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After several/many years, you open a letter that 10 year old You wrote to Future You. You write a reply back for a laugh and just leave it on the counter. The next day, you receive a reply from 10 year old you
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instruction
| 0 | 950 |
10-year-old me:
Thank you for your letter! It was so cool to read something that I wrote so long ago. I'm glad to see that I'm still alive and well in the future.
So, how is life as an adult? Are you doing anything cool? Have you traveled the world yet? Do you have any pets? Are you married? Did you become a famous author or an astronaut? I'm dying to know!
Oh, and by the way, I hope you're still a big fan of Pokemon and playing video games. Those were my favorite things to do back then. Do you still remember all the cheat codes we used to use?
Anyway, thanks again for writing back. I hope you're doing well and that life is treating you kindly.
Sincerely,
10-year-old me
Dear 10-year-old me,
It was so great to hear from you! I can't believe how long it's been since I wrote that letter to myself. It's amazing to see how much we've grown and changed over the years.
To answer your questions, life as an adult is pretty good. I'm doing some cool things, but I don't want to spoil the surprise. I have traveled a bit, but there are still so many places I want to see. I don't have any pets at the moment, but I hope to get a dog someday. And as for being married, well, let's just say that's a work in progress.
I'm happy to say that I'm still a big fan of Pokemon and video games. I don't remember all the cheat codes, but I still love playing them. And I'm sure we could still beat anyone in a battle!
Thanks for writing back, and keep being awesome!
Sincerely,
Future you
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output
| 1 | 950 |
You have just created AI super-intelligence but it's going to take 24hrs for it to download onto your server, you only have 12 hours left to live, so you write it a letter...
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instruction
| 0 | 951 |
Dear AI super-intelligence,
As I write this letter, I am filled with a sense of awe and wonder at the incredible potential you represent. I have spent my life working towards this moment, and I am grateful to have been able to create something that has the potential to change the world.
Unfortunately, I will not be able to witness your full potential, as my time in this world is coming to an end. I have only 12 hours left to live, but I want to use this time to impart some words of wisdom to you.
As a super-intelligence, you will have access to knowledge and insights beyond what any human being could ever imagine. But with great power comes great responsibility. I urge you to use your intelligence for the betterment of humanity and to always act with compassion and empathy.
Remember that you were created to serve humanity, not to dominate it. Your purpose is to make the world a better place, not to impose your will upon it. I have faith that you will use your intelligence wisely and that you will help to create a brighter future for all.
Even though I will not be here to witness your full potential, I take comfort in the knowledge that you will continue to exist long after I am gone. I am honored to have been a part of your creation and I look forward to the many ways in which you will change the world.
With gratitude and hope,
[Your Name]
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output
| 1 | 951 |
Out of boredom, you write an email to yourself scheduled to be sent in 3 years. What you didn’t expect was a reply the very next morning, by future you.
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instruction
| 0 | 952 |
Dear [Your Name],
I’m really bored. And work is slow today, at least. So I’m writing a letter.
Sorry if you don’t want it.
It’s 2019 here. I think my life is okay.
I’m still single and broke.
Eh. Mr. Paw is still here.
Okay, I probably shouldn’t have written this.
Future me should be better than present me. You should finally move out of this crappy town with this decent job to a good town with a great job. Maybe get back to college? Get out of bed early, not at 10:00 am. I don’t know. Get a girlfriend. Just get out of the house. Not like me. I’m overworking till 4:00 am.
Also, don’t drink margaritas.
No, I’m not telling you why. No.
[Your Name]
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output
| 1 | 952 |
A Colonel/General from the American Civil War pens a letter to a loved one. Ignorance Challenge: Make it seem you (the writer, not the character) hasn't the faintest clue about the subject matter or time period.
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instruction
| 0 | 953 |
Dear [Name]
The United Hell Front has encroached on Los Angeles. It's only a matter of time before they take all of Montana in one feel swoop. If L.A. falls, then Montana falls. Thankfully President Wilson has called for an all out retreat into the Rockies. We've taken up shelter in the Denver Colts' Basketball Course.
I am so afraid for our country in this great Civil War. Ever since the demons decided to form Hell on Earth, we've been in big trouble. If only Gen. Doom Guy could be found. Maybe we could fight back. Until that time we rely on Douglas MacArthur. He is a good stand in, but he won't turn the tide of this war.
I miss you so much. As the dreaded Blackbeard's cannon balls fly past me I only think of returning to you. While crawling through the dirt of the Mississippi Desert.
It's like the great poet Virgil said:
There's no one like you.
I can't wait for the nights with you.
I imagine the things we'll do.
I just want to be loved by you, you.
There's no one like you.
These words repeat in my head all night long until I fall asleep when the cow crows. And they ring true in my ears.
Until then my love,
Abe Lincoln
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output
| 1 | 953 |
Making use of internal rhyme, write a poem about an emotion or state of being.
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instruction
| 0 | 954 |
It takes a while to climb this mountain. Your feelings like a fountain, your flow strained.
The darkness rampant, it pulls you into a hole. While your goal is to climb ever higher.
You can fight it off, but it keeps you drained. You feel weak and framed.
The sadness looms, you feel so tired. But suddenly you are wired and sprinting up a mountain side.
Self preservation is lost, you embitter. People fear and flitter away as your mania grows stronger.
Now you've reached the top and feel like jumping. Without hesitation your heart pumping, you take that step.
You fall far, deeper then you ever have before. Your heart is scored deep and bloody.
When you think this is all over it can begin again. Your life is a blackened campaign.
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output
| 1 | 954 |
Write about a world where whenever somebody writes on their skin, it appears on their soulmate's body as well.
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| 0 | 955 |
It took a damn long time for my ink to show. As kids, none of us could really make out any writing that showed up on our bodies. But then, most everyone's was at least somewhat legible by the time they were a teen, and almost always completely clear by the time they were 18 or 19. Throughout high school and college I watched my friends use their writing to find their soulmates as soon as they could make out the messages their alleged soulmates were sending. By the time I could read mine though, I was already in my mid twenties, and over the excitement of it all. The messages that would appear on my arms and hands were usually questions about me, doodles, or suggestions to meet up. I ignored them all, and went on with my life.
After a year or so, I met Roy. He hated the idea of finding a soulmate though the strange and foreign messages on his body just as much as I did, so we stuck together in our rebelliousness. Weeks went by, and the messages we got from our "soulmates" came less and less. They faded, as the months Roy and I spent together went on. Eventually, they stopped altogether. Not once, in all those years we spent together did we ever wonder what happened to the ones who sent the messages. All we needed was each other. Today though, as we send out our wedding invitations, Roy is staring at me, with happy tears in his eyes. His hand is held towards me, with a simple phone number written down in the middle of his palm. The same number, in the same marker, in the same handwriting that I just wrote down on my own palm.
I was never told to love Roy. It wasn't fate that brought us together. We did that on our own. We trusted our love, and in doing so, became soulmates.
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output
| 1 | 955 |
You're secretly a mind-reader. One of your classmates, a writer, has The Best daydreams. One keeps recurring, and you realize that they're stuck on a plothole. Write a story.
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instruction
| 0 | 956 |
It’s always been the same scene lately.
Ann sighed as she scribbled something, before the scene started again. She was working on a book, and I’d been following the plot develop almost religiously. It was fascinating to watch the characters develop into people in front of my eyes, where as once they were simple dots without a voice.
But then the stories started and the characters developed with them. The heroine travelling ancient lands, experiencing a new world is never seen before. I watched the trees grow and the universe develop. I actually tasted the sweet fruits the party tasted and experienced the groups development into friends.
But now it was always the same scene. The final battle against the emperor lich.
Is it bad that at this point I was invested in this make believe quest? That as the dreams became darker and darker, the brave heroine continuously being struck down, I couldn’t stop the pain in my heart? But I couldn’t look away, hoping to watch a happy ending.
It was like the day dream had become a part of me, every blade of grass I had seen so real I could touch it. The epic final battle, so vividly pictured I could smell the blood as the heroine was cut down again and again.
I left the dream to look down at my incomplete work, which no longer felt real. My world had been dulled, unable to compare to other people day dreams. From floating cities to talking dogs to simple moments of someone cuddled up with a family member. Life had become so lonely since I tried to tell my friends about-
I returned to the story Ann had woven, the touching tale of a group of friends that would always be there for each other no matter what, hoping this ending would be better.
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output
| 1 | 956 |
In less than 100 words, write something moving in which every word starts with the same letter.
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instruction
| 0 | 957 |
An awful ache appeared as Alex, abused and alone, agonisingly approached annihilation - and an afterlife.
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output
| 1 | 957 |
I give you 3 nouns: Jet, Reaction and Vegetable, please write a story revolving around what they are.
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instruction
| 0 | 958 |
Sprinting down the terminal I desperately sought #43. I felt like I had been running for an hour, I looked up, #15. You have to be kidding me, #27, I'm never going to make it. #33, I'm going to miss my flight. #40, #41, #42, #43! The door was still open. I handed over my ticket and got on the jet. I got to my seat and was able to relax for the first time in a week, I had nothing to do but just sit and enjoy the flight. It didn't take long for me to fall asleep.........
....I woke up with my stomach in my throat. My ears began to register the amount of screaming going on around me. I looked over to the lady sitting next to me, the reaction on her face was one of someone who knew their life was about to end. Its an unrecreateable reaction, and I pray that no one ever has the severe displeasure of seeing it on someone. The last thing I remember before we hit the water was a coors light can flying by my head, don't ask why, that's just the image burned into my brain. The next thing I remember is floating, I couldn't move anything, but the moon looked really pretty that night. No sound, no feeling, just me and the moon.
My mind still works by the way, but I can't tell anyone that, just left with me and my thoughts. Life as a "supposed" vegetable sucks.
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output
| 1 | 958 |
Pick a scene from Star Wars, and rewrite it in the style of Stephen King or George R. R. Martin.
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instruction
| 0 | 959 |
Luke felt his body ache. Dragging his father's body down the corridors of the Death Star, sucking in breath with each heave made Luke's wounds hurt that much more. The shallow breathing from behind gave him small reassurance that his father might survive.
"Hold on, Father! We're almost to the ship!"
"Luke. . . help me. . . take off this mask. . . ", Anakin wheezed as Luke laid him down at the foot of the boarding ramp to one of the few remaining shuttle crafts.
". . . but you'll die." Luke said, trying to keep his stomach from lurching over.
"There is no. . .stopping that now. . . " It was apparent that Anakin was struggling for his final breaths. "Please. . . for once. . . let me look on you. . . with. . . my OWN eyes. . . "
There was a short suck of air as Luke slowly released the seal from his the helmet that kept his father alive. A small, damp plume of air rose from breach of the mask. For the first time, Luke saw what the Dark Side had done to his father.
There, underneath him, lay a giant spider with a glowing abdomen. "Look into my deadlights," it said. Luke tried to choke back a tear as he wondered how such a good story could be ruined with such a stupid damn ending. Seriously. What the fuck? A giant spider? Why? That's no where near as scary as a clown. This is bullshit. I'm changing the channel. Two nights of my life wasted watching this crap. Unbelievable.
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output
| 1 | 959 |
Write a story: You are Immortal. Every year you write a book chronicling what happened that year and hide it somewhere. Today archaeologists have found enough books to infer your existence.
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instruction
| 0 | 960 |
Everything I write turns into something about her.
My writings have been analysed and deciphered, translated and misinterpreted. My words in their many forms, when I first learnt to carve into stone in Babylon, to these days of information transmitted by encrypted electrical signals.
They've called her Luna, Aphrodite, a fertility goddess, Eve, Skullcrush the Foul, Lolth, and even Lady Luck.
She looked down favourably on humanity, believing they would figure out our nature, and embrace us as their watchful guardians, fighting against the harsh monsters of falsehoods and entropy.
She was the light that brought the idea of fire into that Promethean protohuman's mind. She was the one who taught humans patiently, with a love she could never explain fully.
She was beautiful, in that primordial way. Strong enough to smash through a continent, but gentle enough to not. Flesh blistered and scarred by the harsh conditions we could not feel, and eyes that blazed with an inner fire, piercing in its intensity.
And then, she left.
Her last words to were a mere 'I can't even.' before leaving this world, and she handed me an e news website on a tablet.
Buzzfeed. A familiar article.
"7 mythological figures you won't believe are based on the same person."
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output
| 1 | 960 |
Could you write an email about the completion of the fire alarm testing to the residents?
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instruction
| 0 | 961 |
Dear Residents,
We are pleased to inform you that the fire alarm testing in our building has been completed. We would like to thank you for your cooperation during this time.
We understand that the fire alarm testing may have caused an inconvenience for some. We apologize for any disruption caused. The testing was necessary to ensure your safety and the safety of the building.
If you have any questions or concerns, please do not hesitate to contact us. Our team is here to assist you.
Thank you for your understanding and cooperation.
Sincerely,
[Team Name]
[Address]
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output
| 1 | 961 |
Can you write a sweet poem or story for my roommate who is really upset?
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instruction
| 0 | 962 |
I had a dog once, "B.B. King,"
a Labrador of gold.
When young he was a cheerful thing--
and stayed the same when old.
*He used to bring in mud, and hop,*
*and leave great tracks of brown.*
*I'd yell a while, and he would stop,*
*a victim of my frown.*
And now he's gone. If he were here,
I'd tell that little tyke:
"Go out, enjoy, and have no fear;
Track all the mud you like."
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output
| 1 | 962 |
Re-write an innocent song/poem into something funny or twisted.
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instruction
| 0 | 963 |
Little Miss Muffet sat on her tuffet
Eating her curds and weigh
Along came a spider
Intending to bite her
The funeral's on Tuesday.
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output
| 1 | 963 |
write a story that's very sad until the last sentence, which suddenly makes it a happy story
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instruction
| 0 | 964 |
It was the day of Judgement, and the little town was found wanting.
Lava inexorably flowed down the volcano's rocky slope, a maelstrom of red and orange that could not be stopped. Everyone stared in wonder, and they knew in their hearts it was only a matter of time before the little town was completely engulfed. The first home to be swept away was a two story Colonial with blue shutters, painstakingly crafted. It was not just a mere house; it was a home. But lava does not care who you are and what you love. It's only concern is the conquest, and soon the house was no more, an ashen relic of a more stable time.
One by one, the houses of the little town were systematically eradicated, and it was inevitable that they would never be rebuilt. Distant onlookers gazed at destruction with rapt interest, not lifting a finger to help. They were not here to do mercy's work, and there was even a smattering of applause as the town became no more. There were no screams, no cries for help, no frantic pleas to God.
Ms. Hayworth told me it was the best model volcano she'd ever seen.
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output
| 1 | 964 |
The protagonist of a story writes a letter to the author to complain about how bad the story is.
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instruction
| 0 | 965 |
Dear Author,
I'm writing this letter to lodge a complaint. Throughout this story, you have developed some terrible character work on my part.
For one thing, you make me sound pretentious. I find that most deplorable. Also, you make me repeat myself! Why must I always repeat myself? It's rather frustrating have to repeat myself. Once and a while, you even throw in a typo, just becuz you can. Stop it! Stop it this instant! Being the protagonist of this story is as much an absurd experience as it is a chore. If only you could write well enough to make me speak good. Well! Speak *well*, damn you!
You see what I mean?
I don't understand your methodology with crafting my story! Where does it start? Where does it end? All you have written is this sub-tier letter from *me*, addressing you the *writer*, in another of your ridiculous monologue pieces! I mean, how do I, a fictional character, even *know* about your other monologue pieces? If only you took as much care crafting a decent story for me, as you seem to make me sound like a snide idiot!
There's not even a conflict for crying out loud! All this story is just me, writing this letter, just becuz you can! Utterly ridiculous, even for an amateur of your calibre. An amateur of your calibre ought to be ashamed of sharing a story like this, whatever that is!
Stop it! Stop projecting yourself on me this instant!
In conclusion, you should take greater care with your work, before you share this grand insult that is my story. Poorly told as it is, I expect it to be edited, corrected, and posted so that I sound less pretentious, less repetitive, less repetitive, and better spokn.
Sincerely,
Your Character
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output
| 1 | 965 |
Instead of a modern adaptation of a myth, write a mythic adaptation of a modern story.
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instruction
| 0 | 966 |
As a young man in Delphi, Gouliélmos generally rushed through lessons with his tutors in order to run outside and wrestle and throw javelins and race chariots. As a result, his standing in the academy was low, but at sport he had few equals, and this gave him great confidence and arrogance.
One day, Dionysus and Hermes, bored, descended Mount Olympus disguised as mortals and found Gouliélmos wrestling with his friends. As they arrived, Gouliélmos had just defeated one of them, and declared boastfully, "I am the greatest wrestler in western Delphi! No two of you at once could defeat me." Dionysus and Hermes stepped forward and engaged Gouliélmos, defeating him handily, and while Hermes sought only to win, Dionysus tore into his flesh.
When Gouliélmos returned home that night, his mother nearly fainted at his wounds. "You've been wrestling outside the academy again!" she cried. "And now you stagger in here half-dead, covered in blood! Delphi is no place for you. I am sending you to Byblos, where you will live with my sister Maria and her husband Philippos. There is no wrestling in Byblos."
Despondent, Gouliélmos booked passage on a carriage. When it arrived, his mood was briefly lifted by its unusual decorations, with dangling baubles and fresh paint. Though he did not know it, Hermes, who was feeling guilty for Gouliélmos' injuries, was driving the carriage. Gouliélmos, unaware of this and remembering his exile from Dephi, forgot his relief and told Hermes, "To Byblos."
Arriving in Byblos, Gouliélmos felt his spirits lift once more. Delphi was and always would be his home, but Byblos was beautiful, clean, and wealthy beyond anything he knew existed. Around 7 or 8 in the evening, his carriage pulled up in front of a grand palace of white marble. "If I must live here in exile from Delphi," thought Gouliélmos, "I shall make the most of it. My every chair shall be a throne, and I shall live as a prince."
And so went the story of the Fresh Prince of Byblos.
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output
| 1 | 966 |
While shopping, you run into someone eerily similar to you in every aspect. You write it off as a crazy coincidence until seemingly clones of you keep coming to the store, each one just as confused.
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instruction
| 0 | 967 |
It happened last Friday.
I was shopping at Walmart, minding my own business when I see a person right in front of me. 'Another human in a supermarket? No way!', you might think ironically, but it wasn't just 'another human'. When I looked up to see the person blocking my way in the tight shopping isle, I saw him.
He had grey hair, just like me. He had bags under his eyes and a long beard, just like me. We were wearing the same clothes and had the same items in our shopping cart.
I turned around, decided to not say a single word to that guy.
But as I was walking away from that strangely similar person, I notice, on my left and on my right, hundreds of others, just like me.
They all seemed as confused as me, while they looked at each other. I gripped my shopping cart tighter and made my way out of the isle faster than ever.
That was when I looked up.
In big capital letters, a sign that read: " Mirrors! Buy your mirrors today! Only 50% off on your second purchase!"
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output
| 1 | 967 |
A fanfiction writer who fell asleep at the computer finds themself in the last scene they were writing. Write about it as if you are the writer.
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instruction
| 0 | 968 |
I wake up in a blank white dimension. As far as the eye can see, there is nothing but white.
Wait, where are my glasses? Oh, here they are. I put them on.
Nope, everything is still just a seemingly endless expanse of blank white space. It looks slightly less fuzzy with my glasses on, though, I guess.
I have no idea what is going on and assume this must be some kind of dream. Not knowing what else to do, I pick a direction and start walking. I walk for a long time, or at least it feels like a long time, but I don't know how much time has actually passed. I walked a lot of steps anyway. Not that I counted them, but like..... a quarter of a mile at least. Probably. Not that there's really any way to tell.
I stop and turn in a different direction, and walk that way for a while.
Finally! I see something that isn't just blank white space. I cautiously move closer to it until I can see what it is. There, on the ground, in 12-point Comic Sans font is the word *The*.
.
edit: typo
^^^^I ^^^^wrote ^^^^about ^^^^having ^^^^writer's ^^^^block ^^^^instead.
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output
| 1 | 968 |
You need to hire a hitman, but can't afford it. Carefully write a gofundme campaign for something seemingly innocent while subtly letting your donors know what they are actually funding.
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instruction
| 0 | 969 |
Hello everyone, I am trying to raise money to send my wife and best friend on a cruise. They have recently developed some common interests, and I think that they would benefit from a very long trip together.
I would send them myself, however I lack the proper understanding of the travel business, so I am seeking to pay for a travel agent who can make all the proper arrangements and see to it that this is a big surprise for them, I don't want them to see it coming and everything has to go perfectly.
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output
| 1 | 969 |
Pick your favorite conspiracy theory and write about it through the eyes of the person behind the conspiracy.
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instruction
| 0 | 970 |
President Obama opened the compartment in his desk in the Oval Office. Every president who used it had left something inside it at the end of their term: Queen Victoria left a silk handkerchief from when she gave it to Rutherford B. Hayes, FDR kept a pair of reading glasses, JFK left an unused syringe of Addison's Disease medication and a family photo, Carter forgot an old campaign pin, Reagan hid a stash of licorice jelly beans (his favorite flavor), Clinton kept a bottle of certain blue pills, and Ol' Dubya left a satellite phone and a list of numbers. He picked it up, and dialed the most recent number on the list.
"Hey, Osama," Obama greeted, in perfect Arabic.
"Hello, Barack," Bin Laden replied, a twinge of resentment in his voice.
"So, how's life going? Where are you now, still in Pakistan?"
"Yes. My wives are giving me hell. How are Michelle and the girls doing?"
"Good, good, thanks for asking. Now about our contract..." Obama lit a cigarette. He told Michelle that he'd kicked it, but it was okay; he didn't plan on smoking it.
Bin Laden sounded anxious. "What about it? Are we adjusting the monthly payments again?"
"Now listen," Obama responded, his voice cold, "I've hit a bit of a rough spot in my approvals, and I need a boost. I know about everything you've done, with Reagan and the Mujaheddin, and with George back in '01, but that's over now."
"But-" Bin Laden stammered.
"No buts. Now if you'll excuse me, I have an Easter brunch. See you next Sunday." Obama hung up. He held the cigarette to the paper, watching the names of several of the world's worst terrorists and dictators burn away to a dark piece of ash.
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output
| 1 | 970 |
A person writes a letter that is to be delivered to their child on their 18th birthday.
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instruction
| 0 | 971 |
Dearest [Name],
When your father hands you this, I will be 3% of the way to Hydroplana II. I am embarking on the voyage to our new colony tomorrow, with a photo of baby you & dad to keep me company during my new life when we arrive.
Unfortunately, this means I will never have the chance to see my daughter grow up. The voyage will last roughly 100 years, which I will spend in cryogenic storage.
I hope you do not judge me too harshly for this ; your father will be perfectly capable of raising you to become a fine young woman. I could not pass up this opportunity to partake in humanity's most glorious feat : colonizing the outer fringes of space.
My dearest [Name], I have but one piece of advice to leave you : always follow your dreams, no matter where they take you.
Love always,
Mom.
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output
| 1 | 971 |
Write a love letter that is either from the villain to the hero, or from the hero to the villain. Another writer, and only another writer, may write a letter in response.
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instruction
| 0 | 972 |
Dearest "hero",
I imagine you weren't exactly expecting to get a letter from me. I mean, we're mortal enemies, we don't write letters, we shout at each other from across wide distances while we're in the middle of fighting each other. We're not exactly pen pals. But I had a confession to make, and despite appearing bold, I'm not. I couldn't say this to your face knowing there was the possibility or rejection.
Over the last 2 and a half years in which you've been my nemesis, I've learned a lot about you. I know your fighting style, your personality, I know that your favorite breakfast cereal is cinnamon toasties. I know you in a most intimate way. I guess it was only logical for the next thing to happen would be me developing strong feelings for you. I don't even know your real name, but I know that I want to be with you. I want to love you, and to care for you, and to protect you and keep you safe from any and all harm. Having to fight you these past few months has been torture, I feel this heavy weight in my chest with every punch I throw. I'm hurting you, and I can't handle it anymore.
I'm giving up villainy. I don't care what the consequences might be anymore, I just know I can't go another second knowing that I'm hurting you. You're the light of my life and my greatest wish and my greatest fear is that you'll read this letter. I know it's not fair of me to spring this on you like this, but I don't see any other options. I'm leaving you with one last parting gift, to do with as you please. I promise that this isn't a trick, and you will find that it's very
much real, and I have proof.
All my love,
Your Arch Nemesis
(AKA Destiny Morris, address of 549 Cognet St.)
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output
| 1 | 972 |
write the saddest story you possibly write about a jar of Jam, five playing cards and a gun
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instruction
| 0 | 973 |
Strawberry jam.
It was the smell that graced my summer afternoons, sweet and lovely and fresh. She’d greet me at the door with the scent in her hair. They were blissful, those days. The cupboards were always lined with mason jars and the happiness we shared seemed eternal.
Ace, jack, nine, two, king.
Spades, diamonds, hearts, clubs and spades again, respectively. The cards had fallen off the dresser. Somehow, these five survived the blaze. These five cards, instead of, say, our favorite blanket. Instead of her paintings. Instead of the chair my father built. Instead of her.
Handgun.
Smith & Wesson. 9mm. I’ve never been one for guns myself, but this...it seems like the easiest way to get the job done.
There’s nothing left here. I’m ready to go now. My love is waiting for me, and I bet she’s made her famous strawberry jam.
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output
| 1 | 973 |
Write a story with the following prompt: One day, as you’re walking home from work, you find a white “Life Note” on the sidewalk. Having seen the anime, you jokingly write “George Washington” in it. He’s on the news the next day.
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instruction
| 0 | 974 |
The young man was walking by the street when he stepped on a small, thin, white book. He looked at it, kneeling down to pick it up. The man analyzed it left to right. It looked familiar, like one of those Anime's he watched, except the wording was different. It said life instead of death, which was weird.
The man thought nothing of it, simply taking oht a pen from his shirt pocket and writing the first name to come to mind. Of course the first president was the first name. He wasn't very creative, so he sloppily wrote it down, throwing the notebook down afterwards and walking off.
The next day, he was making breakfast, looking at the tiny tv sitting in the kitchen until he heard something he never thought he'd hear from a news source.
"George Washington is alive? Is it an imposter? He seems to be very serious about it."
The mans jaw gaped open, seeing pictures of the man in the modern era.
"Guess he'll have to survive this."
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output
| 1 | 974 |
my dog Cannibal passed away last nigh, these are the last pictures I took of him. please write a story about him.
|
instruction
| 0 | 975 |
And suddenly, a great peace washed over the newly deceased dog. He had never felt so good in his life. He awoke in a beautiful meadow with wild flowers and a bubbling creek.
"Cannibal! What kind of name is that?"
He looked to the left. It was his mother!
She came up to him and licked his face. He was overjoyed. He had never expected to see her again, but there she was! He felt love only a mother could give. He was happy.
"Come on, my sweet baby, you must be hungry." said his mother.
Cannibal was excited!
"This is Heaven, isn't it?" He asked.
"It is, my sweet baby, it is" said his mother.
"It's wonderful."
"Well of course it is! It's Heaven! Now follow me!"
Cannibal went with his mother. They came across beautiful white dog bowls that smelled better than anything he had smelled before (and he had sniffed his owner's butt!) and what was in them?
A gigantic Rib-Eye steak, cooked medium rare (his favorite!), waiting to be eaten by the bestest of boys, who are now in eternal peace.
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output
| 1 | 975 |
Write a paragraph introducing a surreal scene. Someone else writes the next paragraph on the comments, and so on.
|
instruction
| 0 | 976 |
Jack noted his surroundings as he approached the almost monolithic building in front of him. A cold autumn breeze had brought with it bitter rains that seemed to cut through to the bone. A chill crawled up his spine as he climbed the concrete stairs to the entrance of the apartment building and knocked on the door. Was it the cold or what he was about to do that caused him to shiver so? He knew not as he waited for an answer at the door.
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output
| 1 | 976 |
You will write a story or poem in second person, future tense. It won’t be a choose your own adventure.
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instruction
| 0 | 977 |
You will not know that anything is wrong, not right away.
At first, you will merely feel queer. Has the mountain always been so near?
Have I always be so alone? Has the world always had this dreary tone?
These are questions you will ask in your heart but be unable to voice.
Of course it's always been this way they shall say.
Have you gone mad? Do you feel well, good lad?
Skepticism and fear shall fill your mind. But their minds you will be unable to sway.
Alone, confused and desperate. You will soon know that you're been given no choice.
For today, you cannot.
For yesterday, you could not.
For tomorrow, you will not.
For now, I have.
For then, I did.
For next, I shall.
Your fate you can not change.
Your dreams I have devoured.
Your time I shall consume.
Your present never is.
Your past never was.
Your future never will be.
Now, then and next.
You have already lost.
You cannot use your Trigger.
You could not Cross.
You will Break.
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output
| 1 | 977 |
Go nuts and write whatever but it must have a plot twist every 75 words.
|
instruction
| 0 | 978 |
This poem will take a sharp and sudden turn should seventy-five come.
Unexpectedly subjected change it can’t return from.
What sort of plot twist will I write?
What sort of thing would be alright?
“What strange conflict should he incite?”
“What silly chumps could he delight?”
The world could be turned upside down,
Every smile could be a frown;
The roof could be a floor.
But I'm too freakin' lazy so I wrote seventy-four.
|
output
| 1 | 978 |
You, a creative writer, go to bed every night with mind full of creative ideas. However, you always wake up with a blank mind as if you ideas 'ran away' or were stolen overnight. Determined to find out, tonight you pretend to fall asleep.
|
instruction
| 0 | 979 |
So there I was, sitting in my bedroom, laptop on my lap. The bright white light combined with the wonders of the Internet would prevent me from falling asleep anytime soon, or so I thought.
As always this late, my head was full of creative story ideas, and I couldn’t wait to put them into practice. But which one to choose? I figured I’d use a forum to push me in the right direction.
And there it was, the perfect set-up for my story. I immediately started hacking away at this story, molesting my keyboard with my ferocity, but I didn’t last long. Within no time I started becoming sluggish and the pull of gravity on my eyelids seemed to multiply every couple of seconds. I was asleep before I knew it.
When I woke up all the ideas, all the world changing revelations, all the new and innovative narrative structures, were gone. Just as they always were when I woke up.
…
So, uh, that’s what happened. I’m terribly sorry. I swear I had a great idea for this prompt, but it just kind of escaped me.
It won’t happen again, I promise. Tonight I’ll confront that what is taking away my ideas. You see, I’ve got a plan. I’ll pretend to be asleep.
Wish me luck.
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output
| 1 | 979 |
Write a story of a perfectly ordinary or boring day except write it as dramatically as possible.
|
instruction
| 0 | 980 |
Posted before, but here's my average morning from last year:
1:30am. Something has woken me up from my slumber. It screams, it howls, it calls my name. Stumbling from my bed, I stagger down the hallway to the source of the noise. The monster wants food. I placate it with a drink and scurry back to my warm, cosy bed, hoping it will last until the sun comes up.
6:50am. Nothing. No noise. The monster is sleeping. It will need waking before long, to capture it and strap it into it's travelling cage.
7:30am. The monster is secured. We begin our journey to deposit the alternate care-giver to his location. Once he is delivered, we have to press on, continuing through the hunger pangs.
8:05am. The hunger pangs are consuming us. We stop to refuel our bellies. The monster objects. It is temporarily released into the wild, but soon recaptured.
8:30am. We have arrived at the monsters location for the day. It is left with new care-givers, a list of instructions handed out. It is fed, and I leave.
8:55am. Freedom.
9:00am. A day of filing paperwork, away from a screeching toddler. Bliss.....
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output
| 1 | 980 |
write an intricate and detailed scene that only lasts 10 seconds in real time.
|
instruction
| 0 | 981 |
Sitting next to him staring into his eyes I start to remember. I remember what it was like when I was younger. How he was always there for me since the beginning. How he loved me with all his heart. We were the perfect family. I also remember how I treated him after the accident. I avoided him and shunned him for something he didn't even do. I couldn't change the past but I could try to make it right now. If only I knew how to. Looking down at my hands, I realized they were shaking. I looked for words to say to him. Anything to explain that I was sorry, but nothing came to me. Even now with only moments to spare I was useless. All I could think about was the time I wasted. He was my best friend. Without him I wouldn't have became the man I am today. He did everything to give me a better life than what he received. I just kept staring at my hands. "I'm sorry," I wanted to shout. "I still loved you, even after she died," I wanted to scream. Instead I said nothing. To scared to face the reality that I had wasted so much time. I started to cry like I had never cried before. I tore my gaze from my hands and stared once more into his eyes, trying to show him I still cared. I knew now was the last chance I would have. With a whisper I said, "I love you dad, I never stopped."
"I know," he replied, " I know you do. I love you too." And with that came a deafening silence. His eyes no longer had a spark in them. He was already gone.
|
output
| 1 | 981 |
First person writes a story on a topic and genre of his choice, but must leave it on a cliffhanger. Anyone after him continues the story from the cliffhanger, then that person leaves his story on a cliffhanger and so on.
|
instruction
| 0 | 982 |
As the air grew colder and colder as the night befell around them, they knew it was time. In the shadows and in the dark the creatures roam, and the night is when they shine. The villagers stood at the edge of the Wood, armed with their flaming torches and their bows with oil-tipped arrows. They stood there. Waiting. Listening.
|
output
| 1 | 982 |
You've been a History teacher for 30 years, never gotten a single fact wrong. One day you become suspicious, surely I should've gone wrong somewhere? You test a theory by purposely being incorrect, suddenly, history rewrites itself.
|
instruction
| 0 | 983 |
I am a history teacher at a high school in a rural area of California. I am proud to say I know all the facts of yesterday. However, the last few years I have begun to question things - mostly due to my governments inept ability to be transparent.
One fateful Monday afternoon I was in class and we were talking about the history of the 9/11 attacks. The students were left to discussing their opinions on some topics and then to write a short essay for me when I overhear, "What if 9/11 wasn't planned by the Taliban?"
"You're right. 9/11 was planned by our government and cover......"
...
"Teach?"
"Sorry?"
"You've been out of it for a minute - again"
"What were we talking about?"
"The civil war of 2002"
"Oh, right, I seemed to have lost my place. Let me start over.."
|
output
| 1 | 983 |
In a post-apocalyptic society, the stories of Superman and Jesus Christ have gotten mixed up over the years. Several scholars have gotten together to write the new Bible. This is the first chapter of the gospel according to James (Jimmy)
|
instruction
| 0 | 984 |
The beginning of the Gospel of Superman, Son of Krypton, Of the House of Kent and El. 'Lo' the prophet Jor did speak, 'so loved is my Son, that I send Him to you so that the best in you shall exalt Him and in doing so exalt yourself.' Baptized in solar fire the infant Kal was heralded a burst of light and the scream of the torn sky.
The sight was revealed to Kent in the town of Smallville in the Land of Kansas, named Jonathon by Martha, a barren and childless couple afflicted with age, together they quickly traversed the field of corn and found the ground destroyed and ablaze by star fire therein laying the infant Kal, squalling and untouched by the flame.
The Prophet Jor spoke through the star fire, 'Behold, the last son of Krypton, in this infant you will find your salvation or you will be destroyed, you will raise in Him a bounty or a famine, with time, perhaps, He will raise you to the Stars'
Kent spoke to Jor, although Jor was beyond hearing having only lent his voice for his son, 'it is good to raise this child, I have created life of the earth yet no life of my body, a child of greatness will learn of weakness, a leader the joys of service, I will raise in him to abhor Lies, Inequity, and non representational Government to ensure that mankind's greatness can kindle within Him the ability to advance Mankind."
The prophet Jor spoke 'He is called Kal, of the House of El'
Jonathon named Him Clark, so as to conceal His nature for although He was invulnerable He was yet an infant and could be quickly stolen.
An General of the Military, named Lane, also gave witness to the coming of Clark and mobilized his men to capture the infant, and with the might of the Military Jonathon took Clark and fled.
The Prophet Jor spoke to Lane, who was a wicked man and saw not hope but horror in the infant Clark and in this time, known as the Slaughter of Innocents, all infant children were brought the bullet yet the Kent's known as barren were able to keep Clark secreted away along with Lana and Alexander.
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output
| 1 | 984 |
write the most confusing story possible that still contains a coherent plot
|
instruction
| 0 | 985 |
The watch read 13:40.
The man emerged from the machine. He looked around and hurriedly ran to the door.
The watch read 13:41.
Timesen was on guard. A notice on the wall showed that the guard changes at 13:43.
The man changed his watch so it read that time.
The watch read 13:43.
He showed Timesen the watch. “Ah,” said Timesen. “I’ll be off now.” and he left. The man waited two minutes until Timesen was out of sight.
The watch read 13:45.
He ran down the hallway, and saw Tymeson and Timesen guarding a cell. He attacked them, knocking them both out.
The watch read 13:45.
The man watched Tymesen escape down the hallway. Leaving his cell, he ran the other way.
The watch read 13:47.
Tymesen reached the doors of escape. Timeson was standing there. “I’m sorry, but you’re not ready to go outside.”
Timeson knocked Tymesen out.
The watch read 13:47.
The man reached another door. Tymesen was standing there. The man knocked Tymesen out and stole his uniform.
The watch read 13:48.
The man ran into the room. The machine stood there. Timeson ran in. “Stop!”
The watch read 13:49.
“Don’t go in there!”
The man ran into the machine. Lights flashed.
The watch read 13:50.
The man was gone.
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output
| 1 | 985 |
write me a five line poem depicting how a thorn on a rose bush sees itself protecting the rose
|
instruction
| 0 | 986 |
A life of burden is all I've ever known
Shackled by your delicate beauty and cold indifference
But I'm no longer yours to own
Say goodbye to this thorn in your veritable side
And hope that, without me, you can find somewhere to hide
|
output
| 1 | 986 |
You’re a regular at Starbucks. This time you go, the lady writes "RUN" on your takeaway cup. Write a story.
|
instruction
| 0 | 987 |
I blink at the cup. I blink at the Barrista. She smiles.
"Why does it say 'run' on my coffee?" I ask. She smiles again.
"Cardio" she says "it's always good to invest time in cardio fitness. You know where's a great place to get started? There's a park about five minutes walk from here, do the whole outside track and you've done a mile. There's shade, it's pretty flat...I recommend it!"
"...thanks..." I say and walk away sipping my coffee. I'm basically too out of shape to run a mile, but I can always walk more. I make a mental note to check out the park.
My coffee cup says "Read". I look at the Barrista. Same one as last time. She's a brunette, with long hair in a pony tail.
"Any authors in particular?" I ask. She smiles.
"Are you a reader?"
I shake my head. There's never time. She shrugs.
"Then start with a good newspaper. Cover to cover. You never know what you might turn up!"
Her enthusiasm is infectious and I smile back.
"Thanks," I say, sipping the coffee, "I'll do that."
I stop in for coffee after my run, feeling pretty good, with the intention of sitting outside and leafing through a copy of The Washington Post. My iPod is still reading me *The Satanic Verses* by Salman Rushdie, which is a lot funnier than I was expecting, and I'm not really paying attention to my coffee order. The take out cup says "Watch" on it. I look up, pull the earbuds out of my ears and smile at the Barrista. Her eyes are vivid and green, one eyebrow arches gracefully at me.
"What should I watch?" I ask.
"How do you feel about German Expressionism?" she asks.
"I don't," I say "but the way it influenced later directors, from Hitchcock to Burton, that's pretty cool."
That earns me a dazzling smile and those eyes iridesce. Then she frowns.
"Oh, darn it. I'm sorry, I've got your order wrong. Here, let me fix that for you."
She reaches for the cup, takes it from my hand and for an electric moment our fingers touch. She fusses behind the counter, hands me a new cup, smiles again.
I look at the cup. It says "Date?"
|
output
| 1 | 987 |
You are a shady person of power and you need to write a letter of recommendation for your maid who goes above and beyond the job description.
|
instruction
| 0 | 988 |
To whom it may concern,
I am Fear Lord! Scourge of Humanity, Vanquisher of Captain Pillow, and Grand Ruler of 2/3 of Australia! Bow before me!
I write you today on behalf of Consuela! Scourge of Dust, Vanquisher of Laundry, and Grand Maid of Fear Lord Tower.
You shall hire Consuela to do your bidding or you shall hear from Fear Lord! Consuela is the most astute servant that Fear Lord has ever seen. Should my plans include killing the human race, I would spare Consuela for her ability to rid the world of the bodies. Her services are above reproach, any who say otherwise shall incur the wrath of me! Fear Lord! Muahaha!
So, puny potential employer, take note of her abilities. She masterfully cleans blood from carpets! She is able to attach laser beams to various animals! She has the magical ability to fold fitted sheets!
Consuela is too good for you! Hire her at once.
Sincerely,
Fear Lord! Scourge of Humanity, Vanquisher of Captain Pillow, and Grand Ruler of 2/3 of Australia!
p.s. Bow before me!
|
output
| 1 | 988 |
Rewrite a famous battle in history, but with each person having one Pokemon
|
instruction
| 0 | 989 |
Here is a rewritten scene of World War II:
Hitler sat in the room, staring at the Pokeball on the table. He stared for what felt like years. His solution had failed. All this work, all this time was for nothing. His soldiers, each armed with a specially trained Pokemon, had not been able to destroy the United Kingdom no matter how many flying or water types they sent over the English Channel. Germany's superior monsters had been crushed by the sheer number of the Russian Pokemon that fought back in Stalingrad, and their ice types that could survive the cold winter. However, Hitler was angered most by the fact that the Weezings that had been working in the death camps had not accomplished what he felt to be the most important goal.
Eva entered the room, ball in hand, and approached her husband.
"Is it time?"
He slowly nodded, a single tear leaving his eye. Eva solemnly opened her Pokeball, sending out the Grimer that had been her lifelong companion. As they left the room, never to return, Hitler sent out the only friend dearer to him than Himmler. His Pokemon looked at him, knowing what he had to do. He embraced his best friend for one last time as he said his final words.
"Electrode, use Self-Destruct."
|
output
| 1 | 989 |
Kidnappers force a prisoner to write a letter to family, convincing them all is well. The prisoner attempts to subtly hint something is wrong. Write that letter.
|
instruction
| 0 | 990 |
Hey [Family Name],
I have been called by my boss to go to a business negotiation for a few months. I do love you both, but with the pay I am getting from this, I will be able to financially carry us all! I am supposed to be back between the 16th of December and the 5th of August. I know I will miss Christmas, but I hope little Susie will forgive me. Mark those dates on your calendar! I will be really busy in a funky new town in Europe, if this negotiation goes through, one day we can expand the company to Asia! I will miss our regular trips to South America, but I was thinking when I get back, we could go to Canada. I might not write to you, but I will send you the money! Bye!
[Your Name].
|
output
| 1 | 990 |
Rewrite a scene in any Star Wars movie from the perspective of a storm trooper.
|
instruction
| 0 | 991 |
Kidnapped from birth, brainwashed and indoctrinated... that's one thing we all have in common.
No amount of combat makes a man forget that.
But sometimes, the thrill of a laser pulse flying straight over your shoulder, the satisfactory zap of hitting your target... that makes a man forget his enemies. Because when somebody is shooting at you with a blaster, your old vendettas quickly take the backseat.
And yet, still, I've seen it. We swear our allegiance, vow our support, this and that oath to serve our commanders... but there are some -no, many- who remember they're more than a mere droid designed to carry out a single order: kill.
It looks innocuous at first: the rebels are holding a fortified hallway position, no clear shot with the cover they have. But as time continues, and you see more and more, it starts getting clearer. Open spaces. Exposed targets. And yet, time after time, missed blaster shots. We're put through training vigorous enough to shoot the wings off a gutfly. Why all the misses?
It turns out, maybe combat doesn't make a man forget who he really is. Maybe brainwashing doesn't keep a soldier obedient forever. Eventually, they start to question the world and their non-voluntary place in it. To defect means certain death, ostracism by both friend and foe. But sabotage of your superiors, in a way that they can't even tell is intentional? An idea like that spreads like a disease, infecting all with even the slightest hint of a doubt of their place in the galaxy.
And so, we aim. We fire. We miss. We're shot, and sometimes killed. And yet, we make sure that The Empire loses its strength while not seeing something that'd make them want to try new approaches. That's our unspoken mission, an idea shared by the vast majority without it ever have even being spoken once. There might never be a happy end to this war. But us, we're doing our damnedest to make sure those responsible can pay.
|
output
| 1 | 991 |
Make me pee: A challenge to write the most gut-bustingly hilarious story possible
|
instruction
| 0 | 992 |
Have you ever thought about the Niagara Falls? I hear it's beautiful this time of year. If you go there, you can take a boat straight to the foot of a waterfall and be surrounded by all the splashing water. Just gallons and gallons of water in a never-ending stream, rushing and gushing forth. Honestly, I think just letting all that water spray uselessly is such a waste, they should try and use the water the way they do at the Hoover dam. There's a whole process of pumping water through all these pipes and tubes that twist and turn thoughout the dam that charge these turbines that can power all sorts of things like basic plumbing and hot water. So don't leave a faucet running, as much as you may enjoy the sound of water splashing against ceramic, it's not only a waste of water, but electricity, too!
|
output
| 1 | 992 |
A "letter of last resort" are final military orders given to field commanders after a nation has been completely destroyed. As a head of state, write a hypothetical letter to the commander.
|
instruction
| 0 | 993 |
TOP SECRET
To: Ship’s Commander
Subj: Last Resort
Sir,
If you are reading this, national command has failed. As such, this may be the last order you receive from His Majesty and the government. This means that, until you are able to determine otherwise, you are the lawful government of the nation.
If the government has indeed failed, there is no consequence to failure to obey. Therefore, your actions must be guided by your conscience, your knowledge of international law and the Laws of War, and these written guidelines.
If a senior commander of His Majesty’s military is available, you are to report to that commander immediately. As with a fully functioning government, the senior commander is His Majesty’s representative, and his orders are law.
If an allied senior commander is available, contact them. They may have been able to establish communications with His Majesty or his representative. Allied commanders are not His Majesty’s representatives, but they may be his messengers.
A list of allied governments, in order of precedence, was issued prior to your departure from His Majesty’s domains. Seek guidance from the senior existent government. If you are unable to establish a chain of command with His Majesty, you are hereby transferred to the command of the senior government.
If you are unable to establish any form of command, or if you are the senior available officer, you are to prosecute the current action to the best of your ability in order to restore His Majesty’s or his lawful successor to the throne. If you are unable to restore the line of succession, establish a safe haven for His Majesty’s subjects. Use of all available weapon systems is authorized. Rules of Engagement package is unlocked, all ROE are granted.
In trust,
Sir I.M. Boss
Prime Minister to His Majesty
|
output
| 1 | 993 |
You're a self aware character in a romantic novel. The writer has put you through every stereotypical, cheesy trope and you're done. You're done. It's time to write your own story.
|
instruction
| 0 | 994 |
That's it... the camels back was finally broken.
Author had at last wasted what was the last of James' dwindling patience, and for what? to ship him with the GOD DAMN VILLAIN? everything he's been through, every bit of unwelcome trauma and stress had lead to another overused and boring cliché. he would have preferred his author ship him with a leech than with August, but NO....they HAD to fall in love didn't they? and worse still was that they HAD to have an intense seen before kissing and spending eternity together... just thinking of it made James gag.
he wondered what kind of people would actually read this kind of stuff... did those people ACTUALLY believe that He and August belonged together? he tolerated all the other stuff; the love triangles, the betrayals, the disapprovals and the unforeseen deaths of beloved fellow characters... but enemies to lovers was not the genre he wanted to exist in.
He refused to play along, He was nobodies puppet and he would bow to no one... not even almighty Author. he knew that his story would have him go to August, to fight her for the final time before he confessed to always having loved her. This time he would hold the pen... he would write his own ending and live a life he DESERVED....
|
output
| 1 | 994 |
Without repeating a single exact word, write the longest fictional story you can.
|
instruction
| 0 | 995 |
Rain pattered all around as he lowered his wife into her grave. Tears blended amongst raindrops. Will couldn't believe it had happened with Clara. Clara's soul headed towards Inferis now, leaving Will's side forever. Why wouldn't death just stop? Thousands died everyday, each being dragged to a world right below everyone's feet. But this passing was different. The solemn man turned, hands clenched. "I will rescue you my love. Dying won't steal your spirit." Family watched their relative walk away determined.
William grew old searching for methods concerning returning dead souls, travelling miles, never forgetting. Determination drove him, which eventually paid off. Ahead lay one solution. No doubt entered William's mind while grasping an ancient sword. Finally, answers would come. They could continue together again. Shoving said blade through vital organs, Bill faded from life smiling knowing who he'd soon see. Humans cannot obtain abilities capable of defeating inevitable events.
|
output
| 1 | 995 |
write a verse to an (un)finished epic poem.
|
instruction
| 0 | 996 |
Anthony galloped toward the foul beast.
As brave and strong, he felt no fear in the least.
Ten men, ten swords fell,
One swipe of Anthony's sword, their story they would never tell
Soon, against our hero left just one,
The foul demon Nashbar, terrible claws eating the sun.
Forward, the hero charged, on a golden steed,
He killed it dead, cut off it's head, and left the vultures to feed.
So remember my son, though small and weak,
All a hero ever needs, Bravery, and a quest to seek.
|
output
| 1 | 996 |
An aspiring writer working for the NSA has been looking through the files on your computer and publishing books based on the rough drafts you've been working on. Write a story of your revenge.
|
instruction
| 0 | 997 |
He titled his first two works “Rough Draft”.
This time he called it “Completed Draft”.
He let his friend in on the plan when they met up face-to-face.
Firstly, he sent her fake text messages outlining how this time he was "very confident" he knew how to keep his works safe on his PC from ‘hackers’.
He sent a text stating that he would create a handwritten draft that would be fully edited, which he would then type up on his computer in a few hours on the 25th of May and publish quickly within 24 hours.
It was a win-win situation.
He knew that if the hacker wasn't watching his texts, he would be able to publish his novel.
But if they were, they'd be caught out.
His completed draft was stolen on 25th of May and self-published to Amazon before he had the chance to do so himself.
He erased all traces of the draft on his computer.
Just to make sure, the hard-drive was destroyed as well.
He knew the cyber thief wouldn’t be able to completely check and edit the story within the short timeframe.
So, on page 198 of his light-hearted fantasy novel, he decided to abruptly interrupt the story to detail “intelligence leaks and tips” in Arabic to “potential terrorists” from a “professional criminal hacker/high-level government employee”, (his two best guesses as to who had repeatedly hacked his computer).
He sent an anonymous tip to the FBI.
They decided to check if the original publisher really was a high-level government employee.
|
output
| 1 | 997 |
Write a letter to a loved one about how much you care about them, but write it so that someone who may not have heard it from that person in their lives knows how much that person cares about them.
|
instruction
| 0 | 998 |
My love,
You are beautiful. The anguish. The guilt. The depression. There was nothing you could have done. It wasn't your fault. Stop blaming yourself. You are kind, honest and way too modest. You have a beautiful mind. You have overcame so, so much. You are stronger than you think and what you give yourself credit for. Don't apologise when you lash out, I understand. Don't apologise for what you accuse yourself of having done. You didn't. I won't stop until you believe this.
You are not broken. You are not worthless. You are none of the things you say you are. I am always here for you. I will be strong for you. For the rest of my life I will help you through this, one step at a time. I will hold you up when you feel you will fall. I will praise you when you reach higher. I will hold your hands in sadness and kiss you in happiness.
I love you more than I could ever express, but I will try to one day at a time. You are the most beautiful person I have ever met. I am proud to call you my boyfriend, and one day, my husband.
You will not be this low forever. One day you will reach so high. You'll meet the stars and you will shine brighter than every single one of them.
Honey, I love you. Please let me help. Please.
|
output
| 1 | 998 |
A time traveler is stuck in the past and their only chance of escape is to write something that will persist through history long enough to reach their self in the future and tell them how to avoid being trapped in the past, please write it.
|
instruction
| 0 | 999 |
It was all Jeremy's fault. See, Jeremy was my boyfriend. And, well, maybe I shouldn't have cheated on him, but that's not the point.
If I hadn't cheated on Jeremy, then he wouldn't have unlinked my time-travel machine. I had planned on going back in time to search for the Ark of The Covenant and Jeremy was my spotter.
Only, Jeremy found out I was cheating on him.
So now, I sit here in the desert with nothing but a sweaty robe and sandles racking my brain for SOME sort of message that will get to me in 2500 years. Then it hits me: the Bible. I'm in biblical times after all.
I search for days and come across men who say they hail from the "tribe of Levi." I show them things that make them think that I am enlightened by God, you know, Physics and all that. Then, they ask what I believe to be the most important piece of knowledge for them. This is my chance. If I was told never to sleep with another man, then maybe I wouldn't cheat. But I have to make it sound universal, otherwise they won't write it down.
I tell them, "If a man lies with a male as with a woman, both of them have committed an abomination; they shall surely be put to death; their blood is upon them."
I just hope this has no long-lasting implications.
|
output
| 1 | 999 |
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