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A time traveler goes from 2018 to 1980. Instead of using his knowledge for great gain or influence history, he writes a sitcom that scarily accurately predicts future events.
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instruction
| 0 | 900 |
I am a time traveller. I mostly did it for kicks, not fame or money, so I didn't go far back and get famous antiques. Or go forward in time and bring back advanced technology. Just to 1980.
I wasn't too fond of 1980, but it only took a few years for me to put together a fake identity. I spent the rest of the time writing scripts. And, finally, I have persuaded a network to pick up my show. Hello future. My name is Matt Groening.
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output
| 1 | 900 |
In 5 sentences, without using the letter "a", write a story about a man who has lost it all.
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instruction
| 0 | 901 |
None linger by his side but the bitter wind's empty murmur. Memories flickering by his mind's eye, he is reminded of his loss. The whole world seems to mock him, gibe him, twist him into comedy, surround him with sinister mirth. Soon enough the shrieks of vicious joy infest his very mind, consuming hope of rescue from his supreme torment, giving no shelter but simply joining in. So his misery wells up within him, woeful hysterics erupting from his very soul, echoing through this bitter new world.
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output
| 1 | 901 |
A man is wrongly sentenced to death in Victorian England for supposedly killing a milk-maid, write a letter from him to his wife.
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instruction
| 0 | 902 |
To my beloved wife,
Tomorrow morning I will be taken to be hanged without any regret and with a clean conscience but I write this last letter as a plea to you for forgiveness and understanding. Please take my word dear wife, as I did not invite that maid into our home and I did not nor would I ever commit the sin of adultry with her. She just appeared in the parlor and did not comply with my requests to leave. When you appeared in the doorway my dear and saw us struggling it was only me trying to force her out of our home. I hoped that by confessing for your crime I would prove to you my love and devotion yet you havent sent me any word since I've been locked in this tower. I wish that you forgive me for any offense that you think I have ever commited against you. Never in my live would I willingly or knowingly do anything I thought might bring you harm or that may upset you. I would like it very much if you were there tomorrow, in the square so that I may gaze upon your face during my last moments, it is my only and final request.
Your beloved husband, who will keep loving you in the next world as he has in this one.
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output
| 1 | 902 |
It's the year 2114. You're a history student. Your assignment? To write an essay comparing the events of 2014 with what happened 100 years earlier.
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instruction
| 0 | 903 |
As a history student in the year 2114, I have been tasked with comparing the events of the year 2014 to what happened exactly 100 years prior, in the year 1914. Although these two years were separated by a century, they share some striking similarities and differences that have shaped the course of history in very different ways.
One of the most significant events of 2014 was the outbreak of the Ebola virus in West Africa, which quickly became an international health crisis. Similarly, in 1914, the world was facing a health crisis with the outbreak of the First World War, which affected millions of people worldwide. Both crises brought about significant changes in the way governments and societies responded to public health and international relations, highlighting the importance of cooperation and solidarity in times of crisis.
Another similarity between 1914 and 2014 was the rise of new technologies that transformed the way people lived and worked. In 1914, the world was experiencing the dawn of the industrial age, with new machines and technologies making their way into factories and homes. Similarly, in 2014, the world was experiencing the rise of the digital age, with new technologies like smartphones and social media transforming the way people communicated and connected with one another.
However, there were also many differences between 1914 and 2014. One of the most significant differences was the level of globalization and interdependence between countries in 2014. By this time, the world was much more interconnected than it was a century earlier, with goods, services, and people moving across borders more freely than ever before. In contrast, in 1914, the world was more divided, with nations operating largely independently of one another.
Another major difference between 1914 and 2014 was the political landscape of the world. In 1914, Europe was dominated by a complex web of alliances and rivalries that would ultimately lead to the outbreak of World War I. In contrast, the world of 2014 was marked by greater cooperation and diplomacy between nations, with the United Nations and other international organizations playing a key role in promoting peace and stability.
In conclusion, while there were some similarities between 1914 and 2014, the world had undergone significant changes over the course of a century. The rise of new technologies, the growth of globalization, and the development of international institutions had all transformed the way people lived and interacted with one another. As a history student in 2114, I can only wonder what changes the world will have undergone by the next century and how they will shape the course of history.
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output
| 1 | 903 |
An immortal couple have been seen throughout recorded history, write an account of them in any time period you wish. Bonus points if you match the writing style of the time period
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instruction
| 0 | 904 |
It was 1915 and we were in Belgium. I'd always wanted to visit Belgium, but not like this - not in these trenches. Here, but not now.
Believe it or not, living in stretching concaves in the Earth with no personal space breeds a special sort of relationship among the inhabitants. Funneled like rats - with rats - through these dark and sometimes cold trenches, morale was low. Except for one man.
That one man was named Richard, and he seemed weary - but he always had a positive outlook on his situation. Strange, considering death was almost certain in here - surely he knew that?
I remember sitting with him and asking him about his life back home - he apparently had a wife, but he seemed so young for it. He asked me if I had a girl back home, I told him I didn't. He just seemed indifferent, aside from a brief flicker of a frown. He told me I'd find someone eventually.
The one thing he said that stuck with me was, when asked if he planned to grow old with his wife, he looked me in the eye and said with a serene smile "I've already done that".
There was something off with that man, but I had to admire his optimism.
That night he disappeared, we never found a body - but there was no way he'd leave. Unless he simply got out of the trenches and started walking. Surely he couldn't do that? Surely.
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output
| 1 | 904 |
In the parallel world of spiders, instead of "Spider-Man" there is "Man-Spider": a spider in a human costume with human superpowers, such as a gun he caries around and the ability to talk. You are the spider chosen to write a screenplay for the movie.
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instruction
| 0 | 905 |
I regret my choices.
I should have just become a cobwebineer in stead of a screenwriter. But of course, with my luck they'd have come up with some completely absurd construction job for me to do.
Like, at first I was one hundred percent on board with the "Man-Spider" concept. I mean, pure body horror, you could make some really, really scary shit out of that material.
But then came the instruction: "Make it sexy". *Sexy*? Have they seen humans? Only half the proper amount of limbs, the eyeball situation is just disturbing and those red, wet holes... masticating species, uggh!
But apparently this... specimen... is supposed to be the hero? We're never going to see him eat on screen, that's for sure.
I guess I can work with the gun thing. Emphasize the technological ingenuity. There's probably some way to make this form of hunting seem cool in stead of a pathetic compensation for natural weakness. Maybe.
And they want talking to play a central role. I can see why, given the man-spider thing, but how to do it without directing attention to that nasty face hole? Putting a mask on him might work - and it could cover the eyes. Mask it is!
A mask would also help making the love interest story line a little more believable. I'm not writing any mating scenes! They'll just have to find another spider for that, I have my limits.
Although, thank the Great Spinner that it's *man*-spider. Imagine if it was woman-spider. Those creatures are *mammals*. It really is the most disgusting reproductive biology imaginable. I wish they'd let me make a horror movie.
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output
| 1 | 905 |
I have a myth: Earth has no moon, instead it has a ring. There is ringlight every night year-round, and a ring shadow somewhere on Earth every day, which moves with the seasons. Re-write mythology.
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instruction
| 0 | 906 |
Long before the days of the War of the Gods, Titans reigned over the face of the Earth. As with any rulers, there were some who ruled fairly and others who did not. Among the more benevolent leaders was Hyperion, the Lord of Light. He was called upon for wisdom and discernment; mortals valued his insight and praised his control of the heavenly bodies.
Yet Hyperion had one great love: Theia, his consort. She was a Titaness of radiance, a mother goddess who shone like the sun on all who sought after her. The two Titans were very much in love, and their love gave vibrancy to the life around them. They were happy - for a time.
That time ended when the Gods declared war on the Titans, with Zeus at the forefront of battle. Cronus, Hyperion's brother and Lord over all the Titans, called Hyperion into battle against the upstart Gods. Knowing the war would end in defeat, Hyperion left anyway, answering the call of his brother and king.
But before he left, Hyperion gave Theia a gift: a ring of radiant light to wear around her finger. He told her that the ring would tell her if he was safe; that the ring would glow with a silver light when he was in danger. Theia took it gratefully and bid her lover farewell. It was the last time she would see him.
Hyperion fell during the war and was banished with the other Titans to the pits of Tartarus. During the battle, Theia watched in helpless anguish as the ring shone brighter and brighter until it was nearly as luminous as the sun. In her despair, she removed the ring and prayed to the Mother Gaia that she would cause the ring to grow as large as her love for Hyperion. Gaia listened, and so the ring grew.
Now the ring encircles the Earth, a strip of radiance that gives off silver moonlight every evening. Mankind looks up to the ring and is reminded of Theia's anguish, as well as her love for her fallen lover.
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output
| 1 | 906 |
write a poem based of the story "the strange case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde"
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instruction
| 0 | 907 |
They do not understand the genius that is required,
To create something quite so inspired,
As the wondrous concoction,
that i have created.
So I tinker and I work in secret,
As the formula is not complete yet,
But is ever so tempting,
to take a little swig.
Science was not advanced by caution,
And though i may speak from exhaustion,
I feel i must be brave,
And see it to the end.
It burns with an unholy fury,
as greats spasms run through me,
my very flesh screams,
And i collapse to the floor.
I am big man now,
I will show them how,
You no laugh at me,
no more.
My hands can crush,
your throat to shush,
Don't call me Hyde,
Its Jekyll.
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output
| 1 | 907 |
You are a journalist. Everything you write becomes true. One day, not knowing this, you decide to write some satire.
|
instruction
| 0 | 908 |
I lean back in the comfortable chair and exhale the smoke of the cigarette. Grey clouds of smoke wander around in the room and for a moment I close my eyes. What a night: finally managed to finish the new book.
It was good to write something silly once in a while. Usually I pick a topic and research, write a book on it only to discover that things get even worse. Not this time!
A parody, Satire, something funny.
Even writing the damn thing was fun as hell, just take the strangest and most hilarious idea you have and make it the premise of the book.
And here it was my take on the United States presidential election ...
|
output
| 1 | 908 |
Write Martin Luther King's 'I Have a Dream' speech in the style of Doctor Seuss and then write 'The Sneetches' in the style of Martin Luther King
|
instruction
| 0 | 909 |
I have a dream. My friends, it seems,
That all of us people are on the same team.
My children will grow, society will show,
that we won't pre-judge those we don't know.
The black and the white, aren't like day and night.
And in this great nation, have no need to fight.
Hate can't conquer hate, love is more great,
into the darkest heart, light can penetrate.
So my child and yours, will swing open their doors,
and love their neighbors, make peace and stop wars.
If we want it, we can. A brotherhood of man.
I have a dream, of liberty in this land.
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output
| 1 | 909 |
write a poem from the perspective of a dog
|
instruction
| 0 | 910 |
Hours,
pass like days,
I wait here in silent desire,
askew across my dark mistress' place of rest,
as she walks the world without me.
Alone.
A roaring noise,
to others it is a annoyance,
as it escapes my hollow lips,
but inside?
I am silent,
For she is not here.
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output
| 1 | 910 |
use all six of these words somewhere in your story or poem: fatigue, caper, typewriter, sword, calm, arrow
|
instruction
| 0 | 911 |
Frederick leaned back in his squeaky desk chair and stretched, feeling a full twenty hours' worth of fatigue. The stack of paper next to his typewriter - an old-fashioned one that was fully manual - was full of words. He was quite pleased with his story, and figured he would get some rest before sending it off to his publisher.
Titled "Caper Capers," his manuscript detailed the activities of an anthropomorphic onion that solved crimes in the medieval world. His sword, cape, and calm demeanor were iconic, as this book was the fifteenth in a series.
Frederick stood, slowly, and hobbled to the refrigerator. He must remember to stop for food next time. As he reached for the handle, a soft thudding sound behind him caught his attention. He turned to find an arrow embedded in the drywall, having apparently come through the open kitchen window.
"What on earth!?" he exclaimed, looking toward the window. The early morning light was still dim and nothing was immediately visible. He stepped over to the window, realizing too late, in his exhausted state, that it was probably a poor choice.
"Hey, Freddy!" His friend Karl popped his head over the sill. "Sorry about the arrow! I was just coming by to see if you wanted to join me for some archery, but you look shattered! Must've been a long night. Gimme my arrow and I'll get out of your hair!"
Frederick yanked the arrow from the wall, tossed it out to Karl and firmly closed the window before collapsing on the couch, too tired to even bother with the bedroom.
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output
| 1 | 911 |
write a dark story but have the last sentence make it beautiful
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instruction
| 0 | 912 |
Sammy didn't understand. Who would do such a thing?
The left eye of his best friend lay on the carpet floor in front of him. The shredded strands that once held it in place trailed behind, tattered and crimson.
All he could do was cry. He was the best friend anyone could want. A soul both soft and understanding. How could this happen? Sammy's mind was a mess of confusion and questions.
His mother entered the room, dragging the carcass.
"Now, now, Sammy. Everything going is to be okay."
Sammy spied something shiny and sharp in her hand.
Mommy smiled.
"Hand me his eye, sweetheart."
Sammy froze.
"We'll fix your teddy right up...together."
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output
| 1 | 912 |
You are about to pass away, write a letter for someone in your life.
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instruction
| 0 | 913 |
My dear [Name],
As I write this letter, I am filled with a mix of emotions - sadness, regret, and gratitude. Sadness that I will soon be leaving this world and will no longer be able to share in the joys and challenges of life with you. Regret that there are things I wish I had said and done differently, and that there are moments that I will miss. But most of all, gratitude that I have had the privilege of knowing you and sharing in your life.
I want you to know that you have been one of the greatest blessings in my life. Your love, kindness, and support have sustained me through some of my darkest moments, and your laughter and joy have brought light and happiness to my life. I have cherished every moment we have spent together, and I will carry the memories of our time together with me always.
As I prepare to leave this world, I want you to know that I am at peace. I am grateful for the life I have lived and for the people I have met along the way. I am grateful for the love and friendship you have shown me, and for the many ways you have enriched my life.
I know that my passing will bring sadness and grief, but I hope that in time, you will find comfort in the memories we shared and in the knowledge that I loved you deeply. Remember that life is precious and that every moment is a gift. Live fully, love deeply, and cherish the people in your life.
With love and gratitude,
[Your Name]
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output
| 1 | 913 |
write me a story that doesn't include the word "the"
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instruction
| 0 | 914 |
Our ways were not hers and so she would carry on without us. No, in spite of us. Handing out advice wouldn't cut it. She'd need to experience a bloody nose or a skinned knee to learn her lessons. There were no skies limiting her, no obstacles to slow her foot. Sandy beaches with bright blue skies and feathery white clouds stretching out of view would be her providence. Awash in foamy surf she road waves smooth as glass and faster than speeding locomotives. And then, with her sun at set and darkness crowding in around, a broad smile fills her face. Her day is done and now it's time to take in an omnipotent panorama of celestial mechanics and a deep breath.
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output
| 1 | 914 |
A man emerges from his Y2K bunker as he has run out of supplies. It is currently 2014 and write in first person his encounters.
|
instruction
| 0 | 915 |
The light was blinding.
Jason tried to make out any shapes as he squinted across the horizon, the lid of his bunker hunkered over him like a conical asian hat.
"Perhaps I am the lone survivor," he thought.
What choice did he have? He ran out of the last of his baked beans yesterday. The Capri Suns stock had long gone and he just placed the last of his batteries into his walkman.
Over 14 years in hiding since December 31, 1999. He was the laughing stock of his college as he spent day and night constructing his bunker next to the campus Fine Arts building. Jason couldn't help but feel a bit of complacency as he hoisted himself out of the bunker. His peers did nothing but jeer and ridicule him for his efforts to survive the apocalypse.
"Look whose laughing now," he mused.
Based on his watch it was 4 in the afternoon. The campus was desolate. Not a single person in sight. All of a sudden he heard the ruffle of leaves.
Jason snapped his head around and screwed up his eyes over the horizon. It was a throng of people coming closer to him by the minute. He couldn't make out their faces. They were moving in a weird way too, sluggish and dragging their feet.
Thats when he started to hear them moan. Jason's heart skipped a beat. He threw open lid of his bunker and dived inside.
The moans grew louder. He peaked over his bunker as the crowd made its way toward him. Thats when he realized they weren't people at all. They had eyes that were sunken in and faces with skin that hung loose. Some of them had missing skin and tufts of missing hair.
The moaning was almost deafening now. The crowd looked-
"Dead." Jason thought. "They are walking dead people! I'm the only living person left!"
He closed the lid of his bunker. It looked like he was going to be inside longer than he thought.
"Amazing job today guys!"
Edward, the president of the Zombie Club, wiped the makeup off his brow and turned to address his members.
"I loved the moans and groans, and your costumes look fantastic!" he exclaimed.
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output
| 1 | 915 |
You need to write a letter to your crush describing romantic things you'd want to do(stargazing, watching the northern lights) and romantic gestures you'd do for her/him and why you think you two are ideal for each other.
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instruction
| 0 | 916 |
Dear [Name],
You're the most beautiful woman that I have ever set my eyes on. The stars themselves cannot compare to the light in your eyes. Aphrodite and Venus would bow down to your beauty and avert their eyes in shame at their inability to compare to you.
You're my first thought in the morning, and my last at night.
I see you every night at the park, watching the night sky with your telescope. I like to watch the stars as well, even though they pale in comparison to you. We could go away together, visit a dark sky area to see the stars even better, away from the city lights that pollute the air and spoil your view. Just you, me, and a tent, miles away from anything that could distract us.
Or we could go to see the northern lights. I heard you say that it's your dream to go see those. We could book into one of those hotels, the ones that are camping pods with clear roofs and alarms to wake you up when the lights start. How romantic would that be, just us and the aurora borealis.
I would treat you like the queen, the goddess that you are. I'd worship the ground you walk on, defend you against any who dare disparage you, and make sure all know of your magnificence and glory. You would never need to work again, to sully your hands and looks with the drudgery of menial actions.
[Name], [Name], [Name], your name is as beautiful as you are. I want to spend the rest of my life with it being the first word off my lips on waking and the last before sleep.
Love,
[Your Name]
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output
| 1 | 916 |
write a story and try to fit in as many plottwists as possible, but the twist is just something mundane.
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instruction
| 0 | 917 |
The mission seemed doomed before it ever began…
But, “Never surrender…” kept repeating in Melbourne’s mind like a sick, twisted loop.
Just then, he felt a tug at his ear. Melborne’s wife pulled out one of his ear bud’s that was admittedly blasting way too loudly. “That 80’s music again?”, she yelled.
And just like that, a voice rang out from the other room.
“They are coming in from all sides!”
There was no time for this. Melbourne had to drop the package at thirteen hundred hours. Just 15 minutes way.
Melborne’s blood turned icy in his veins…”Kill them all. Every last one of them!”
“Well sir”, said the Terminex man now arriving in the same room…”That’s what we plan to do.”
“Good…good.”, he said.
“Mellie”, his wife, Trudy, said while taking his hand.
Melborne hated how loose his prosthesis had become in the past few weeks.
“I need that darling…you know for the…”, at that, he looked that the serviceman, and returned his gaze to his wife…and finished the thought… “package”.
Just then, the doorbell rang. Melborne’s wife…closest to the door, opened it to see who had arrived.
At 6’6, the man at the doorway was likely the largest human being that either Melbourne or his wife had ever seen. The two of them were now side by side, looking up at the man dressed all in all brown.
“Would you like me to take that for you?”, he said with a curious smile.
Trudy looked down at Melbourne’s hand that she was still holding. “Um...”
At that, the man with the letters U-P-S on his shirt looked to Melbourne and said “I mean the package ma’am…I can take that with me if you would like.”
Mellie turned the package over, nodded, and smiled at wife and sang "you can never surrender!"...and put his earbud back in.
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output
| 1 | 917 |
Write the ending. The person to reply to your comment must write the rest of the story.
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instruction
| 0 | 918 |
And then I saw with eyes clear and wide as the old man finished his story left and I will tell you now. Did you imagine the devil wore devil's skin?Perhaps you imagine his voice deep and sinister.But no,the devil was a softspoken and kind old man.
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output
| 1 | 918 |
Write a positive story about someone/something from a child's perspective, then write negative story about that same person/subject from the perspective of the now grown up child.
|
instruction
| 0 | 919 |
My dad is the best! Mom only lets me visit him on the weekends, she said he's good for nothing, but she's wrong. He lets me play with his stuff all day long and when he gets home from work he brings home pizza! We watch movies, laugh and eat together on the couch, it's always a blast!
---
"When are you going to get a real job? It's time you start paying rent if you're going to keep living here." It's the same argument every night. The nagging, the constant fighting, I can't take it anymore. This apartment is too small for both of us. "When are you going to make something of your life? You're 54 and you've been a pizza boy for more than half your life. You can't live here anymore, I'm kicking you out, dad."
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output
| 1 | 919 |
Make something harmless illegal, like apples, now write about the black market of said item.
|
instruction
| 0 | 920 |
When I was a little girl, I owned a Tamagotchi. Those little animals, pixelated freaks, harmless I thought. Until I learned that all artificial intelligence is dangerous. That giving human characteristics to pixels was dangerous. Or so they told me, when they took the blue one. My parents didn't know about the pink one, little lovely snake creature. I kept it alive. I kept it alive and it only grew stronger.
So here I am, the nuclear codes in my hands. Pink one beeping from around my neck, and a language only I can understand. This is what they didn't want, people with abilities they can't control. People able to speak to the intelligence, the artificial intelligence.
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output
| 1 | 920 |
Write a story where the characters in the story pretend they aren't aware they are in a story, for fear of being killed off by the writer
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instruction
| 0 | 921 |
Jack's cubicle was outstanding, which was ironic considering it was the least personalised of all the cubicles on the floor of Redford & Jones. There were no family photos despite the fact that he was married with a newly born baby boy. There was a notable absence of inspirational quotes - the kind that reeked of desperation to those who partook in such futility.
Whilst the rest of the employees punched away at their keyboards, Jack was keeping abreast of his latest Twitter feud; this time with a man who claimed that the Moon was nothing more than a hologram perpetuated by the US government to fool the global population that we do in fact live in a universe when the truth was we all live on a giant soundstage much like the Truman Show.
Jack wouldn't normally bother with such nonsense, but this was a golden opportunity for self preservation. He could hear his father's words echoing in the recesses of his mind.
"Keep your character benign. That's how you survive."
Jack had always thought fondly of his advice. Recently though, keeping benign was becoming increasingly difficult. He was thirty-three now. During your teens and twenties, one can easily slide under the radar. But now, he had a wife and kid. His impact on the story was becoming less and less covert.
If there's one thing Jack had learned is the more impact you have, the greater the odds of being killed off by...well...the writer. Although Jack would never refer to him as that. "God" was still the appropriate name. And if God could kill off his son at thirty-three, Jack new damn well, he better start making some moves in an effort to stay in the narrative.
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output
| 1 | 921 |
rewrite "Hey Jude" to make it sound like it was written by Shakespeare.
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instruction
| 0 | 922 |
I say hello to the man called Jude
Asking that he make happier notes from sad tunes
Once you let inside your love, notes happier hued
Afraid not my dear man, for with the newer moons
You shall find your love, come into to happier places
Carrying too much upon yourself, with so much weight
Lying to yourself will lead only to dark spaces
You have found your love, now take the bait
Again, you must allow her access inside your heart
Do not play games of stop and go, it shall get better
Your will and love are strong enough start
So come now Jude, you must go out and get her
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output
| 1 | 922 |
A man realizes he loves a woman, but she's getting married to another man. He decides to write her a letter, what does it say?
|
instruction
| 0 | 923 |
Dear [Name],
I just wanted to say that you are one of the nicest, funniest, and empathetic persons in the world. Most importantly, you are my best friend and I am truly grateful to have met you. Anyways Moon of My Life, if you have anything you want to talk about, say if you are unsure about the marriage or whatever, I'm always here. Eric is a good man and a very lucky one. One cannot easily seduce the mother of dragons. I guess what I'm trying to say is, you're like a sister to me and you can count on me for anything.
Also, what flowers did you want for the wedding again? I'm pretty sure my shop can get them to you cheap, haha just kidding, I don't want to wake the dragon, they will be free. Just give me a text or something telling me what you want. Come to think of it, why didn't I just text this to you? Oh well, I've already written so much, sorry you'll have to read this on a piece of paper rather than on your phone.
Sincerely,
Your Sun and Stars [Your Name]
P.S. Our annual cream of ice adventure is tomorrow!
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output
| 1 | 923 |
Create a Utopia. A society as perfect as you can convincingly write it. No hidden secret evil, no sudden dark twist. A Genuine Utopia.
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instruction
| 0 | 924 |
Jeremiah opened his eyes. His vision fell upon an unfamiliar ceiling. *Where am i?*, he thought. Jeremiah was not struck with a feeling of sleepiness or the desire to remain in bed when he awoke; he only felt neutral. *Oh, that's right,* he thought, *The upload happened last night.*
He pulled back his covers and examined his new room. The walls were made of a material he was not familiar with; hard and sturdy when leaned on, but pliable and soft when impacted with. In the corner, he found a desk with what looked like a laptop on it. He looked over his shoulder, only to find that the bed he had just slept on had been remade.
He picked up his phone from his bed stand. A message was scrawled across the screen: "Good morning, citizens of Earth. You may be wondering where you are. Allow me to explain. Over the past few decades, Humanities Commonwealth has been building an infrastructure surrounding the sun to harness it's energy. Surely, you've heard about it in the news. Recently, scientists have found a way to upload a human soul to a server. This, on the other hand, has been kept top secret, up until now. The Commonwealth parliament had voted unanimously to usher in the latest step in human evolution. Overnight, all thirty billion human beings had been uploaded to the server. While humanity was still a stage-one civilization, this concept had been called the 'Matrioshka brain.'
All existing humans no longer have to work. Currency is no longer necessary; anything you could ever want can be instantly spawned into the world just by thinking of it. Dying is no longer an issue; your soul will live forever in the server unless you make the conscious decision to erase your save file.
Enjoy your new life!
-Zorg, archduke of Humanities Commonwealth and cyborg prince."
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output
| 1 | 924 |
Write a letter from the perspective of a character or group.
|
instruction
| 0 | 925 |
Dear brother,
Another futile attempt. The burns are healing, at least. Today I resume my journey, I have another lead. I've earned a fair amount of coin in my travels, expect some in my next letter. Save some for our cousins, you know how happy it makes W. The swelling in my knees has gone down, these mushrooms seem to help. The locals seem to have a special strain in these parts, I'll send some home to you if I can manage it. So far I've only been able to get my hands on what I can find laying around--the shop owners are a bit random and prefer gambling to negotiation. Imbeciles. Maybe if they could read they would send letters like this to each other and I'd know where to find the princess by now. Instead I'll have to check every place myself.
Wish me luck,
M.
|
output
| 1 | 925 |
We seem to have much morbid curiosity about the personification of Death in this sub. Instead, write about his brother, Life.
|
instruction
| 0 | 926 |
We were equals, once.
Our charges celebrated me, just as they feared my brother. They loved me, as they loathed him. We were two sides of the same coin.
Over time, that changed.
People feared him. He grew in power, grew in their minds. They forgot about me in their preoccupation with avoiding him. No one celebrated me anymore. They turned their backs on me.
So I turned my back on them.
As my brother gained more and more power, it became harder and harder for them to avoid him. He claimed more and more lives, which in turn increased his power even more. I could not make my presence felt; births were no longer celebrated. Birthdays became a way not to celebrate me, but to celebrate another year of dodging my brother.
I should never have left.
I'm afraid it's too late. In my haste, in my angst, I couldn't see the effect my absence would have. I'm not sure there's anything I can do now. I'm afraid he may have too strong a hold on the lives of the people, the lives that used to be under my protection. There's only one thing I can beg of you now. Remember me. It's our only hope to lessen my brother's hold on the world.
Celebrate Life.
|
output
| 1 | 926 |
Your writer roommate dropped his notebook in the hallway while leaving the apartment. You open it at the bookmark. It describes how your day unfolded, in detail. Continue writing with this prompt.
|
instruction
| 0 | 927 |
Mr. Willow this is case sensitive, please keep good track of this information. The following letter is detailing the last account of Ralph Baker, the person who disappeared. Good luck, and the sooner you track down that nightshade book, the better.
This is Ralph Baker, I live on 22 S, Pennyweather street, by the tall solar mills. Quickly, before we get into things, mother I love you, and I’m afraid I’m going to miss Jim’s wedding. Congratulations.
Anyways, I don’t have the time for that anymore.
Here is my story.
At 6pm I got home from work. It could have been a little later then that though. Either way, I got back to find a small blue book laying in the hallway. It had golden trim and the initials M. T. On its bind. I thought it could have been Patrice’s, my flatmate.
Patrice was a strange person, always slow to speak and move. She carried a book with her always, in fact I don’t think I’d ever seen her without one. So I thought the blue one with the nightshade cover was just another of her collection.
I opened the cover though, just to read a bit at what the novel was about, but it was blank.
Surprised, I flipped through the book and landed on page 136. This page was not blank I quickly realized. And my realization turned to utter horror.
The page in front of me detailed everything about me. My height, weight, average distance between each step at a walking pace. Everything was crammed in, written in margins and on corners. It was my whole life.
It was me.
The end of the page told me how I was supposed to die, and I’m afraid it might come tru-
This letter was found under Ralph’s bed, It ends abruptly, and without reason. Take care Mr. Willow.
|
output
| 1 | 927 |
In sixty words, write what can happen in a second.
|
instruction
| 0 | 928 |
He walked through the door, he smiled. I smiled, then immediately frowned. His mouth--just there, on the corner, is a touch of pink. Maybe red? Now the breeze he brought in just hit me--like spring flowers, which is odd for winter. Perfume! Not mine. That touch of pink, or red...not mine. My heart breaks. I say: "who is she?"
|
output
| 1 | 928 |
write a poem where every line has a different number of words
|
instruction
| 0 | 929 |
Why?
I asked
He went away
In glory he basked
The dragon was finally slain
The victory however was in vain
Other villains of the world found out
Did not think that was victory all about
For long and long I fought them all away
And after countless days - in rest I can finally lay.
|
output
| 1 | 929 |
The job is simple. Every day at 8:34am you will get a phone call. You must answer before 2nd ring and write down the information given to you. On NO ACCOUNT must you engage in conversation with the caller.
|
instruction
| 0 | 930 |
They locked me in here yesterday and told me to call a phone number at 8:34 every morning, deliver the numbers, and hang up. No conversation allowed. I imgine they told that to the other guy too.
I called yesterday at 8:34 and gave the numbers.
"Did they lock you up too?" I heard through the receiver. I hung up immediately.
The voice on the other end was a different one today.
|
output
| 1 | 930 |
Try to write a story with as many of these items as possible: Valhalla, a neon suit, a chicken, a trophy room, a school bus, 25 balloons, 6 chocolate bars, Fred, Dave, Steve, a bag of cat kibble, 30 tonnes of Chinese takeout, and a liquor collection.
|
instruction
| 0 | 931 |
The Deal
“That is a serious liquor collection.” Dave said to Fred and Steve, who had showed it to him whilst looking like they were the two most ferocious vikings in Valhalla.
“So what would you be willing to trade for all of this liquor?” Fred asked Dave.
“Well...” Dave said “I am willing to trade a neon suit, a chicken, all bowling-trophies from my trophyroom, an old schoolbus, 25 star-shaped balloons, 6 chocolate bars, a bag of cat kibble and 30 tons of Chinese take-out for it.”
Fred and Steve looked at each other for a second.
“What kind of chocolate bars?” Steve asked.
“4 hazelnut and 2 milk.” Dave replied.
“Deal!” Steve and Fred said in unison.
|
output
| 1 | 931 |
In poem form and in only 10 sentences, write me something titled 'Could it be that I'm strange'.
|
instruction
| 0 | 932 |
Could it be that I'm strange
If I watch you on the street?
If I follow you home?
If we never meet?
If I smell your hair?
If I watch you sleep?
If I wear your clothes?
If I lick your feet?
Could it be that I'm strange
If you make me complete.
|
output
| 1 | 932 |
My grandmother passed away today. Please write a short uplifting story that will help me get through this.
|
instruction
| 0 | 933 |
I am sorry for your loss, here is a short story for you:
A guy is sitting at home when he hears a knock at the door. He opens the door and sees a snail on the porch. He picks up the snail and throws it as far as he can. Three years later there’s a knock on the door. He opens it and sees the same snail. The snail says: ‘What the hell was that all about?
Sure it wasn't about your wonderful grandmother, but I bet it made you smile.
Hope you like it and cheer up soon!
|
output
| 1 | 933 |
As a spell-writer, you're the magical equivalent of computer programmer. You've made and copied countless spells, but this is the first time you're desperate enough to try 'hacking' one.
|
instruction
| 0 | 934 |
You finish writing the incantation down, and look back through your notes, double and triple checking your work. This hacked spell is going to be your first step on the road to fame and fortune. The first step for people to realize you're not just some worthless drone, but a spell-writing genius. The ink drys on the page as you practice all the movements and phrases you'll need to cast the spell, your spell, the one that will be the first step on your road to greatness.
You start the incantation and quickly and confidently make your way through it. The spell rolls out of you drawing power from the aether into the form you're devising. It's beautiful to you, but only spell-writers would understamd that, people will want it because it's just plain better.
You're nearing the end when you notice that something is wrong. Part of the spell has jumped ahead and now it's pulling you back. You're in a recursion. You keep pulling more and more energy from the aether. Slowly you begin to feel warm, then you feel hot, fortunately by the time you start to burn from the inside out you explode in a release of roaring flame and you feel nothing ever again.
The watermages put out the inferno you started in your house, it's nothing but smoldering rubble by the time they get it under control. Later a Diviner Investigator will gather clues and come to the conclusion that the fire was your fault. He'll eventually fall prey to the same inclination as you. The most dangerous spell, one that has destroyed so many, the summoning of the perfect donut.
|
output
| 1 | 934 |
Roses are red, violets are blue - write me a romance about books overdue.
|
instruction
| 0 | 935 |
Kissing your lips and holding you near
Reading to you from fifty shades of weird
You asked me to check for the finish
I did as you asked my excitement diminished
For what did I spy right but an anguishing clue
This horrible book is way overdue
I tried to conceal the horror in my look
As I hid from my lover the overdue book
It took so long, just to make her mine
What would she do when she heard I had fines?
That quarter a day would surely ruin me
To my horror I spotted 2 more books, more fees?!
What you ask would make her so upset?
Quickly my feelings went to regret
As not only was she my love, my muse
She was the librarian to whom id pay dues
|
output
| 1 | 935 |
Write write a story/poem where you use an object as a euphemism for death, only don't tell us what it is.
|
instruction
| 0 | 936 |
A lantern shone atop a pole
Through shielded panes of glass
And brightly burned against a swollen
Cloak of smothering mass
Below it swirled, that blackened sheet
And sometimes it would climb
Along the stalk, then slip, retreat
Like now was not the time.
For all his life the flame stayed home
Atop his iron perch
Refusing calls to leave, to roam
And risk the monster's lurch
Until, one day, when wear and age
Had rendered all to rust
That cool and clear protective cage
Collapsed, returned to dust.
It's then the lantern knew at last
The end he could not halt
He blazed defiant, holding fast
And braced for the assault
But though in youth with verve and force
He swore to give a fight
His wick had run its proper course
And caved to endless night.
|
output
| 1 | 936 |
I had a dream about a horror story for cats. They were sitting around a campfire and one told a story about a lap that was too cold to sit on. Please write campfire styke horror stories that cats would tell eachother.
|
instruction
| 0 | 937 |
It was a sunny day and I was outside chasing one of those pretty flying things, it had orange wings and wasn't very quick. Easy prey! I quickly got board once it quit moving and went to sniff the pretty grass that smells nice. I wasn't paying attention, I should have been.
Behind me I heard the shout of our mortal foe that our servants keep on leashes. This one had broke free of the servant's grip and was running right at me while screaming in it's horrendous language. My fur stood on end and I took off.
The beast kept getting closer as I approached the giant scratching post. It felt like I was not going to make it, but I did. I leaped up and tried to dig my claws in, only the scratching post was hard. It had one of those fake sun's that the servants admire on top.
I am unsure how I failed to notice it. Only moments before I was sure I had seen the thick grass on it. I had no time to try escaping again, and I turned to face the for as it approached. Still screaming in that dreadful way they do.
My fur stood on end and I huff and hissed ferociously at it. Warning the beast that I wasn't to be trifled with. Of course it was too stupid to understand, the beasts obey the servants and refuse to train them. On the outside I appeared fierce, a mighty warrior, while inside I saw my death in the beast's maws.
Finally as it came for a killing blow, I crouched low to leap upon it's face. Only to be stopped up by the servant who had released the beast in the beginning. I don't know what words transpired, but the beast seemed chastised.
Every Friday, the beast and the servant that keeps it can be seen walking down this very strip of rock land. Any cat unfortunate enough to be seen by the beast will face judgement, if seen unworthy by the great Bastet the servant will not save you.
*Yowls*
|
output
| 1 | 937 |
Pretend you have a 1 year old daughter and write a letter that will be given to her when she turns 15 in the unlikely event you die.
|
instruction
| 0 | 938 |
Hello [Daughter's Name]
If you're reading this then I most likely lost my battle when you were very young and you've just turned fifteen. I may have never gotten the chance to see you grow up, to see you mature, to see you become the beautiful, intelligent, young woman I know you'll be some day, and that is my greatest regret. But I want you to know that life is filled with highs and lows. Some days it may seem like the lows out number the highs, that everything just keeps getting darker. I know that more than anyone, I've lost a lot, jobs, opportunities, competitions, pets, family, friends. When me and your mother first learned about you I was at my lowest; I had lost my parents, my promotion, and I had just been diagnosed. Then on top of all that I now had a child to worry about, I had no idea how I could provide for you when we could barely make ends meet as it was. I won't lie, the nine months leading up to your birth was one of the hardest and most stressful of my life, and my health suffered even more. But on the day you were born, and I got see you for the first time, I got to hold you. I have never been happier, I felt a weight lifted off my shoulders, I was at peace. I have gone through a lot, been dragged down to dark places, felt like the world was against me, but I got to hold you.
I want you to always remember, no matter how dark things seem to be, no matter how far you feel you have fallen, the night is always followed by dawn, and every valley is flanked by hills. Missing your life is my greatest regret, but I got to hold you, I got to see your beginning, and that is something I will always cherish.
Love,
Dad
|
output
| 1 | 938 |
write about something ugly - war, fear, cruelty, hate - but find the beauty or silver lining in it
|
instruction
| 0 | 939 |
They say I'm here for a test, then they laugh. I'm never asked any questions. I'm never asked even for my name. I must have been here for months. I would be curious of the whole situation if I wasn't terrified.
I wake up in a cold sweet, every night. The guards don't care. The portions of food are small. Yesterday there wasn't any food, they just forgot. I wish I could forget. Somewhere outside it's spring. The warm breeze blows sand and dust through the cracks in the walls and ceiling. I huddle in the corner and I hug my knees, I remember my daughter screaming for me as they dragged her outside. She's outside somewhere, outside where it's spring. I want to see her again. I want to know she's safe.
The pain comes suddenly and sharply to my face, my head, then my stomach. The light is bright and blurry. My ears ring over the voices of the men yelling at me. I'm told to standup and to lay down at the same time. I'm kicked when I don't. A guard grabs me and stands me up, I see that he's yelling something at me.
It's dark, my hands are tied, I feel a gag in my mouth. I get the strong smell of musk and vomit in the mask. I hear a truck rumble under my body as we drive over gravel and dirt roads. Hours passed by.
"Are you ready for your test?" My guards joked. They stopped the truck.
I remain silent. They dragged me off the truck. They tie me to a chair.
In the darkness I hear a man say, "Your test is ready. Are you ready?" I wonder what they mean.
"Yes." I hear a little girl squeak. I know that voice I thought.
They un-hood me... I see her... standing there with hate in her eyes. They give her a gun. I yell out to her, but I'm still gagged.
"Good!" the man says. "Now shoot him."
Somewhere outside it's spring and birds freshly hatched from their eggs chirp out for food and love.
|
output
| 1 | 939 |
There's a lot of poems about blue and green eyes out there but not that many about brown eyes even though they are still gorgeous. Can you write a poem about the beauties of brown eyes for me?
|
instruction
| 0 | 940 |
Some prefer eyes of ocean blue, but I'm much too scared I'd drown.
Thats why I love your perfect hue, your lovely shade of brown.
Others desire eyes of green, like fields of emeralds.
But there's only one sight I fiend, and its your gaze to hold.
In the morning they dance like honey, serenading your crooked grin.
And under the stars they dance like fire, as I pull you closer in.
Sometimes they are strong and sturdy, like an old oak tree.
And when I worry they give comfort, reaching out to me.
My dear, from your amber eyes I never want to look away.
Because although they may be common, no two are the same.
|
output
| 1 | 940 |
Hitler writes a second book called "mein hobby". Write a chapter about one of the many hobbies Hitler indulges in.
|
instruction
| 0 | 941 |
Ich sammle Briefmarken. Kein Briefmarken. Ich sammle nur die Briefmarken von allen, die wir überwunden haben. Frankreich, Tschechoslowakei, Österreich, Holland, Dänemark, Norwegen, Russland, etc.. Ich habe ein besonderes Album, die, das ich speziell für sie gemacht hatte. Es trägt den Titel "Duetschland Regeln, Verlierer Drool".
Ist ziemlich flott, es nicht?
|
output
| 1 | 941 |
In 200 words or less, write a well-known villain as a hero, but do not tell us who they are.
|
instruction
| 0 | 942 |
I saw the bus screech out of the parking lot, and I knew that my target hoped to evade me by going on a field trip. My arms and legs moved like pistons to propel myself at a speed no human could ever hope to match. As soon as I latched onto it, the bus configured itself into the shape of a spaceship. Before it had so much as risen into the upper atmosphere, I had melted myself into liquid metal and seeped through a window. "Seatbelts, everyone!" a cheery voice at the front of the bus called.
I reformed into my usual police officer shape and pulled out my pistol. "I knew I should have stayed home today!" a nerdy red-haired kid said. After snapping his neck, the other kids cleared out of the aisle so I could get to my target. The woman in question danced her fingers over the controls. "Come on bus, do your stuff!" she said frantically as I approached. I grabbed her by her frizzy red hair as she she tried to shield herself with an overgrown lizard and put a bullet through her brain. "What are we gonna do?!" an Asian girl screamed. With the target successfully terminated, I leaped out of the bus.
|
output
| 1 | 942 |
write the best story you can in 5 sentences or less
|
instruction
| 0 | 943 |
There once was a scientist named Clive,
Who had taught a Llama to drive,
The Llama screamed loud,
As it drove into a crowd,
And the death toll reached fifty-five.
|
output
| 1 | 943 |
as a monkey you thought it was kinda impressive you were able to write the entire works of Shakespeare but these scientists keep downplaying it “random” they say.
|
instruction
| 0 | 944 |
This is my typewriter. There are many like it, but this one is mine.
This is my room. There are other monkeys and they have their own rooms and their own typewriters. I see them when the people take me to the eating place and the scary place. There are many many rooms.
My room has a window and there are always people on the other side. They like to watch me. I can tell they like it when I play with the typewriter, because they make monkey signs of excitement.
Yesterday I used my feet to play on the typewriter instead of my hands. The people started making a lot of monkey signs, even more than usual. My typewriter went clack-clack-clack.
After a while a person came in and took the paper out of the typewriter. He looked at it a long time, and then he looked at the other people in the window. Then he looked at the paper again. He started making quiet noises that did not seem very monkey-like.
"What a piece of work is man
How noble in reason
How infinite in faculty
In form and moving how express and admirable
In action how like an angel
In apprehension how like a god
The beauty of the world!
The paragon of animals!
And yet to me what is this quintessence of dust?
Man delights not me."
After this the person looked at me for a long time. He did not make any monkey signs at all and he was completely still. It made me feel anxious and uncomfortable. But finally he showed his teeth, which is one of the strange ways that people show they are happy. This made me happy too because I knew I would get a banana later.
Today the people put a new paper in the typewriter. This time I am going to use my behind-part with the typewriter because it has been itching all morning and I know this will feel good. I think this will make the people make a lot of monkey signs.
|
output
| 1 | 944 |
write a poem about social life on the internet.
|
instruction
| 0 | 945 |
Friends far off,
From distant lands.
Unknown faces,
Only a voice.
Rarely we meet
In real life.
Just text on a screen,
But true to the end.
(Old norse fornyrðislag meter)
|
output
| 1 | 945 |
Martin R.R. George, a Westerosi author, decides to write a fantasy book series on his kingdom of England.
|
instruction
| 0 | 946 |
George shot up in bed like a bolt of lightning. At long last he knew how to end his series. He excitedly explained to the young prostitute he had purchased at the Lord Baelish's pleasure house.
"Oh me, Lord.... you are such a clever man" she twirled a lock of her golden hair and looked at the large and sweet man with a curious look in her eyes
George stood up and pulled up his robe and carefully fashioned the turtle emblem to the front of his black attire."I don't know... it just came to me all of a sudden... I have the best ideas when I'm half asl-" The small yet quick handed girl had opened his throat and he fell face first into the Dornish sausage and spoiled a goblet of his favorite summer wine.....A sweet bread roll also fell to the ground. She headed to his room in the Red Keep to complete his story for him.
|
output
| 1 | 946 |
C'thulu's Fables: Take one of Aesop's Fables and write it within the Lovecraftian Universe. Morale of the story included.
|
instruction
| 0 | 947 |
Once upon a time, there was an ant and a grasshopper. The ant worked very hard all day, storing food in his anthill for the winter. Meanwhile, the grasshopper sat and played his violin. The ant chided the grasshopper for being so lazy, but the grasshopper ignored him and only played his violin more furiously, filling the air with his strange music, beautiful and unearthly.
Eventually, winter came, and the grasshopper had no food. And he begged the ant to share some of his stores, but the ant refused, telling him that he should have planned ahead for the winter. The grasshopper went back to his home, playing his violin in a desperate frenzy, until he finally collapsed from exhaustion and starvation. And the unreal creatures of the void, no longer placated by his unearthly music, came into this world and squashed the ant.
Moral of the story: Just because you don't understand what someone does doesn't mean they aren't contributing.
|
output
| 1 | 947 |
If Dr. Seuss writes a horror story, what would the story be?
|
instruction
| 0 | 948 |
Where are the monsters? The Snoogarf? The Pozzit? Under my bed, or hid in my closet?
Is there a Woloon, with big sharp claws? A Schnogg, that instead of arms has saws?
What if a Dord pierces me with its stinger? Oh please, anything but the dreaded Bombinger!
My parents reply, "It's all in your head.", but that's the idea that fills me with dread.
I hear all their wispers, so it appears, if those aren't real, I can't trust my ears.
I feel their hot breaths, so if those aren't real, I can't believe anything else that I feel.
I see the slight twitch of a shadowy guise, so if that isn't real, can I trust my eyes?
I smell their damp fur, and so it goes, if that isn't real, I can't trust my nose.
I taste their hands that clamp my mouth shut, how can I have made all that up?
My parents turn and switch off the light, leaving me all alone for the night.
I think to myself, maybe they're right. Maybe it's just the wind whispering tonight.
Maybe I'm wrong, about the Schnogg. Maybe those floor marks are from the dog.
Maybe the Dord din't make that squeek. After all, my house really does creak.
Feeling a bit better, I lay down my head, ignoring the shadow thats over my bed.
That soft breathing sound is merely a breeze That blowing air vent is what just brushed my knees.
None of it's real, none of it's there, that isn't some horror thats touching my hair.
I don't make a sound, not even a peep. Before I could scream I drifted to sleep.
|
output
| 1 | 948 |
An exploration of the butterfly effect: write a dramatic scene. Then, choose one tiny detail to change in the initial set-up, and play the scene out again. How drastically have things changed?
|
instruction
| 0 | 949 |
The world turned upside down.
"Move! Move!"
Gunfire erupted from all sides - the man struggled to escape from the downed Humvee. He stole one last glance at the driver, crawled away from the vehicle, and leaned against a boulder.
The IED teams should've swept the area. Everything... everything was all wrong.
An explosive landed a few feet away - there was no room to run. The shrapnel tore through the man's torso.
Then, all was quiet.
The world turned upside down.
"Move! Move!"
Gunfire erupted from all sides - the man struggled to escape from the downed Humvee. He stole one last glance at the driver, crawled away from the vehicle, and leaned against a boulder.
The IED teams should've swept the area. Everything... everything was all wrong... Wasn't it?
An explosive landed an inch too far away and detonated a split second too late. The shrapnel tore through the man's torso, narrowly missing his heart.
All was quiet.
But not for long.
When he came to, he found himself in a darkened cave, surrounded by bits of machinery.
"Hello, Mr. Stark."
|
output
| 1 | 949 |
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