised to the irritated tribal markers. All twenty girls were adorned with paint and tribal markings. As they stepped out of the huts everyone marvelled at their colourful tattooed faces, arms, torso and legs. They had bright long feathers tucked into their voluminous braids, any peacock would be jealous. Bahati emerged from the hands of the oldest tribal marker who was smiling widely with her cracked front teeth in clear view. She was pleased with her work on Bahati. Bahati slowly walked to the front of the line, the vibrant green and yellow paint on her brown skin glistened, the white dots on her face framed her high cheekbones, her eyes were embellished in gold paint, her thin painted arms were adorned with cowrie shells. She belonged in an art gallery with her basket of mangoes.\n“Wow! How old is Bahati, isn’t she of age to get married?” said one of the elderly women. \n“She certainly looks like a beautiful bride.” another whispered.\nThis was Bahati’s nightmare, she tried being invisible to avoid the prying eyes of tradition. She had been praying to Ikah daily not to get betrothed. She avoided eye contact with the gawking villagers as the older women sang, ululated raising their hands to the sky and to the food baskets the girls were carrying as they headed to the sacred grounds. The men sat around the tree on three legged stools, one meter away from the sacred ground while the women sat on the floor half a meter from the baobab tree. The women continued singing throughout the ceremony, the girls placed fruits and vegetables as a token of appreciation around the humongous baobab tree and cleared any rotten food from the previous ceremony. The singing got louder, the girls shuffled their feet vigorously, with their hands up in the air, swinging their hips from side to side. They circulated the tree five times and the sixth time Bahati lost her footing, fell and hit her head against the tree. For a minute all you could hear was the sound of the wind and birds chirping noisily. The girls were terrified not knowing what to do. Bahati lay there unconscious.\n“WaTenzi this is Ikah’s will, leave the girl alone.” said the eldest woman in the community amid horrified gasps.\nBahati’s mum screamed in shock. She stood up and was instantly grabbed by her fellow mothers to prevent her from going to Bahati’s aid.\n“Nama! You’ll bring a curse on the whole village!” they yelled.\n“I don’t care, my baby needs me.” Nama sobbed falling on the ground.\nThe men were unruffled, it is Ikah’s will after all. The girls were encouraged to complete the remaining four circles around Bahati who lay unconscious under the tree. After the ritual Bahati was still lying motionless. The village women helped Nama back to the village consoling her.\n“Have you done anything wrong Nama? Ikah is definitely upset about something.” they said.\n“You should allow her to get married.” said one of the women.\n“Nonsense, I have done nothing to displease Ikah. Let me Go!” she disengaged from the grasp of her helpers. “Ikah is protecting Bahati from your hyena thoughts.” “Goodbye.” Nama broke away from the group of women and headed home. \nAfter what seemed like a lifetime Bahati opened her eyes, she felt the soft earth where she lay and sat up. The moonlight was focused on Ikah’s tree. All she could hear was her own slow breath. Her head was pounding, she untied her braids and removed the feathers to feel for blood but there was none. She stood up and, in a flash, night turned into day. She was walking through the farm barefoot holding a basket in her arm. She picked up a cassava root, brushed off the dirt and put it in her basket, the beans were ready for harvesting, the kale was ginormous, the size of a tiny umbrella. She smiled to herself, her mum would love this kale. She saw Ikah’s baobab tree in the distance, she was sure this is a blessing from Ikah.\nA cold breeze blew giving her goosebumps, the breeze blew again harder this time blowing off the plant leaves. The wind grew so strong, it picked her off the ground as if gravity was suddenly turned off. She shut her eyes, too afraid to open as she was blown higher into the sky. Bahati shouted Ikah’s name from the top of her lungs and just like that everything stopped. She opened her eyes to find herself outside her mum’s hut. “What just happened?” Bahati spoke out loud and she could taste the earth in her mouth. Terrified she ran into the hut to find her mum sitting on the floor staring at the almost dying fire at the centre of the hut.\n“Ma?”\nBahati’s mum leaped up and grabbed and held her tight for a minute, then she ran her fingers all over Bahati’s slender body. “Are you ok? Are you hurt?”\n“I am fine Ma. I…” \n“Thank you Ikah, for bringing my baby home.” Her mum hugged her again kissing her forehead. “Bahati, are you sure you are fine?”\n“Yes Ma, I am tired but fine, let’s go to bed.”\nWhen the elderly women found out Bahati had returned they ululated in excitement. “Ikah be praised! That’s a sign Bahati, it is time to get you a husband. You are now a ripe fruit.” Out of respect, Bahati never responded to the women she just smiled and went on her way. That evening Bahati was seated silently with her mum around the crackling fire.\n“Ma, what do you dream about?” asked Bahati\n“Me? Dream? Hmmm… lets see… all I want is land to grow my vegetables, to keep cows and chicken. Your father’s piece of land is tied up with the Chief. See, when your father passed away, he was indebted to the Chief.” Nama’s shoulders slumped down surrendering to hopelessness.\n“What’s your dream my child?” she smiled trying to conceal her despair. \n“The one thing, I am sure off is I don’t want to get married now or even in the next ten years. Please don’t allow those busy bodies to force me into marriage.” \n“They have already been here several times, trying to coax me. The Chief has even offered to cancel your father’s debt and give me the land, if you agreed to marry into his family lineage.”\n“NO, NO, NO… don’t even think it Ma.”\n“What am I to do Bahati? I am growing old, this is not my time to start going against the grain.” \n“I have an idea, I’ll run away.” said Bahati.\n“That’s not an idea, that’s being silly. You are going nowhere, as long as I have strength in my bones, you’ll stay in the village.” \n“I have a better idea, Ma!” she sat up excited. Tell the Chief Ikah spoke to me and has given me specific orders.”\n“Did she tell you something, my baby? I have waited for you to tell me what happened that night”.\nBahati described in detail what happened. \n“Oh, My Ikah! That message is meant for me. I must be firm, if not I will be dragged into misery.”\nBahati’s mum felt like she had a new lease on life, she rushed five kilometres to the chief’s kraal. They exchanged pleasantries. “Thank you, but I will not enter, Ikah spoke to Bahati.” said Nama.\nHe nodded, “I am listening.” he said in a subdued voice. He was worried a curse was eminent. The last time Ikah put a curse on a deceitful man, his family got boils and they had to go and live in the forest, they were never seen, and their bodies were never found.\n“Ahem!” Nama cleared her throat and looked down. “Ikah will restrain her wrath on you, your family and your lineage, if you return what belongs to me.” Nama did not lift her eyes to see the Chiefs reaction and she did not want the Chief to see her face in-case he could tell that she was fibbing. The Chief paced back and forth, scratching his head and murmuring. \n“You and your daughter can have your husband’s land.” he said and walked back into his kraal. \nBahati’s mum could not believe it. She got home late to find Bahati dosing off next to the dwindling fire. In the weeks that followed, Bahati and her mum ploughed the land. They built themselves a cosy hut at the corner of the farm. After the planting season, the girls prepared as they usually did for the Ikah ceremony. The villagers danced all the way to the sacred ground to give thanks to Ikah and to get her blessing for growth. During the dance Bahati fell down unconscious, the villagers gasped. This time Nama did not cry, Bahati was Ikah’s messenger." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: The Visitor\n\nGenre: horror\n\nWord Count: 1687\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about someone whose time is running out." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Abigail Morris is a thirty-three-year-old single mother. She is just arriving home after a grocery run that lasted much longer than she intended due to an unfortunate wreck on the highway back home, causing a lineup that appeared to have no beginning or end. Upon reaching home in her small one-bedroom apartment, Abigail will soon find herself in a situation in which time is running out – but for whom is the question?\n She enters the door to her small living quarters at approximately eight o’clock at night, her infant daughter, Natalie, held close to her hip. Natalie had just gotten over her crying fit after being confined in their small car on an unmoving highway for so long, but now has a flustered appearance that says she might just start up again at any moment now.\n Abigail sighed heavily as she let her purse slide off her shoulder and onto the floor as she power-walked to the kitchen, her forearm straining as the several bags loaded with grocery items and household goods pulled against her. She was about to allow these bags to collapse to the kitchen floor like she allowed her purse to at the door, but caught them just before they hit the floor as she remembered the carton of eggs, and had no idea which bag they could be in. So instead, she bent her tired knees and gently set the groceries on the floor, then moved to the small child playpen she kept at a nearly equal distance between the kitchen and the sliding glass door which led to the minute balcony of their apartment room, and put little Natalie inside.\n Natalie wasn’t quite ready to walk yet, so she crawled interestedly around her small enclosure as she cooed happily at the various toys littered about the space. Abigail had to stop and watch her, thinking to herself how precious her daughter was and silently wishing to herself that she would never grow up – dirty diapers and all, she would have her daughter this sweet and innocent being for as long as she could dare to hope. As she stood before her daughter in her playpen, her eyes wandered to the sliding glass door, giving her a view of the street outside.\n As she looked outside, she saw a thick fog had abruptly materialized on the pavement, obscuring the view of where the sidewalk ended, and the asphalt driveway began; even the yellow streetlights gave little clearance to any distinct view of any solid descriptors of the outside world. She absently noted that no other light in any window in the other neighboring apartment complexes was on, even though the night was still on. When she made this vague observation, she saw an odd faint red glow coming from within that thick mist on the street. She couldn’t make out what it could be from, or even any kind of form around it – it was like a small red orb floating in the fog under the slight illumination given by the streetlights.\n She turned back around and began to put away the groceries, humming to herself as she did so, and allowed herself to believe that Natalie’s soft coos worked in tune with her hums. When she closed a cabinet after putting away a can of green beans, she noticed something eerily strange; a sound coming up the fire escape rail on the side of the building.\n She heard footsteps coming up the rusted walkway. They were heavy and fast as if someone were trying their best to sprint upward, and it was getting very, very close.\n Abigail shot her head to the side and let out a sharp scream, as she saw two crimson eyes peering at her over the handrail of their balcony. These eyes were surrounded by a shadow that resembled the shape of a head, but all other recognition ended there. She could see no hair or skin color, no type of clothing, nothing to give a single descriptor to a policeman other than simply a shadow with two red eyes. Natalie noticed it too, and she looked at the macabre figure curiously as she absently shook her small stuffed bumblebee.\n “You get the hell out of here!” Abigail yelled at the strange figure, “I’m calling the police!” She took her eyes off of the thing and glanced at her purse over by the front door. She made to retrieve it and grab her phone, but as soon as she looked away from those red eyes she heard rapid movement, like clanging metal as it was pushed around. She shot her eyes back at the thing and saw it was now fully on their balcony in a twisted crouch. She could see now that it was closer that it wasn’t breathing; it was as perfectly still as one of the flowerpots that sat on the balcony guard rail. Unmoving, those deep scarlet eyes remained unblinkingly fixed on her, so long as she looked back. “What… What do you want?” She choked out. The shadow did not move, did not speak a single word. It only stared at her.\n Abigail thought she could side-shuffle away towards her purse, hoping she could call the police. Slowly she shuffled her feet to the side, and the thing’s eyes scrutinously followed her as she went. She felt she was close, but it was still too far as she had broken the line of sight with the creature.\n Quickly she jumped back into view and saw the thing had stood up higher, the tip of its head almost in line with the top of the sliding glass door. Its hand was frozen as it was reaching towards the door handle and its horrid eyes now fixedly looking down at Natalie.\n This froze Abigail’s blood, and the air was caught in her lungs – it was after her daughter; her Natalie. But as long as she was looking at it, she learned, it could not move. So, she did the only thing she felt she could do at that time; keeping her ease fixed on the malevolent shade she pulled up a kitchen chair and sat, staring at it until… Well, she didn’t know until what. But what other choice did she have?\n There Abigail sat, locked in a staring contest with a creature whose eyes were locked on her daughter. Natalie would look up at her mom and try to get her attention with a conversational coo and slam her bumble bee on the floor. Abigail would think that the shadow was probably grateful for Natalie’s attempts to steal her attention; to give the thing a chance to move ever closer.\n Abigail wished so badly that there was a clock somewhere in her peripherals but knew there was obviously none. Time passed by and Natalie began to cry fiercely for her mother. Tears streamed down Abigail’s cheeks, wishing she could comfort her daughter, but was too determined to not move an inch as she watched the ephemeral statue-like thing.\n Another hour or so, and Natalie fell asleep. The thing outside the door, though it had not moved at all, seemed to have an even hungrier look in its eyes as it watched the sleeping infant.\n Her eyes are so, so heavy now. How much time had passed, now? It must be at least past midnight now, and she had had such a busy day, she was so tired. She slapped herself in the face several times, trying hard not even to blink.\n Despite it all, eventually, her eyelids did close. Her head nodded down…\n Abigail gave herself whiplash with how fast she shot her head back up to look at the red-eyed shade. It was no longer level with the door frame. Now, the sliding glass door had been slid open, and the shadow had crept halfway through the doorway with an unnatural crescent-moon-curve to its back. Its eyes remained a blood red, though now there was a wide – inhumanely wide – grin across the black space where the rest of its face should be, revealing rows of white, spaced-out teeth. One of its hands remained on the glass door’s handle while another was stretched out towards Natalie. Its arm was long and lanky, almost twice the length of Abigail’s own. Though the distance between the balcony door and Natalie’s pen was several feet long, the distance was halved by that spindly arm alone.\n Abigail let out a horrified gasp and clamped a hand to her mouth. She felt the urge to reach out and touch it, but was too afraid of the unknown consequences of doing so; would it kill her? Would it be, in some way, given permission to move on its own volition whether or not it was being watched, therefore snatching Natalie away and running back down the fire escape? She wouldn’t risk it. Instead, she stood up from her chair and did calf raises to help her stay awake and locked onto the thing. How much longer until this nightmare can finally end?\n Off in the distance in the corner of her eye, Abigail could see dawn slowly rising. The weak orange glow slowly rose and filled the streets, and the strange fog began to fade. For the first time since Abigail’s eyes had been set on the creature, it moved – its evil eyes moved up and looked at Abigail while the rest of it remained still as a brick. While its eyes now glittering maliciously up at her, it spoke through its disturbing grin in a deep, reverberating voice. Then, it simply vanished. There was no fading away, no puff of smoke, nothing Abigail would have expected of it – one moment it was here, and another, it simply wasn’t. Abigail picked up her daughter in a frantic scoop and began to cry as she kissed Natalie over and over, the creature's last words before leaving them stuck in her brain; words that would haunt her nights for years to come as she lay awake in waiting.\n “I’ll come back for her. Again.”" } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Christmas with The Jungle Men\n\nGenre: indigenous\n\nWord Count: 2834\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story in which an endangered species (of plant or animal) plays a central role." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "I don't like the word 'animal' and I don't like the word 'beast.' Both can be used in derogatory terms and so, therefore, don't do justice to other species. Similarly, I don't like the word 'humane' for it suggests that humans always act superiorly to other species, whereas in truth we are the parasites of the planet. For this reason, my favourite word has to be 'orangutan'. It is the only name we have for another species that attributes a status of equality between us and them. It derives from the Indonesian 'orang' meaning 'man' and 'hutan' meaning 'jungle or 'forest'. Therefore, orangutans are simply and correctly described as 'men of the jungle'. They are like us except that from my experience people can be good and bad, whereas orangutans can be good and naughty. They, like other species, may hurt us in self-defence or protection of their offspring, but they won't, like us, attack first unless for food.\nHumans have attacked orangutans unnecessarily. We have invaded their home, the jungle. We should be ashamed of ourselves. However, some humans, in designated reservations, have been trying increasingly to help them for the last four or five decades. This story is from approximately two decades ago and finds me travelling from my temporary home in Java to one such place - Tanjung Puting National Park in Kalimantan. \nAfter a sixteen-hour journey the previous day from Banjarmasin, on a bus deserving an award for the greatest level of discomfort, I awoke the next day in a 'losmen' (inn) overhanging a wide river, similar to most buildings in the small muddy town of Sampit which weren't actually floating on the river itself. \nThe bus for the next part of my long journey was due to leave three hours later so, finding this half floating town rather fascinating, I jumped on a local boat that was just going a few kilometres upriver to a market in another nearby village. After about forty-five minutes I realised my naivety and worried that it was taking too long, so I got off the boat at a tiny settlement with some other passengers. I couldn't seem to make myself understood that all I wanted to do was return to Sampit, or at least I couldn't understand the information about the likelihood of ever getting back! All I could understand was that cameras weren't allowed and that I'd have to leave it with the security guard. What was all this about? I wondered. Were they harbouring some top international secret in this nondescript nowhere place? I reluctantly left my camera in his desk drawer and had a look around, only to be followed by the security guard and his mate, who chuckled behind my back at my curiosity. There was nothing much to see and so I returned to the jetty ten minutes later, swiping my camera from back out of the drawer myself. I again asked about transport, only to be told that a boat back to Sampit had just left. How could they know this when they'd been following me? Why could no one give me a straight answer about boats back? Evidently, to reach the men of the jungle, I had the difficult task of negotiating my way through some of the lying and thieving of humanity. At least I was used to these circumstances of poor people trying to profit from a tourist's ignorance; it's rich people who lie and cheat who are intolerable.\nIt started to rain so, shrugging off the possibility of missing my bus, and having noticed the chess set on the desk in his dry hut, I offered to give the security guard a game. During play a boat arrived, dropping some people off. We went outside, and they informed me that it wasn't due to go to Sampit, but if I wanted to charter it I could pay about ten times the normal amount. I refused to be cheated and called their bluff, saying that I'd wait for the public service, and suggested we continue the game of chess. I'd judged things correctly because about twenty minutes later the very same boat waiting at the jetty miraculously turned into a public service, and so I returned with a couple of other people to Sampit for about the normal price.\nBack in Sampit my decision not to purchase a ticket in advance for the midday bus turned out to be a wise one because some people offered me a ride with them in a jeep for only a little extra, telling me they were leaving 'immediately'. We faffed about for a while, during which the bus arrived and left, but the road to Pangkalan Bun was so bumpy that I was glad to be in the jeep. After a tiresome journey on a rocky dirt track, we arrived at about 8 pm.\nThe next morning I had to deal with some absurd bureaucracy involving an interview at the local police station to obtain a letter of permission to enter Tanjung Puting National Park. They informed me that in Kumai I could arrange transport and buy a visitor permit at the National Park office. I got an Ojek (motorbike taxi) to Kumai, and at the jetty I came upon Jien Joan, a friendly English-speaking guy who offered me an acceptable price of rp250,000 per day to hire his klotok (barge – type boat) with himself as navigator. He told me that the National Park office had moved to a new office situated halfway back on the road to Pangkalan Bun so, somewhat irritated that the police hadn't told me that in the first place, I went back the way I had come. The people at the park office were dismayed to find that I could speak Indonesian and had a resident's visa that justified my insistence that I should therefore pay the local price, which was about a fifth of the tourist price. \nI found little in Kumai during an afternoon of exploration except a huge boat that they were building, onto which the builders let me clamber aboard via some rather treacherous gangplanks, affording me some splendid views over the river. In the evening I joined in a game of football with the locals, had dinner at Jien's house, and then slept on the klotok.\nIt was a long journey the next morning, the motor of our klotok purring quietly through the jungle. After five hours we arrived at Tanjung Puting. Strangely, the National Park was in a different time zone, making the local time 2.30 pm, the argument being that it gets darker much earlier in the jungle. I wouldn't have thought that it's worth the confusion as the sun is up for the same duration whatever the time; the only implication as far as I was concerned was that it was now only half an hour until orangutan feeding time at 3 pm. \nMarching off into the jungle with me were two women from Alaska, and six National Park staff carrying bags of food and making strange howling noises to the orangutans to signal our impending arrival at the feeding station. On the way there we came across an orangutan sitting on the path. The others walked past her but I was warier, having never come across one in the wild before. Slowly she approached me and I stood still, unconfident of her regard for my safety. She grabbed my water bottle from my hand, unscrewed the lid and started helping herself to my water. The Indonesians chuckled and walked on while I looked at her with disbelief and a little disgruntlement at my now water-less trek. I followed her to the feeding station, not wanting to pass in case I upset her. I soon realised however that these orangutans were far too used to humans to let such a trivial thing bother them.\nThe feeding-station was a wooden raised structure in the jungle upon which were placed piles of pineapples and several big black buckets of milk. When I got there, two or three orangutans were already sitting upon it, happily feasting on one pineapple after the other. Benches were provided for humans at a distance from the orangutans. This may sound a little staged, but in practice both the rangers and orangutans completely ignored these prescribed seating arrangements. It wasn't at all unusual for an orangutan to sit next to a human on a bench as if brothers, which in a sense we are. I was, at this stage, a little uncertain about getting this close to one of them, but I watched every action they made with amazement and amusement. Only about eight to ten orangutans arrived during the feeding session because it was the rainy season and so there was a plentiful supply of fruits in the forest. Most of the orangutans that did still come were ex-captive ones that were going through a gradual re-introduction to life and survival in the wild, so they were not so adept at finding food for themselves.\nAfter some time spent watching them, the big event happened – the arrival of Kusasi. This was the dominant male in the jungle. Any other male in the jungle who wanted to prove his superiority first had to fight Kusasi and win. Since Kusasi had claimed the title, several had tried without success. I could see why – he was huge! We all certainly cleared a wide berth for him when he made an appearance and some of the other orangutans ran off the feeding platform in fright. The only remaining ones were two females who stayed and groomed him, competing for his attention. At one stage Kusasi took a break from feeding to inspect the genitals of one of them, deciding nonchalantly that he'd like to have sex. Once in the act, he must have deliberated about this decision, because he soon went back to his pineapples. Another male showed up, presumably desiring some food, but Kusasi chased him off into the jungle. The females turned their attention to us and sat with us for a while. Eventually, they all dispersed, and we went back to Camp Leakey (the National Park Headquarters).\nIn the early evening, we took a quick wash in the river, using a bucket tied to a length of rope to avoid crocodile attacks. As I dried myself, I stared in amazement at the sight of an orangutan rowing a canoe across the river to the platform on which we stood. We then sailed downstream a little to find a quiet place to stop for the night. My cook conjured up something tasty, and I chatted to Jien for a while before settling down to a nice peaceful sleep.\nThe next day, Christmas Day 2002, I awoke to realise that I'd forgotten to hang up a stocking. My real present was an early morning walk in the jungle with Jien who pointed out various plants of interest including, amongst many others, those used as natural malaria cures, edible funguses, poisonous funguses, poisonous sap, trees containing life-saving water, small edible berries and a jungle version of the infamously smelly Indonesian fruit, the durian. We took a rest at one point and stayed deadly silent, just listening to the deafening sound of insects, gibbons crying, and birds singing. What Jien had made me realise was that alone I would surely perish here within a week, whereas he would probably survive for months. \nLater in the day, I lounged around Camp Leakey, reading my book, and let the wildlife come to me. I was treated to the sight of gibbons feeding in the trees and swinging incredibly from tree to tree so fast that it was hard to keep my eyes on one. They were hugely funny to watch, even if they did occasionally drop the stone from the fruit on me. Or should I say throw it at me? Then an orangutan arrived, carrying a small baby. I moved closer and spent about twenty minutes sitting only about two metres away. It was one of the greatest experiences to be alone with her, and share this time with no disturbances. I watched her, she watched the gibbons, and the gibbons dropped things on my head! Occasionally the orangutan would look at me with the same eyes that I sometimes looked at Indonesian people with, as if to say: 'What the hell are you staring at? Haven't you got anything better to do?' Her expressions and behaviour were so similar to ours that it made her more fascinating still. \nSoon enough it was feeding time again. On the way to the feeding station, we once more came across an orangutan on the path. I believe it was the same one. I'd hidden my bottle up my shirt. A western couple who lived in the Congo with the gorillas, but who had decided to holiday with the orangutans, hadn't thought to hide theirs. Any smug feelings on my part were soon dissipated when the orangutan discovered that their bottle was fastened to the lady's belt, so she again turned her attention to me. She casually strode over and looked at me trying to appear innocent and unaware of her attention. Aghast, I felt her hairy hand beneath my shirt, sliding over my skin, and she grabbed my bottle from within.\nThe activity at the feeding station was similar to the day before, only this time I learnt some more of the orangutans' names. The female who I had seen the evening before at the river was called Princess and she was full of tricks. I watched as she took one of the ranger's shoes off and put it on her foot. She then removed the laces and tossed them on the floor with a questioning look: 'Why do I need these? My feet are OK as they are.' She then tried, as if to apologise, to re-lace them. I learnt that the professor at the camp had taught her five hundred words in American Sign Language with which she communicated effectively with humans. Not only could she paddle a canoe, but she could also brush her teeth, and wash clothes with a bar of soap by the river, wring them out and hang them up to dry. As if to show my respect, I sat next to her for a while as she ate a pineapple.\nAfter feeding time I returned to the boat, cooled off using the bucket and rope, and then we began the long journey back to Kumai. The journey down the river at night was truly something special. The fireflies in the trees were a spectacular sight, and it seemed appropriately uncanny that it was Christmas Day, as many of the trees sparkled with what looked like Christmas lights. I don't think I'd ever seen fireflies before, and so I watched for hours in awe. At one point one of them landed near me on the roof of the boat, walking around like a miniature moving light bulb. Besides watching these and watching the cool, dark jungle river glide by, I read a novel set in a jungle using my torch, and the journey to Kumai seemed like a dream.\nWhen we arrived back in Kumai, it was teeming with rain. I got an ojek back to Pangkalan Bun and checked into the same hotel that I had stayed in before. I felt like something had woken me from a magic spell, and I could scarcely believe that the boat journey was something from the same universe. \nA week remained of the Christmas holidays, yet I hadn't planned on anything else but Tanjung Puting. I felt I had two choices, either to continue west and eventually travel up to Pontianak, or to go back to East Kalimantan. Although the latter appeared vastly more interesting I couldn't stand the thought of those hot, sweaty buses again with their uncomfortable seats, and music so repetitive, crap and corny that it made the Eurovision Song Contest sound like a medley of the world's greatest music ever written. So, rather radically for my tastes, I decided to get an internal flight. Having discovered previously that using the travel agencies in Pangkalan Bun was about as pointless as hiding water from an orangutan, I decided just to get up very early and go straight to the airport.\nThe next morning at the airport was a success, even if I did have to wait an hour for it to open. The tiny ten passenger plane to Banjarmasin departed at 9.20 am, touching down noisily in Sampit to swap some passengers. I was soon back on a bus, this time to Samarinda, East Kalimantan. It was a long journey, including a ferry crossing at about 5 am the next morning, but at least this time I got some sleep. The journey, therefore, had taken almost twenty-four hours – imagine how long it would have taken without the plane!" } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: The Rainbow Tree and the Lost Village\n\nGenre: indigenous\n\nWord Count: 1537\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a community that worships Mother Nature." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "“The gods are parched. They need to feed.” His dark eyes wander over her face.\nClaire whimpers. She can feel the edge of the dagger brushing the side of her neck – blade awfully cold against her damp skin.\nShe chokes at the ball of sob curling up in her throat.\nTendrils of icy sweats trickle down her chin.\nDown to her jowls… \nAnd resting, finally, at the throbbing hollow in the middle. \nAnd her gut --- churning bitter bile that rises to her chest. \nAnd then the native holds the dagger up in the air. In a bat of an eyelash, she can feel a suave whoosh of the wind kissing her neck. She shuts her eyes and bawls like a banshee. Birds nesting above the tree canopies scatter at the eerie shriek. \nI only touched the most beautiful tree in the world and I’m paying my life for it. \n\n*****\n\nHer eyes agape and mouth on the floor, Claire drags her feet towards the tree. It’s a rainbow eucalyptus! She has heard of it before but never expected it to be this majestic up close in person. Dropping her backpack on the carpet of grass, she combs her eyes to this tall tree right in front of her in awe. It really is a rainbow tree – shedding its bark off in bright greens and yellows, and then pale blues, reds, oranges, and purples. She thought it can only grow in the southern islands of the country and not in the Cordilleras. \n“Look at you.” Claire strokes its trunk and it feels surprisingly smooth under her touch. Up close, she can see a myriad of pale hues beginning to peel off to sport a multitude of a more vivid spectrum. \nShe fumbles through her jeans pocket for her phone. She won’t miss any chance to take photos of it. She might never see one again in this lifetime. Realizing her other hand is still touching the tree, she tries to pull it back. Surprisingly, she can’t remove her hand from it no matter how hard she tries! Her chest begins to rise and fall. Pulling herself together, Claire tugs her hand lightly at first, wondering to herself. \nHow did my hand get stuck to it? Sticky sap drips, maybe? Or is this tree poisonous somehow that it did something to my nervous system?\nSomething doesn’t add up. She begins to panic. The more she yanks to let go of her hand, the more she can feel the tingling sensation rising from the tip of her fingers up to her knuckle, and then to her wrist. Chest heaving, she lifts her foot and kicks the tree as hard as she can to pull herself back. But when she violently tugs at her hand once more, she can’t move it up to her elbow.\n“What sorcery is this?” She gasps. \n “The gods are parched. They need to feed.” She jerks at the sound of his voice. Glad to be in the presence of another human being after three hours, she spins to greet him. \nBut the person is holding a dagger up in the air. Before she could utter a word, he strikes.\nShe screams. And waits...\nAm I dead?\nShe doesn’t feel anything. Nothing at all except the wobbling of her knees and the heaving of her chest. \nClaire opens her eyes to see the native holding a green lifeless snake in his hands! It probably camouflaged on the tree!\n “It’s my dagger or this snake’s fangs on your throat.” He chuckles, showing a set of red teeth and gums decayed probably from years of chewing betel nut. \nShe gasps. “I t-thought…” She throws up on the rocks. All of a sudden, she can move away from the tree!\n“You thought I’d kill you?” He snorts and spits red on a spittoon. “We are natives but we are no savages. You watch too many movies in the lowlands.” He tilts his head on one side and looks at her. “Forgive my humor. It keeps falling flat and off lately. My name is Langsaw. I believe we started off on the wrong foot. Let me make up for that.” He takes something out from his handcrafted palm knapsack and shoves a pouch of ground leaves to her nostrils. “That’ll make you feel better.”\nStill feeling nauseous down to her knees, she sits on her heels and checks him out closely. Langsaw is barefoot, naked from waist to his bronzed chest – with only a loom-woven G-string to cover his loin and ripping tattoos on his muscular limbs and arms. A boar tooth necklace hangs loosely on his neck and a band of feathers adorned on his head.\n“I- I don’t know what happened. I only touched the tree but I couldn’t move my hand away from it. Like I pulled a muscle or something.”\n“Sumba.” He snaps.\n“S-sumba? Do you mean pixie dwellers?”\nLangsaw chuckles. “Our Ina Ginabway can whisper to a tree to turn an intruder immovable for hours. Like a spell.” He carefully skims the tree. “From the looks of it, you didn’t only touch Ayo but peel her patches off from her bark. Typical lowlander. You couldn’t keep your hands off anything for one moment of your life.” He clucks his tongue in disapproval. \nAyo? So the rainbow tree got a name! \nShe swallows hard the lump in her throat. “I- I was just fascinated.” \n“Of course, you were.” Langsaw looks up. “It will be dark soon. You can’t trek the woods in the night. Come along to the village. You will leave in the morning.” \n\n*****\n\n “What is it that you, lowlanders say of us? Ah – beggars sitting atop mountains of gold.” \nMasayo, a member of the council of elders, is probing and studying her closely while gingerly chewing on his momma enfolded in a leaf of the betel piper vine, nut chunks handsomely dabbed with lime juice. Deep creases form between his cheek and temple as a strong set of jaws grind side-to-side. She sits among them in a bonfire they call Dap-ayan. On her plate is a pile of salted pork slabs they call etag and smoked president’s fish which are a staple of the upland communities. The latter is the most expensive freshwater fish in the country. She has never tasted one until tonight. \nA young lady in a vibrant ethnic garment pours coconut wine to her bamboo goblet. She murmurs her thanks and the lady smiles back. \nMasayo waves his hand. “Some of you say we have tails. You mock at our sinewy form and native tongue.” All the other men and women around the bonfire grin at his remark. “We are the proud Tingguians of the Cordilleras. While you so have openly embraced the mestizo ways, we have remained faithful to the things that connect us to the past. Raw. Unadulterated.”\nTwo young men appear carrying a wild pig tied to a pole. \nHumming fills the air as Masayo slowly stands… \nVoices blending… \nForetelling using a singsong tone… \nChanting their prayers to the cool wind. \nAnother elder, Bingguan, approaches the pig. He cuts the hog expertly like the knife is an extension of his hand. He pulls out its heart and liver and shakes his head.\n“The gods are angry.” Bingguan exclaims. \nThe chanting stops. The villagers look at her.\n “You heard him.” Masayo turns to her. “Our gods are angry. Tell me, lowlander. Who is your God?”\nClaire fondles her food. “I’m a Catholic…” She can’t say anything more. \n“Then I’ll tell you. You cut a tree and carve it into your idols. And then you starve. Who wouldn’t? You cut your food source and you expect kneeling before it will appease your hunger? And then you poison streams and rivers and buy distilled water instead. Fools. The gods infused themselves to the ground we walk on. You stub their heart when you mine for gold. You suffocate them with your wastes. But with wrath and vengeance, they come in many forms – floods, quakes, plagues. Cleansing all lands.”\nMasayo pauses for breath and goes on. “Here, if you cut a tree then plant ten more. Anyone caught soiling our waters will pay it with their life. Many mining companies have come here to exploit our mountains. They talk big with empty promises. But the gods didn’t allow it. And they never will. So tell me, lowlander, why have you come to us?” \nClaire blinks her tears away. Tomorrow, she would quit work. I never found them, she’d tell her boss. No rainbow tree. No lost village. She can’t destroy these beautiful people. She can’t destroy their dwellings. \nNo. I never found them.\nClaire blinks her tears away. “I was lost in the woods. And you found me.” \nMasayo smiles. “Well then, you will be named Ayo, after the earth goddess.”\nA strange feeling sweeps over her. It’s a beautiful emotion.\nGongs start to play. Men and women in flimsy clothing, unmindful of the cold, gather around the fire. They flap their hands outward the night sky and stomp their feet side to side in catchy rhythm. She throws her hands up and joins the circle." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: 1864 Arkansas\n\nGenre: horror\n\nWord Count: 2730\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart or end your story with someone saying, “We have all the time in the world.”" }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "1864 Arkansas\nEllen was awoken by the sound of her husband John's voice, coming up the stairs in a hushed but angry tone.\n“It don't mean nothing, Sarah. You'll still stay here with us. Think of us as your keepers more than your owners,” John said.\n“I've been hearing stories, Mister Addison, that’s all,” said Sarah.\n“That's just what they are, Sarah, stories. Pay no mind to them. You keep on with your work, and I'll worry about keeping this house over our heads, you hear?” John said in a tone that meant the conversation was over.\nEllen got up in a hurry, fearing another argument that would end in Sarah being silenced forcibly. Ellen knew that John wasn't a bad man or even a violent man, but she knew from her father what fear could do to a man when he was cornered. And Ellen didn't want that for Sarah. Sarah had a kindness to her that Ellen was drawn to, and a stoicism that was intrepid and far beyond her years.\n“What's all this hubbub, John? Morning, Sarah,” Ellen said joyfully as she came down the stairs. Ellen knew that the best way to defuse John was to approach every situation with a smile.\nThe Addison household was small but functional. Ellen and John slept in the 'Master bedroom,' while Sarah had a small room that was originally intended to be a pantry (but wasn't finished, and had a small leak if it rained heavily) adjacent to the kitchen. This suited everyone because Sarah could do almost all her indoor duties without disturbing Ellen and John too much.\nSarah had been sent to the market that morning to collect enough food to make lunch for John and something for Ellen to eat through the week. A 'privilege,' John had argued, because she was allowed to leave the house alone and she was trusted with money. Ellen had argued it was too far to send a 23-year-old girl alone. But this was just one of many arguments they had over Sarah. Sarah had been purchased for John and Ellen by John's father, before he died, as a way to get them started on their life together. A life together John hadn't necessarily wanted, but one his father had thought proper. As it turned out, John would've needed a lot more help before having a reliable 5-acre corn farm, but his father had succumbed to cholera shortly after helping them purchase the property.\n“Morning sweetheart, no 'hubbub.' Me and Sarah were just discussing the gossip down at the market,” John said sweetly.\n“There's a war coming, Miss Addison,” Sarah said anxiously.\n“No, there isn't,” John said and shot a stare at Sarah that immediately stopped her in her tracks.\n“A war? Oh my!” Ellen exclaimed. Sarah nodded sheepishly in response.\n“There ain't goin' to be no goddamn war, get that into both of your heads!” John shouted in frustration. “Not today, not tomorrow, not next goddamned week! Now what is happening today is I'm going round to Charley's to help him with the harvest, and both of you are going to keep this place shipshape. And Sarah, if I hear from Ellen, when I get back, that you've been filling her head, yours will get filled with lead.” John smirked at his own witty but cruel poeticism.\nEllen knew full well that John wasn't helping Charley out of some sense of charity, but rather he'd taken a job working for him as a field hand. She had to hide that knowledge from John fiercely because his shame was more unruly than his anger.\n“Ok, love,” Ellen said, knowing this mood called for affection, not conflict. She took John's arm and led him to the front door, and away from Sarah's earshot. “I’ll make sure she doesn't get wrapped up in all this war foolishness, and that she knows her place for now on and gets the cooking and cleaning done before you get home.” Ellen leaned in for a kiss, and John reciprocated hurriedly and with no feeling, then left.\nEllen went back to the kitchen to find Sarah looking confused and anxious.\n“Is Mister Addison angry with me El? Sarah asked Sarah had gotten used to being more informal and friendly with Ellen since John had taken a regular job which kept him out during the day.\n“He’s not angry with you Sarah, he’s just angry; things get hard for a man when he feels everything is on top of him. He shuts himself down to hide” Ellen said “Anyway why am I having to play referee between you and John, get back in the kitchen and finish making us something delicious” Ellen smiled kindly so that Sarah knew she was playing.\nSarah looked back at Ellen and smiled. Sarah had known Ellen half her life, even before Johns father had purchased her she was the daughter of a family of slaves belonging to their neighbour Charley. When Charley had sold the family Sarah had insisted on staying behind, despite her families concerns, to stay close to Ellen as they’d become good friends over the years. Ellen had always felt protective over Sarah despite being only 3 years older. Ellen felt a sense of matriarchal care, and love for her.\nJohn and Charley\nJohn had been standing outside listening to them chatting for a while, he had wanted to make sure that Ellen had told Sarah the lay of the land, but now he could hear them giggling. John felt a burning in his chest, why should they be having a good time together while he is out picking rocks on Charley’s farm, this thought stayed with John during the entire 3 mile walk. Sarah’s a slaves girl, albeit one that’s close to Ellen, but she was never bought by his father to simply entertain Ellen like a pet. He should send her out to work on Charley’s field and Ellen should learn to cook and clean, this is the proper way. John thought to himself as he walked, making himself more and more angry.\nWhen he arrived at Charley’s farm he went straight to the main farmhouse to speak with Charley, it was much bigger than his and well-built, John could see himself living there.\n“Mornin Charley” John said masquerading a chipper smile.\nCharley was much older than John, closer to the age of his father but not nearly as pleasant, John had quickly begun to see Charley as a substitute father, after his father had died. This had turned out to be a mistake as Charley had viewed John closer to one of his slaves than a son.\n“Mornin John,” Charley retorted “Now we’ve still got some work in the lower field that needs doin, and some preparation to be done before harvest, but first I’d like you to go and use your magic wrangling those good for nothing slaves of mine into getting some work done, I know you have a natural way with them folk”\n“Now listen Charley, As much as I like coming here, we did agree, that after three weeks work y’all would pay me in grain and dollar” John said as firmly as he could muster “It’s just I need to start working my own land Charley and as much as I appreciate the work all my concerns are falling by the wayside”\n“Your concerns!?” Charley said “You need to get your house in order John, if your father could see the way you let that girl walk all over you and how you treat that slave as a pampered pet he’d be spinning in his grave so quick a fire would start”\nJohn’s face started to glow red with rage and embarrassment, he despised Charley thinking he knew anything about who his Father was, or how he’d feel about Johns behavior, he shouldn’t be telling me how to run my life, John thought, as he stormed out without saying another word, knowing full well another word could tip him over the edge and he needed to keep Charley on side, just until he was paid.\n“Get those slaves working boy!” Charley hollered after John, that tore it for John, He went straight out and started loading sack after sack of grain into from Charley’s barn into Charley’s cart.\n“What are you doing boy!” continued the voice, “you’ll hang for this!”\nJohn saw a billhook lying in the back of the cart and grabbed for it as a physical reflex, he turned to Charley, who was still standing in his doorway, and started walking towards him blade in hand. Charley looked John straight in the eyes trying to intimidate him into backing down, but John continued toward him. The look in John’s eyes made Charley see he wasn’t in a reasoning frame of mind and he quickly shut the door on John.\nEllen and Sarah\nBack on Addison’s Farm Ellen was helping Sarah finish up the basic stew she’d been preparing since this morning. Sarah had started a fire in the cook stove and Ellen was moving the pot into place.\n“Not yet Missus El” Sarah said sharply “The fire’s not hot enough yet, I want the stove hot before, so it’s boiling and cooking not just simmering in its juices”\nEllen shot a look at Sarah “its ok to talk to me like that Sarah but don’t let John catch you speaking out of turn again. He’s already letting you push the boundaries as it is” Ellen said sternly.\nSarah gave her a smile “Is everything ok between you and Mister Addison, El?” Sarah said with genuine concern.\n“We’re fine, what would you know about it anyway” Ellen said her annoyance growing “and stop calling me El, my name’s Ellen, or Missus Addison”\n“But I’ve always called you El, since we were littluns, and you always liked it, do you remember when we used to play in the creek, in Papa Addison’s field?” Sarah was trying to reform some lost connection with Ellen “I haven’t heard you and John, you know in the marital way upstairs for a while, so I’m just asking if you too are still in love?”\n“What the kind of question is that Sarah?” Ellen said with a tear forming in her eye, because she knew the truth of what Sarah was saying. “What do you know about love, you’ve never even been with a man!” Ellen shouted but quickly withdrew her anger and started crying.\n“I was with a man once Missus Ellen, you remember I told you back when Papa Addison bought me when I was probably, I don’t know 20, that’s what made him decide to buy me I think. But you were the only reason I stayed here.” Sarah said starting to cry as well.\n“I do remember Sarah, I’m sorry” Ellen whimpered “Mister Addison was a good man , but he got carried away with woman, John’s not like that though, quite the opposite since the accident, you know he’d never come after you at night”\n“I know that El, he’s got you, why would he ever want to mess with me when he has a beautiful wife?” Sarah said trying to negotiate a mutually happy ending to the argument\n“Of course he’d want you Sarah, everybody wants you” Ellen said still crying, as she lent in to hug Sarah, Sarah embraced Ellen as they both cried , not knowing why they were crying anymore just enjoying the warmth and unspoken love between them. Ellen had been starved of the kind of vulnerable and caring affection that Sarah was showing her and it engulfed an old forgotten desire within her.\nSarah pulled Ellen in closer and pulled her head back and struck up the courage to kiss Ellen gently on the lips, when Ellen reciprocated the kiss Sarah allowed herself to fully fall into the moment, all those years of untold wanting and missed opportunities were bursting out of her. Ellen started to undress Sarah slowly and carefully, Sarah resisted at first but soon did the same to Ellen “Sarah, you know I have always loved you don’t you?” Ellen said.\n“Of course, but I thought you didn’t love me the same as I love you Missus El” Sarah said terrified and ecstatic “I’m so happy we were never torn away from each other, so many times I thought I could’ve lost you but you were always right there. You always had my hand and I couldn’t have lived without you. But missus El what if John comes home”\n“He won’t be home for hours, he never comes home before dusk” Ellen said as she pulled Sarah to the floor.\n“I feel like I’ve only just found you, I don’t want this to be torn from us” Sarah gasped\nSarah heard it first, the sound of a horse and a large wagon. Then a thud as some heavy sacks where chucked to the ground. But both Ellen and Sarah where too enraptured in each other’s arms, they couldn’t break the embrace even if they’d known that John was about to come through the door.\nJohn, Sarah, and Ellen\nJohn stormed in still gripping the billhook in a tense fist, knuckles still white, anger seething. The way Charley had called him ‘boy’ was still ringing in his mind. He looked up his heart stopped.\n“What the hell is this!?” John screamed. He could see Sarah naked and writhing but couldn’t see Ellen, at first John thought that maybe Sarah had brought back a lover from the market.\nAs soon as Sarah rolled over in shock John saw Ellen laying sprawled on the floor. John swung his billhook as an immediate unthinking response to what he was seeing, catching Sarah’s throat cleanly.\n“You goddamned heathen whore!” John cried, tears were welling up in his eyes “Why Ellen!?”\nEllen started to sit up to respond, but John brought the handle of the billhook down onto the middle of her forehead hard. Ellen dropped backwards and a loud crack rang out as her head rebounded off the hard floor. John again butted her head with the billhook handle two more times until he saw blood flow from the crack he’d made in Ellen’s forehead. John looked to his left and could see Sarah still squirming, blood coming heavily from the wound he had caused. John went quickly to the kitchen and reached to a loose board above the window, he shunted it aside, and rummaged around until he produced his father’s rifle which had almost never been used; John checked it was loaded then walked meaningfully to the scene he had just left in the dining room. He lowered the rifle to Sarah’s eye line as she lay there glugging and sputtering in desperation. Johns was pouring with tears and rage and simultaneously shaking. He looked to his left and saw Ellen’s eyes had started to open, she fixed him with a longing pleading look.\n“No John” she whispered out with as much energy as she could muster “this isn’t you, I know you John.”\nJohns mind reeled back to the day he’d first met Ellen and the years they’d spent together. She did know him, John thought, but he no longer knew himself. John turned the rifle and held it to his throat and pulled the trigger. The loud explosion and spray of blood filled the room,\nEllen took three deep breaths and cried out. No words of exclamation, just a raw guttural cry that reached back through her lungs, her heart and into her past, all the memories of heartache and struggle, all the joy everything they had held together spewed out of her like a waterfall of sound and grief.\nEllen rolled onto her side and could see Sarah glugging for air, blood gushing out of her neck with every convulsive breath.\n“You’re going to be ok!” Ellen said lying to herself “Just stay calm”\nSarah’s eye’s rolled back into her head.\nEllen looked terrified as she spoke sweetly and softly to Sarah, tears streamed out of her eyes.\n“We have all the time in the World”\nSarah’s face turned toward Ellen’s. Her eyes were filled with all the horror, fury and grief that had accumulated over her short life. And her last thought was ‘We have all the time in the world’" } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Earthers\n\nGenre: indigenous\n\nWord Count: 1163\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a community that worships Mother Nature." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "My eyes fluttered open, turning into slits because of the bright sun beaming down. That’s exactly how it happens in the movies. You have a little spill and that group always collects you from the ground and either helps you, or tortures you for being on their sacred ground. Well that’s great. Blobs form over my head, staring. I jolt up, scaring the people around me as they jump back.\n“Get back, I don’t know any of you!” I screech, extend my arms, and take in my surroundings. “Stay back!” One man, who seems to be the leader or has some form of authority, comes forward and chuckles.\n“We aren’t here to hurt you. We are your friends. We are the Earthers.” He stopped there but I gave such a shocked and dumbfounded look, he picked up on it and continued on. “We believe in Mother Nature. We believe in the things that she can provide, the things that she has. You haven't looked at your gash. Pretty much healed, right?”\nI look down to my leg and I see that my gash is almost healed. I’m sure it was much bigger before, I didn’t get a good look at it but I passed out from the pain. “What did you do to me?” I almost yell and the other Earthers move back a little.\nThey start to erupt into little remarks and comments.\n“She’s unhinged!”\n“Oh my, she’s acting like a savage.”\n“Maybe she needs to become one of us.”\nI’m sure they said other stupid things about me but I was focused on my leg. How? Why?\nIf this isn’t dangerous then why don’t they share this with the entire world? Why not help people? This is the last time I’m going to Europe alone.\n“Okay, stop! Where the hell am I? In a hut,” I raised my voice before he could speak, “With weird medical supplies. Yea, I got that. Where in Europe am I? Am I still in Scotland?”\nThe man sighs. He looks tired. “Yes, I can tell you that much. I’m not going to tell you where in Scotland. Only because I see you have a lot of pent up anger, and we can help you release it. Stay with us for at minimum a week and tell us how you feel after, then we will release you.”\nDid this man really tell me I have just about no choice but to stay here?\n“What?” That’s all I can get out because I’m stunned.\nThe man smiles from ear to ear, showing white, strong teeth. It’s honestly kind of scary. “I will go and get Clementine, the leader. She knows you’re here but she’s been quite busy. She will explain further. Just rest easy for a few minutes.” The man turns around and stops at the entrance. He forces a coughs and everyone succuries after him through the door. I’m just sitting there staring, thinking about how this all happened.\nAfter about five minutes of staring and the woman comes through the tent with others following. She has fiery orange hair and big green eyes. She has freckles all over her face and full lips. She has a detailed wooden stick in her hand that goes above her head and it has a glowing green orb encased in wood at the top, swirling around it. It seems as if she was wearing a leaf dress, woven beautifully, trailing behind her.\n“Hello, I am Clementine. Come to think of it you never told us your name. Care to share?” Her eyes bore into mine. Not telling any story, not showing any emotion, although her face is plastered with a huge smile. I looks sort of fake and I can’t help but wonder if it is.\n“My name is Anika.” As I say my name, one of the Earthers that came in scribbles something down and jerks their head back to me and watches me with a blank expression.\nDrawing my attention from the Earther, she speaks again. “Wonderful! You will stay in the fancy cubicles in the trees. I would love to show you around!” She grabs my arm and pulls me off the medical bed. I wonder how they have one of those.\nShe shows me around and it's beautiful. There are birds chirping, beautiful trees and flowers. We walk up to a castle, but it’s much smaller than a normal one and made beautifully out of leaves, flowers, and trees.\nWe go to the dungeon first, I’m guessing it’s because it’s one of the first doors near the entrance when we walk in.\n“This is the dungeon, it’s beautiful for one right?”\nI nod.\nI see people in wood cages, and behind wood bars. They probably can't break through because the people look so weak. I see one man and he looks like he is on the brink of death, from being here and from old age.\nHe grabs my arm. “Don’t listen… Sacrifice… They are evil…” He nods and I look at him with a stupid look on my face. What the hell?\nClementine turns around when she notices I’m not walking with her anymore and takes her stick and knocks the man back in his confinement. Hard. “Don’t listen to whatever he said. The people here are delusional.”\nI nod not knowing whether to trust her and I eye her up and down. I shake it off and we explore the rest of the castle. I guess I didn’t shake it off well enough because the man’s words kept invading my thoughts. When we got to the entrance of the castle so we could leave, Clementine grabbed my shoulders and turned me around gently facing her.\n“Okay, what’s going on? It seems to me that you believe the man. I don’t blame you. I would have been scared if someone said that to me, my first time being somewhere I’m not familiar with.” It seems as if she plasters a forced smile on her face and she rubs my shoulders.\n“So you aren’t going to explain?” I question. She throws her head back as if she just realized it was implied.\n“We sacrifice people for Mother Nature, that’s the only way she will provide for us. You are going to help us with that. I wanted to wait just a. while longer before we told you, but the old man spilled our secrets a little bit too early,” She rolls her eyes, smiles and shrugs nonchalantly, digs in her satchel, and takes out a decent sized rock. It looks like there is dried paint, or berries, or... blood. Before I can protest and retreat, she takes the rock and hits it forcefully on my head. Black spots danced around my vision before everything went completely black.\nBefore I went out completely she bent over and got close to my ear, and in such a monotone voice, she said \"We'd do anything for Mother Nature.\"" } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Osun And Her People\n\nGenre: indigenous\n\nWord Count: 1172\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a community that worships Mother Nature." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "In the rainy season of the year, the august visitors arrived safely for the Osun-Osogbo sacred grove festival, which was protected by Susanne Wenger. The hotels were crowdedly filled up with people of different backgrounds, colors and sizes. The street was bustled with the foreigners and indigenes who had prepared for the commencement of the festival the next day.\nBayo turned on his radio to 104.5 FM radio station. “Attention! Attention!! Attention!!! This week is Osun-Osogbo festival, we invite the young and old; the youths are called to celebrate with us from all corners of the world. Our tradition and culture will not be eradicated. The announcer is the State of Osun”. He turned off the radio immediately the announcement finished and rushed out to meet his friends.\nIt had been raining all days in the month of August. Everywhere was wet and roughed by the movement of the politicians’ entourage cars to the shrine of Osun. Everyone was hurrying to get there on time before the commencement of the program which lasted for two weeks. The Osun priest was internationally famous for her goddess consultation because she sought protection for people for the year to come by offering gifts and sacrifices.\nBaba okeowo sat down on the chair outside his home when Bayo was running happily toward him. “hey… what’s the matter? It’s not good to run into my house when no danger”.\n“I’m sorry sir” he prostrated, “it’s the Osun festival I heard this evening on radio that I want to inform my friend so that we can prepare to go”. \nBaba smiled, “little children and their act!” Bayo smiled and walked him to call on his friend.\nBaba Okeowo called on his son and his friend. “Okeowo…” he called gently and they both came out to meet him. “are you preparing to honor the river goddess as thousands of people attended to bear witness to the ceremonies?” he asked. \nThey shook their heads to answered him affirmatory, “yes baba”. Baba knew all about the story of the 700 years sacred grove. He told them to sit down as he began the story. “it was an ancient occurrence led to celebration of this festival. Once upon a time, a group of migrating people who were led by a great hunter called Olutimehin settled on the bank of Osun river, to save themselves from famine. At the riverside, Osun the goddess appeared from the water in front of Olutimehin and requested him to lead people to a special (presently Osogbo town). The goddess promised to protect all the group and bring the prosperity in return for an annual sacrifice to her. The group accepted the proposition. But in the 1950s Osun-Osogbo Grove was neglected; priests abandoned the grove as customary responsibilities and sanctions weakened. Prohibited actions like fishing, hunting and falling of trees in the grove took place until an Australian, Susanne Wenger, came and stopped the abuse going on in the grove. With the encouragement of local people, Wenger formed the New Sacred Art movement to protect the shrine. Today the annual sacrifice to the Osun River Goddess is what is still celebrated as the Osun, or Osun-Osogbo Festival.”\nThey were astonished to hear the story of the grove. Okeowo asked “who’s Osun?”\n“it’s the goddess of river. You can’t see her if she doesn’t want people to see her. It’s female, that is why people called her ‘the mother of plentiful children’. She’s beautiful”.\nThe traditional cleansing of the town called ‘iwopopo’ began as the king and the chiefs and other witnesses walked from the palace to every T-junction of the town to make sacred prayer. The king white garment flown on the ground with dirt and clay which painted its skirt brown. The priestess said, “as your garment skirt sweep the dirt; Osun had swept the problems and sorrow of your people away. No more sickness again in this land…”\n“Ase” all the followers answered. The crowd of people behind the Ataoja of Osogbo was as long as a nation going to an exile. The common dress of the day was white, and everywhere was clear with the transparency of the color because it was getting dark after they have walked for ten hours. They returned to palace to prepare for the following day.\nIn the following morning, the king and his chiefs together with the priest had gathered to continue the traditional cleansing in the third, which was the last day. People had increased like the sand of the sea, to the extent that the first could not call on the last person. “goodness is the praises of money in the society. Osun shall bring fortune to the land of Osun. The year shall bring plentiful produces and abundant blessing to her people”.\n“Ase oo”, the crowd shouted in an echo-wave sound which show rhythmic style of their voices. The priestess repeated the Ifa verses and cleansing prayer often as they got to each notable junction. \nBayo and his friend were walking gently behind the scene, along with the crowd of priests. They were exhausted because of the long distance they had walked. “Okeowo, let’s go home. It’s enough here.” Bayo said faintly as he was dropping slowly to rest on the pole. “you’re right, but we’re going to Oja-Oba at night for night-market”.\nPeople have been waiting for the lighting of the 500-year-old, sixteen-point lamp called ‘Ina Olojumerindinlogun’. The multitude increased than that of afternoon because some of the attendants did not want to be seen by people who known their religion background. The lighting of the light had begun in the shrine when Bayo and Okeowo got to market to eat. They heard the sound of the traditional drums and began to mimed. “come and see” people around called on others. Okeowo and Bayo were jovial and kind to people who needed their help. They moved their body to the throb of the drums. Their legs were firm and strong on the crust to perform cultural dance. The audience laughed, with full of enthusiasm at their cheerful dispositions. Thereafter, the architect of the cloud applied a light tone to the cloud-surface when the priestesses clocked off for the night; Okeowo and Bayo did the same.\nThe ataoja of Osogbo and the Arugba, Yeye Osun and a committee of priestesses led when it came the ‘iboriade’, an assemblage of the crowns of the past ruler, Ataojas of Osogbo for blessings. The Arugba moved from shrines to shrine to perform certain rituals on her way to the groves closely followed by Osun devotees. The Ataoja, his wives, high chiefs, and royal children followed, then the next group was the herbalists led by the chief’s herbalist. The last group consisted of men, women, journalists, tourists, guests, performers and children.\nIn the last few days, the celebrations of local artistic traditions, including drumming, dancing, musical performing, wearing of elaborate costumes, speaking of the Yoruba language and recitation of praise poetry took place and the winners were awarded a prize." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Atonement\n\nGenre: horror\n\nWord Count: 2030\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about someone whose time is running out." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "I tried the door again, but it was locked, just like it had been when I tried it the other half a dozen times. I banged my fist against it then, the metal ringing with each hit. “Hello!” I called out, hoping someone would hear me this time, someone would call back or open the door. “Is there anyone there?”\n“Just give it a rest, already.” The man sharing the room said quietly. “I promise you, you do not want the people on the other side of the door to open it for you.” He never even looked up at me; He just kept clawing at the razor-thin crack on the wall furthest from the door where two sheets of metal were joined. There were streaks of blood in various shades from the multiple attempts that had been made to get any sort of purchase on one piece or the other.\nI turned my head toward him, subsiding from my screams and resting my now throbbing hand on the door. “So what, I should just claw at the walls instead, like some sort of rat in a cage?” I leaned my head against the door then, knowing that he was right.\n“I already told you, if you go through that door you don’t come back, and they definitely aren’t going to let you go free. Why are you here, anyway?” The man stopped his work and turned to me, sitting on the stainless-steel floor. He grabbed the plastic water jug and took a small sip of it, then held it out to me. I hesitated, then walked across the room and took it.\nThe warm liquid was ambrosia. It rolled across my cracked lips onto my swollen tongue, and soothed my aching throat. I drank it quickly, greedily, until the man stopped me. “Woah. Don’t overdo it. You will make yourself sick. They won’t give us more until they bring someone else in, either.”\n“Someone else? What do you mean? Where are we?” I tried to put the few pieces of this maddening puzzle together, but none of them fit. “Who are you?” I realized then that this man seemed to know where they were, or why they were here. Something, which was more than I knew no matter how you sliced it.\n“We will probably get two or three more people in here before they start taking us again. When I first came, there were already four others. They add one every day. They have brought in more than one at a time, but that isn’t too common.” He looked around at the mostly empty room, then looked back at me. “Where we are doesn’t matter. The question is, why did they pick you up? As far as who I am… Let’s just say I’m just another poor sucker that needed something he couldn’t afford, and went to the wrong people to get it. You can call me Jack.”\n“Tanner,” I responded, instinctually reaching out my hand to shake his. He just stared, not getting up from his spot on the floor. I passed him back the water and wiped my mouth on my forearm. “I don’t know why anyone would pick me up.” This was the truth. I was racking my brain trying to think of any reason someone would want to hurt me.\n“No incurable illnesses? No cheating wife that needed to be taken care of discreetly? Hell, one guy said they picked him up for selling the gun that was used to kill the daughter of a prominent politician. I’m not sure exactly who’s in charge, but you had to have had your hand in something bad, or made a deal and not kept up your end of it.” Jack looked at me inquisitively, like he was trying to find out exactly which side of the coin I was on – desperate citizen or arms dealer.\n“I sell roast beef sandwiches for a living. I barely got out of high school. The worst thing I ever did was sold some weed to my friend.” I was silent for a moment, then had a terrible thought. “Oh God! It was just a gram! There’s no way that someone could bring me here for that, right?” I stared at Jack, not thinking he had the answer but still needing him to answer me.\n“I wouldn’t think that you would be friends with one of these guys and not know it. Are you sure you don’t have some nasty little secret? Didn’t take a practical joke a little too far in high school?” We stared at each other for a long moment, me not wanting to respond to the line of questions any longer.\n“Well, it really doesn’t matter if you want to tell me or not. You’re here. The others told me nobody has lasted longer than a week. I’m on day five, so I think it’s safe to say I’m next. I’ll let you know what I can before my time comes. Do the same for whoever comes in after you.”\nJack pulled out a small rectangle of paper and unfolded it. The creases were starting to tear, and I could see at least three different colors of ink, and many different styles of handwriting across the tattered page.\n“This is a list of everyone that has died here. The hope is that if someone gets out, this list can give people a chance to get closure, or maybe revenge for some of them.” He passed me the list, the first few taking up a couple of lines apiece with reasons why they were there, messages to loved ones, and even one that wrote, “My ghost will screw your mother,” and labeled it ‘a love note to our captors.’ About halfway down the front page, people began just writing their names and a number beside them.\n Brice Dixon – 5\n Allan Oliver Graham – 7\n Carlos Martinez – 3\n Thomas Lindon – 6\nThe rest of the front page was like this, and the back was more of the same. I read each name, the paper shaking in my hand. There must have been over fifty names on the list. The name on the last line read “Jackson L. Pope.” There was no number next to his name. I looked up to him, the horror that I was feeling not hiding in my voice as I said, “Some of them only lasted a day. Most only three.” I held the paper back out to him, but he shook his head and pursed his lips.\n“No, I had my turn, and it looks like I won’t be the one to get out. I was told that the ones that only lasted a day either killed themselves or got killed. One guy, Paul, came in three days ago and told this big guy he was gonna take his shoes. Big guy reached out, straight face and steady hands, and popped his head all the way around. It was just like a movie.”\nJack was silent for a moment, then added, “Eric. Eric Pitts. That was the big guy’s name. They put us all out after Eric punched Paul’s ticket. Pumped the room full of gas or something. When we came to, Paul’s body was gone. So was Eric.”\nI looked at him sympathetically, the story just as incredible as everything else I had seen over the last few hours. “Nobody has ever left and … come back?” I could guess what his answer would be, but I had to ask anyway.\n“No. Nobody has ever seen the door open, either. Whoever is running things here has a pretty good system. No holes, no guards to charm. Never seen anything like it, except maybe in movies.” He smiled then, adding, “Kinda funny, getting to appreciate how well thought-out your murder is.” His eyes finally regained focus. “Oh, yeah!”\nHe reached into his pocket and pulled out a pen. He held it out to me, his eyes looking a little more frantic now. “Write your name on it, then tomorrow you can pass it on to whoever shows up. When I disappear, make sure to record it for me… If you are still around, I mean.”\nI reached out for the pen, taking it and then writing my name as neatly as I could on the sheet. I folded it up and put it in my pocket, along with the pen. “So, there’s someone new every day? And you don’t know where they go when they leave here?” I was doing my best to stay calm, keep a level head. I wouldn’t be able to find a way out without keeping a level head.\n“From what I have been told, at least one a day. Sometimes two or three.” Jack shrugged. “Nobody knows how long they are actually here. We only know that, once every handful of hours, someone fills the room up with some gas, and when we wake up someone probably left and someone new arrived.”\n“So, what is behind the metal?” I pointed to the lone break in the room’s smooth metal walls. I couldn’t see what could possibly be back there. Maybe that was another one of the secrets that had been passed down across several different people that were all subject to this nightmare.\nI was very disappointed with his answer. “I don’t know. Nobody knows. The blood is there, and one of the people that was here when I got here, Anna, said that it was the actual door, and that the other side – what seemed like the door to the room – was just one more thing to make us lose our minds. I don’t know if I believe it, but I guess I’m a bit more desperate than I was when Anna was trying to claw her way through.” He laughed at himself, shaking his head. “It’s all so silly, isn’t it?”\nI don’t know, Mr. Pope,” I said. My voice didn’t have the same tremor that it had up to this point. I looked Jack in the eye, watched as all of his hope left his body. “Ah, I think you recognize me now, don’t you?” I smiled then, dropping the act I had been putting on.\n“I told you, Jack. I don’t care what the judge said. I don’t care how much your lawyers spun you to be a regular good ol’ boy. You left that baby girl for dead. You left her in a ditch, crying for her mommy.” I pulled the pen out of my pocket, gripping it at the end.\n“She was nine years old, Jack.” I lifted the pen high in the air.\n“She didn’t even know what you were doing to her, she just knew you were hurting her.” I brought the pen down as hard as I could into his face.\n“She couldn’t shake what you did to her until the day she took her own life.” I pulled the pen out of his face, lifted, and brought it down again and again.\nMy arm failed me before I stopped. When I no longer had the strength to lift it, I spat on the bloody mess that was left. I sat there for a minute, reveling in the fact that I had finally avenged my little angel from the monster that took her from me.\nI pulled the paper back out of my pocket then, smoothing it across his stiffening chest, and scratched the number 5 next to his name. “Open the damn door,” I called out. The wall began to part, the bloody streaks splitting at the seams. Half a dozen men came into the room, carrying Jack’s limp frame out and bringing in a gallon of water and a new pen.\n“I’m going home. Someone get Marco on the phone, tell him we took care of that problem for him. I think we should start on the boy that killed the family next. Drunk driver, got off with a slap on the wrist. He just finished up his parole. I hear he works for his dad now. What was his name again?”" } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: I'm an old baobab tree\n\nGenre: indigenous\n\nWord Count: 1151\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story in which an endangered species (of plant or animal) plays a central role." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "I am the baobab tree that shelters Mbuya Nyatsuro, an old woman whose hut is in the middle of an African compound. The villagers think I am a strange-looking tree, yet I have been their source of life in all seasons for as long as I can remember. Mbuya is a widow who minds her own business in her lean-to hut, resting precariously against my large tree trunk. Children call me all sorts of names, including the ‘upside-down tree’ because when I shed my leaves, I look as if a giant has uprooted and replanted me upside down with my branches resembling roots. Some say I germinated in their settlements as if by magic. But little do they know that animals are responsible for carrying my seeds, and I have relatives even as far as Madagascar, Africa and Australia. Wherever my seed germinates, someone finds a story to tell about me. Even articles have been written about one old baobab tree’s claim to fame in Zimbabwe, with its hollow trunk which can shelter up to 40 people.\nAs the seasons come and go, hot, cold, then dry, Mbuya Nyatsuro and I have survived the elements, despite diseases and bush fires. We share memories of a year when there was drought as far as the eye could see. Dust and whirlwinds blew across the barren fields whose fine soil looked like dunes in the desert. Dry maize stalks whistled in the wind as the dust spun grains of sands across the desolate landscape. That was the year when the people survived because of me. I became everyone’s best friend. The children would beg Mbuya to collect my monkey seeds in the pods, which had taken 15 even 20 years to grow. They would crush them open and suck the tart taste from the fruit. The mothers would use the pulp to make juice and fermented beer. Market women dug up my roots to make red dye, and my bark was woven into baskets and ropes for sale. Even the old medicine men who refuse to share recipes of their secrets concoctions profited from my medicinal properties, stripping my branches and boiling my leaves like spinach to cure all sorts of illnesses.\nPeople look at Mbuya Nyatsuro as my custodian. I am the tree which is their source of life: the sacred tree with the Togolese proverb, “Wisdom is like a baobab tree: no one individual can embrace it.”\nOne day I became famous when a film crew accompanied by journalists wrote a story about me. Some folk found it all very odd. I eavesdropped as people sought shade under my branches, watching the goings-on in amazement. Some remarked the camera people had not done their homework about life in the rural areas. What about the woman who had given birth to triplets? And the son who studied overseas and came every year to support his old school, bringing gifts for pupils with the highest grades? Then, the master farmer growing a prize pumpkin and winning an award at the local agriculture show? People exchanged exciting stories, not some yarn about an old tree that had been among them since time immemorial.\nDespite the comments, the film crew had their way, saying the city folks were far more fascinated by me, an old baobab tree which they claimed could be over 2000 years old and an endangered species. I even learnt that environmental tragedies could befall our communities if people continued their reckless clearing of the land, chopping down trees willy nilly. The TV crew interviewed excited local children and their school science teacher, who explained that I was the centre of life and an essential source of food, water and shelter for wild monkeys, birds and even lizards.\nMost people knew they would never see themselves on-screen because only one television occupies a prominent place in a popular local bottle store. Children are only allowed to watch through the window because there is usually standing room only, especially during the European Football league season.\nAlthough Mbuya was in her best clothes that day as they filmed, no one gave her her five minutes of fame. Yet she knew me better than anyone. She knew that at night when I was in bloom, colonies of bats would roost among my branches, feasting on the nectar-filled flowers. She had seen, on rare occasions, passing herds of elephants surprise the villagers and cause panic and consternation as the giants of the forest rubbed themselves against my trunk or tore my bark in search of water.\nSometimes Mbuya Nyatsuro sweeps beneath my shade, an ideal place for meetings. The village court, chief and other clan members assemble at least once a month under my branches. Mbuya always knows when because on the appointed day, children scurry back and forth carrying wooden benches from the nearby classrooms and arrange them in crescent shapes around three oversized tattered chairs where the ‘dare’ takes place. No one would have thought there is much happening in the community. But when I hear the court cases, I sometimes wonder whether there are more criminal than law-abiding people among us.\nOne particular day, the court assembled under Africa’s ‘tree of life.’ Women sat on reed mats covering their heads with their cloth wrappers, while men perched on wooden benches in the shade. Some youngsters even climbed my branches to get a better view. Mbuya Nyatsuro joined the crowd but sat at a distance, a respected and trusted community member.\nDuring the court session, people came to the chief with complaints about their neighbours’ cows wandering into vegetable gardens, a stolen bicycle, a man who had beaten his wife after returning from a beer drink. The stories were endless, and I heard all their secrets and the judgements. Even I would have gone as grey as the wise old chief, trying to keep the peace.\nI am still standing tall and strong, propping up Mbuya’s hut. But I have heard disturbing stories carried by the wind. Things do not bode well for my future and others like me. Somewhere across the seas, people have found out that my fruit can be transformed into powder, described as ‘raw, whole food.’ You may think that is a good omen but, I foresee mass production and packaging of my fruit for supermarkets as people increasingly appreciate my non-GMO organic qualities. I am expecting trucks and lorries coming to collect my seeds in bulk, stripping me bare and not even leaving any for Mbuya and the animals that rely on me.\nI know they say you cannot keep a good thing down, but I can see myself no longer being the revered tree of life, the heart of communities. The future sounds very bleak, with stories of my possible extinction. Yet all I want is to live for another thousand years, among the animals and my people." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Mitakuye Oyasin\n\nGenre: indigenous\n\nWord Count: 1021\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a community that worships Mother Nature." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "The snow has since melted on the great plains in Indian country. The bright sun is beginning to show itself more each day. Spring is in the air and you can smell the freshness of the grass that grows underfoot.\nNewly born buffalo calves roam the countryside. Adult salmon make their way up stream to spawn, as the bears, fresh from hibernation, are waiting for them at the river's edge.\nDaylight hours are stretching longer into the evenings as the sun lowers a little later each day, before disappearing behind the mountains, ready to rise again the next morning.\nAs darkness begins to fall, a light mist rises over the banks of the Cannon Ball River and spreads through the village. Like the spirits of the Lakota ancestors, it holds a mysterious presence, something you can't touch, yet can feel as it caresses your skin.\nStrong Horse (named as such for being as strong as a horse) steps out of his tipi, in his arms he cradles his new born son. The 28 year old Hunkpapa Lakota man stands proud, his long black hair hangs down over his muscular shoulders and the infant reaches up to try to grab the ends that stop just short of his tiny face.\nThe expression of a hardened warrior that usually adorns the face of this Indian chief has momentarily melted. His life has changed forever.\nOther members of the tribe approach him. They look at the child and smile, for they all will play a part in the life of this latest arrival. There can be no truer representation of the phrase 'it takes a village to raise a child', than when speaking of the Lakota people. The pride in the eyes of this new father is evident for all to see, and they rejoice with him in this greatest gift, the gift of life.\nStrong Horse looks into his baby's eyes and speaks, \"I am the pale moon in the darkest of skies. I am the river that runs to the sea. I am the opening in a forest of trees. I am the wind in your hair,\" he pauses as he walks towards the fire, the wood crackles and pops, occasional sparks rise up from the flames and make their way to the stars, \"I am whatever you need whenever you need it. My blood flows through your veins and always will.\" He sits beside the fire, the flickering orange light makes shadows across their faces. Looking up at the stars, memories of ancestors that have since past come to the forefront of his mind. He feels the warmth of his father as if he were still here and sighs. A single tear rolls down his cheek. It is a tear of both happiness and sadness. A few moments pass and he heads back to the tipi.\n\nThe camp is now under complete darkness except for a moonbeam that casts a ray of light which reflects across the tops of the tipis near the centre of the village. The only sounds come from the surrounding wildlife, the coyotes, the wolves, the owls.\nThe new born baby lays sleeping across his mother's stomach. She is sleeping too, trying to get a little rest before he wakes demanding more food. They breathe in unison as they lay supine on a colourful woven blanket.\nStrong Horse sits watching them, in his eyes there is a look of contentment. His life has become whole. His reason for being has just raised up a notch. He now feels complete.\n\nOver time, Strong Horse proves his worth as a father. His son idolises him and they spend a lot of time together. He teaches him to hunt and how to make a bow and some arrows. He shows him how to fish...and how to generally be an asset to the tribe. Because of who his father is, the boy gains a certain instant respect. That is something he enjoys, and only increases his admiration for his father.\nAs time passes, the boy grows into a young man. Strong Horse takes him up to the edge of the Badlands. As they look out across the plains his father speaks to him about life. The words are few yet full of meaning, \"Mitakuye oyasin\" says the father, \"we are all related. Everything in the universe is connected\", he explains. \"If you always remember mitakuye oyasin, and respect all on this Earth, you will live a full and prosperous life my son.\"\nThe boy looks up at his father with a certain adoration in his eyes, \"mitakuye oyasin\", he repeats his father's words.\nStrong Horse smiles, \"Ohan, indeed.\"\n\nFor hundreds of years the Lakota people lived the same way, with the same values. This continued through Strong Horse and his son.\n...but sadly change came, and not for the better. Slowly but surely, that old way of life disappeared.\n\nMany many moons have passed since the time of Strong Horse. Many generations have come and gone.\nThe world is now a different place.\nThe white man has taken over the land, killing many of the Lakota people that stood in their way, whilst labelling THEM savages.\nThe land that was once worshipped is now taken for granted. It is being raped of all its innocence.\nThe Lakota people are still here, albeit their numbers diminished. They still stand for Mother Earth, for the water, for the mountains, for the the plains, for the trees. They take from the land only what they need.\nThey fight for their rights, but more so, the rights of mother nature. They fight against corporate greed and those that put money ahead of all else. They fight for a planet that is being strangled by the hands of the human race.\nThey fight, they fight, they fight!\n\nThey never give up on their belief in 'mitakuye oyasin'.\n\nHow can the rest of us not see it? A Native American proverb... 'When the last tree has been cut down, the last fish caught, the last river poisoned, only then will we realise that one cannot eat money'." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Churuli\n\nGenre: indigenous\n\nWord Count: 1209\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story that weaves together multiple lives through their connection to a particular tree." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "“Time is relative,” remarked Churuli. She isn't a physicist. In fact, Churuli has never been to school. She hasn’t heard of Einstein. Come to think of it, not even about the Mahatma. Her theory of time came from the tree. She used to say that it spoke to her when they were alone. She lived near the Banyan tree for years, making it her home while protecting it with her subtle presence. Both the tree and the woman stood as the centre of our small community.\nThe banyan was old and like the earth upon which it thrived; it was home to many. From nestlings to Nilgiri Langurs, the tree sheltered all those who sought her. Just like Churuli.\nChuruli was over eighty for sure, but no one really knew her exact age or her origins. She used to wear a saree, but her style of draping it was unusual; she wore it without a blouse. On most days I used to see her with a brown blanket, something she held dear. When the blanket tore, someone from the village would buy a new one for her. The thing is, she just had to mention something and our people would run to get it for her. She was the grandmother of the village. Everyone loved her that way. In fact, if she had agreed, our people were ready to take her home and look after her. But she never left that old hut of hers, the one beside the Banyan tree, which was her home. The hut was also home to a few stray dogs. She used to feed them with the little she earned as alms.\nShe used to tell us things that never made sense to us as kids. Nevertheless, she told them. Maybe she knew that one day we would remember those words, like how I do now.\n“Once you find home, then time is just a thought. And once you find God, then even those thoughts die. I don’t really know how old I am, I just know that I am home, in the lap of my master, in a shelter that will never throw me out.”\nThe last time we spoke, she told me that her God was the tree itself. And I couldn’t help but wonder – how could a tree be someone's God? How could she believe in a thought that was so plain? But I wished that I could feel that way about something, at some point at least. I wished that I could trust an intangible force so deeply, so intensely.\nChuruli was dear to the whole village, but she was particularly dear to us children. We listened to her stories, munching on things that she prepared for us. She would go into the forest and fetch all that she could find to feed us. Guavas, mangoes, mulberries, and when it was the season, the jackfruit. She would clean the jackfruit, remove the seeds, and keep it outside her hut in a plate. And as we ran back from school, her humble hut was our dearest stop. She took care of our hunger, both of our stomach and of our soul.\nIf we were lucky enough, Churuli would sing a folk song for us. The songs that praised the creator and songs that spoke of love were her dearest. And every time love came up, she used to smile wide.\n I always wondered who her lover had been. I was always curious to know about her past back then. But these days, after knowing a bit more about love, all I wonder is how one could learn to love like her. Her love gave her joy. It set her free. And I really don’t know if I can ever do that anymore.\n“Chinnamma,” she called me one day as I was roaming near her hut. Saddened by the loss of my father, I was trying all that I could to make some sense of life.\n“You should not let the world weigh you down. Nor your losses. Your father is at rest. You should know that. You needn't worry your heart about what death is. When you are ready, that knowledge will not sit heavy upon your chest.\"\nChuruli took my face in her palms and continued.\n“Now you must grow. And one day, like this tree, become home to souls. Become their dearest home. And for that, grow your roots stronger.”\nChuruli then suddenly stopped. She looked up at the sky and hurried me.\n“It is about to rain my child. Get back home. Come back when you feel like it.\"\nI looked at her frail body. She was sitting still. She did not hurry me because she saw the rains coming, there was something else. I didn't know what it was, but she had a dull smile on her lips. And I obeyed her.\nIn fact, that day I obeyed her totally. I turned out to become home to a few people. I have become a writer now.\nAnd every time I looked back, Churuli sits on that old cot in front of her hut, smiling at me as I walked back. A few seconds with her, that I still do not understand fully, steered me along a path that has been unforgettable.\nI believe that there are these very few moments in our life when logic takes a backseat, but those moments leave us changed.\nBe it love, be it devotion, be it madness, be it a rather unexpected journey or a rare finding; certain moments change the course of our life.\nIf we are lucky, that moment will define the way we look at life. It will change us into what we never thought possible. A moment like that will leave us hopeful and hopeless, simultaneously. And from that point, what we were doesn’t matter anymore. We look around. We see. We hear. And we listen, finally. We learn to listen without wanting to agree. Without wanting to reply. We simply listen.\nFor the first time that day, I could feel Churuli's voice ringing in my ears. I was listening, taking it in. I listened to her just the way we listen to the rain, to the murmurs of the tree. We don't search for answers there, we needn't actually. Life is never about the answers, maybe that was all that Churuli was trying to tell me. And she was true, it can never be about an answer. It is far too profound to be limited to an answer. She breathed this truth in her very being.\nChuruli died a few days back. And I felt that I should note this down. Maybe as a memoir. Or as a reminder. I don’t know. The hut she lived in would soon be gone as well. Maybe the tree too. I don’t want her to fade away completely. Hence this note.\nSometimes I think that Churuli was the God who she used to talk about. In fact, it wasn’t the tree that was the home, it was her. She saved it. It was not the other way around. Now that I think about it, I am sure that the tree would have bowed down to her every day." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Snawey\n\nGenre: indigenous\n\nWord Count: 1003\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story that weaves together multiple lives through their connection to a particular tree." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "The slush that greets him is as indecisive as the foggy air that threatens rain. A narrow river follows the side of the trail that has stood established for generations. He trudges through the space that he and his father had often occupied. His mind swirls with thoughts of how his forefathers had once found peace on the land where he now stood, surrounded by a forest of thin stumps. Trevor sits down next to the tree from his father’s story and takes out his wrinkled flask of water. The leather, dry even in the humidity, brushes his lips for a moment before slow tears begin to rain from his eyes. The tears continue until they blend with a light drizzle from the sky of clouds above. Once the rain returns to a thick fog once again, he begins to remember all of the lessons his father had taught him about the trees. He remembers sapping the lighter trees earlier and saving the rich dark-coloured ones for the spring. He remembers his father’s warnings to never waste, and how the bark of the dying trees could be used to treat the sick. He remembers the name of the sweet sugar, the siwkewiku, and the trees that it came from, the mighty snawey. The last thing that he thinks of is the story of Sismoqnapui’skwe’j, the sweetwater maiden, who discovered how to make the sweet liquid and taught her findings to her people. He gathers a small stream of sticky sap from a notch in the tree into a stained glass jar and takes one last deep breath of the heavy air before returning back down the narrow path.\nTheir wide footprints leave a trail through the deep snow as the moose traverse the budding forest of the sugar-maples. The night sky overhead is adorned with the stories of leaders and friends from long ago. Some distance away, underneath the same dancing sky, a young girl wakes from her sleep to see her grandfather walking into the woods. She was used to seeing her grandparents walking into the forest together, however, her grandmother had not survived the harsh winter. She gathers her belongings and hurries after her grandfather. Eventually, after several tough winter days, her grandfather takes a rest on a rock by a river and sets up his shelter for the night. Before drifting off to sleep, he takes his tomahawk and makes a notch in a nearby tree. His granddaughter sees the tomahawk and sets up a fire to start preparing a meal for her grandfather. The scent of the food draws him out of his shelter of sticks and brush, and he smiles when he sees his granddaughter. The food that she had prepared tasted different from anything that he had ever before enjoyed. After finishing his meal, he glances at the tree where his tomahawk stays notched and notices the sap running down the side. In the years to come, she would tell her story to her friends and family while making sweet meals with the sugary sap of the maple tree.\nIzzy lazily rolls out of bed as the metallic dinging of her alarm sounds on. She washes her face and quickly flips through the day’s paper before leaving in her rusty truck for work. As she arrives at the day’s worksite, she’s happy to see that the machines are already lined up and ready. Cradling her coffee, she listens to the soothing low voice of the radio host until her coworkers show up in their trucks. They set to work, shaded from the early morning sun by the thin roofs over top of them. The day was dragging on as per normal until late in the afternoon when Izzy saw something that made her freeze in place. The mess of metal and wire that she sits atop hums to a stop as she approaches the edge of the forest. In the sky, the sun was eager to set, but in the last shreds of sunlight, she sees a figure draped in some sort of fur standing calmly in front of a tree. In her line of work, tree-huggers were not uncommon, but something about the stature of this one catches her off guard. He couldn’t have been 400 metres from the river that marked the end of her assigned zone for the day, and he stood as still as the trees that stood tall over top of him. She was always told to wait until the protesters dispersed and to never leave her vehicle, she knew those rules were made for safety, but she knew somehow that the man wanted only to talk. She climbed down the stiff ladder and approached the man, avoiding fallen branches and debris as she went. As she gets closer, she notices that the man was holding a baby boy in his arms. \n“Nothing I can say will sway your actions, this I know. All I ask is that you leave me this tree. My father brought me here once when I was young, and his father did the same before him. One day I wish to bring my son here and tell him all that I know.”\nHe was speaking to her not out of anger, but with genuine love in his voice. She looks down towards the baby who stares straight back at her with piercing brown eyes. She stays silent, trying to think of what to say as the colour slowly drains from the edge of the sky above her. As she returns to her crude machine, the night sky comes to life with all of its intricate stories dancing atop a black stage. The unnatural yellow of her headlights pierces through the bodies of once sturdy trees as she returns home. A cool wind settles in blowing harshly atop the barren landscape. She drifts off to sleep under a warm woollen blanket, dreaming of the man, his son, and the tree with the notch and the trickle of sap." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Dogi\n\nGenre: indigenous\n\nWord Count: 1003\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story in which an endangered species (of plant or animal) plays a central role." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "My name is Dogi. That's what mother calls me, that's what I am known to be. I'm a Koala from the Southern regions of Australia, and I am dead. \nI once lived by a tall gum tree in a bushland where I could run free. Where for hunger I had no need, because I had all the eucalyptus which on I could feed. Everything was all sleeping and all eating, until mother one day got news of worry. Our bushland was gradually becoming scanty land, the trees disappearing at a steady rate. One two a time, I would see three-four a man, with five-six some others, and seven-eight some tools. They would sometimes cart a tree away, and another time chop it to bits. Poor tree I thought, how sad you must be. I asked mother what was going on, she told me that we would be moving on, to a place where we would again be free, and have all the green that we could eat. \nOne day so gay I went out to play, out in the forest I leaped on trees. I went to the river to see the fish, I played until my shadow I could see. Alas! When I went home, there was no home. Just an empty space and empty land. Perhaps I thought, I lost my way, that maybe to some other where, I had strayed. But then I saw my favorite rock, and it dawned on me that I was here. I wondered gently gently, where everyone had gone, where all the trees had gone. Maybe those same men, had carted away with ours as well. I then remembered mother's words of moving away, and thus I began my journey straightaway.\nTime does speak to me. This time it spoke through the rumbling of my belly. It was dinner time, I was hungry. I looked around for some eucalyptus leaves, but there were none. I helped myself to just any leaf, and my belly paid the price that night. Morning came and I embarked on a double course. One, to find me some eucalyptus leaves, two, to find the others.\nI journeyed on and I found some friends, many we're they, all moving did they. They were in situation like me, in predicament like me. Their home had been destroyed as well, lost to them like I was to mine. They too like me, were in search of a new home, a new place to stay. They we're Possums, the lot of them. Poor Mr. snake, Poor Mr. Fox they would miss one of their vital snacks. If only these men knew how by destroying our houses, they pursued us away and upset the food chain. Maybe they wouldn't do so, or maybe they needed someone to stand up to them, to tell them not to just come destroy our homes and houses. Maybe then they would stop. \nSoon on my journey, I became thirsty. My hunger never forgot me as he reminded me in sharp bites. But I was now thirsty. I left the party of my friends and went partly off the way, bidding them goodbye, not telling them why. I journeyed on to a stream, not so far away, not so close either way. I proceeded to drink to my fill on my arrival only when I was done did I realize that the water had a strange taste, only then did I notice that there were some fishes floating in the river, the white of their bellies turned upwards, showing a truce with death. Many they were, there they were, opening up their mouths, flowing down and out. I saw one who was still alive and I went to him, I asked him what happened and he told me with his last breath. He told me of the waste and toxic chemicals that the water they live in was fed. Told me of the dung and fung they were forced to live in a while, till their hearts couldn't take it anymore and was put to a stop. Then after uttering those words, he floated away, the white of his belly upturned, just as the rest. I wondered gently gently why humans will do as such. Why not recycle and reuse, all the waste they accumulate, instead of throwing it into the homes of these creatures. I thought, maybe if there were laws that prohibited dumping waste in the seas, maybe then they wouldn't do so, maybe then they would stop. As I left the river, I thought to myself. Poor Mr. bear, he would miss his delicious snacks. \nMany a times weariness would call me, I would refuse to answer, my will was my succor. But as time went by, I succumbed to his entreaties. I sat by a tree and began to think. These humans, who cut down our homes, who pollute the waters and affect our system. Maybe they know not what they do, and what impact it could have on them. From the loss of their food to eat, to loss of their materials for drugs. Because I know that about 200 billion pounds of human food were gotten from the oceans, plants as well for their research and drugs are gotten from the forests. So why won't they let our habitat survive, why would they harm us because of selfish benefits. Maybe they didn't know, because if they did, they wouldn't persist. Maybe some were stubborn to understand, but if there were laws and punishments, they would heed.\nThere is yet still hope anyways, if they would stop now and think. If they would stop those who pollute and destroy our habitats. If they would receive our bushlands by planting, and conserve our biodiversity. Such were my thoughts, such was my mind. I remembered mother so high and my brothers so nigh. I won't see them again, all end to no gain. Such were my thoughts, as the darkness came and I slipped into the quiet" } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Frozen Hours\n\nGenre: horror\n\nWord Count: 2810\n\nPrompt:\n\nSet your story in a place that’s frozen in time — literally or metaphorically." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "It was an accident, but the ramifications were catastrophic in what became known as those frozen hours. Alright, let me explain. Let me start at the beginning.\nI was part of a team of archaeologists on a dig near the Cradle of Civilization which was a tricky endeavor since this area has been under siege for almost forty years. Still in the name of science, we were admitted since our team was from various countries around the globe with the intention to ferret out some deep buried secrets in this area. We did not openly represent a hostile political agenda despite the fact three of us were from the United States universities.\nWe met Arash Ahmadi at the Erbil International Airport in Iraq. Fluent in English and of a glib tongue, Arash pointed out many things on our hour drive to Mosul, Nineveh Governorate, Iraq. \n“I am Dr. Roger O’Hearn from Berkeley University in California.” I introduced myself, “Team leader.” \n“Pleased to meet you, Dr. O’Hearn.” He nodded as he avoided some treacherous looking pot holes. \nThe others did the same as we rolled along the highway toward Mosul. \n“Karl Staggert from Frankfurt University Germany.” He said with a thick German accent. \n“Professor William McDougal Universityof Dublin.” He said in thick Irish brogue. William and I would share a room for the night in Mosul before staking out the dig site. “This will be my fourth excavation.” \n“Welcome yet again.” Arash nodded. The traffic was not as bad as I remember it in my first visit here, but then Iraqi forces were getting ready for an invasion of American forces after the 9/11 terrorist attack in America, but as I looked around, I noticed not much had changed since my last visit. \n“Dr. Kamau Kikuyu from University of Nairobi, Kenya.” She held out her hand, but Arash did not shake it as it took both hands on the steering wheel. Even so, it was not considered proper etiquette to shake a woman’s hand. \nWhen we finally arrived at the hotel, it did not resemble the glossy photographs in the brochures, but we would only be spending one night before traveling into the field. \n“Place has all the charm of a snake.” William broke out a bottle of whiskey from his luggage. He held it up to me.\n“No thank you.” I shook my head.\n“Suit yasself, mate.” He chuckled, pouring himself a dirty glassful, “Do these folks believe in cleaning?” \nHe held up the glass and puckered his lips before taking a swig.\n“This place has a lot of sand storms.” I opened my map with the marking of the excavation site marked in ink.\n“You’re the leader of this charade, what exactly are we looking for?” He finished off his glass of whiskey.\n“There are some tombs concealed in a temple about fifty feet under the sand.” I pointed to it on my map.\n“Great dead people and their burial places.” He grunted.\n“William, why on earth did you agree to come on this expedition in the first place? You sound quite disgruntled.” I raised an eyebrow.\n“No, I’m quite grunted. Naw dis about it.” He chuckled. “My stipend is quite generous and the department head made it quite clear that it would serve me well to tag along. Ya see, I’ve had a few quarrels with him. I figured a few months in the field would improve my stock.” \nOne of the things I’ve always insisted on is teamwork, but it sounded like William was not interested in playing with us on the site.\nThere was a knock at the door. When I opened it Dr. Shevani Kumar smiled and said, “I was wondering if I could talk to you.”\n“Sure.” I nodded.\n“Alone.” She glanced over at William who was finishing off his second glass of whiskey. \n“Shall we talk on the patio?” I suggested.\n“That would be fine.” She nodded.\n“Excuse me Dr. McDougal.” I walked into the hall with Shevani as William smacked his lips and poured himself another glass.\n“There is a strange feeling I am having.” She sat down in one of the chairs on the open patio in front of our room. A couple of military vehicles rumbled by as she bowed her head. “I have a strong foreboding about this expedition.” \n“I wish I could assure you that nothing will happen, but you know how things are during an excavation. We have accounted for everything, though, so I do not share this feeling of dread.” I lit a cigarette and offered her one, but she shook her head.\n“I know we are a superstitious lot, but I have spent a lot of time in the university to turn all of that into logical thinking. I still have twinges of those old Hindi superstitions. My mother was full of them and she wished to impart them on me.” She turned her head to make sure we were alone, “I have done my best not to fall into her beliefs that we are merely playthings of the gods, but there are times…” \n“What exactly have you seen?” I asked.\nShe sighed deeply before answering, “A clock.” \n“A clock?” I blew out some smoke.\nShe nodded and then met my eyes with her own black stare, “A clock that once controlled the time. It was said if the clock stopped, time would freeze. Granted, I have nothing to base this on, but…” \n“What did you find?” \n“Where we will be excavating there is such an instrument.” She whispered.\n“A clock? I have never heard of this.” \n“Shiva, for whom I am named, put it deep into the earth where no one was supposed to find it, but upon my departure from New Delhi, a pujari came to me to warn me of what we might find.” She kept her eyes focused on the red tablecloth. “I must go. I’ve said enough.” \nShe walked briskly back to her room without a backwards glance. \nWe left as the sun was just beginning its ascent over the horizon. Using two vehicles with large tires that would tackle the forbidding terrain, we began to drive to our site. The dirt roads that led us to the banks of the Tigris River was a bumpy jolting journey that took well over an hour. Haus Kreiger had his crew setting up what would be our home for the next few months next to the banks of the river. Speaking in German, Haus told me that the soil was as hard as cement in places, but his crew had done the best they could. \nAs we began to unpack the vans of all of our gear, I caught sight of Dr. Kumar who still appeared quite distressed. I had the pleasure of reading her paper in an archaeological journal, noting how she really investigated her subject about prehistoric customs of the ancient people from India. \nA clock? What sort of clock had she seen? \nWilliam was already wading in the waters of our ancestors as the sun’s heat began to bake us already at midmorning. A couple of the team joined him as he splashed around near the shore. When I looked closer to those splashing in the river, I saw Dr. Kumar had joined them. For someone who had a disturbing premonition, she was not showing it at all. \nAs the day wore on, the sun beat down on us unmercilessly, but having spent time in places far more hostile than this place, I did my best to ignore my own discomfort. \n\"This heat is unbearable.\" William complained as we took A break under the main canopy. Even completely sheltered from the baking sun, inside and under the canvass, the relief was minimal at best. \"I had forgotten how inhospitable this place is.\"\n\"Your complaining does not make it any cooler.\" I quipped, but when I looked up from my charts, I saw Dr. Kumar was staring at me, appearing quite distressed. Before I could say anything, she darted from the tent. Three members of the team walked in carrying A plastic container that was placed on an empty folding table. \n\"We dug near the river where it was A bit cooler.\" Karl said as he snapped open the container, \"Not much to show.\"\nI peered into the open container, \"What is it?\"\n\"Old bones.\" Dr. Kikuyu suppressed A smile.\n\"I can see that.\" I held my arms up, flabbergasted by discovery, \"Remember, the artifacts are important since they offer clues as to what these people valued.\"\n\"It's all worthless if you ask me.\" William strutted over to the open case.\n\"Nobody asked you.\" I muttered.\nHe glared at me as he drank from his hip flask, \"Orange juice.\"\n\"And what else?\" I leered. \n\"None of your business.\" He took another hit from the flask.\n\"Dr. O'Hearn, I think you better have A look at what we found.\" Haus came into the tent all out of breath.\n\"What is it?\" I asked.\n\"I think you better have A look.\" He jerked his thumb toward the dig.\n\"Very well.\" I grabbed my hat and followed Haus. \n\"Dr. Park found it.\" He led me to the four diggers. Dr. Park was one of the men straining to extract the item from its grave. \n\"Professor O'Hearn.\" He bowed, \"We found this.\"\nHe pointed to an object that looked like A stand alone clock. My mind flashed to Dr. Kumar. I could almost feel her staring at me.\n\"What do you make of it?\" I asked the Korean scholar from Seoul.\n\"It is ticking.\" He pointed to the unearthed artifact.\nAll I could think about at that moment was the old Timex commercial, \"Takes A licking and keeps on ticking.\" \nDr. Kumar wore an expression of horror filled with trepidation and alarm. I walked over to speak to her.\n“It is just as she said it would be.” Dr. Kumar spoke in an odd tone, her eyes wide in terror. \n“It’s alright, doctor.” I assured her.\n“No, no, this clock was to remain buried and we have unearthed it.” She pointed, her voice bordering on hysteria. “Put it back. Put it back before it is too late.” \n“It is too late, I’m afraid.” I replied as Karl and a few others pawed at the clock with delight.\n“Still works.” I heard William exclaim as he bent over to look at the face of the clock.\nAncient Mesopotanians had no concept of workings of a clock like this one which I estimated was assembled in the Eighteenth Century at the latest. The gears and weights were all made with precision that the ancient civilizations simply were not capable of.\n“What do you make of it, Dr. O’Hearn?” William asked as he put his hands on the wooden encasement. \n“I don’t know.” I shook my head.\n“It does not fit with what we found buried with this thing.” He shrugged. \n“Do not touch it!” Dr. Kumar shrieked.\nHer voice caught me by surprise that made William and me take a step back.\n“It is evil.” She declared, “Let me show you.” \nShe stepped forward and put her finger on the minute hand after opening the glass. Colors swirled all around us. Voices sounded in an explosion of a cacophony wall of sound. The entire team stopped whatever it was they were doing and with jaws open gawked at the strange display surrounding us.\n“Lawdry, it is as if the cellar door of Heaven has opened before us.” William uttered, unable to close his mouth as he stood there in complete awe. \n“It is what you are seeing.” Dr. Kumar replied in the same type of distant voice William had used, “I see Vishnu and I can see she is not happy.” \n“What does that mean?” I asked, but was not really wishing for an answer.\n“We have opened the forbidden portal.” Her voice was steady.\n“It was a mistake.” I shook my head as the voices above swelled into a syncopated chorus. \n“We were warned.” She said in a voice that was not her own. \n“Who am I speaking to?” I asked as the colors began to dance all around me.\n“I am Kali, the first of the ten Mahavidyas, guardian of time and death.” She said, but her eyes were blank and vacant.\n“What is happening, mate?” It was the first time I had seen William frightened. When I read his resume a few months ago, I was impressed with some of the places he had gone in the name of scientific research. He reminded me of a real life Indiana Jones, but at this moment he was overcome with fear. Dr. Park was hiding in one of our containers with the lid shut most of the way so he could peek out. A few others had fled the area. \n“I am speaking with Kali.” I said as I watched Dr. Kumar’s eyes roll to the back of her head. “What do you wish for, Kali?” \n“I want you and your people to leave this area, never to come back.” Her voice deepened.\n“Agreed.” I nodded knowing that anything less would bring the wrath of Kali, Hindu god of death.\nDr. Kumar fell to the ground. The sky cleared and the voices ceased.\n“We need to put the clock back.” I turned to William.\n“Are you nuts?” He snapped.\n“No, I promised.” \n“Who?” He scowled.\n“Kali.” I answered.\n“Do you know how powerful we will be if we control time?” William asked, putting his hands on the clock.\n“It does not belong to us.” I insisted.\n“The hell you say.” He opened the glass exposing the face of the clock.\n“You have no idea what you will do if you touch that.” I took a step in order to prevent him from touching the inner workings.\n“I will do as I want.” He put his hand on the hour hand. I reached, but he pushed me aside. Just as his finger lit on the hour hand, I heard him scream. When I looked up, I saw Professor William McDougal dancing in the flames that engulfed him. \n“Oh my God!” I shielded my eyes as Professor William McDougal was reduced to ashes. \nDr. Kumar’s eyes fluttered and she sat up. I was by her side in an instant.\n“What happened?” She rubbed her eyes.\n“We were visited by Kali.” I answered.\nShe gasped, “She is the worst of the Mahavidyas.”\n“Yeah, I found that out.” I stood over the pile of ashes that was once Professor McDougal. “She focused her weather on William. This is all that’s left of him.” \nShe put her hand over her mouth as she gasped, “I saw Kali in my dream.” \n“I saw her up close and personal.” I shook my head, “We are breaking camp. I do not feel safe at this site any longer.” \n“What about the clock?” She asked, finding her way to her feet.\n“I’m going to put it back.” I jerked my thumb toward the river as I closed the glass encasement. “Haus, come give me a hand.” \nHaus nodded and began walking toward the clock.\n“We are going to put this back where we got it.” I instructed.\n“Seems a shame.” He shook his head, “But what happened here was enough to convince me.” \nHe put his hands under the wooden housing. I did the same.\n“On the count of three, we will lift.” I instructed.\n“Ja.” He nodded.\n“One, two…” Before I could say three, the heavy housing tipped to one side before falling to the ground with a crash.\n“What!?” I cried out. It was too late. The housing split in two, the glass shattered and the hands on the face of the clock were torn off. I stood there looking at the wreckage.\n“We have destroyed the clock.” Dr. Kumar squatted down to examine the pieces.\n“What does this mean?” I asked in desperation.\n“Time will be frozen.” She answered in a monotone.\n“What do you mean?” I had a sinking feeling about this whole escapade. \n“Time will no longer move forward. We have entered the frozen hours.” She explained.\n“Is there nothing we can do? Fix it?” I noticed the sky had turned a dull black. All color began to drain as we entered what Dr. Kumar, called the frozen hours. \n“Do you know how to repair this?” She asked, holding the broken pieces so I could see them. I put my hand on the broken pieces she was holding in front of me.\nSo, the frozen hours have become what we know as reality. Time neither goes forward nor does it repeat as we are now living in a permanent stalemate. I wish I could say it doesn’t matter, but the fact is it does matter. It matters very much." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Family Hacking\n\nGenre: indigenous\n\nWord Count: 1237\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart your story with someone sitting on a crowded train and end it with them looking out over beautiful natural scenery." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "She had been sitting on that crowded train for almost two hours now with her two kids listening to the chattering of the passengers mainly women, waiting for the train departure.\nShe cast her mind back trying to recall how it all began that led to her sitting on the train bound for East.\nShe noticed that it had been smoldering for almost four or three years now, she have even forgotten the exact day and issue that led to the first shouting match. \nShe was wondering the type of power or is it influence that; family, kin and siblings has on the man she married that was a man when she married him, now, she can not even tell correctly who or what she is married to any more.\nSix years into the marriage, what had been bliss for three years started turning into what she can not pin point now.\nShe knew somehow that money was behind the problems she is having in the marriage She is sure God ordained but Satan has so far been able to penetrate somehow not through known marriage breakers like: sickness, arrogance, poverty or lack of understand but through intruders that masquerade as in-laws, siblings, elders and kin’s and other groups that were poking their nose into her marriage even refers to themselves as well wishers. Could you imagine the abuse of positive phrase like that?. Well wishers. \nMost- illiterates, irresponsible, useless and none entities. She was still baffled by the affront of those busy bodies poking their dirty noses into her marriage.\nIt all started with the so call kins asking why she doesn’t attend the women village meetings regularly. Could you imagine the questions like that?, she knew about four years ago when questions like that started dropping unguardedly from their mouths that she was on top of their search engine. She had put her ears on the ground to know what was happening and met road blocks. She took stock of all the utterances she heard and from the source it came from and concluded that those women uttering those words were nothing but transporters. The initiators were who she is interested in. \nShe decided to analyze the situation with data available to her. She arrived at the concluded that the best action plan was distancing the herself far way from the meetings, some women and whatever it was they were brewing in that meeting. It must be a case of too much familiarities.\nAmong those village women, they are many that were civil servants like her. How come no one was asking them why they don’t attend meeting regularly?. ‘ why me?, as if they don’t know am civil servant like the others'\nNot attending meeting wasn’t the issue, it was just excuse they use to penetrate her. Those fuckers were interested in her family and she intends to know why.\nFor a year, she kept away from them, they even sent two people they believed she will listened to to ask her questions they knew the answers already. That their move confirmed what she had suspected for long. There are many women in that village that doesn’t belong to that meeting and no one was asking them why.\nShe told their representative to tell their senders that she asked them to keep far away from her family before she would be forced to do something she would regret.\nThat meeting was of no particular importance to her even, the gain there was that it provided opportunity to know a lot of people at close range. The aspect of helping you to prepare foods during celebration and aiding during burial ceremony is of little significance. No one needs those services nowadays.\nThey changed tactics and started penetrating her through her mothering law. The woman she have lived with for year’s now, started finding fault in everything she does, questioning her every move and wanting to know what had been happening to her son’s money for years. \n“ So, my Son is no more marrying only you but your entire family”\n“ How do you mean?”\n“ How do I mean?, why is my son’s money being use to manage your father’s house instead of his father’s house, what happened to your papa and his sons, can't they take care of themselves?”\n“ They have been taking care of themselves even before you know they existed and is capable of doing so as long as Sun endures”\n“ Ah, why have our stipend been heading to your fathers house since they are capable of taking care of themselves?”\n“ Maybe, it was in your dream you witnessed hat movement, above all, in that your dream, you didn’t observe well the compound you saw your son’s money enter. For sure, it won't be my fathers compound”\n“ In addition to the money, why are you not regarding your Sister-in-laws as humans, why do you keep locking doors when ever they are here?”\n“ Well I acknowledged that my house was their house before becoming mine, but it is mine now. So, there are some no go areas they just have to adhere to now.”\nSo, she figured out from the exchange that her problems had been from her husband sisters and she suspected that her husband knew this from the beginning hence his behavior. \nRumours had been spreading that she talked to her mother-in-law any how and whatever any how means to them, she doesn’t know.\nShe knew that something deeper was going on and what it was, she doesn’t know. She had tried to talk to her husband to know if she knew what was happening, but she was always snappy, telling her to focus on her works.\nThis had continued for year’s and they were even suggesting that she sell her car and money given to husband for him to meet his family commitments he had been negreting for years now. She was wondering if they knew at all that she was the one that bought the car in question with her money.\n“What commitment are they talking about?” she asked her husband.\n“ I have told you over and over to forget this people and focus In your work”\n“ It is my work, I want to know, what commitment are they talking about?”\n“ Okay, family one”\n“ What family?”\n“My father’s family of course”\n“ Have you not been taking care of your responsibilities before”\n“ Not in that sense”\n“ In what sense then”\n“ I have told you to forget these people and….”\n“ Why should I forget…..”\nVoice rising\n“ Then don’t, you can go…….”\n“I am a…..”\nThe man rushes out of the room.\nZannu was of the opinion that her husband Chaaki wasn’t telling her the whole truth in what was actually going on in that family. She had done her own investigation and found out that there was nothing like endowment or anything such nature any way so, there was nothing to share. But being treated like outside after two births is not what she will stomach from any one, her husband inclusive.\nSo, one early morning, she gathered her things and taking her two kids with her, they found themselves in a train heading to East and the kids were squealingan about the natural rural sceneries that were delight to look at through the window." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Vegan Hamburgers\n\nGenre: inspirational\n\nWord Count: 2982\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story in the form of diary entries, written by someone who has set themselves a month-long challenge." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Vegan Hamburgers\nFebruary 1st\n11:11pm\nWOW. I cannot believe that just happened. I went to AJ’s studio and almost walked out with a record deal. I was sober, too. He started rolling a joint and offered me some but I immediately said no. Last week, I had drinks at Lighthouse Studios and the executive was totally judging me when I got into my car. Anyway, AJ wants to record me!!!\nThis sounds weird but on the drive home, I swear I felt the presence of god or whatever in my windshield. I paused at a stop sign to see if I could bottle up the feeling. For a moment I even forgot that Nora and I broke up. \nHey god…ha…it’s me…if you give me this record deal, I swear I’ll never drink and drive again. \nI’m gonna practice “Heartbreaker” for a little bit then go to bed. Actually, I'm gonna smoke first. This is so fucking exciting. \nMarch 1st, 2020\n12:04pm\nAwkward that the last thing I wrote about was AJ. Yeah, that fell through. Prick. I did kinda break my end of the deal with god or whatever, but it’s been two weeks since my last drink. Some kind of flu kicked my ass for 14 days and I almost went to the ER. I did lose like 7 pounds though! \nAnyway, today is Vero’s drag show so I’m putting on my tight black dress - the one Nora loved - and meeting Sasha for brunch. I literally just got color back in my face though so I won’t go too hard. \nYou know what? Maybe I won’t even drink at all! Mocktails and water, baby.\nDid Nora really like that dress? Or did I just buy it because I thought she would?\nMarch 2nd\nI’m up. It’s barely 6am. I can’t see because there’s too much light in here and my head fucking hurts so this might be messy. I drank last night. Er, yesterday. Woah, that was a whole day? \nFuck, and I drove. Vero and I made it home…but where were we coming from? I remember Sasha ordering bottomless…I forgot to tell her I was taking it easy. That’s on me.\nFuuuuck. I made Vero a burger at Joey’s place – I said it was vegan? They ate it. WAS IT VEGAN THOUGH?? I DON'T KNOW what if I just poisoned my situation-ship? They're hot and I care about them and they're SO vegan. Fuck.\nJust checked. The brand we had was vegan. Jesus.\nI also googled AA…there’s one at 7:30am on Melrose. I’m gonna read a book til it starts. I feel anxious. \nNote to self: buy a fucking book. \nMarch 3rd\n1 or something\nI took a chip yesterday. My stomach really hurts and I don’t wanna talk to anyone. I wanna be alone. Everything feels loud and I feel…dark. Like someone buried me. \nI can’t believe I almost fed Vero a non-vegan hamburger. \nAt the meeting, some guy named Arrow called on me to share. I just cried and told everyone about the burger. They were kind, said I got lucky. Then Arrow pointed me to my next meeting, which is tonight. \nI swear his name is Arrow.\nI gotta lay down. \nPS day two, I guess. \nMarch 4th\n12:26am \nDee left the AC on again and my stomach hurts. I didn’t fall asleep until 5am.\nSomeone in the meeting last night said to do 30 meetings in 30 days and gave me an app to help me find them. Apparently I can go whenever. You’re supposed to go instead of drinking but I don’t wanna drink. I wanna die. \nOk, I don’t wanna die. I just…want this part of me to die. The part that desperately wishes it could smoke right now. Or have some wine without that hungry ghost in my belly screaming for chaos. \nIn the meeting last night, I realized that I drove 26 miles with Vero in the passenger seat after 11 hours of drinking. I had like 18 different kinds of alcohol. That’s a lot of numbers.\nI’m going back to bed. \nPS day three. \nMarch 5th\n12:33pm\nDay four. Stomach hurts bad today. I went to a meeting last night and like three people told me to “take it easy” and “keep it simple.” What the hell does that mean? I have so much to do. I completely skipped out on emails these last two days and I have a press release due by Friday. Uggghhhhh. \nI realized that the hungry ghost doesn’t only show up when I have a substance. It also shows up when I’m uncomfortable. Like when Dee leaves the AC on at night. Or Jared forgets mom’s birthday and I have to do all the planning. Or when there’s nothing to do because no one is texting. \nI’m gonna work. Love you bye. \nMarch 6th\n10am\nDay five. Dude the meeting last night was INSANE. It was HUGE and people talked into this microphone at a PODIUM. The main guy was like a preacher. I didn’t relate to his story at all but I liked the way he told it. \nWell, the speaker said that he’d also been smoking weed since he was 13…so that was cool. He loved whiskey, too, and drove drunk. And he cheated on his ex, and after they broke up his drinking totally went downhill and he couldn’t stop it. I almost raised my hand to share but didn’t. \nMy stomach hurts. \nMarch 7th \n9:56am\nI have to write two press releases so I can’t really talk but I wanted to get this down before I forget it: Surrender is laying down your weapons and crossing over to the winning side. \nHeard in a meeting. Stomach hurts less. Day six. \nMarch 8th\n2:05pm\nI slept the heck in today. Did six meetings this week. Driving home from last night’s meeting I felt quiet. Everything was motionless, like I was a statue in a floating car, listening to the passing whooshes and watching the lights bleed from lamp to lamp. It’s like all the noise in my head just stopped for 15 minutes. \nThere’s this one chick Jeanette who’s a little cuckoo but really nice. She keeps telling me that “more will be revealed.” She put her number in my phone and calls everyday. I don’t mind it, though it was weird at first. \nThere are other women who call me, too. It’s nice, but I can never remember who they are or what they look like. I’m saving everyone’s names with a flamingo emoji next to it so I know they’re from program. \nDay seven. Still aiming for 30. \nMarch 9th\n11:03am\nSo…I almost drank yesterday. Nora came over. Yeah. And not for me…for Dee. \nEverything was fine and then bam. Dee comes out of her room and is like “Uhm, Nora’s on her way here.” Why did I ever introduce them? I guess after 3 years she probably would’ve met my roommate…I bet they spend all their time talking about me. They probably don’t even like each other. \nShe closed her door and I stayed on the couch, angry as fuck, staring at the 19 Crimes bottle on the shelf. The shelf Nora and I built. \nI was fuming. I stared the bottle down like it was the last pin in a bowling lane and then Ellie Flamingo called. \n“Hey…”\n“Hey honey, how are you?” \n“I really wanna drink right now, dude.” I whispered. \n“Okay. Where are you babe?”\n“In my apartment, staring at a bottle of red.” I could’ve opened it with my eyes. \n“Okay, is there somewhere else you can go?” Her voice was gentle. \n“Yeah, I can take a walk.” \nI started walking toward Liquid Legend and relaxed at the idea of a glass of cold, white wine on their porch. It occurred to me when I got there that that might not be such a good idea.\nI stood outside for a while, hot as a cigarette. Ellie stayed on the phone with me and I told her everything.\n“Wow, I am so glad you shared that with me. Sounds like you have a lot of fear around this situation.”\nHm. “Thanks for listening…”\n“Of course! It helps me, too.”\nShe told me how vodka and beer were her thing, and how her exes were triggers. How she feels so much better with five years sober. Jeez. \nWe seem similar. We both feel like we didn’t get the handbook to life. Like everyone can tell we’re faulty, pieces of shit in the center of the universe. \nHey universe. Help me out, would ya? \nMarch 10th\n12:09am \nDay nine! I met this girl named Kathy (two flamingos cause she’s nice) and she’s been texting me my day count every morning, along with a bunch of emojis. Today, it was all caps: DAY NINE!!! With flowers, stars and people emojis that had no business being in that text but it made me smile. \nMom called. I’m moving in with Oma. Apparently, her caretaker works part time at a hospital and they’re worried about some contagious flu? I wonder if it’s what I had. Anyway, Oma needs a new caretaker and I need to get out of my head. Plus, I miss her. \nIn the rooms, I keep hearing that self-centeredness is the root of all our problems. That if I just help somebody else, it’ll help me. Is altruism even real? I can’t think about that now. I’m leaving. Today. \nMarch 12th\n10:10am\nDay eleven. The morning air is misty and feels like a San Francisco beach. I like being here. My bed’s a little uncomfortable but my stomach doesn’t hurt anymore! \nMom lets Oma have a Corona with dinner. She says it eases her dementia and that 94 year olds deserve a beer with dinner. I used to drink with Oma, even though I hate Coronas. I used to do a lot of things I hated. \nMarch 14th\n10:00am\nI got a sponsor!!!! Her name is Leslie and she’s a producer for like movies and stuff and I’m so excited and she gave me HOMEWORK. I’m starting the steps! Eeeee!!\nPS I have to do gratitude lists now. Ready? \nI’m grateful for…\nOma’s espresso machine\nThe ocean waves putting me to sleep at night\nBella the floof\nJared and Kent visiting \n‘The Office’\nMy sponsor\nThirteen days!! *insert emojis*\nMarch 15th, 2020\n8am\nI can’t write too much because I have to get to the store. Everything is closing for a few days because of that flu…Mom said it could be a week. \nI’m grateful for…\nTwo weeks of sobriety \nOma was really happy today\nThat time I got sick for two weeks and couldn’t drink…I think it gave me a window of clarity\nMarch 16th\n8am\nFifteen days. I need a meeting. I wrote a song last night about trying to stay sober and that helped. Working on my steps helps, too. I have to write down all the ways in which I’m powerless over drugs and alcohol, like that time I got kicked off stage for being drunk and playing the wrong song. Lol. Or that time I drove down the wrong side of the street because I was high.\nI feel low. \nI’m grateful for…\nFacetime \nSafety\nBeing at the beach during a city pause \nHaving food in the house\nSunshine \nBella\nOma\nMusic\n‘Grace and Frankie’\nMarch 19th\n12:30pm\nEighteen days. My brain is foggy with emotion and I have a weak headache coming on. At 10:01am today, I finally cried and let my insides dry out. \nI sleep with one ear open in case Oma needs me in the middle of the night. At first it felt like such a noble thing to do, I never dreamed it would get to me. Then I stopped dreaming altogether and began waking up tired. Today I grinned my way through her morning routine. When it came time for breakfast, I started making her usual berries and yogurt...mmm, not so usual anymore. \nThe 27 years I've known Oma, that's what she's eaten for breakfast. But in the last year, her caretaker got her hooked on eggs and bacon and I didn't know. Today, Oma wanted that. \nI proceeded to put too many berries in, not enough yogurt, the walnuts weren't chopped and then, no - that was too many because she \"can't go to the market anymore. Someone stole my car and people keep eating my food.” She threw a fit and I left the kitchen. \nI rushed into my room and buried myself under my duvet. I recognized this feeling. I smile through change because I’m like a slow processing computer. My files get so full that berries and yogurt cause me to malfunction. \nI felt the tingle in my nose. I rubbed my eye. The tug on my frown. I rubbed my cheek. I heard Oma asking where I was...I clutched the covers and just sobbed.\nI sobbed for the uneaten berries. I sobbed for her dementia. I sobbed for Nora. I sobbed for my life and how hard it was and how hard it's been, and then I sobbed for being soaked in a moment of self-pity. \nThen Oma walked in. I cranked myself up. Oma looked as if she was going to cry.\n\"I'm afraid I hurt your feelings.\" My mouth dropped open at the clarity in her eyes. I apologized for crying and she said, \"No, you're forgiven. You're in a new situation.\"\nTonight we'll watch our favorite show, Grace and Frankie, she'll fall asleep with the lights on and I'll shut them off, then tuck away into my own bed. With one ear open. \nTomorrow, she'll forget about the berries and this time, I'm making eggs. \nMarch 24th\n7:30am\nMe: Oma, what’s the meaning of life?\nOma: Well, to give life meaning. \nI started an 8am zoom meeting and we meditate everyday for 5 minutes. Sometimes I fall back asleep but I’m really grateful for zoom right now.\nYesterday something cool happened. I heard Oma calling me from her bedroom and went to tend to her, but first, I paused. I stood outside her door and listened to the waves. I realized how much bigger than me they are. How even if I tried, I could never stop them. Then something in me said, Hey, waves. This dementia thing is so much bigger than me…will you help me help Oma? \nAnd guess what? I found the right shoes and socks and sweater and the afternoon flowed like a river. It felt like I’d been given a handbook. \nThank you. \nMarch 25th\n7:30am\nOma doesn't consciously know that I've moved in. Daily, I ask her if it's all right that I spend the night, that I’ll sing for my supper. She always replies yes. \nOma is such a good listener. I feel pure stillness when she lays there with her eyes closed, listening to me sing. When the song is done she always looks at me like she remembers me. Music brings her back. It brings me back, too. \nIn the third step, we’re supposed to find a ‘higher power.’ I don’t know if I deserve a higher power to be honest, but mine would be the ocean. ‘Shelter’ is from the point of view of my HP…as if it could write a letter back to me. \nYou won’t remain\nHow you are today\nDon’t you know?\nDon't you know?\nBy design\nYou’re made to survive\nThe weathered road\nAnd so it goes \nMarch 26th\n7:15am \n25 days. We’re ‘sheltering’ in place now. Ironic. The city’s still on pause and other places around the world are shutting down…I could not be more grateful that I’m here with and for Oma. \nI think about Nora a lot. Could she tell I drank too much? Did she know I was a shell of a human? Is she okay? Am I a monster? \nKathy says when you get sober it’s like slamming on the breaks. Everything in your back seat covers the windshield and you can’t see anything. \nLast night, I was writing out my fourth step and that thing happened again. A tingle in my nose, a shock in my stomach, and a wave in my chest that poured out my eyes. The tears felt hundreds of years old. I closed my book, put down my sweaty pen, and went into Oma’s room. I curled up next to her and secretly bawled. I didn’t want to worry her. She stroked my hair while we watched Animal Planet. \nI felt HP. \nMarch 27th\nOma had a stroke. I caught her before she fell. I used my toe to call 911, and just held her until they arrived. Fuck.\nMarch 29th\n28 days. The nurse said we have to let her go now, so we brought her home. We’re all sitting around her bed right now…Kent’s got a drum, mom is holding her hand. I can’t stop crying.\nI keep looking at her bathrobe and walker like she’s going to need them…so I try to help mom, Kent and Jared with stuff instead. Every morning I wake up in shock. \nMarch 30th\nI think a lot about our last dinner together. She was staring out the window, and the blue in her eyes looked like watercolors. I asked Oma if she believed in a higher power. \n“Well, I believe in how impressive the ocean itself is. It goes all around the world. It gets you out of yourself, and into something bigger.” \nMarch 31st\nI’m grateful for…\nTime\nOma\nDolphins\nHolding her hand as we said goodbye\nThirty days. \nIf you’ve had all you can take on your own\nCome take what’s mine\nTake yourself off your mind\nDon’t take on tomorrow alone\nLet go my child\nShelter here for a while" } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Mouse!\n\nGenre: kids\n\nWord Count: 1184\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story that formally utilizes a mathematical sequence; e.g., the Fibonacci sequence could determine the number of words in each paragraph, or start with a number and work backwards. Make sure the formula is made clear, either within the story, or before or after it." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "(This uses a triangular sequence to determine the number of words per line, and per paragraph https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Triangular_number. A couple of the longer lines seem to wrap as well - not clear how to resolve that with this editor.)\n\n\n\n\nMouse!\n\n\n\n\nIn\nmy house.\n\n\n\n\nI\nknow not\nwhence it came.\n\n\n\n\nEyes\nbeady eyes\nglare at me\nand whiskers chuff away.\n\n\n\n\n“Shoo!”\nI shout\nand heavily stomp.\n“Get you gone now,\nbeast, and forever hie away.”\n\n\n\n\n“No,”\nit squeaks;\nits nose twitches,\n“It cannot be done,\nI’m so sorry to say.”\nAnd I’m perplexed and ever vexed.\n\n\n\n\n“What?”\nI wonder.\n“How dare you?\nWhat insolence is this?”\nSuch a cheeky little mouse\ndefying me in my own house,\nI simply cannot stomach this at all.\n\n\n\n\n“Cheese,\nplease sir,\nI beg you,”\nsays the fluffy runt.\n“I am poor and famished,\nand you have so much bounty.\nJust a little nibble, tittle, and jot,\na slice of yellow heaven, a pungent triangle.”\n\n\n\n\nCheese,\nof course\nit’s always cheese.\nI feel pity swell.\nI cut a cheddar chunk,\nan orange sliver, crumbly and sharp,\nand hand it to the starving rodent.\n“There there, of course, a triangle is fair.\nAnd now you’ve had your fill my friend, adieu.”\n\n\n\n\n“Thanks,”\nit says,\nand then: “But.”\nBut? Is there more?\n“What of my wife, sir?\nShe’s dwindling fast, the poor lass,\nand dearly needs a bite as well.”\nA hungry wife? Well that’s certainly no good.\nI grab my knife and measure the cheddar anew.\n“Camembert, sir, if you please. Her tastes are quite refined.”\n\n\n\n\nAgain\nI slice,\nand give away.\n“Is that all then?”\nThe mouse pockets the cheese\nand squeaks, “I’ve two children also.”\nI sigh and raise my knife again.\n“Gouda for my girl Eileen, her favourite kind,\nand brie, my boy Maurice – he can’t do without.”\nI cut again and once more, my cupboard running bare,\nmy plans for French soup abandoned, and my toast left unadorned.\n\n\n\n\n“More,”\nhe squeaks.\n“I’ve cousins some,\narriving from all over,\nand aunts and uncles too.\nA mouse-ish wedding we will have\nso cut and cut more triangles, sir,\nof edam, feta, parmesan, and gruyere and blue,\nand for the kids, a queso sauce, and cream–”\nI scream! My shaking hand cramps from the endless cutting.\n“How many more?” I fretfully ask. “How many kin have you?”\n“Oh more, sir, a great deal so, from countries far and wide.”\n\n\n\n\nSqueaks\nand chitters\nfill the air,\na thousand tiny feet.\nAround me are a legion,\na million mice carpet my home\nand drape the walls with beady eyes\nand swishing cobra tails. They sniff and whisker\nand debate which cheeses are best, and argue ceaselessly.\nThen I hear my guest, “Keep cutting sir! More cheese!\nWe need halloumi by the load and much Havarti and Swiss.\nCottage by the bucket, and Muenster by the barrel. And above all\nwe need the cheese – that glorious, sumptuous, blissful cheese – that everyone calls cake.”\n\n\n\n\nSweat\ndrips into\nmy sorry eyes,\nI hack my knife\nso hard the counter splits.\nThe mice, they cheer and jeer\nand hurry me along. Each new cheese\nI cut into a slice and then again\ndiagonally; two perfect triangles filling the mice with glee.\n“More!” they shout, their squeak a roar, a deafening tide\nof joy. “More, sir, don’t lag behind! We hunger ever so!”\nThey pass me a new, bigger knife, and tip my fridge over,\nand produce a better cutting board – big, industrial and made of stainless steel\n– and shout “Our appetite keeps growing! Just cut and cut again, another cheesy triangle!”\n\n\n\n\nAnother\ncheesy triangle!?\nWhat to do?\nMy arm goes numb\nand my back aches so.\nI cannot keep this pace up,\nbut my guests do goad me on.\nI fear what happens when I run out\nthe last of all my cheese. Will that sate\nthe little beasts? Or will their hunger just keep growing?\nEach time I blink there’s even more mice by the dozen.\nThey walk on stilts and fill the air, hanging from tiny ropes,\na million million eyes on me. They bet each time another triangle’s cut\nto see who gets the prize; and those who don’t just roar their ire:\n“Cut faster, man, and harder! More triangles for us today! You’ve done okay so far.”\n\n\n\n\n“Mouse!”\nI cry.\n“How much more?”\n“More and ever more,”\nhe says, and they cheer.\n“I’ve given you an inch already–”\n“–and we’ll have a mile. You see,\nwe like your home and we’d simply hate\nif we had to chew the walls. You agree?”\nI don’t want them in my walls, yes, I concur\nthat cheese is the better of the two. “And,” he says,\n“a small known fact: that mice, though small, are fond of meat.”\nOf meat? I wonder what they mean. What next? A slice of ham?\nOr chicken drumstick, turkey leg, bacon rasher, sausage, steak or big tin of spam?\nMy fridge is nearly empty as it is, and held little more than my cheese.\nI may have a can or two of sardines in the basement, or tuna and beans.\n\n\n\n\nSilence,\nI note\nall around me.\nNot a single squeak,\npeep, chirp, snuffle, or twitch.\nAll ten billion eyes on me.\n“Meat,” says the mouse, “my good sir.”\nAnd all their mouths drip with fresh saliva.\n“No hard feelings, sir, but we’ll have our fill.\nKeep the triangles of cheese coming, and cut them well,\nor we’ll gnaw the cutter who’s surpassed his purpose. It’s recycling.”\nMy throat’s gone dry, I swallow hard, and get back to slicing.\nI feel their eyes crawl on my skin and hear their slobber drip.\nHow did I get into this mess? How did the day turn so awry?\nThe sun was nice this morning and I never feared that today I would die.\nI ponder all the plans left unfulfilled, as I cut another triangle and toss it to\nthe mass of mice. Another dozen slices of smooth mozzarella, another score or two of crumbly asiago –\n\n\n\n\nOut.\nOf cheese.\nI swallow hard.\nThe tense mice shift,\nmy fridge a barren void.\n“Thank you, sir,” says the mouse.\n“You’ve done quite well, but that’s all.\nWe’d love more cheese, but now we’ll feast–”\n“Wait!” I cry, interrupting the beast. “A moment please.”\n“Well?” he arches an irritated eyebrow. “What is it then?\nHurry now, for our stomachs rumble so, and our young hunger.”\nThink fast! I think I’ve done my good deed for the day\nand don’t relish ending up a mousy meal. But what can I do?\nThere’s a billion billion of them, stacked so tight they run floor to ceiling.\nIf only I had more cheese for just another triangle or two. But that’s it!\n“Mouse!” I say. “There is more cheese!” He frowns and scans the fridge, empty and lifeless.\n“Not here, but at the store! I’ll grab my wallet and drive down, and return with more!”\nThe mice agree, and I flee across the sea. And the house, I put up for sale, as-is." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: The Lantern of Kaamos\n\nGenre: inspirational\n\nWord Count: 2985\n\nPrompt:\n\nSet your story during polar night." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "The melting Arctic is a crime scene, and I am like CSI Ny-Ålesund. Trond is the anonymous perpetrator leaving evidence and clues for me to discover, like breadcrumbs leading back to him. “Jonna,” he had said, the day we first met at the research institute, “If you are going to make it up here, don’t lock your doors.” It seemed like a life philosophy, rather than a survival tip.\n\nIt is ironic. Out on Kings Bay, the coal miners came first, then the science outposts. Trond was already out here mining the Arctic when I was still just a bright-eyed undergrad, out to save nature from the ravaging capitalists.\n\nWhen we met, we both understood immediately that we were on opposite sides. I guess sleeping with the enemy isn’t out of the question when it is seventeen below. At winter’s end, we both got the tattoo “79 ° North” on our shoulders. After flask after flask of bittersweet Jägermeister Mule and a night of cross-country skiing on the fjord to observe the Northern Lights, there seemed to be a permanence in the gesture. A holiness to it. Sacramental and sacred. We weren’t big drinkers and we had used a month of drinking credits to line our shelves, to consecrate the occasion.\n\nWe had lived together in the world's northernmost settlement, located on the southern bank of Kongsfjorden, throughout the whole of the polar night. The tattoo was a memento and a reminder of that time. The promise of an unbreakable bond. Then, with the first sunrise, everything changed. As a biologist, I should know by now that what is forged in the endless night, seldom survives the spring thaw.\n\nStore Norske Mining Company was going to close the Gruve 7 mine, once and for all, and Trond would stay and find work. Plans were made. Treaties of peace were arranged. And the wartime between us seemed like a distant memory. Then the Ukraine war broke out, and the mine received a stay of execution. Trond was called back. “See you in the spring,” he had said and was gone the next day. Neither of us doubted the war would end quickly. Surely, neither side would willingly sacrifice their young for some fields of oil and a strategic port? But we were wrong. We underestimated the Soviet greed and also the resolve of a people yearning for freedom.\n\nBi-weekly video chats gave way to a weekly call. Before long it was an occasional lazy text. Finally, a message, at the end of January: “They need me to stay.” Then nothing. Soon it will be a whole year that he’s been gone.\n\nThe MS Nordstjernen cuts through the night, bound for Svalbard, and I stare out at the light of the stars. When I reach Svalbard, my Swedish colleagues, Clare, Leah, Julio, and I will document the mysteries of the polar night. Especially the variations to the krill and phytoplankton, brought on by the shedding of the light. After all this time in the Arctic Circle, I finally feel like I am off on a proper adventure.\n\nI try not to think of Trond removing his headlamp and reclining in the Gruve 7 breakroom next to the coal mining tunnels, miles below the Arctic mountains, risking his life more and more with each day underground. It would be lunchtime now in Adventdalen. Trond would have a thick coat of black dust on his forehead. Under his gloves, his hands would be doused in the dark soot, the calling card of the dark lords of the mine shafts. Trond wouldn’t bother washing up or wiping his forehead before unwrapping his sandwich. He is a true Norwegian, through and through. Savages. The lot of them.\n\nI prefer the polar night. A perpetual full moon hugs the horizon transiting in a perpetual loop like a beacon from a distant lighthouse, circling the outpost. The blue light of the afternoon fades to velvety black after midday. And on the ship, the seas sleep soundly. Kinetic energy accumulates all around us. A limitless supply of ancient sunlight, stored like grain in underground silos. Just below the concealing ice. 90 billion gallons of oil. A third of the world’s natural gas. Coal basins salt the earthen caves; pressure cookers compact the carbon in the leaves of ancient ferns. And at every level, life thrives. From the ocean bottom to the mountain peaks.\n\nBut we marine biologists are concerned with the most alluring mysteries. Krill eyeballs. Sensitive enough to see only by the light of the moon. The werewolf effect. Where all living things become more active and restless under the light of the full moon. Making sleep a scarce commodity during the whole season. Diel vertical migration. The magnetism of marine life being pulled upward by the light of the sun. Light. Like sprinkles of fish food from the hand of God, those nurturing rays call forth the phytoplankton and krill. And beneath the ice shelves, a strange world of algae, bacteria, plankton, and swarms of shrimp-like arthropods feast on the energy locked in the melting ice. Stored sunlight, and its byproducts, locked in a frozen lunch box, churned and warmed by the rolling seas. The light banquet above ceases completely during the polar night—leaving the upper levels of the ecosystem dark and void. Only the icy dance under the sea continues, unimpeded, unaware of the nocturnal slumber above.\n\nAmazingly, nature finds a way. Animals buried deep under the sea begin to emit their own light, like floating mermaids, carrying their own lanterns, searching the depths for a fresh meal, or a companion. Anything that sustains. There is also polar gigantism and marine snow. The Ice Dragonfish has anti-freeze in its blood to keep it from freezing. This too is surprising and miraculous.\n\nI imagine myself growing gigantic, my skin radiating light, my blood adjusting to the ice in my veins. At last, growing so large that I am a beacon that can even be seen from miles below the Norwegian permafrost, where Trond toils silently in the darkness of the void.\n\nThe MS Nordstjernen docks at Svalbard and we pack our bags quietly, fuel ourselves with bitter coffee and sweet cream, and prepare to go ashore.\n\n* * *\n\n“Hallå,” Clare says. “Are you ready for a hyttetur?” That means a cabin trip. We will be traveling by snowmobile, over the sea ice, out to a remote cabin in Sveagruva for some crew bonding and cross-country skiing out in the mountainous moonscape, aided by headlamps and plenty of layers, and a healthy pack full of booze.\n\nClare smiles through the biting cold and revs the motor of her snowmobile, blasting her headlamps to repel the enveloping blanket of darkness. Clare hands back a cup full of flour tortilla-wrapped sausages as if she knew how hungry I would be.\n\n“Dani, Framät,” she says to her Siberian Husky. Dani hops to his feet, from where he is lying in the snow.\n\n“Hey, ‘framät!’“ Clare repeats.\n\nDani begins racing along by the side of the snowmobile, panting happily, his breath coming out in clouds that he pierces with his gait, and which break in pieces and trail behind him like the exhaust of a locomotive. We traverse the cold ridge to Clare’s cabin for supplies, grinding through the fresh powder as a flurry of snow falls and coats our ski goggles. It is not even a mile away. Clare has the stove ready, stuffed with chords of wood. And we drink tall mugs of coffee and recline in warm blankets, in her oceanfront cabin, as the small cabin warms with fresh heat.\n\n“It is beautiful,” I say.\n\n“Wait until you see Sveagruva,” she says. “Det är bättre än himlen.”\n\n“Better than heaven.”\n\n“Vänta och se,” she says—wait and see.\n\nA few hours later, we have the trailers for our snowmobiles packed, and we are ready for our adventure.\n\nCompared with Svalbard, the coastline route to Sveagruva is terra nullius. No man’s land. We wouldn’t dare venture out in the polar night without GPS and Garmin inReach Sat Phones in tow in case of emergency. And rifles, in case of a run-in with polar bears. Glaciers border the route. Around noon, when the blue light casts the landscape in an eerie hue, we stop at cavernous ice caves carved in the glacial housing of thousand-year-old ice. If only Trond could see this.\n\n“Titta där,” Clare says, Look there, pointing at what looks like a polar bear den. It is nestled under a ridge of roots from Dwarf Birch and Mountain Sorrel, burrowing in the mossy permafrost, framing the den with walls of living iron.\n\nThe polar bear peaks her head out from her maternity den, her clipped white ears checking for sounds of movement.\n\n“Let’s call her Nadia,” I say.\n\nNadia sniffs, gimbaling her head about as she picks up a familiar scent. Nadia smells a wolverine far in the distance. Her dark black eyes scan the line of the horizon for other dangers. Finding none, she emerges, and helps herself to a snow bath, rolling about in the frozen snow of the playground outside the den. She yawns, revealing her long canine teeth, and stretches, grabbing the ground with her sharp claws and black foot pads, and slowly connecting with the earth, reclining on the snow, rolling over onto her back. Two young pups begin to crawl out and play fight, scuttling over to the mother bear and feeding from her exposed nipples.\n\n“Look at that!” I say and blurt out, “Trond would die if he could see this.”\n\n“You haven’t spoken to him, have you?” Clare asks.\n\n“Oh, no. Of course not.”\n\n“Att försvara ett fel är att fela igen,” Clare says.\n\n“Once bitten, twice shy,” I say, nodding.\n\n* * *\n\nOut here in the icy valleys of the moonlike cliffs and eerie glacial rivers, the sheer expanse of the landscape, immense, and imposing is a thing of wonder.\n\nNature’s imagination is vast. Almost as vast as the reaches of space. And her colossal moods seem big enough to swallow galaxies. Dazzling displays of light and dark are her trademark. In all her mercurial palettes. Polar night, for instance. You have to seep in the emancipating darkness long enough to appreciate being pulled out into the overbearing light.\n\nDark and cold. They go together like warm coffee and cold cream. One hides all mundane things, leaving only the magical. The other strongly warns of nature’s power and cautions against overindulging. After all, all magical things are deadly. Polar bears. Ice drifts. Plunging temperatures. Packs of wolves. The reorienting wind that blows where it wills. Loneliness. Regret. For every magical night filled with the Northern lights is an evening where the seas hurl daggers the size of Buicks at the land and send icy gusts with murderous intent after every creature that crawls, slithers, or walks.\n\nIn the darkness, though, we can see what is never visible in the light. The light of a thousand distant suns. They blink their celestial eyes like eyelids, squinting to catch a glimpse of an oasis in an unimaginably vast desert of ice.\n\nWhen polar night descends, the Nordic country blows away the sun like a dandelion blown out of a child’s hand. Then a month later, it returns. Blue twilight is a reminder that days are real. A long sunrise without a sun. Soft and pink. Painting the world in cold pastels. We shudder at the feeling that comes when the sun at last returns, anticipating its coming; knowing that it is like seeing the sun for the first time in your whole life.\n\nAfter what seems like an eternity in my own thoughts, clinging to Clare’s coat and hugging her for warmth, we arrive at the cabin, which stands enormous against the landscape.\n\nLeah and Julio have traveled ahead, and are busy dusting off the drifts of snow, filling the water tank, hauling in dry chords of wood for the furnace, and readying our sanctuary for a long weekend.\n\n* * *\n\nI look at my cell phone. The little green bubble says, “I know you are over this. I don’t know what I did or what happened. But I worry about you and hope you are well, my love. You are thought of… often.” Three weeks ago. Long enough to stop hoping for a response. But one never knows.\n\nLike the sun’s rays that seem lost forever in the long travail of the polar night, things that feel lost forever can return suddenly and unceremoniously, crying out that they were never gone at all, but always there just out of reach, only inches below your line of sight, sending out diffuse blue signals as evidence of their constancy.\n\nThe question hangs pregnant over the proceedings, and I know it is coming before she asks.\n\nClare hands me a mug of hot cocoa that Julio prepared for us, complete with floating marshmallows, as we crowd inside and unpack our bags.\n\n“Kommer du att stanna till våren?” she says. Will I be staying for the spring? That is the question. But I haven’t decided.\n\n“Do you think I should stay?”\n\n“But of course.” She smiles with her teeth glistening in the blue twilight. “You must, bebis. You are part of our Grabbarna now.” I guess I am part of the gang. Science nerds gone Ernest Shackleton.\n\nWe have found so much out about the world below the ice. Yet there is so much more to discover. How do the Krill find phytoplankton? How do those little energy packets survive in the sunless reaches throughout the polar night, with nothing to nurture them in the cold season? How does life continue in darkness? How do the winds of the jet stream re-circulate energy into the Arctic realm?\n\nThis is a true hyttetur. No plumbing, no running water, and no electricity. Leah lights candles throughout the cabin. Julio fires up the generator, which we will use sparingly for heating water. And also stores little propane tanks for the camp stoves. Leah comes outside in her down jacket with a bottle of Italian Grappa.\n\n“Skål,” Leah says, passing the bottle around. I take a long swig and the fire of the burning liquid coats my throat and warms my chest, reminding me that there is still some life within me. Leah starts blasting some EDM beats which echo off of the canyons of ice chortling through the Arctic valley.\n\nI was going through my e-mails while we played Monopoly with hand-crafted Harry Potter figures. And I was thinking of Trond. Worrying. As usual. Then I saw an e-mail from Trond. I debated for an hour whether or not to open it but ultimately gave in.\n\n“I don’t know why I’m writing you this. Why I am writing now. Kongsfjorden is different than I remember. It seems that everything has changed. Reindeer sleep by the trams, out on the graded snowbank, which is pitched so they are shielded from the wind. I never noticed before.\n\nWe gathered today in Fruene to talk about what happened to Peter. ‘We who live in the north in darkness, we know how much the light means,’ said Pastor Skaaheim at Peter’s mass. Sigurd, Jakob, and Luka were down with me in the tunnel when it happened. We met with Mayor Olsen and he represented Peter’s family in the union negotiations. He used to be our spokesman before he became Mayor, you know. At $45 a ton, it hardly makes sense anymore to mine coal. Looks like the Greta Thunberg brigade has won at last. Congratulations. We submit.\n\nThis is how it happened. We had cleared out of the mine for the day. Right in the middle of the polar night. But the glacial melt had been flooding the mineshaft. It was so bad that the conveyor belt was going on the fritz. Peter stayed back in the shaft with a pump to clear the flood water out. Just like that, in an instant, the South wall caved in. An avalanche of rock collapsed on him. We spent the night with an excavator trying to find him in the dark. We tried TNT. Wedges. Everything. We never found his body. It is now three days his body has disappeared underneath the frozen rock. We’ve re-opened the tunnel, but search and rescue is still looking for Peter’s remains. It is almost like he disappeared into thin air. I keep thinking, it could have been me. And we would have never spoken again. Anyway. I don’t know why I’m writing you. Say a prayer for Peter.”\n\n“Skål,” Leah says again, seeing the dower look on my face.\n\nAnd she passes the Grappa bottle around the table, where Dumbledore has just passed Snape to buy Park Place. I take a long gulp.\n\n“Whoa cowboy!” Leah says. But I need a moment.\n\nI walk out into the polar night, my crampons crunching the deep snow. I gaze at the belligerent moon which stands at the far end of the world, taunting me. At once so close I feel that I could reach out and touch her. And still so far away that the incalculable distance and icy traverse, are borderline infinities. Not unreachable, but damn near to. Like the past.\n\nAnd right here and now, I finally understand the polar night. I can’t return to the Kongsfjorden I’d known with Trond. And Trond can’t stop being a miner. All that has happened has irreversibly changed us, like the creatures adapting to the abiding polar night. I take out my phone and write back the only true thing I can think of. “I want to see you. I am in Sveagruva for a hyttetur. Nothing is the same without you.”\n\nAnd at that very moment, a small crown of yellow against the horizon displaces the blue twilight and the sun returns." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Inshallah\n\nGenre: kids\n\nWord Count: 1709\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story where a character is exploring their religious or spiritual identity." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "04/02/2022\n\nMama has been to the hospital quite a few times before, but she always comes back home eventually. So, when she went to the hospital this morning I thought this time won’t be different. Baba even insisted that I go to football practice today as well. I’ve been playing for the Shooting Club in El Dokki, Giza, for almost 6 years now, so when Mama went to the hospital, Baba called the coach, captain Abdallah, and told him that she was ill. Captain Abdallah apparently told my teammates because when I went to practice they all asked if Mama was okay, to which I responded,\n\n“اه هترجع البيت قريبا. هي دخلت مستشفيات قبل كده ودايماً بتخرج بالسلامة\n(Yeah, she will be home soon. She has been to the hospital before, but she always comes home.)”\n\nMy teammate, Omar, commented I should be worried about having ended that sentence without saying ‘Inshallah’ (God Willing). For a moment I thought maybe I should say it. But, I didn’t want to obey his advice. Instead, I just walked onto the field, said “السلام عليكم (Al Salam Aleikum/Peace to you)” to the coach and awaited his instructions. The others followed my lead and we all stood shoulder to shoulder. \n\n“.وعليكم السلام ورحمة الله وبركاته (W aleikum elsalam w rahmet allah w barakato/Peace be unto you and God’s mercy and blessings),” the coach replied. He then walked over to me and bowed down as he said,\n\n“ألف سلامة والدتك. مدام شيماء إنسانة محترمة جداً وفي منتهى الرقة. هادعي لها \n(I wish your mother safety a thousand times. Madame Shayma’a is a very respectable and extremely gentle person. I will pray for her.)” \n\n“شكراً يا كابتن عبدالله. الله يسلمك \n(Thank you, captain Abdallah. God bless you.),” I said.\n\n\n07/02/2022\n\nIt has been three days since my mother went to the hospital. When I arrived back home, Baba wasn’t there. I had to wait outside because I didn’t have a key. But, Ibrahim and Mahmoud from the garage across the street are nice people. They always have been. When they saw me sitting by the entrance of the building, they called me over. Baba says I shouldn’t approach strangers. But, he seems to like Ibrahim and I know his name and see him every day, so I figured he isn’t really a stranger. Ibrahim had a worried look in his eyes and a smile on his face. The expression confused me. Mahmoud looked calm. Both his eyelids were about a millimeter away from being shut and he was holding a very thick lit cigarette. It was shaped like a rocket and smelled funny. As per custom, I said\n\n“السلام عليكم (Al salam aleikum).” \nAnd they naturally responded with “وعليكم السلام ورحمة الله وبركاته (W aleikum alsalam w rahmet allah w barakato).”\n\nIbrahim then asked me if I had prayed Al-Dhuhr in school. I told him we have a mosque on campus, but that I didn’t have much time to pray after school, otherwise I would have missed the bus.\n\n“ما تقلقش (Don’t worry),” he said. “أنا كمان لسة ماصليتش الظهر. صلاة العصر لسة كمان 20 دقيقة. تعالى نصلي سوى (I also haven’t prayed Al-Dhuhr yet. Al-Asr prayer is still 20 minutes away. Let us pray together.)”\n\nMahmoud stayed outside leaning on the trunk of a red car and staring at the concrete as he continued smoking his rocket. He always seemed calm. It’s kind of odd that he’s so calm because I know he doesn’t pray. I have never seen him at the mosque on Fridays and he didn’t even join us for Al-Dhuhr prayer. \nAfter we finished praying, Ibrahim held his palms open by his face. I imitated him and listened to him as he begged:\n\n“يا رب يا ستار أتوسل لك تشفي والدة مصطفى و تسمح لها بالعودة إلى البيت بالصحة والقوة \n(Oh Allah, he who shelters us, please cure Mostafa’s mother and allow her to return home with health and strength.)”\n\nMama had been to the hospital before, so I didn’t fully understand why Ibrahim was praying. Also, he doesn’t really know Mama. I mean, I have never seen them exchange more than a few words. So, I asked,\n\n“اشمعنى بتدعي لماما يا إبراهيم؟ (Ibrahim, why did you pray for Mama?)”\n\n“آمين (Amen),” he said to conclude his prayer.\n\n“آمين (Amen),” I repeated.\n\n“دعيت لها عشان هي أم ليك وزوجة لوالدك المحترم الأستاذ محمد\n(I prayed for her because she is a mother to you and a wife to your respectable father, Mr. Mohamed.)”\n\n“إنما أنت يدوبك تعرف ماما \n(But, you don’t know Mama very well.)”\n\n“.كلمة وتحفظها؛ الواحد ميحتجش غير التعاطف عشان يدعي لغيره. مش معرفة \n(Listen, one needs only empathy to pray for another, not familiarity. Remember that.)”\n\nI wasn’t sure what that meant, but I didn’t feel like asking any more questions. \n\n08/02/2022\n\nMama died today. It was the second time I saw Baba cry. The first was when Teta Soraya, Baba’s Mama, died. He really loved Teta Soraya and always insisted we gather at her place every Friday after prayers. She made the best food and always had the praying mat laid out in her room for us to pray Al-Asr on. Sometimes Al-Maghreb, too, depending on how late we stayed over. He really loved Teta Soraya. And he really loved Mama. He has been in his room praying and reading the Quran since we got back from the hospital. When he’s not doing either, he is on the phone arranging everything for the funeral or telling me to pray for Mama. I don’t really understand why Mama is dead. She always came back home from the hospital. Praying feels weird now.\n\n09/02/2022\n\nBaba made me go to football practice today even though I didn’t feel like it. He said, I have to be a man and carry on with life. When I arrived at practice, captain Abdallah walked towards me and said, \n\n“البقاء لله. إن شاء الله ربنا يعفو عنها ويغفرلها \n(Only God lives on. I pray He forgives all sins she may have committed.)”\n\nMy teammates all said, “Only God lives on,” as well. But, after practice, my teammates approached me in the locker room. Omar was standing in the center of everyone. \n\n“يا مصطفى أنت أمك تعيش أنت لأنك جلبت لها النحس \n(Mostafa, your mother died because you jinxed her.),” he said.\n\nI stood there silently.\n\n“أنت فضلت تقول انها ياما دخلت وخرجت من مستشفيات و جات سليمة. إنما أنت المرة ديه ماقلتش إن شاء الله فربنا .أخدها. الله يرحمها\n(You kept saying that she always came home from the hospital and she would be alright. That’s why she died. You should have said ‘inshallah.’ You didn’t say it, so God took her. May God show mercy on her.)”\n\nOmar and the team walked away afterwards. What Omar said made me feel confused, so I sat down on the wooden bench in the locker room and stared at the floor for a while. There were a few cockroaches crawling around beneath the sinks and I noticed there were many cracks in the tiles. I counted 99. That’s the same number as Allah’s names. Maybe Omar was right.\n\n10/02/2022\n\nI’ve been thinking about what Omar said a lot. I have been trying to make sure I say ‘inshallah’ at the end of each sentence. I also have been making sure to say ‘بسم الله الرحمن الرحيم (Bismillah alrahman alrahim - In the name of Allah the merciful)’ before eating and ‘الحمد لله (alhamdulillah - Thanks to Allah)’ after eating. I am trying to only eat with my right hand like Ibrahim said the prophet Muhammed did. Also, I have been putting my right shoe on first and will be sure to always step into the mosque with my right foot first inshallah. I will never miss a prayer inshallah. I will fast every Monday and Thursday like the prophet Muhammed did inshallah. That way God won’t be mad at me inshallah. That way God won’t be mad at Mama inshallah. That way God won’t hurt Baba inshallah.\n\n11/02/2022\n\nI missed Friday prayers today. Last night, I experienced difficulties falling asleep and only managed to shut my eyes around 5 am. I prayed Al-Fajr then climbed back into bed. By the time I woke up, it was past Friday prayers. Baba usually makes sure we attend the prayer together. But, when I went to his room he was lying in bed, wearing a suit and staring at the ceiling. He only noticed I was standing there when I called him. \n\nيا بابا!\"\n(Baba)!”\n\n“نعم يا ابني؟\n(Yes, son?)”\n\n“يا بابا صلاة الجمعة فاتتني. ما صحتنيش ليه؟\n(Baba, I missed Friday prayers. Why didn’t you wake me?)”\n\n“.الصلاة فاتتني أنا كمان\n(I missed it as well).” When he said this, I was terrified and suddenly started crying.\n\n“بس يا بابا كده ربنا يغضب \n(But, Baba, God will be angry),” I said. “كده ربنا يغضب وياخذك زي ما أخذ ماما \n(He will be angry and then He will take you like He took Mama!)”\n\nHe glanced over at me, then reverted his gaze back to the ceiling. \n\nربنا غفور. هنتوب وربنا يغفر لنا إن شاء الله” \n(God is forgiving, son. We will apologize and He will hear us inshallah. Now, go get ready. Your mother is waiting.)” \n\nWe buried Mama today. It was scary seeing her corpse. When I began to cry, Baba said I had to pull myself together. But, then he cried. We prayed for her and read the Quran. The sheikh did as well. Everyone did. Teta Sonia, Mama’s Mama, was sobbing the whole time and ended up collapsing. We had to help her up and Baba sent me to the kiosk with 5 L.E. to grab her a bottle of water. I kept the change. After calming her down, she kept staring at the sky. I’m not sure how well she could see the clouds with that gooey black stuff women wear smudged all over her eyelids.\nWe prayed for Mama, but I missed the Friday prayer. I tried to make up for it and even prayed the bonus Shafa and Witr right after Al Eisha prayer. I apologized and repented during every prayer. I hope Baba is right. I hope God forgives me inshallah." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: The Porcelain Village\n\nGenre: inspirational\n\nWord Count: 2850\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about someone who is losing feeling in their hands and/or fingers." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "My clay hands are becoming solid porcelain. I have always had potter’s hands. The throwing water absorbs the moisturizing oils of the skin. Leaves the hands rough. The clay paste dries and cracks the skin. Leaving it red. \n\nBut now my hands are hardening. In the bisque firing, my hands harden like porous greenware. The cremated carbon and sulfur escape, exhuming my soul from the earthen clay, little by little, drawing it back to its source. The soul stews out in a boiling whistle, agitating out from between the minerals lodged in the ridges and wrinkles of each digit. The palms petrify. The flesh sinters and binds to itself. In the glaze firing, my hands glow red as the enamel stiffens and makes the fingers rigid and reflective. The silicate vitrifies and turns to glass. Dust becomes crystal—like a baby’s flesh crystalizing into the windows of the eyes. I am born again in the womb of the kiln. I am a porcelain village.\n\nI have received an order for a series of six ornate hand-painted vases. It is enough money for Dandan’s first semester. But I don’t know if I can complete the order. Though I struggle to find my hands, which have become like ghost appendages, I tell no one. I am frightened the orders will dry up. Dandan has been accepted at Columbia University for the fall and has always wanted to go to the United States. And she will need money. So I struggle to find strength and answers. For her. But I fear the pull of Tai Yi Shen—the great spirit—the creator God, pulling back the breath of life infused in this jar of clay.\n\nThe January mornings are misty, with a cold mist hugging the valley. My hands ache from the cold and wet of the river. Though my touch is going, I still feel hot and cold. The dirt is hard and stiff under foot and smells like the burned dust of the kiln. \n\nI dig clay from the banks of the Jia Ling River. Back at my home shop, in Ciqikou, I mix various minerals into the clay. Kaolin, silica, and feldspars. I then wedge the day’s clay on a long wooden table, folding and pressing to remove all of the air. If I do not get out all of the air, the clay will warp and crack in the kiln. Then I begin the process of forming the clay into the shape of finished goods and ready it for five days of firing. For pottery, we use a wheel and throw the clay. For complex shapes, a mold. \n\nAs I mold today’s clay into traditional teacups using delicate molds, Dandan brings me my morning tea. It is a Jasmine tea. It is a honey orchid oolong tea. It smells of irises and orchids and the misty meadows of the Shikengong Mountain. It tastes sweet like nutty molasses with notes of a mild bitter metallic roast. Bright, coppery, and clean. With an after taste of the esters of bubble gum powder that is distinctive of the jasmine resin when properly brewed.\n\nIf I am a simple rice bowl, Dandan is a hand painted dining set. My given name is Jing—Jing Yuchi—but Dandan and everyone else call me Jane.\n\nCiqikou or Longyin Town in Chongquing, China is an ancient place. It means Porcelain Village and if legend is to be believed, is the birthplace of porcelain. The stone streets border ancestral teahouses, pagodas, street food vendors selling doughy mahua, and antique shops with strings of hanging red lanterns on every storefront. The Bao Lun Temple stands above the town and stares back at the North Gate. Dandan is excited for the Lantern Festival next week. It will be her last before her travels and her great adventure.\n\n“Ama, we need to get ready for the lantern festival,” Dandan says.\n\n“Bao bei, I have a big order I have to fill first,” I tell her.\n\n“Pfoof. Forget about your orders ama, I am making the tangyuan. I went to the market before and I have everything: brown sugar, sesame seed, walnut, and bean paste. And lots of rice,” she says.\n\n“You go in and start without me niu niu. I have to go down to the market and see Dr. Looey Zhou about the pain in my hands,” I say.\n\n“It is so beautiful in the market this time of year. I will miss all of the red lanterns. You know what the old legend says the reason is for the red lanterns,” Dandan says, wanting to tell me for the eleven hundredth time.\n\n“No bao bei, what is it?” I humor her.\n\n“The Jade Emperor sensed an uprising when his favorite crane was killed by his villagers. He resolved to destroy the old village on the fifteenth day of the lunar year, the night of the new moon—the yuan xiao jie. But his daughter overheard his plan. The princess was in love with a poor fisherman’s boy in the village. Knowing what was going to happen she warned the villagers to put up red lanterns all over town. Then she fooled her father, telling him that the gods had already burned the village. And so every year we use the red lantern to symbolize the mercy of a young girl that overthrows the ill-fated curse of a tyrannical lord and to pray for yuan yue—a fortunate new beginning.” Dandan says, her face bright with a satisfied smile.\n\n“You will have your own bright new beginnings soon enough, now go finish making the tangyuan.”\n\n“Oh ama, you have had pain in your hands all your life, come help me with the rice balls,” Dandan pleaded.\n\n“Later bao bei, later,” I say.\n\n* * *\n\nDr. Zhou is a stout man whose black hair has a thick luster like that of a horse, embroidered with a few shiny thistles of white. His eyes are bright and skin taut, featuring a vibrancy that is unusual for a man of seventy-six. He wears a white Hanfu linen shirt with frog buttons and a choker collar. He smells of licorice and lemon and carries himself in a calm, exacting manner.\n\n“Nushi Yuchi, what is bothering you?” he asks.\n\n“I am losing feeling in my hands—losing touch,” I tell him.\n\n“Ohh, Jane, that must be terrifying for you,” he says, taking my right hand and needling it in a form of massage, pulling on the fingers and working his way down each of the bones of the hand, and pressing and squeezing my thumb. “Your energy is very weak in these hands.”\n\n“When I am working with the clay, I can’t feel where my hand ends and the clay begins and sometimes I look down and my hands are off the wheel,” I tell him.\n\n“Your yin or po can be separated from your spirit. You know the story of Bayou—”\n\n“—zhao-hun, the calling back of the soul. But I have no delirium. There are no devils hiding in my closets,” I say.\n\n“Maybe. No devils. But Dandan is your heart. She is going to New York soon. Your essence is cold as marrow is cold. Your yang is unstable. But like cures like. You must steal a heart to replace lost heart, or you will lose all feeling and body and spirit will be parted forever.” Dr. Zhou says. “Zao hundun er po tianhuang. Cure for cold body. Bore open chaos and destroy heaven’s neglect,” he adds with a wry grin that only a very old man can pull off.\n\n“You want me to take a lover at sixty-seven,” I say, perplexed. And then joke, “Dr. Zhou, are you flirting with me?”\n\n“Take a lover. Adopt a stray dog. Whatever it takes to bring feeling back in balance. One more thing Nushi Yuchi, get yourself some warm clothes. There will be snow for the yuan xiao jie—all week there have been clouds over the moon.”\n\n* * *\n\nHow does an old lady steal a heart. It is one thing for Dandan, but for an old lady like me who is losing her sense of touch to touch another human heart—let alone steal it—is a tall order. I puzzle over strategies and tactics. Food comes to mind. Visual allure is not entirely out of the question, as I have kept my figure and practice yoga daily. Dandan is the storyteller. I have no aptitude for words. Painting is another idea. But whose heart can I steal? Where do I even look? Will there be someone at the winter festival of the new moon?\n\nThe mail lady delivers my mail and the check for the six vases is there, just in time. I will have to go later and deposit this and get a traveler’s check for the gift.\n\nI place the bisque ware on a cookie and begin the process of applying the initial glaze coloring. \n\nThese large white gourd vases are painted with three layers of blue glaze. On the mouth are the petals of opening flowers leading to a border by the lip of the vase. Below, at the bottom of the neck, is another border and a skirt to separate the body of the vase, with branching vines and ornate circular flowers in a fractal design, painted circularly around the curves of the vase to create an effect like movement. I add two bluebirds and a hummingbird for added flare.\n\nNow for the glaze firing and then in three days the final touches. And I can’t forget the final touch of my special gift, the porcelain chest.\n\n* * *\n\nI go to see my friend Sisi, who works at the candy shop across the way. I walk in past the tourists, and we go in the back area of the shop where she is watching the Real Housewives of New Jersey and spending time on WeChat with her American ‘boyfriend.’ \n\nSisi has big mantis-like eyes and a rounded head. Her hair seems flat on top like a small tight-fitting cap. Her cheeks are warm and curious, but she has a serious chin.\n\n“Jane! You came such a long way to see me. I am so delighted! Will you be coming out for the lantern festival Friday?”\n\n“I wouldn’t miss it,” I tell her.\n\n“So what is going on Janey?” she asks.\n\n“Dr. Zhou says I have to steal a heart,” I say.\n\n“At your age? You’d sooner steal a penny off a dead man’s eyes!” she says.\n\n“Hey,” I say, “it isn’t that bad, is it,” and I blush—and we both break out in laughter.\n\n“You know the old folk story about the farmer, right? About the luck?” Sisi says.\n\n“No, tell it to me,” I say.\n\n“A farmer gets a horse, which soon runs away. A neighbor says, ‘That's bad news.’ The farmer replies, ‘Good news, bad news, who can say?’ The horse comes back and brings another horse with him. Good news, you might say. The farmer gives the second horse to his son, who rides it, then is thrown and badly breaks his leg. ‘So sorry for your bad news,’ says the concerned neighbor. ‘Good news, bad news, who can say?’ the farmer replies. In a week or so, the emperor's men come and take every able-bodied young man to fight in a war. The farmer's son is spared.”\n\n“Ok. That is a good story, but I don’t know what I’m supposed to get from that,” I tell her.\n\n“It could mean a lot of things. But what I think is, maybe you are having trouble letting go of Dandan. Maybe like the horse that runs away comes back with another horse, you gain more by letting her go. Maybe you not meant to steal man’s heart. Maybe steal back Dandan’s heart, make sure she come back to you.”\n\n“Sisi, you are very smart. And wise. Thank you so much,” I tell her, and head back to check on my gourd vases and my special porcelain chest.\n\n* * *\n\nCiqikou is fully lit with thousands of red lanterns and the Bao Lun Temple is a shining spire, like a tower of red flames, lit and inscribed with hundreds of sigils, all in ornate calligraphy, hanging down in ribbons from its many eves and archways and boat-like slanting porticos.\n\nThrongs of people crowd the streets. The moon is full in the sky. The brisk wind blows, pulling at their scarves and caps and whistling through the ornamental ribbons covered with calligraphy—the riddles attached to the sky lanterns. Waves of fluffy white snow tumble down in zigzagging waves, making the stone walkway squeak as peals of laughter and chatter echo down the promenade. Everyone is walking down to the river by the Bao Lun Temple, where the launching of the sky lanterns will take place.\n\n“Ama, if you can answer my riddle, you will shoot the literary tiger and all the pain in your hands will go away,” Dandan tells me.\n\nDandan’s sky lantern has a cryptic riddle hanging off of it in ornate Chinese Caligraphy:\n\nI can follow you for thousands of miles and not miss home. I do not fear cold or fire, and I desire neither food nor drink. But I disappear when the sun sets behind the western mountains. Who am I?\n\nI think on this a long time. I think I know the answer. But I save this secret and hold it in escrow for later.\n\n“Happy Yuan Yue! Bao Bei! How did your tangyuan come out?” I ask.\n\n“Here try,” Dandan says, sticking the sugary dough in my mouth. I chew and taste the brown sugar and the crunchy walnut and gluey bean curd. \n\n“Mmmm, very good niu niu, your best yet. Tuántuán yuányuán [I say reciting the traditional message] happy reunion, happy family! We will miss this next year,” I tell her.\n\n“Oh, ama, I will be back to see you. I’m not leaving forever,” she says.\n\n“Say the kai deng qi fu—prayer for good fortune—that you will be back next year and in good health,” I tell her, and she does.\n\nWe reach the river. The fireworks begin to go off, signaling the beginning of the fang tian deng—the time for the releasing of the sky lanterns with prayers and wishes for the heavens. The snow is coming down now in thick blankets, the drifting flakes shimmering with the light of the moon and the thousands of lanterns everyone is holding along the banks.\n\n“I think I know the answer to your riddle bao bei, goes for thousands of miles, doesn’t get hot or cold, doesn’t fear, but disappears with the dying sun… it is a ‘shadow’,” I tell her.\n\n“Very good ama, you will have much good fortune this new year,” Dandan says.\n\n“And now it is time for your New Year’s gift,” I say with a smile.\n\n“Ama! What gift? You didn’t have to get me anything,” Dandan says.\n\n“Oh, bao bei, I am so proud of you and excited for your journey, but I will miss you very much. Here, this is for you.” I pull out a porcelain chest, crafted in red clay, in the shape of a heart, glazed three times, with a red bright glaze like that of the lanterns.\n\nDandan looks up and smiles. And holds the porcelain vest close to her chest. “Oh, ama, this is so sweet.”\n\n“Open it niu niu,” I tell her. My hands shake in the cold, but I can scarcely place my fingers. All of the feeling is tingly and tentative like a spirit without a body, wisping along transparent as air.\n\nShe opens the hinge of the lid of the chest and looks inside and sees a key with a red ribbon, attached to a little gold locket.\n\n“What is it, ama?” Dandan asks.\n\n“It is a key to the store, so you can come back anytime, even if I am not there. It will always be yours. And a locket, to make new memories. Maybe you will meet a friend or a love at school. And be sure to bring them back home to me—when you return.”\n\n“Thank you, ama, I will, of course, you will always be my heart,” Dandan says.\n\nI feel a tingle in my fingers, where the clay is softening in the warmth of the moment. I can feel the heat of the lantern radiate through my palms and up my forearms.\n\nWe take the lanterns and hoist them into the air. A thousand prayers lift into the sky and glow. The red lights blow in the breeze like the spirits of the mountain, snaking along with the gush of the river and the rush of the cold January breeze.\n\nI hold Dandan in my arms a long time before we go home.\n\nI take the porcelain village out of the kiln. It cools and dries along the banks of the Jia Ling River. It freezes in time, like a memory. It is smooth to the touch. Glassy and full of hidden meanings, like fine China." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Catalyst\n\nGenre: inspirational\n\nWord Count: 2317\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story with a strong sense of place. How is the setting of your world the same as, but different to, our own?" }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "The truck jolted over another crater-like pothole as the pungent odor of rotting fish filtered into the cab, mingling with the salty air scratching at the back of my throat. I grabbed my grimy steel travel mug from the busted cup holder and took a swig, gripping it tightly to protect the precious brew that had been cold for hours. As much trouble as the old diesel gave me, she could navigate anything but a sinkhole. Over the years she evolved into a fortress of jagged rusty metal, deterring thieves and most everyone else, too. I named her Matilda, after my great aunt who carved her birthday and initials in inconspicuous places damn near everywhere she went - restaurants, public bathrooms, doctors' office waiting rooms, church pews. She said she wanted to leave proof she existed, that she was here, but “without drawing too much attention”. One night after Christmas dinner and too much port wine, she giggled conspiratorially between sips and hiccups as she relayed the stories of her quest to be remembered by strangers among the general populace in the most obscure manner possible. I was eight, and I found it to be a simple but heroic act of rebellion; a bit of salve applied to the burning need to be seen in a world designed to overlook, devalue, and underestimate her. The next week, I carved my multiplication facts into the little table in my bedroom where I did my homework. My father dragged me out of bed that night when he got home and gave me a bare-assed beating for “ruining” the table. \n\nThe chunks of asphalt gave way to a mostly dirt road where crews had not yet gotten around to repaving. Matilda groaned as I shifted into third gear and picked up speed. The ocean appeared over the horizon, a brilliant blue-green I once spent hours trying to replicate with acrylic paints. My version never seemed right - too green, too blue, too light, too flat, too something. I liked to think the real ocean was undergoing its metamorphosis and healing, and maybe that made it difficult to recreate, especially from memory. Perhaps the ephemeral essence of such an expansive body becoming whole again belies witness or recording. Or… I just suck at color theory. I needed to walk into it, to put my face in it and feel it envelop my body, like in those classic cruise commercials that showed smiling tourists swimming in clear bright water, intermixing with all that life. Maybe by immersing myself in its vastness, I could capture its shades and hues. The Landback Agency put out a green notice six months ago, saying the water was once again safe for people, but I had not dipped a toe in since our last family beach trip when I was nine years old. We always stayed at Matilda’s beach house, which used to be in the fifth row, but as the Atlantic rose, it graduated to the second row. It was the same trip in which my father pulled me out into the water on a blow-up raft until I was too short to reach the bottom. When a wave flipped the boat, I remember spinning and panicking, certain I was drowning, until I felt him grab my arm and pull me out. I coughed and gasped for air while he laughed and dragged me toward the shore. The agency introduced the red/yellow/green protocol by the next summer, and the whole southern coastline was in red for over two decades. I remember the weight that settled over every aspect of our existence when the oceans became hazardous. The effects spread far beyond the predicted industries and communities; even the deniers came around when they could no longer talk past the growing mountains of evidence marking them as the fools they had always been. They still fought against the landback stewardship decision, but in the end, they had no solutions, only arguments and egos. \n\nI glanced over to the passenger seat at the green mask and snorkel I picked up two years ago at a yard sale for six dollars. It was all over the news that oceans were moving to yellow protocol; Aunt Matilda died a week before the first pronouncement, and shocked everyone by leaving the now second-row beach house to me. When I saw the snorkel peeking out from underneath a pair of Birkenstocks on a table piled high with unwanted possessions, it was as if she was prodding me from her perch in the afterlife. \n\nAs I rounded the sharp bend, the wooden “Welcome to Palm Breeze Bay” sign greeted me, freshly painted pink and standing upright for once. I saw testimony everywhere of a hibernating town waking from a too-long slumber. A man emerged from a room at the Sea Horse Motel, pulling a boxy gray wagon that carried two giggling toddlers wearing matching hats, and he began to maneuver the patchy chunks of sidewalk toward the public access point. Across the street, a pop-up flea market had taken over the Wings store parking lot. The sounds of construction rang out from every direction. Hope planted itself in my chest and thrummed. \n\nThe old gas station on the corner that still had a full-service option was packed with construction vehicles and two food trucks. My stomach growled despite the rank odor hanging in the air, so I turned in and found a spot to park on the side of the store. As I climbed down from the truck, I heard a woman’s voice with a more southern drawl than mine call out. \n\n“Hawttttttt dawgssssss! Fresh dawgs here!”\n\nThe smell of oil and salty cured meat emanated from the window she poked her head through. She smiled as she caught my eye and winked. I swallowed. Her brown hair was streaked with silver that sparkled when angled just so in the sun, and her smile beamed in my direction, creeping over me like a warm hug I didn’t know I needed. Struck by an intense craving for a hot dog, I made my way to the truck that flanked the parking lot.\n\n“Hey there love, you hungry?” She addressed me with a sense of familiarity, almost intimacy, as if we were best friends and I had stopped by her house to visit. I noticed as I moved closer she had freckles across her nose and cheeks, and a small paw print tattoo behind her left ear. \n\n“Uh, yes, I am, those hot dogs smell amazing. Could I get two, all the way… and… some fries?” I had to yell a little to be heard over the clamor behind me. \n\n“Sure, love,” she said, turning to someone I couldn’t see. “FRY!” She faced me again.\n\n“What brings you to PB?” She waited for an answer I wasn’t prepared to give. \n\n“I, um, I’m going to check on a house, see what kind of work it needs.” This was the part I could say out loud. The rest wouldn’t hold up without the weight of my entire life story.\n\n“Interesting…” She peered at me, considering my answer. “Whereabouts is your place? I live over off 32nd Street, near the sandwich shop.” \n\n“Oh. That’s close to me, I’m off 34th, down the road from there, in the house that used to belong to my aunt Matilda, but I guess… now it belongs to me.” I was adjusting to the idea of owning a home, let alone something as extravagant as a beach house, while I knew so many were struggling. \n\n“Well how ‘bout that? Welcome home then… I’m Evie.” That damn smile. I was having a hard time focusing. She grabbed the tongs and assembled my hot dogs.\n\n“Hi, Evie, nice to meet you. I’m Asha.” \n\n“Asha! A pretty name for a pretty lady.” She glanced sideways at me as she piled on toppings. “You plannin’ on having any fun while you’re here?”\n\n“Umm, I’m not sure really, I hadn’t thought about it. I want to check out the ocean, it’s… been a while.” She nodded knowingly and reached into the space behind her, returning with a red and white paper boat overflowing with fries. \n\n“It can be intimidatin’ the first time back in. I’ll give you my number in case you want some company, I’m a strong swimmer, and maybe even above average company.” She winked at me again. Evie was full of herself but it was oddly comforting, like her confidence could be depended upon when not much else was certain.\n\n“Sure, that sounds… nice,” I said, and I meant it. She scribbled numbers on a white paper bag and placed the assembled hot dogs and my fries inside, folding the top over twice. When she handed me the bag, I carefully placed my hand where it would not touch hers to retrieve it. “I’ll call you. No… probably text, who am I kidding?” Evie let out a light, musical sort of laugh.\n\n“Either way, lookin’ forward to it.” There it was again, that easy sense of acquaintance. I waved awkwardly and walked back to the truck. As I drove away, Evie stood in the window, watching and smiling. \n\nEight blocks from the house, the road became more overgrown and treacherous, bouncing me haphazardly behind the wheel. As a kid, I always knew we were almost there when the gray house on stilts came into view, where my beach friend Beth used to live. Condemned now and barely standing, it refused to be taken into the sea that lapped at its foundation daily. I rounded the final bend, and Matilda’s parting gift appeared before me. What remained of the once hideous bright purple exterior had faded to a dirty pastel hue that reminded me of an Easter egg left behind after the hunt. Two palm trees sat on either side of the gravel drive, both taller now than the one-story house; they fluttered in the wind, greeting me as I approached. The roof beams sagged ever so slightly, making the entire building look tired and overwhelmed. Shutters were missing from one of the front windows and hanging off the second window like my sister’s false eyelashes at the end of a long night of bartending. I parked, stopping short of the single washed-out flamingo standing watch by the front steps. 25 years ago I watched as Matilda cackled to herself while sticking four of them in the ground. She named them Fred, Fanny, Frank, and Buddy. This must be Buddy. \n\nI grabbed my lunch and snorkel set and hopped down from the driver’s seat, landing on the soft sandy dirt. As I slammed the truck door, a black and white cat shot out from under the steps, disappearing into the Mexican feather grass at the corner of the house. I walked around to the backyard, and there stood the remains of the gazebo where we had dinners in the summer. The roof was entirely gone, but a bench remained, so I sat down to eat, taking care to fold up the paper bag with Evie’s number and put it in my pocket after removing the contents. I devoured the hot dogs, then scooped up my French fry boat and walked towards the beach. \n\nThe day was overcast but comfortably warm, and there was no one around that I could see, just the seagulls and me. I fed them Cheez-Its as a kid, and my mother got angry because they refused to leave us alone. One of them took a shit on my father’s head, which was the funniest thing I had ever seen, but I had to hide my giggles behind the sandcastle I built. From then on, I regarded seagull poo as the great equalizer, and Cheez-its as my favorite snack. \n\nI stripped off the clothes I wore over my bathing suit and sat in the sand to soak up my surroundings, licking salt from my fingers between fries. As a child, I spent countless nights lying awake in bed and trying to remember all the beings, places, and things that made up my disappearing world. I kept a scrapbook of each species as I learned of its extinction, pasting images from old encyclopedias and nature magazines. Even if the world forgot, I would remember, and if I ever had children, they would know from my records the full breadth of life that once inhabited our home. With every volume I assembled, my despair mounted. I became afraid of hope, of the lies it might tell, and how it would inevitably disappoint me. I worried it would make me delusional, that I would lose touch with my devastating reality, as inviting as that seemed in moments. Humanity was too stubborn, too attached to made-up rules and the illusion of control. I came out of the womb with one eyebrow raised, according to my mother—a born cynic. When the various climate agencies were established, and for years after, my discouragement only grew. We waited too long. No… They waited too long. The yellow protocol notice was the first time that hope found its way to me. I wondered now if Matilda was the opposite—born with a sense of possibility that the world slowly excised from her spirit.\n\nI put on my mask and adjusted the straps, watching as a seagull waddled in my direction, curiously cocking its head. I tossed her a fry and stood, leaving the remaining morsels for her approaching friends. The waves rushed to greet me as I walked, the bubbly water tickling my feet and ankles, the coldness anchoring me to the moment. The water reached the middle of my thighs and suddenly, the sun peeked out from behind the clouds. Almost as quickly, it retreated. The squawking of the seagulls dimmed as the sounds of the ocean filled my ears. I took a deep breath and dove underneath the water." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Dad Errands\n\nGenre: kids\n\nWord Count: 1353\n\nPrompt:\n\nSet your story before dawn. Your character has woken up early for a particular reason." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "These days as an adult, I cannot even convince myself to get out of bed unless I know there is coffee waiting for me. When I go on vacations, I set my alarm by the time the nearest coffee shop to me opens, and I still end up sleeping much later than that because it’s still so far away and how am I supposed to shower, get dressed, dry my hair, and do my makeup without caffeine? I can’t get out of bed without it.\nDespite all this, I still consider myself a Morning Person. The 5-9am hours are when I am the most productive—as long as that productivity happens while I can clutch the steaming hot ceramic mug close to my side. The bitter taste softened by a splash of collagen creamer or oat milk (although heavy cream tastes the best and reminds me of being home at my parents’ house for the holidays, dosing myself with it every day inevitably causes me to break out along my jawline).\nWhen I start my Morning Pages in the pre-dawn hours, I more often than not spend the first paragraph or so of journaling talking about the quality of my cup of coffee that day—especially if I’m staying at someone’s house besides my own. It’s safe to say that I enjoy one of society’s acceptable crippling substance dependencies.\nBut it wasn’t always this way.\nWhen I was a child, I would get up before the sun, usually to get a head start on playing with my Barbie dolls for the day. My parents permitted this as long as I stayed quietly in my room and didn’t bother anyone. Eventually they would rise at a reasonable human hour and drag themselves into the kitchen for their first cups of coffee.\nPlaying alone in my room with my toys was only my second favorite morning activity as a little girl. It was surpassed by the outings I would go on with my father. We went on these enough times that it became a delightful ritual, but because of the comforting sameness of each trip, they all blend together in my memories as one event.\nHe came into my bedroom before the sun was up, shaking me gently and telling me it was time to go. With the energy of a child who went to bed at 8pm and didn’t have a job, I hardly needed more coaxing than that. I was up, in my mismatched printed leggings and long underwear under a long sleeved shirt, ready to go.\nMy breath curled into mist in the front yard as we walked toward his 1997 Ford Ranger. I had memorized a poem for school that I have never been able to forget about. I think about it every time I see my breath in front of my face (which isn’t often. I live in California; therefore, I think 60 degrees is freezing):\nBreathe and blow white clouds with every puff. It’s cold today, cold enough to see your breath, huff! Breathe dragon smoke today!\nHe tilted the passenger seat forward and I clambered into the back of the cab of the truck. There were two mini seats that faced each other from either side wall in the back seat. I unfolded one and strapped the lap belt across me. Even with the heater on blast, it took forever for that car to warm up, and its engine rumbled with a distinctive, straining whine. You could always hear that car coming from blocks away when he was on his way home.\nMy family’s house was in a small, quiet suburb in a good school district. We weren’t too far from the liquor store, owned by the parents of a family I went to elementary school with. One block over from that, across from the grocery store was the 7-11—the highlight of the trip.\nBeing so early in the morning, we had to stop there because it was the only place open that early where Dad could get his coffee, and of course I also got to take with me a paper travel mug full of hot chocolate. On these outings, I also got to have an extra special treat that was reserved for these trips and no other: A small box of white powdered donuts. They were my favorite partially because they were pure sugar and beautiful and delectable and messy. Every bite dusted a cloud of sugar snow onto my clothes. They also tasted so sweet. Sweeter than the chocolate donuts my dad picked out for him—no thank you, chocolate sounded disgusting to me at that age.\nAnd there was always a third option that I never understood the appeal of. They looked like breadcrumb donuts, covered in a brown crumble that I could not identify. Who was buying those, I wondered, when for the exact same cost, you could bite into the fluffy white ones?\nTreasure box of white powdered donuts in hand, we got back into the truck which wound its way out of the suburb neighborhood into a windy road up to the reservoir. We had one last stop to make. I loved the tackle shop. My second favorite purchase of the day was the Styrofoam bowl with a lid on top of it. When I opened it, I watched in delight: Wriggling inside the fresh, soft, fluffy soil were thick, juicy worms. They churned in the soft dirt and wound themselves around one another. I liked to gently pull one out and hold it in my hands. It twisted and wriggled around blindly, unaware of its fate.\nThe worms were my favorite bait, but I was also fascinated by the jars of neon: little soft, artificial powder you could gently roll into balls. They came in bright green or bright pink. They were beautiful. And then there were the jars that made me squirm—much less appetizing I had to assume—than the worms. Little red balls of fish eggs suspended in a jelly like mixture. That was the option I was interested in touching the least.\nDad’s tackle box carried a variety of hooks and lures. The lures had beautiful feathers of different colors wrapped around the shiny metal hooks. But I found them boring. The freshy, mushy, smelly bait was a more intriguing part of the process to me. And I think the creatures in the reservoir lake agreed because we rarely used the fly lures. Maybe they worked better on a river up in the mountains.\nWe drove down to the shore and found a suitable dock. I had a small pink tackle box to match my dad’s big metal one. It had my own little hooks and line in it. I also had my own small yellow rod with its own line and hook at the end. Dad helped me set it up and string it together. I picked out a worm and he skewered it. He taught me how to press the switch to let the line out, and I cast it into the water. There was a picture of snoopy on the reel. He smiled up at me as I waited for the telltale tightening of the line before I could reel it in.\nOne morning we were walking down towards the shore and came face to face with a giant, beautiful deer. She looked at us, frozen in place, her eyes blinking under the dawn of the barely risen sun.\nThe cooler dad carried contained sodas for him and sandwiches for both of us. We munched on the rest of the donuts. We didn’t talk much, but anyone who knows anything about a day at the lake knows that’s exactly the point.\nSometimes we caught and took home some small or medium sized catfish. One time I set my sights on a small school of blue gills that were too big to do anything with but throw back. Empty of food, our cooler now had room for ice and our prize. When we used up all the worms, we switched to the artificial bait.\nWe never left empty handed." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: My Father the Artist\n\nGenre: inspirational\n\nWord Count: 1359\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a time-travel story where a character from the present finds themselves in the 80s or 90s." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "It had been sitting on my kitchen table for about two months now. It slowly cemented itself in place as unopened letters, shopping catalogues, and magazines slowly piled around it, until only my face was left, reflecting on the small part of the screen which was still visible. After Mom died, I took the computer along with boxes of other things without really thinking. It completely slipped my mind that it needed a password until it was already in my possession. I knew it at some point, but it must've gotten lost somewhere along my time growing up.\nAfter another night sharing another dinner with the computer as my date, I brought my plate to the sink to be cleaned. I looked back at the computer, this once magical machine which was now a silent observer of my mundane life. I wondered what Mom would do in this situation. She'd probably know the password already. And if not, she'd somehow magically find it (as mothers do), then proceed to scold me for not looking hard enough (as mothers do). I looked back at the mountain on my table and heard my mother's voice fussing over the mess.\n\"Fine,\" I sighed. I'd look once more.\nI pulled out the boxes from under the chairs. I'd collected them because of my curse of nostalgia, I couldn't bear to see any of her stuff go. Unfortunately, the majority of her possessions were now in the hands of someone else. James said everything had to sell, but I fought to keep my share.\n\"It's junk,\" he said. Junk. He called it junk.\nAmong the boxes included books, clothes, and jewelry. Pages my mother once flipped through, dresses she once wore. In other boxes were photo albums with pictures of my parents as children. There were a few of me and James, but the majority of them had been uploaded onto the computer (this being the main motivation behind my need to unlock it). One of my mother's notebooks were sticking out of this box. It was a book of recipes, most of which she had found online. James probably would've thrown it out, but I grabbed it so I could look at her handwriting again. Going through everything reminded me of the archaeology class I took in college. I felt as if I were excavating some archeological dig site, handling each fragile artifact with care. I started to flip through the notebook, but it opened up quickly to a page with an index card in it. A jumble of numbers and letters had been scribbled in what was unmistakenly my father's handwriting. The sequence felt familiar. I looked over to the computer, I had to try it.\nI tore down the mountain of my own junk and broke the computer free. After plugging it back in and a couple of tries to turn it on, the computer woke up and I was faced with the same barrier I had met last time. Only now, I had a possibility. I typed in the combination a couple of times, since there was a zero that could've been an O, a four that could've been a nine. After deciphering the code, I was finally in.\nI started with the file explorer first to see if I could find my baby photos. There was a folder titled \"Lila 1st Birthday,\" and as the name suggested, there were photos of me as a newly one year old girl. James had his arms around me with a big smile on his face, that charming smile he carried with him into adulthood. I clicked around and found pictures of school events, family vacations, and what seemed like endless birthday parties. Old photos are always interesting. They say, \"this is me and I was here!\" It was evidence of a point in your life, even if it doesn't show the argument you had with your mother that morning. Even if you had no recollection of the day at all. I could name everyone in the photos, our extended family and friends could all be found- younger versions of them at least. However, one person seemed to be notably missing from these pictures- my father. Save for the fact he was the one taking a majority of the photos, he seemed to have masterfully avoided a good portion of group pics and candid background shots. He did have a fair share of portraits, taken by my mother or any other family member, so he was not totally unaccounted for.\nMy father was a hardworking man. He was a kind man, but it was his quiet and reserved demeanor which defined him. Him and I didn't really do much together, we enjoyed simply being in each other's company. He had a lot more to talk about with James, whether it be sports or politics or whatever new blockbuster movie was out. Mom and I aren't big movie people. Well, Mom wasn't. I'm still not.\nI clicked around some more and came across some word documents. They were titled as \"Letters 2008\" or \"Letters 1999\" depending on whatever year they came from. I opened a file from 2002. The letter was addressed to no one in particular, but my name was one of the first words to come up.\nToday Lila had her first ballet recital, a junior version of the Nutcracker. She was a snowflake among many, but she shone brighter than everyone else\nThe words struck me, I'd never heard him express himself so poetically. I looked through more documents and found letters upon letters containing accounts of activities I had participated in, awards I had won, and any other minor achievement I had gained. I started to fight back tears, as if I had anyone to hide them from. I'd gotten the occasional \"I love you\" from my father, he wasn't heartless, but this was just another level. This was a documentation of me as a person, and my father as a selfless observer. Just like his photographs, each word seemed to be chosen carefully. So many moments I had forgotten about, now came with detailed descriptions, and a couple of photographs embedded between the text.\nMy father, the working man. He had a tendency to preoccupy his mind with bills, work, and more work. To live was to work, and he was good at living. While it may seem as though his life was all a giant chore, I now believe he made it his canvas, each day a new chance to make art. He found rhythm in routine, saw patterns in money. He captured the color and form of our daily lives. I wished I had paid more attention. I wished he were here. I wished all the things people wish when they're grieving. Mostly, I wished someone were able to capture him the way he was so perfectly able to capture us. Always the artist and never the muse I suppose. I went back to look at the photographs with the newfound lens of my father's eyes. With a second look I realized; though these were all portraits of everyone else, they were very easily portraits of himself. He took them deliberately because he had a vision, because he knew how to capture his essence in the scene. The right angle, the right lighting, the right moment, everything was accounted for. It seemed so perfectly planned, as though I could zoom into the reflection of someone's eye and see his face staring back. In every image of myself, I could see me looking back at him. When I saw a picture of Mom, I saw how much he loved her. When I saw a picture of James, I saw how similar the two men had become.\nI turned off the computer and thought about calling James. There were plenty of photos of him, but not as many letters. I ended up emailing him the photos through the old computer, the machine helping me out once more. I didn't mention the letters. James and my father had many things shared together. This one could be between him and me." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Beowulf: A Guard Dog's Tale\n\nGenre: kids\n\nWord Count: 2615\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about a warrior who doesn’t want to kill the dragon." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Dedicated to my furstborn, who thinks he is much braver than he is, but really just has the sweetest and most tender heart, and often gets the short end of the stick now that he has a human sister.\n\nThe day I slayed my first dragon started off like any other. The sun greeted me with a gentle touch, and though my nose welcomed its warmth, I felt my body tight and tense: my toes still squeezed together, my hair still up, my jaw still clenched. Last night had been an all-too-real slaughter of tree-dwellers, and I was convinced I’d find myself amidst a blood bath, an explosion of matted grey fur and blue feathers. I peeked one eye open to assess my surroundings, but to my disappointment, there was no explosion, not a single feather or drop of blood. It was merely my room, just how I’d left it.\n\nI noticed Father still in bed beside me, but saw that Mother was not, per the empty, sunken space where the sheets were folded over. I released an audible yawn and then army-crawled over to Mother’s side of the bed, feeling the still warm sheets across my belly. Both Mother and Father always got mad when I did this, but it was a desire I could never deny.\n\nJust as I was drifting off to sleep again, I heard a sudden and loud noise in the other room. Most days, it was the high-pitched giggling of the Youngling that woke me, a sound I’d learned to ignore, much like the sound of her tiny feet peddling across the hardwood floors from room to room. But this clatter alerted me. My ears perked, listening. Then, a shriek of pain.\n\nImmediately, I flew from the bed to the door in one swift swoop. Open you damned door! I commanded.\n\nThrough the small gap at the barrier’s bottom, a subtle pungent aroma crept in: it was the scent of Mother rushing out of the house in the morning, arms overstuffed; the scent of the Youngling crying at the sound of the garbage trucks going by; the scent of Father cursing at his computer.\n\nSomething was wrong.\n\nI command you to open! I tried again, pulling my lips back this time. It defied me, as it usually did. But I did not surrender. Open! I commanded, louder.\n\nIn bed, Father stirred but only let out a snort. I turned to him, beckoning his assistance. Father, help, I groaned. He only snored louder. I had to face the door alone.\n\nI prepared to unleash my final attack – pressing my snout into it with the full force of my strength – when I heard the screaming settle into a hushed whimper. My tail wagged furiously with anticipation as I heard footsteps approaching. Then with a sharp click, the door swung open, revealing Mother and the pouting youngling in her arms. The little one’s cheeks were wet, eyes swollen, and I longed to lick them, to inspect her, to defeat whatever caused her to be upset. But all I could do was wag and sniff at Mother’s knees.\n\n“Come on, Wolfie,” Mother said. Her tone gave me pause. What is wrong, Mother?\n\n“Beowulf, now!” Mother pushed me into the living room, sealing the barrier behind me. When she released the Youngling, I had no time to prepare. Though small, she is strong, and she was on me before I could retreat, squeezing her tiny arms around my neck.\n\n“Woofie!” she screeched in that high-pitched voice. With no barrier to muffle the intensity of it, I winced. Release me, I commanded, which only made her grip tighten. “Awww!” She cooed.\n\nThere was no other option: I licked her cheeks forcefully, careful not to use my teeth, and she giggled and pulled away, setting me free. I aimed for her lips next, the way I see Mother and Father do, and lapped up a sweet, sticky goo. Mmmm, pancakes. The little one patted me away, swatting at my nose. “Woofie, stop it,” she squealed. “Mommy, Wolfie is giving me kisses!”\n\n“Stop, Wolf,” Mother said. Again, her tone alerted me. I turned to her. She was on hands and knees, sweeping up crumbs with a napkin, the little’s one pink plate beside her. Mother, let me assist you! I ran to her, tongue ready to mop up the mess. I salivated at the smell, but Mother pushed her forearm into my chest, shoving me away. “Wolfie, no! Not for you!”\n\nI tilted my head at her. It was not lost on me that Mother did not give me her usual greeting. No kiss on my snout. No rubs on my belly. Not even a pat on the head. What is wrong, Mother?\n\nShe didn’t even look up at me when she said, “Stop!”\n\nA loud noise from behind grabbed my attention, and I turned to see the little one’s head deep in a box. Her tiny arms were speedily pulling things out, covering the floor with a plethora of things, all of it clinking together loudly as they landed. The Youngling released even more high-pitched yelps as she sifted through her pile, picking up one thing and tossing it aside before grabbing another. I didn’t hesitate. I ran to her side, inspecting for injury. What has hurt you, child?\n\n“Eeeheehee!” She clapped her hands together. I sniffed at them, but did not detect the smell of harm.\n\n“That’s it! Outside! Both of you!”\n\nThe Youngling and I froze. We knew that voice. My tail pulled towards my belly.\n\nMother’s hand was quick to the back door, swinging it open with force and urgency. She pointed outside. “Come on, Gabby. Go play outside while I clean the kitchen. Mommy needs a break.”\n\nThe little one’s head and shoulders sunk, but she walked to the door, grabbing the bin I usually inspected for spiders on her way outside. “Okaaaay,” she said. The smell of fear and anger were now wafting off the little one and Mother.\n\nMother, what is wrong? I attempted once more.\n\n“You too, Beo,” Mother said, re-flinging her finger out the door. The urge to defend her, to comfort her, was strong, almost a vibrative desire throughout my whole body, but it was overpowered by the need to obey her. Ears, tail, and head down, I walked past her and out the door.\n\nThe moment my feet touched the concrete patio, all behind me was forgotten. The aroma of the yard rushed over me, and I sprinted to the lawn where the sun warmed my coat instantly. The sudden urge to pee overtook me, but I resisted. Nose to the ground, I surveyed the perimeter of the yard, following the worn path I’d proudly marked regularly for years, my self-imposed defensive barrier to protect my family. Once I’d ensured the safety of the yard, I relieved myself on my favorite tree, the large oak at the far end of the fence line. The branches above me shook.\n\nInstantly, I was on guard, ready to fight. Intruder!\n\nI looked up and saw a blue bird staring down at me.\n\nI narrowed my eyes before digging my nails into the tree's trunk. Intruder! Intruder! Intruder!\n\nThe bird never stood a chance. Victoriously, I watched it flutter away. My house! I added for good measure.\n\nSo, the day really had been just like any other day. There hadn’t been anything unusual about it, other than Mother’s irritation, which wasn’t entirely uncommon since the Youngling arrived a few years back. All seemed well in our house. It wasn’t until I’d gone back to check on the little one, who had happily busied herself with dragging chalk into the cement, when things became interesting.\n\nI sniffed at her colorful scribbles, looking for any signs of trouble. She screeched, “Wolfie, no! Get off my picture!” and pushed me away. Though I was only trying to help, I did not tell her that. Instead, I obeyed, stepping backwards, because even though she was no Mother or Father, my duty was still to her.\n\nI remained nearby like I always do, continuing my inspections away from her fresh markings. Nose to the ground, tail high. Had I known my birth parents, they would have been proud of my form, I’d imagined. I buried my snout into each nook and crevice, each rock pile and crack in the area, passing over snail trails, fleets of marching ants, and lone roaming roly-polies, all of which I would have liked to spend a little more time inspecting for pure pleasure; but, I am not a puppy anymore. I have responsibilities. Priorities. So, I continued.\n\nThis was when things got a little interesting. I was scouring the space between two clay pots of flowers when my whiskers twitched at the sudden discovery of something new…Before I could further examine, I was startled by a guttural scream. Behind me, the Youngling launched herself backwards and tossed her chalk to the ground. “Get it, Woofie, get it!”\n\nInstantly, my body was alert. I rushed to her side, a fury flaring in my tail as I searched for signs of harm. What is it? I demanded.\n\n“There! There! There!” She jabbed her finger down, pointing behind me.\n\nI followed the tiny finger with precision, scanning the area. There was no unusual scent. No visible attacker. Where, child? I pled for her to give me more, but she only pointed, terror emanating at her fingertips.\n\nAll hairs up, I sniffed the ground, pacing from left to right. Sniff. Sniff. Sniff. There was nothing but ants and small patches of green emerging from the cracks of the pavement. Not a clue for my nose, nor my eyes. I hurried, covering more and more ground with each paw forward. Nothing revealed itself, but I remained vigilant.\n\nThe Youngling wailed again: “Woofie!”\n\nAnd then just like that, I saw it.\n\nThe creature was motionless between the two flower pots, stiller than gravel itself. It was covered in a kaleidoscope of green and black and white scales, a slight shimmer glaring across them. Its eyes were a pair of unblinking black dots, and its legs were camouflaged at its sides, making its body appear limbless and long. Its mouth opened wide, a hiss releasing from its bright pink cavity. I had never encountered such a beast in my life, but the moment I saw it, I knew exactly what it was.\n\nI was face to face with a real-life dragon.\n\nIntruder! Intruder! I growled.\n\nThe dragon showed no outward reaction to my warning, so unlike the squirrels and birds I am accustomed to battling. I tried again.\n\nIntruder! Intruder! Intruder!\n\nThe wretched beast remained defiantly still. I felt a familiar tightening in my belly: the feeling of Father and Mother and Youngling putting on my collar and locking the door on their way out. I’d realized: I didn’t know how to fight this beast.\n\nBehind me, as if she had sensed my hesitation, the little one sputtered with fear, jumping and down. I trotted to her, pressed my nose into her leg, assuring her: I protect, Youngling.\n\n“Get it, Wolfie!”\n\nI reminded myself: my duty is to protect. Against all things. Even ugly, fierce, and terrifying dragons – even though I did not entirely know they really truly existed. I swallowed my fear – For the Youngling – and approached the beast slowly, one paw, a second paw, lowering my nose in stride. There was no scent but the potted flowers. Such a mysterious creature. It hissed again, and I (embarrassingly) startled backwards.\n\nBack, dragon! Stay back! I don’t want to hurt you!\n\nTo my surprise, the dragon slithered an inch forward, its slender body gliding across the rough ground as if it were water. No creature has defied me so audaciously. No creature has defended against me. A feeling bubbled up deep from my chest: the feeling of Father not giving me his leftover pizza crust after I asked for it several times. I could show no mercy.\n\nI roared louder: Stay back! Leave! Leave, you wretched beast!\n\nThe dragon merely closed its mouth, but did not retreat. It remained, taunting me with its undying gaze.\n\nI’ve slain many before you, I threatened.\n\nIt only blinked.\n\nPerhaps, I was wearing it down. I felt the high of victory creeping up my chest. You cannot win, beast. I snarled, this time showing him my teeth.\n\nBehind me, the back door swung open, but before I could turn to check on the Youngling, a sharp pain exploded across my nose. The dragon’s bite was tight and unrelenting as I shook my head furiously in response, swatting at it with alternating paws. Off, beast, off! I yelped. In the same moment I heard Mother’s voice, I felt a surge of relief flash in my face. The beast landed several feet from me, and I watched my writing assailant slither away, disappearing into the bushes. In front of me, the beast’s tail wiggled and flopped as if it were still attached.\n\nVictory! I announced as I approached what was left of my defeated opponent. The Youngling cried on Mother’s hip.\n\n“Shhh, it’s OK, honey. It looks like it’s gone now,” Mother said. She walked out onto the patio and set the little one down by her chalk. Mother kicked at the lone tail, flinging it towards the bushes, before squatting down in front of me. She cupped my jaw in her hands. “Aw, did you get bit, Wolfie?” Mother scratched behind my ears as she inspected my stinging nose. “It looks OK,” she said, patting my head.\n\n“Hey, what’s going on? Why is Beo barking so much?”\n\nFather! My gallant and noble leader! I sprinted the short distance, nudging my head into his knees, tail wagging with abandon, his favorite way to be greeted.\n\n“I sent Gabby out here to play while I cleaned the kitchen, and I guess she saw a lizard. Beowulf tried to scare it off, but it bit him,” Mother said.\n\n“Yeah, Daddy, I told him to get it, and it bit him right on his nose! He shook his head and flung it off,” the little one contributed proudly. “And its tail came off!”\n\n“Ah, I see,” Father nodded. He bent down to rub my belly, and I wiggled into his hands. His voice an octave higher, he said, “Did you get the lizard, boy? Did you protect our little princess? Good boy! Good boy, Beowulf!” When he released me, I was disappointed. I’d expected a little more of a thank you for my bravery and service. But Father was a busy man so I just continued to nudge my head into his leg. “Exciting morning, huh?” he said to Mother.\n\n“You don’t even know.”\n\nThe day continued on like usual from there. Father ate his breakfast at the table, while Mother, who seemed less irritable, and the Youngling, who refused to go back outside, played with the mess the little one had made earlier, though I was not sure why she was so scared to go back outside. Afterall, I’d slayed the dragon. But I wasn’t going to complain. All that excitement had made me tired, and I was about an hour late for my morning nap.\n\nI leapt onto the unmade pile of sheets and blankets and circled the space twice before curling up right in the center where the last remaining sun patch provided my achy nose some warm relief. As I closed my eyes, I found myself hoping for a dream without scaly beasts, perhaps one filled with fluttering feathers and matted grey fur, or maybe, pancakes." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: New Year for Me\n\nGenre: inspirational\n\nWord Count: 1155\n\nPrompt:\n\nSet your story on New Year's Day." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "I take in a cold breath to steady myself as the crowd around me quietly chants.\n\"10...9...8...7\"\n\"8 months, 7 days\" I whisper under my breath. My private count this last year.\n\"6... 5... 4...3...\"\n\"251 days altogether\" The metal of my necklace feels like ice.\n\"2... 1! Happy New Year!\" The 20 or so with me on this cold rock cheer.\n\"252....\" I finally breathe out.\n8 months, 8 days, since Mom passed. Day 1 of learning to live for Me. I look up at the stars. These past few months, I haven't been doing well. My apartment is littered with papers and clothes. I've been forgetting the basics, to wash my hair, brush my teeth. The only thing I've kept up with is making sure my Cat is fed.\nTaking care of others seems to be the only thing that gave me self-worth. I'm not sure where exactly that idea started, I just wanted to help out. At 12, I lived with my Grandma just in case she had a fall, I helped her through her dementia diagnosis. At 16, I redid my Father's house to be more accessible when he lost his sight. I read to him his favorite book as he slipped into a coma, at 17. Since I was 21, I was my Mom's nurse. She was a 2-time cancer survivor and started struggling with kidney failure.\nDid choosing to care for her stunt my ability to start college, keep a relationship, and advance in my career in these past 4 years? Absolutely…I wouldn't have changed it for the world. I struggled, but it was for her. She never asked me to, I was willing to do it anyway. She taught me so much about love and patience. Strength in fighting, and in knowing when to stop.\nHow do I get up every day if it's not to talk to her? To take her blood pressure? To make breakfast so we can start medications? I'm not sure, but I did it today.\nThe others on the rock chat excitedly. Most are in groups of 2, some in 3s. I am by myself. This was the first step to something I started for Me. I loved hiking when I was younger. You could never find Me indoors as a kid. That love got pushed away for a bit; it had become hard to get away long enough to enjoy the outdoors. Hiking again after so many years made Me cry a little. Part of it is because I am much more out of shape than I thought, and partly because I had forgotten how much I missed this.\nThe guides let us gaze at the world from on top of Encanto Rock for a few minutes. Night hikes like this are very rarely allowed. It's a moment to savor for them, too. I've always wanted to sneak up here at night but was too scared of being banned. This seemed like a perfect opportunity.\nThe wind blows again, much too cold for us Southerners.\n\"Let's start our way down, everyone get in your groups...\" We head off in groups of 2's, 3's, I am by myself.\nThe way down is much easier. The other groups talk about the constellations, resolutions, and what tomorrow will be like. They all seem in good spirits, even the Rangers talk about their own. I stay quiet. I realize I hadn't made many plans past getting to this point. Instead, I briefly wonder about why Mom's death hit Me so hard. I've buried my grandparents, my father, two uncles… Maybe it was because she was all the family I had left as an only child. Who can I turn to now? The sound of our shoes hitting asphalt, no longer leaves, snaps Me out of the dark.\nThe Rangers see us off, some to the campgrounds right off the trail, and the rest of us to our cars to head home for the night. I don't have camping gear so I didn't make reservations to stay after. I think I'll have to do that next time.\nNext time yes... when will I go get tents and sleeping bags? I suppose I can get it next paycheck.\nI sit in my car, letting the frost melt. \nOkay Me... we need to think of a few goals.... anything?\nMy mind is rudely silent for a while.\nTomorrow, I can clean the closet.\nThat's a start, yes.\nBut what if I get stuck again?\nMy mind briefly flashes to calling my best friend in a panic attack. I had found some childhood photos of Mom and I just didn't know where to put my emotions. She drove 45 minutes just to hold Me long after I had calmed down. My throat swells a bit.\nTomorrow is Tuesday. She's off Tuesdays. I'll call her... and I'll ask for help to clean it out.\nI sigh and put my head on the steering wheel. The thought of calling her so far out for something so small seems ridiculous. But she loves me, and I know she'll help. I steel myself and decide to text her right then just to make sure I don't chicken out. Only a few moments pass before she texts me back.\n\"I'd love to, I'll bring food, Mc D's?\"\nI wipe a tear from my eye. When did I start crying?\nI text her back.\n\"Perfect, thanks.\"\nOkay so... day 2 is covered. But what about when I wake up late later today, the true first start?\nMy window is almost defrosted, I start looking for a Playlist to listen to as I drive home. I wipe my eyes and find something upbeat and happy to keep awake.\nI talk to Me again.\nWhen I wake up.... when I wake up, I'll make myself a small breakfast. Maybe... pancakes and fruit? I'll do the dishes and then I'll… -no.\nI stop myself. If breakfast, dishes, and feeding my cat are all that I accomplish, that will be enough. I finally back out and start my way home.\nA part of Me feels like that isn't trying hard enough. Another part of Me understands I need to take it slow. I have so much more I can do now, and it makes Me heavy with guilt. No one ever talks about how guilty you feel for enjoying the time they used to occupy. It will take a lot of work to shed that weight. Understanding it's a natural part of grief is different from actually progressing through it. There is no need to rush achievements before I am ready to enjoy them.\nI kiss my necklace with her ashes inside. \"I'm not ready to let you go yet, but I'll make you proud\"\nI have to remind myself. It's a new year. I have plenty of time to reach my goals. I will learn to live for Me." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Near and Far\n\nGenre: kids\n\nWord Count: 2977\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about someone who thinks they just got a great deal on something, only for them to realize…" }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "A bagful of popcorn kernels, three ripe tomatoes, three wire coat hangers, and six marbles. That’s all it’s going to take for me to be able to see without glasses. I am super nearsighted and have to wear these really thick glasses that I hate. I’ve been wearing them since I was eight and thought the bright pink frames were awesome. But now I’m eleven and they are not even remotely awesome. My folks can’t afford new frames, or better yet, contacts, so I have to take this chance.\n\nI know it is completely ridiculous, but right now, I don’t care.\n\nHere’s the thing. My dad had sent me out to check our upper field for whatever was beating paths in the hay along the border.\n\nWell, I found it.\n\nIt was a little bigger than me and looked sort of like the caterpillar in Alice in Wonderland, if the caterpillar wore a velvet vest trimmed with sparkly pockets all down the front. It was sticking all its different hands into the different pockets and pulling things out. Or putting things in. I couldn’t quite tell because its hands moved super-fast. Pieces of hay, stones, tiny three-fingered fistfuls of dirt, a bottle cap were whizzing up into, or out of, the pockets. The caterpillar thing was humming to itself as it worked, kind of a nasal whizzing.\n\nI probably should have gone to get dad, but he’s been going on lately about how I “am old enough now to do more work around the farm,” so I can’t go running to him every time anything happens. Like when I find a giant caterpillar thing in the hay.\n\nI circled it to see if it was maybe a kid in a costume or some kind of robotic toy. I didn’t see a zipper or an antenna or anything that might explain it. I’d guess it was an escapee from a book somebody wrote a long time ago, but that would be crazy.\n\n“What are you?” I asked.\n\nIt whipped what might have been its head around. Tendrils sticking out the top zeroed in on my location. It squeaked out, “Yeeksi day!” and slapped a couple of its hands on its chest like my great Aunt Jane faking a heart attack. But it didn’t spit acid at me or make any threatening movements, so I decided to try to negotiate, which I figured is what a big kid might do.\n\n“You’re ruining the hay fields.”\n\nIt reared back, hands patting its pockets as if it thought I was going to steal from it. We had a little staring contest while the sun beat down between us and some crows scolded us for being in their territory.\n\nFinally, it started talking from a mouth on the top of its head. “Don’t worry about it, little boy. I’ll fix it.”\n\nI wasn’t all that surprised when it spoke since it was wearing the vest thing, and animals in clothes usually talk in books. But I still didn’t know what it was. Alien? Mutant?\n\n“How can you fix it? You’ve, like, trompled paths all over half an acre. Anyway, I’m a girl.”\n\n“Yeeksi! Last time I visited, girls put themselves into big pockets with the bottoms cut out.”\n\nI figured it meant ‘dresses’ but didn’t bother to correct it. I liked the idea of putting myself in a pocket, but that wasn’t the important thing. “So you’ve been here before?”\n\n“A little piece of a long time ago. When I was…” it held up some of the hands in its middle section to indicate how tall it had been.\n\n“Did you eat up all the hay then, too?”\n\n“There wasn’t hay here then and anyway, I’m not eating it. I need it for…construction purposes.”\n\n“What are you making?”\n\n“That’s on a need-to-know basis.”\n\n“Where are you from?”\n\n“Near and far. Near and far.”\n\n“How can that be? That’s like opposites at the same time.”\n\n“Exactly!” it said, the way you say, ‘who’s a good boy?’ to a puppy.\n\n“That doesn’t make any sense.”\n\nThree of the balloon-shaped sections in its middle filled up and then expelled air. “It’s a matter of perspective. Far in space, right around the corner in distance.”\n\n“That makes less sense. Distance moves through space.” I knew that at least.\n\n“You think that about time as well, no doubt.”\n\n“You’re a time traveler? That is so cool! Wait, are you what humans will look like in the future?”\n\nIt blinked several of the eyes on the ends of the tendrils. “Don’t be silly. I could not have evolved from a bi-pedal, warm-blooded article such as yourself.” It sniffed and took a scrap of cloth out of a pocket and blotted at what I thought might be its nose. Or belly button.\n\n“So, are you a time traveler?”\n\n“In a way, in a way.” Its arms rippled down its sides. “Time, being as it is less forward than humans take it to be, means distance is less far than humans take it to be.”\n\n“You are just messing with me.”\n\n“Maybe. Or maybe the truth is hard to see.” It pulled some dirt out of its pocket and tossed it into its mouth like trail mix.\n\nI wondered if the vest was some kind of alien protective gear, like a space suit that helped it process our air and water. So I asked it, “Is that a space suit?” because it really didn’t look like one.\n\n“This garment is high fashion!” It sounded insulted.\n\nI thought I should be more direct. “Are you an alien?”\n\nIt looked even more offended. “Alien, indeed!” It clapped one of its hands on its head in what must be a universal sign for ‘stupid.’ Then it added, “You might say I am a next-door neighbor of alternate being.”\n\nI was beginning to think maybe I was hallucinating. I took off my glasses to clean them, squinting at his now fuzzy shape.\n\n“What is that?” the not-alien-but-alternate-being-maybe-hallucination asked. “Without those orbs can you not see me?” It sounded hopeful.\n\n“No, I can still see you. They’re called glasses, and I can see you better with them.”\n\n“Ah well that explains that then,” it muttered.\n\n“Explains what?”\n\n“I wondered if I was stuck inter-dimensionally or if you had some magic seeing apparatus allowing you to cross over the barriers, but it would appear the former, not the latter, is the case.”\n\n“I do not know what you are saying.”\n\n“All for the best, all for the best.”\n\n“Anyway, I’m supposed to get rid of you ‘cause you’re damaging the field.”\n\n“You need only ask, and I shall be gone.”\n\nAnd he literally turned on the spot and began to trot away. I trotted next to him, and as he picked up speed, I did too. I mean, I was barely hurrying. With his little legs, he couldn’t take very big steps. This seemed to upset him, and he tried for a burst of speed like a marathoner in the final stretch, only the final stretch was the edge of the field where the forest meets the hay in a thick tangle of undergrowth. It snagged him like a fly in a web.\n\nHe began to make piercing sounds of distress, throwing in some English words like “Drat!” and “Piffle!” and “Oh crumb cakes!” He seemed to like the last one a lot and repeated it a few times.\n\n“Calm down, you’re getting stuck even worse by flailing around like that. Those are burdocks.”\n\nHe froze. “Am I being held hostage? I’ve heard this happens when humans want gold.”\n\nI had no idea what he was talking about. “No, it’s just a plant. You have to be careful.” I began pulling the burrs out of his velvet vest thing while he made weird noises like a chain saw trying to sing a nursery rhyme.\n\n“My friends are going to be way impressed when I tell them about you,” I said, trying to distract it.\n\n“Oh no! That must not happen!”\n\n“Why not? You’re cool.”\n\n“I am, in fact, quite heated. Further, no one is to know that I have been here. Yourself excepted of course, and I expect you to keep mum about it.”\n\n“Why?” When it didn’t answer, I plowed on. “Are you ashamed of what you are? Like are you a mutant? I mean, you shouldn’t be. Ashamed that is. You should take pride in yourself and your differences.”\n\nThe mutant blinked at me from the ends of several of its tendrils.\n\n“Do not impugn my nature by referring to me as a mutant, you rude child.”\n\n“Well, what are you?”\n\n“Just a neighbor having a little trouble unvisiting itself.” Its many hands were plucking the spikey burrs out of its vest way faster than I could, and it popped one in its mouth. “Tasty!”\n\nYep, it ate the burdocks. Which are like spiky balls of irritation if you’ve never been in the woods. Or outside.\n\n“Maybe my dad can help. He’s good with tools and…”\n\n“No!” All the hands came up at once and spiraled around, like it was doing the ‘wax on, wax off’ maneuver. “No one can know I am here. Even you.”\n\n“But I already know you’re here.”\n\n“A problem, yes. A conundrum, in fact. But an impossibility, no.” It waved its eye tendrils at me. “Tell me, those glasses you wear. Does that mean you cannot see as is normal for your kind?”\n\n“Yeah.”\n\n“I have a proposal.” It leaned forward like my friend April does when she wants to tell a secret, even though none of her secrets are any good. Or even really secrets. “If you don’t tell anyone I am here, I can fix your eyes.”\n\n“Get out of town!”\n\nIt blinked a couple of times. “That is what I am attempting to do.”\n\n“What I mean is you can’t do that!”\n\n“Why not?”\n\n“Well, no one else has been able to fix my eyes, besides with glasses.”\n\n“I have certain abilities. You will see, provided…”\n\n“…I don’t tell anyone about you?”\n\n“That is the heart of it, that is the nub.”\n\n“How do I know you won’t blind me? You could be like one of those telemarketers making promises but totally lying.”\n\nIt started waxing on, waxing off again. “I would not do such a thing to a creature who has done me no harm.”\n\n“Meaning if I harmed you, you could make me go blind?”\n\n“That’s on a need-to-know basis.”\n\n“And if you fix my eyes, and I don’t tell anyone about you, you’ll leave our fields?”\n\n“That’s the heart of it!” The creature flushed pea green, which is weird, but not as weird as all those hands waxing on and off. It took a little leather bag out of one of its pockets and handed it to me. “I will need that filled with popcorn--unpopped--three tomatoes, some wire, and I don’t suppose you could produce any marbles?”\n\nWhich is what brings me to the point where I am running back through the field with a leather bag of popcorn kernels, three tomatoes, three wire coat hangers, and six of my brother’s marbles.\n\nI find the caterpillar laying by the burdock with what looks like puke puddled up on the ground next to it. It hops up and takes all the stuff I brought, making happy chuckly noises. Stretching out the coat hangers, it lays them flat in a hoop around its feet with the ends sticking in the earth about one inch apart. He starts mashing the tomatoes into the gaps between the wire.\n\n“How’s all this going to get you back where you’re supposed to be?”\n\n“That’s on a need-to-know basis.”\n\n“OK. Then can you fix my eyes before you go?” I take off my glasses and suck in a shaky breath because right now I am not sure if it is going to blind me. Or worse. If there is such a thing.\n\nIt points most of its hands at the slimy puke puddle. “A little bit of that will do the job. Most likely.”\n\n“Yeah. No.” I say.\n\nIt gives me a look like it's the only one who can speak in contradictions. “Alright then,” and it leans over, sucks a loogie of the stuff up into one of its tendril things and shoots it right into my eyes. \n\nIt splats all over my face. In my eyes, nose, mouth. I scream and start running around. “Gross! Gross! Gross!” I’m blinded by the goo, trying to swab it out with my fingers, but it’s like slithery gum. I am beyond angry. What kind of practical joke is this?\n\nI finally pull the last strands away from my face and wipe it with my shirttails. The caterpillar is standing there looking awful pleased with itself, even rocking back and forth a bit as if to say, “I told you so.”\n\nIn fact, it then says, “I told you so.”\n\n“What? How could you do that? That is the most disgusting thing I have ever—I don’t even know.”\n\n“And where are your glasses?”\n\nI touch my face and remember that I took them off right before it shot me in the eyes. I see them lying in the dirt, winking pinkly up at me in the evening light. I look up and I can see across the grain to the roofs of the farmhouse and the barn and the silo. And the mountains beyond. Clear as anything.\n\nI blink, rub my eyes, and stare again, because in my whole life, I’ve never been able to see this well.\n\n“Is this permanent?” I ask.\n\n“Inasmuch as you are not a permanent creature, no. But as long as the eyes are with you, then you should see like that.”\n\n“I don’t understand how you did that.”\n\n“Sight is just a matter of perception.”\n\n“That makes no sense.”\n\nIt shrugs, sending a ripple down its various arm sockets. “Be that as it may, you can see, so I’ll toddle off now. Remember, mum’s the word!”\n\nIt waves gaily, squishes the last tomato into place between the wires and pitches the marbles at me.\n\nI duck as the marbles ping into me, and when I look up, the caterpillar is gone. The air in the hoop is wavering like summer heat haze and I hear popcorn popping. “Delicious!” it shouts and then it burps. But I cannot see him.\n\nI pick up my glasses and try them on, but they make the world fuzzy, and I still can’t see it. I take them off, feeling my heart begin to swell as the world comes into focus, everything crisp and clear, both near and far. I feel like I did when I won the award at the talent show for my magic act. Only more. Way more.\n\nI scan around the edge of the field in case the caterpillar is hiding behind a tree or something, but I don’t think it is. I think it's gone, leaving only a ring of wire on the ground and some sizzling tomatoes.\n\nI am feeling pretty pumped. Walking back home, I stare at everything. Without my glasses! I can see individual trees in the hills, the old combine in the next field, the pattern of the heads of grain waving in the wind. It is amazing!\n\nThe thing is, then I begin to see other things too. Things that aren’t supposed to be there.\n\nA flicker in the corner of my eye makes me twist my head, but there’s nothing there. Then I am sure I see a pointy red cone about two feet off the ground, but when I blink, it’s gone. I spot little figures swaying on the stalks of hay, blurry and fast like a dragonfly, but I would swear they had arms and legs. \n\nI rub my eyes. I can still see everything clearly. It’s just that I’m seeing all these other things clearly too. Things from fairy tale books that were supposed to stay in the books, not come out into our fields. But there they are, all around.\n\nBy the time I get back to the house, I’ve spotted a gnome, four pixies, a kind of troll thing, and some walking mushrooms that appear to be having a parade. Since they are so slow, I reach down to touch them, but they aren’t physically there. I just end up freaking them out and they run away.\n\n“Near and far,” I remember the caterpillar saying. Near and far. All these creatures have been here all along, next-door neighbors, like it had said, but also not here. Somewhere else.\n\nAnd I can see them all. It is confusing to have creatures that aren’t really there popping in and out of my line of sight. When I step into the kitchen, some gremlins crawl out of the refrigerator and scare the snot out of me. On the stairs, a mouse wearing what looks like a prom gown is sliding down the banister. In my room, I see several fairies nesting in my bean bag chair. When I come in, they leap up and thumb their noses at me. I shriek and I think they shriek back—I can’t hear them—and then they flit straight out through the walls.\n\nMostly, the next-door neighbors of alternate being go about their business and ignore me. I ignore them back as much as I can. But it’s hard. It's hard to pay attention to things in my world with all the distractions. It's hard not to pay attention to the beings that aren't supposed to be in my world. But I have to learn to deal with it.\n\nAnd I am going to keep a sharp lookout for that caterpillar. If I ever see it, I am going to wring its neck." } ]

[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: La Luna - A Grand Night Out\n\nGenre: inspirational\n\nWord Count: 1775\n\nPrompt:\n\nSet your story during a total eclipse — either natural, or man-made." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "My name is Lynley, and I am eleven. I am interested in all things biological and scientific.\n\nMy mother calls me her difficult child. The one who quickly gets distracted or left behind, examining ants on a trail, a spider forming a web, or some other exciting phenomenon. The world around us contains an abundance of interesting plants, insects, and creatures. I like checking them out.\n\nI am sitting in a tree, watching a tiny caterpillar measure the leaf he travels over. “Inch worm, inch worm . . .” Stretching out his front legs, creeping his sticky back prolegs forward, his body like a horseshoe, then stretching his front legs out again. At the far edge of the leaf, he starts munching. I am mindful that caterpillars can grow to 100 times their hatch size. Fascinating. A fresh, leafy scent fills the air, the breeze whispers through the branches, and dappled shade enshrouds me. A perfect hiding place to escape from younger siblings, to remember for the next time we play hide-and-seek or be concealed from a murderous enemy. \n\nOn another day, I conducted a serious scientific experiment. Our front door is high above the ground of our side-of-a-hill house. All the way to the top and around a small concrete platform, green-painted metal rungs prevent visitors from falling. We children were banned from going up these steps or using that door in case we fell through the rungs. One day, I carried our cat, Louie, up the steps to check something. If cats are dropped upside down from a height, do they land on their paws? I had been told they do. I held the feline over the surround and nearly dropped her in fright when my mother rapped hard on the window overlooking the steps. Her face was drawn in a scowl, and her mouth was open. Definitely furious. The door wrenched open.\n“How dare you do that to the cat.”\n“It’s an experiment to see if she will land on her feet.”\n“It’s animal cruelty, is what it is. How dare you sneak up here. Get down this instant. Don’t you ever do anything like this again. I can’t understand you. You won’t kill the caterpillars that eat our cabbages. Yet, you’ll torture the cat.”\nThis story about what I attempted to do to our moggy is often repeated as an example of how bizarre I am. At the time, it seemed a harmless enough prank—I mean experiment—if the theory is correct.\n\nThe week of the Lunar Eclipse, I drove my family crazy. My fascination with the Moon had gone beyond Wallace and Gromit’s Grand Day Out when they flew a homemade rocket to the Moon and discovered it was made of cheese. The actual Moon landing (July 21, 1969) proved that false. Shame, really. I’d like to fly to the Moon for a hunk of cheese. But not if it’s Gorgonzola. Yuck!\n\nA total lunar eclipse was predicted for April 13, 1968. It would be visible in our part of the world, which is thrilling. All week, my teacher taught lessons about eclipses, and I’ve learned so much riveting information.\n\nOn Monday night, I informed my family that there could be lunar or solar eclipses. “Eclipses happen when the Sun, Earth, and Moon are aligned. When the Moon passes between the Earth and the Sun, the Sun is covered all or partially from our view. This is a solar eclipse. It is during a new moon phase when the Moon’s orbital plane is closest to the Earth’s orbital plane. A lunar eclipse happens when the Sun, Earth, and Moon are precisely aligned. The Earth’s shadow falls upon the surface of the Moon. This happens about twice a year. The Moon can also become a red color. A blood Moon.” The explanation could prove too complicated for my family, so I skipped it.\n\nOn Tuesday, I learned about partial eclipses. “If the presence of the Moon in front of the Sun or the Earth’s shadow on the Moon is not perfectly in the center, they are called partial eclipses.”\n\nOn Wednesday, our teacher explained the parts of a lunar eclipse: “The outer area of the Earth’s shadow on the Moon is the penumbra, and the darker area nearer the center is called the umbra. A total eclipse happens when the Moon is aligned with the darker part—the umbra—of the Earth’s shadow. The Sun is behind the Earth. If a partial eclipse occurs in the lighter penumbra area, the eclipse may barely be visible.”\n\nIt seemed my family didn’t have as much interest in the topic as me.\n\nOn Thursday, we all painted either a solar or lunar eclipse, and we could choose to paint a partial eclipse if we wanted. I painted a total lunar eclipse. It was the best.\n\nOn Friday, we had a multiple-choice test to determine what we had learned during the week. The top mark was a tie between a boy in my class and me. Multiple-choice is so easy. For each question, there is a correct answer, a could-be-correct answer, an incorrect answer, and a ridiculous answer to choose from.\nFor example:\nThe shadow on the Moon in a lunar eclipse is caused by \nthe Sun’s shadow moving across the Moon \nthe Earth’s shadow moving across the Moon.\nthe Sun going on strike.\nthe umbra being in the wrong place.\nOr this one:\nSome lunar eclipses can barely be seen because\nthe Sun and the Moon are too far away from the Earth.\nthe light from the Sun is too bright.\nthe position of the Moon in the penumbra part of the Earth’s shadow makes a hazy shadow on only part of the Moon.\nthe Earth is moving too fast.\nAs you can see, some of the options are obviously wrong.\n\nI really wanted to see the eclipse and begged my mother to let me stay up. The full part of the eclipse was scheduled to happen about 4.30 am on April 13. I knew my Mum wouldn’t let me stay up for five hours. I couldn’t see myself lasting that long, either. After begging and begging, she agreed to set her alarm, wake me, and lead me out of bed to see the eclipse. At the same time, she would leave me to see as much as I wanted of the most exciting part – the total eclipse – and then make my way back to bed. The fact it would be happening on a Saturday made it possible. My mother hated a broken night’s sleep. She kept on muttering about cruelty to a parent, so I effused as much gratitude as I could.\n\nHow exciting. Some of my friends said they planned to see the eclipse, too. One of my friends said their entire family would watch it with them. How wonderful to have a family so into science.\n\nOn Friday night, my mother insisted on an early night for me despite my being the oldest. I usually whine about early nights, but not tonight. A small price for being woken up to see the eclipse at an unearthly (no pun intended) hour.\n\nI was so excited that it was hard to sleep. My mother had been reminded several times to check that her alarm had been properly set. I did eventually drift off. Later, I remembered my dream of flying to the Moon and discovering it was made of cottage cheese. I’m not particularly fond of cottage cheese. The main problem is that I sank down and couldn’t get out. I don’t remember what happened next, but I must have still been asleep.\n\nWhen I woke, my eyes were still shut, and I felt cold. My bed felt hard. Had someone opened the curtain because it seemed too bright? Had someone turned the light on? I carefully opened my eyes and bolted up in shock. I sat on the kitchen floor in front of the side window. The curtain had been pulled open, and daylight poured in. What on earth had happened? \nMy mother came into the kitchen. “Good morning, Sweetie. How was your eclipse? You didn’t go back to bed?”\nTears rolled down my cheeks as I worked out what must have happened. “Mum, I don’t recall anything: being woken up, coming here, seeing the eclipse, or going to sleep again.”\n“I definitely woke you up, dear. You must have been tired.”\n“How can I have been too tired? I’ve been waiting to see the eclipse all week. I can’t remember a thing. I don’t know how I got here.”\n“You were staring at the eclipse when I went back to bed. Maybe you will remember what you saw later.”\n\nI never remembered anything. It is lodged in my subconscious, I’m sure. I must have sleepwalked out of bed. Too busy drowning in tons of cottage cheese!\n\n“Stinky poo, stinky poo! Knickers! Knickers! Knickers!” Spike Milligan’s Badjelly the Witch says this naughty expression when things go wrong. Usually, this expletive leaves me feeling satisfied. Saying it didn’t help me. Nothing can adequately describe how I feel. Devastated? Like the bottom had fallen out of my world?\n\nI worried about what I would tell my classmates on Monday . . . I would tell them I saw it. After all, I’m an expert on the subject. It’s not really a lie. I know I saw it with wide-open eyes. It’s trapped in my head. I just can’t bring it to mind. No one except my family will ever know what really happened.\n\nAfter all the facts I have learned and related, the follow-up will be fiction. Please, don’t tell anyone.\n\nSuddenly, I had a sensation of falling. Thwack! My chin hurt so bad that my eyes watered. I’d bitten my tongue as well. Had I received a boxer’s left hook? Ouch! I looked around me and stared in surprise out of the window. There in the sky, could it be? A perfectly dark sphere surrounded by a halo of bright light. I had been standing here sleeping the whole time. I should be grateful. Only my chin hurts. While having a nightmare about missing the eclipse, I almost missed it for real. I could have knocked myself out on the windowsill, and my nightmare could have really happened. Minus swimming in a sea of cottage cheese.\n\nI gazed at the beautiful sight, thinking of descriptive words to share with my family and friends about it. What it amounts to is that reality and fiction can feel the same. Am I still dreaming? Maybe the next scientific topic I’ll look into is dreams.\nThe End" } ]