How to use clear method of com.thrift.example.real.thrift.test.Insanity class

Best EvoMaster code snippet using com.thrift.example.real.thrift.test.Insanity.clear
Source:DescriptionAtmosphere.java
...176        bathroom.add("Toothpaste splattered mirror, toothpaste congealed on the counters and sinks, mildew growing around grotty faucets, peeling vinyl flooring trapping blackened dirt and grime, overflowing laundry basket, dirty clothes on the floor, dust and hair around the bath-tub, thick line of grime making a high tide mark around the tub, assortment of shampoo bottles, some empty, slimy bar or soap welded to the edge of the bath, pink scum growing around toilet bowl, hair in the shower drain, pile of old razors, towel rack half hanging on the wall, used damp towel cast onto the floor in a crumpled heap, tiles falling off wall in shower.");177        bathroom.add("In late summer the Earth is ready for the rains, for sweet drops to quench the soils. It is then that the pitter patter returns to the woodlands, simple water to bring nature's magic. The pathways strengthen from a dusty brown to deep mahogany, reviving a healthy glow I've longed to see return. Summer foliage has it's time, the green canopy to give shelter when it's needed, yet this is beauty also, the heaven-given promise seasonal changes fulfilled.");178        bathroom.add("The rain brings a richness to each hue, the browns deepen in a way that soothes my heart, brings a steadiness to my soul. The grass becomes glossy, reflecting the light, a new bright shine to their wands, softly waving in the breeze. This rain brings a freshness, each drop a heaven-given gift for each part of creation. I raise up my hand, tilt my face toward the sky, feeling water and sunshine together. As I do, a song stirs within, one that feels as if it means \"thank you\" and \"love\" all at once. Perhaps this is joy, a happiness that feels pure.");179        bedroom.add("The room contained a small bed, neatly made, two straight-backed chairs,<br>a washstand, a bureau--without any mirror--and a small table. There were<br>no drapery curtains at the dormer windows, no pictures on the wall. All<br>day the sun had been pouring down upon the roof, and the little room<br>was like an oven for heat. As there were no screens, the windows had not<br>been raised. A big fly was buzzing angrily at one of them now, up and<br>down, up and down, trying to get out.");180        bedroom.add("The buyers paused to look in what they thought must be a cupboard, but instead on the other side was a bedroom. It had clearly belonged to a child, and a loved one at that. There were so many posters of Liverpool Football Club on the walls that they really weren't to sure of the paint colour behind them. The bed was not pushed up against a wall but more central with an elaborate mahogany headboard. On the night stand was The Prisoner of Azkaban, and on newspaper was a pair of cleated boots still with residues of mud on the sides. Yet the bed itself had no covers and over it all lay a thick layer of pristine dust. Not a footfall had disturbed this room in some time. They looked to one another, their previously cheerful faces wiped of all emotion and without a word closed the door.");181        bedroom.add("The bedroom was furnished on a meagre budget but if was full of more warmth than Clara had seen in many years. On the back wall was a mural, a tree with every colour of fall leaf imaginable and a few more besides. On the crude pine bed was a hand embroidered orange cover. From every wall smiled black and white photographs of herself as a child with her mother, her father and her sister, Eliza. She had spent so much time living away, in barracks, in field tents, on foreign bases, that she had become unaccustomed to these little touches. Then Eliza bustled in with a tray of sandwiches and cake, her face so tired but wearing the same smile she always reserved for her twin. It was going to be strange to be here again, but wonderful. A place to recover, to find her feet again and this was just the bedroom for it.");182        bedroom.add("Hazel looked about her in amazement.  This was her little room!  A small single bed, looking like a snow drift, so white and feathery and high was it; one window curtained with a square of starched white cotton cloth that drew over the panes by means of a white cord on which it was run at the top; a tiny wash-stand with an old-fashioned bowl and pitcher of green and white stone-ware, and over it an old-fashioned gilt mirror; a small splint-bottomed chair and large braided rug of red woollen rags. That was all, except in one corner, where some cleats had been nailed to the ceiling and a clothes-press made by hanging from them full curtains of white cloth.");183        bedroom.add("The room is blue with beautiful murals on the wall, hand painted by someone who knew what they were doing. The scene is of the stilt walkers that cruise down the Vancouver streets in the winter festival. The colours are like nothing else, vibrant, strong. No washed out blues and insipid baby colours for this poor kid, whoever he was. And it was a he, all the clothing is for a boy Darwin's age. All new looking and expensive. Beautiful cords and close-knit sweaters. I'll take anything that isn't red. A quick look in the closet gets me a rucksack, no good for anything but emergencies; it's every bit as bright as everything else in here.");184        calm.add("This path of life is challenge enough, without making mountains out of molehills, and yeah, we all see the craggy mountain of ice when we are afraid, triggered, maxed out emotionally... So instead of that high drama, breathe... let your energy come down to something softer... then breathe a few more times and watch that big 'ol scarface hill become something more friendly. Perception is everything. The only thing you can ever truly control is yourself, and that's something you can learn. So love everyone, including yourself... lay yourself down through the panic if you must, imagine you have no hands if it helps, or that you're meditating on the moon... whatever works... but when adults keep their panic and fear to themselves, they protect others. Calm returns. Self respect grows. Self control emerges. You gain liberty and maturity with empathy and greater self-reflection. We must be the calm mentors our children look toward for guidance, the keepers of deep wisdom and infinite love... that's what we should develop into... the kind of person every kid is blessed to be loved by.");185        calm.add("Darcey lay on the couch, feet twitching to music only she could hear, face as passive as it would be in slumber. Mike moved closer, kneeling down, touching her skin lightly. Though she was already awake, she opened her eyes as if from a deep sleep and smiled that same smile she wore first thing in the morning. Her voice tumbled out softly, \"Hey, what's up?\"");186        calm.add("I have never seen Chester ruffled, and today is no exception. His voice has a husky drawl and every step he takes is in slow motion compared to almost anyone else I know. His idea of hurrying is to bend his head downward a little as he saunters, the pace of his footfalls not changing one iota. That's just the way the man is, born calm, can't change him, wouldn't want to.");187        calm.add("Calm is the forest right after the dawn light has kissed the colours into being. Just being there brings the soul into sweet surrender, at one with nature, vibrant yet relaxed. Every fragrance is fresh, like the page of a new book. Each burst of birdsong is unique, a live chorus to waken the mind, to shake off whatever sleepiness remains. Thoughts and feet wander, lungs fill, time rolls by in its silent and endless way.");188        calm.add("When my hand moves over the canvas it's almost like my mind is directing it without me, odd perhaps, but that's the way it is. My hand moves instinctively to the right spot, building a new picture, often one I have never seen before. In these fantastical worlds I see reflections of my own mind, the way I think, but there is something else there too. I don't know what, perhaps I just imagine it, but when I paint I feel closest to our creator and it gives me a peace and mental calmness I cannot find another way.");189        car.add("The silver gray Mercedes S600 cruised down the freeway, travelling south. Alex was sitting in the front passenger seat with so much soft leather around him that he could barely hear the 389 horsepower, 6-liter engine...At eighty miles per hour the engine was only idling. But Alex could feel the power of the car. One hundred thousand pounds worth of German engineering. One touch from the unsmiling chauffeur and the Mercedes would leap forwards. This was a car that sneered at speed limits.");190        car.add("At the big chicane, the Ferrari, Porsche, and GTR are neck and neck. Eric takes the outside, allowing some room between the three cars. The Ferrari and GTR are coming to the end when suddenly, the Porsche underturns, taking out the Ferrari and itself. The track dips down, and the Porsche and Ferrari start to spin. Manny is stuck while the cars continue to roll and flip. Pieces of the body and windshield break off of the GTR when the Ferrari and GTR collide. Dirt is thrown everywhere. Behind Eric, the Ferrari hits the guard wall, smashing the hood. The car has flipped so many times that the driver is unconscious. Luckily, the Porsche driver suffers a few bruises, and the Ferrari driver only suffered a minor concussion. Eric&rsquo;s fender is dragging, but luckily he is not too far from the pits.");191        car.add("Distance was all that mattered. Grace wasn't stopping for anything and she sure as hell wasn't taking her foot of the gas for a little rain. Sarah's eyes stayed glued to the GPS display tracking their position while the world passed in a blur of red and white lights. The hiss of the tyres over the smooth tarmac was lost under the pounding bass of their preferred get-away music. Grace leant over to turn it up. In that instant she lost the opportunity to evade a newly broken-down car without it's lights off. Even if she'd been paying attention she would have been hard pressed to make the manoeuvre. As it was she barely had time to scream before the air bags knocked her back and sideways. The car tumbled over and over into the central barrier before coming to an absolute stop. Silence; it scared Grace more than the pain. Shouldn't Sarah be moaning or calling out? She tried to move but she was pinned by the collapsing roof and the steering column. Her neck was too fragile to move...");192        car.add("The car had flipped so many times that Sarah had become disorientated before she even sustained the concussion that had her drifting in and out of consciousness. She was fleetingly aware of the bloody taste in her mouth but she couldn't figure out what it was. At times her eyelids fluttered and she thought she must be at home in bed because it was so dark. Then why the cold and the sound of rain on metal? Why the pain, God, why so much pain? Then came a blue flicker, the sound of sirens, wait, police? No, not police. Then it came back to her. She was in an illegal unregulated car, she was heading to the boarder and a new life away from her Electronic Educator. She wanted to think for herself, make her own rules, write her stories freely. She struggled to free herself only to be rewarded with more pain. By now they would be live on every television set, only a CGI part where they mowed down seven elementary school children would have been edited in and her social media account hijacked.");193        car.add("By 2160 driving was outlawed. The government liked it that way. Citizens got credits to travel to pre-approved destinations at pre-approved times. To show even an interest in undocumented travel was tantamount to a declaration that you were dangerous, likely a criminal. So the day David's fourteen year old son stole his clandestine 2028 ferrari it made instant news. His son's face was on every billboard, every cell phone, every social media site everywhere with the word \"Terrorist\" emblazoned at the top. What followed went almost as if to script, the car careened through a market killing unnamed civillans only to be chased down by armoured helicopter. The cameras zoomed in to show a spiked bollard rise from the previously smooth road and the beautiful red chassis being wrapped around it, creased and ripped as easily as brown paper. The violent bang of metal was deafening, as if the volume of every device had been remotely increased. It was as professional as any CGI movie...");194        castle.add("The castle is more ancient than any bone left in the soil. The once smooth rock is pitted and scarred. This old man of the hill knows how fleeting time is, how soon the present becomes the past and the important becomes the irrelevant. In this hallowed and ancient site the trees have seen the centuries blow past in the winds of each season and witnessed the folly of our struggles. <br><br>Walls stand mute, water awaits the call of the wind to ruffle and move as molten glass of deepest green. Grey stone rises from the land, unapologetic and bold to defy entrance and protect what has been entrusted to their care. Below the uneven patches of grass are arrowheads of old, hilts of broken swords and armour that failed to protect. <br><br>Beneath the chorus of the birds I hear the voices of old, the clash of metal on metal and the pounding of horses hooves. I stand where knights stood, see what kings, dukes and peasants saw. In this pale light, were it not for the tell tale signs of weathering, it could be almost any century in the past seven hundred years.");195        castle.add("If this fort of stone, built on blood and bone, could talk, you'd beg for deafness. Though I cannot hear the whispers of the ages, tales of lives lost and deaths of agony no-one should ever feel, they remain cloistered in the castle dungeons and echo around staircases of twisted rock. So much to say and no ears willing to hear, no soul willing to feel the torment that lies within. I am no different. I turn my head to the breeze and stand on flora barely weeks old. The past is a forbidden land and its people's trials are over. In future times, when gravity has mastered this place, humbled it to no more than pebble and crumb, we too will be in that hour-glass that is now. For tonight the old hearth, the place that once whole ox's turned will be my chamber before I trudge onward in the morn. Until then it is silence I wish to soak in, anything else portends to danger and I have markedly less interest in ideas of chivalry than those knights of old. This is the place the song told of, this is the trail of the runaways of Stevenson.");196        castle.add("If one has a heart to plunder, to be the wrong sort of king, I suppose a castle is what you need. I suppose if you want so much more than any man or woman has a right to, then you need tall walls of stone... for your castle and your mind. I imagine these people are lonely behind such rocky towers, paranoid as they fill their world with weapons, each as deadly as the last sin they inflicted on the less powerful. How they preach, those greedy ones who sit and guzzle, taking whatever and whomever they please. Yes. I can see why they would need to live in a building such as that... grand and empty, dank with small windows and surrounded by their own filth. It's just perfect.");197        castle.add("The fortress of Galley is a fine castle, built with a panorama of the surrounding land. From the towers once stood medieval watchers, quiver and arrow ready to fly. Steadfast walls were built for defence in an age that was defined by jealousy, greed and the love of power as much as honour, nobility and loyalty to the crown. Past the iron gates that trapped would-be intruders, lives of servitude were eked, safe from battle-axe and ballista alike. This castle stood to inspire awe in a realm run on deference to royalty, to title and social status. From cloistered rooms land parcels were given to lords for promised service. In times when \"technology\" meant wood, string and metal armoury, the expectation of comfort was reserved for just a few. It was a world of subsistence living for all but the mighty who guarded their kingdoms of tax payers. So long as they sang the right songs of protection, of greatness, of manifest destiny - they would grow rich for generations to come. So when my eyes befall the grandeur of the weather-beaten stone and hear the wind in the trees, it is an ode to the selfishness of genes I hear. Whispering in the grasses are tales of peoples set against one another in war by an aristocratic class perpetually enriched by the conflict.");198        castle.add("There is a castle over the way, beyond the river that divides the county. Before you clear the woodland the fortress dogs will bay to announce your coming. Should you be foolish enough to travel by night they will send huntsmen to ensure your quest ends before dawn. Delay until you are blessed by the rays of the English morning and the guards will at least grant you the right to speak. After that, my traveling friend, your guess is as good as mine. We keep to ourselves in these parts and them folk over there are no our kin. These are suspicious times and you my dear are stranger than most.");199        cave.add("Small, loose stones littered the floor causing her to trip as she got closer to the rock face. She shone the beam of her torch ahead and a cave came into view, the entrance was so small she almost missed it. The cave was built into the muddy brown rock of the cliff, the stone guarding the entrance was jagged and uneven, arranged in such a way, that it would be difficult for passers by to spot. Inside the beam of her torch was enveloped and lost in the blackness, Catlin had to move around by following the damp wall of the cave with her hands. All of a sudden, flaming torches sparked to life, lighting up the tunnel ahead and bathing the entire cavern in a flickering orange glow.");200        cave.add("The boy led us up a trail that had been created by many footprints. It was obscured by bushes and fallen rocks and sloped high into the valley. The path halted and a cave appeared. Ivy wound round the cave and concealed the entrance that was a jagged opening. Inside was dim although being lit by two small fires in the corner of the cave. In the centre was a small roasting pot and in the far corner there was a small woven mat made with dried grass. In the gloom a hunch figure lurked.");201        cave.add("To enter the cave was to become engulfed in chilling blackness. The absence of light meant the absence of its warming touch. Underfoot the loose stones shifted, twisting her ankle one way and then the other, and the noise of those disturbed rocks echoed off the dense stone walls. Ahead was the sound of water dripping into water. But without even a match to cast light into the black there was no way to tell how deep it was or if her next step would take her into it's frigid depths. As afraid as she was she believed this a good place to lay low. The rock would hide her body heat from the thermal scanners in the drones and she'd made her way to the mouth by walking in the edge of the lacy tide water, there would be no scent for the bio-sniffers to follow either.");202        cave.add("Light, day, sun, even the moon holds no sway or meaning in a place where time stands still until we exit. Rebirth was my first thought as the sun warmed my face. Curiosity commands my actions; \"What is just ahead, just around that boulder, how far does this go?\" beckons me into the unknown void. I look back the way I came trying to burn the image of my salvation in my soul. It is silent in here. It foreshadows my future home once my soul leaves this frail body. I lie here upon ageless stone listening to the growing formations. The anxiety ends when the entrance light is seen. <br>These are the words of SpartanCaver and are not for publication.");203        cave.add("The abandoned tunnel had been a drug den and homeless shelter for decades. It's once beautiful arched brick walls were covered in graffiti. The floor was littered with hypodermic needles, broken bottles and sewage. It was populated by the most desperate low-lifes, locked in their own dog-eat-dog existence. No-one in their right mind would go there without a hazmat suit and some serious weaponry. But we needed to get to Mevelton fast and the tunnel would cut right through the mountain, shaving days off the trip. As we stood before it, almost knocked out by the stench, our flashlights shining feebly into the entrance we glanced at one another, pale but resolute. Now or never. Do or die. Everything rested on us.");204        cemetery.add("The boughs of the cemetery twist like contorted bones, writhing in a silent scream.  Beneath them lie the cold stones, each marking a dwelling place in which no-one is home. I'm never bothered by the howl of the wind until I must traverse this place, then it's all I can hear.");205        cemetery.add("The cemetery is the shortest way home. From the north gate I can see the lamplight shining on the other side, the welcoming yellow glow that falls on the sidewalk leading home. My eyes scan for movement, but in this wintry darkness all that comes back is the whitened ground and the outline of tombstones almost lost to the night. When the gate opens it is with an announcing creak, a doorbell for this open crypt. Then I don't walk but sprint to the other side neither looking right or left, eyes locked on that lamplight ahead.");206        cemetery.add("To enter the cemetery I must skirt around a  pile of brown frosted leaves, the innumerable flashing fragments shine in the brilliant wintry light, for today there is no weather; no wind, no cloud, just subzero temperatures. Even the leaf stems lie white and sharp. Ahead the path glistens like white quartz, yet ice crystals on weary concrete is all it is. All this beauty over everything dead. And here I am to add to it with a bunch of pink roses in my gloved hand. I pause, my breath rising in visible puffs, then I remember why I came. I need to talk to her and this is the only way. I'm not here for her, not really.  I'm here for me. The proximity to her frigid bones and the gift of flowers will close the gap between us for a moment, and in that brief window of time I will feel her love again.");207        cemetery.add("The cemetery is cool and there is dew on the grass. The other mourners are a little way off yet as we round the top of the hill. My father is to my left and my brother to my right. The air is fresh and, unlike the unloved graves further away, here they are covered in bright blooms. Despite the greenery I don't know what season it is. I don't know because this is a thirty year old memory. I can recall the details of that day better than any birthday or christmas, it's clearer in my mind than even last weekend. I have only but to recall it and I am treading that grass again in my black pants with the white flecks, the ones I didn't feel were black enough. Funerals are funny like that, the height of raw emotion that swells to see your loved one committed to the soil sears the memory into your mind, that one day forever coloured in vibrant hues. In time the cemetery shifts out of daily memories, every few days, then every few weeks, then every few months - but always there to be recalled.");208        cemetery.add("The cemetery should be spooky and fill me with chills, walking amongst the bones of my ancestors. Yet in this mid-morning light under a cloudless sky, the air fragrant with pine-needles, it feels more like the park on a Sunday afternoon. I have time to admire the ivy that creeps over the autumnal ground and pause to read the inscriptions that will soon be stolen by the freeze-thaw of another winter. The ground has a softness that will be gone in just a few weeks more, frozen as hard as the stones it supports. Here, amid the long departed, there is time to contemplate without being disturbed. Few folks walk here for fun and it was filled up decades ago.");209        church.add("For the most part, the forest was my church, for I need to be able to see the heavens, feel the openness, experience the sunlight and let the birdsong be a salve to my mind. It was then my mind was free, then that I felt I was enough. I was one animal walking among many, all of us different yet connected. I guess it simply felt homely in a way that felt right, me quietly giving of my affections and nature giving back, nurturing a part that those stone walls left cold. As I became older, I softened in my feelings toward those steeple spires, toward those bells and windows of many hues. For just as a house needs love to be a home, those walls of rock needed love to be a church. The day I felt that love, the day it flowed as easily as a natural breeze and the light of the son came from the eyes around, it felt right too.");210        church.add("The most important job of the church today is to lobby for plain speech that uses only positive phrasing. Unless that happens, unless we speak what we mean without the use of negations such as \"don't, not and won't\" the free will God gave us is stolen by the advertisers and the politicians. How can we make choices when they use language that instructs our subconscious and conscious minds differently? \"Don't lay down in the dirt and take it\" instructs passivity to the subconscious. \"Stand up for your rights, dream big and make love your priority\" is clear for both levels of the mind, it gives us the free will to choose it if we wish. The former is double-talk, the latter is honest to the meaning, the speaker is being truthful about their intentions. It's time for the church to make sure it is speaking clearly and advocate on behalf of people for their right to plain speech, speech that is clear to both levels of the mind.");211        church.add("The building before me is beautiful, old stone and stained glass, but to me it is nothing but a cage for God. He can't be contained by walls, I don't need a pastor to bring Him to me. He is inside of me, He is in the mountains, the rocks, the rivers. He is in the spirit of all animals, including us. He is the love that made our world, the love that needs us to cling to Him and know we are safe with Him, with Love. The earth is my church and I see it desecrated daily. I am with Him everywhere, all the time. I don't need a clergyman to forgive me, He already did that. So take the empty buildings you call churches and house the poor, take your riches and feed them. You let the devil in the doors long ago with your worship of money, gold, and power, then came your predator priests to hurt His children. God isn't contained in those walls and the First Nations had it right all along, living in peace and Love, harmony with nature and our Creator. \n" +212                "\n" +213                "So I am at church all the time, my family and friends are my church, the sunshine is my church and the first snow of winter is my church. And the deadly sins are the ways in which you will be fooled into destroying the earth, deadly not always in a personal way to you, but to the entire planet, His planet.");214        church.add("If our creator is Love then my church is my family and friends. Church for me can be a shared meal or a good joke that has us all laughing. Church for me is cooking a homely and wholesome meal. Church for me is walking the dog and the mountain top after a fresh layer of pristine snow. Church for me can be inspiring music by diverse artists such as Bob Marley, Sinead O'Conner, Mary Black and Whitney Houston. <br><br>I worship by showing love and compassion, by thinking for myself and embracing the arts and the sciences. I refuse to be a sheep, I don't need a shepherd. I am a lioness, a mama bear. I feel His light within me and it helps me to say \"No\" to things that are wrong or harmful. He gives me to confidence to walk my own path with his Love as my guide.");215        church.add("When we arrive at the old church everything is the opposite of what I expected. Darwin was supposed to be over-awed and I was supposed to be cold and stoic. I should have known better. I'm projecting my feelings onto him again, I thought I'd catch that the next time I did it but I guess I'm not as smart as I like to think I am. Darwin sees old stone walls and decaying benches drenched with rain, plus he's still subdued after the heavy fever. I, on the other hand, see my mother in the front pew with her peach hat and my father in deep discussion with Reverend Green. I can hear the organ music and smell the fresh flowers brought by the fussy old ladies that dust even when there is none. I see the children chasing each other to their parent's exasperation and the delight of the lonely widows. And I feel Him here, I thought He would be gone, that these walls would be deserted. I am haunted in these walls and overwhelmed. It is my turn for tears. Rare for me, but I let them flow.");216        circus.add("The usual dull green hills of early March rose into view. At first Raymond's eyes were downcast, he was thinking of his math test and how he couldn't study because Papa had made him muck out the goat stalls. Then from the corner of his eye he spied something magenta flapping in the wind ahead, he stopped and looked up. It was a flag attached to a tented dome, the dome was striped with the colours reminiscent of the candy shop in the big town over the water. He dropped his satchel on the damp grass and ran full pelt to the brow of the hill for a clear view. In the gentle valley on the other side was a collossal tent attached to that silky dome and gaily painted wooden carts. Each cart said \"Zapinof's Circus!\" on the side and there were people of all shapes and sizes milling around.");217        circus.add("    The circus had been erected on top of the tallest the hill in the district. The tents could be seen from miles around, their vivid yellows, magentas and royal blues advertising a good time to the down trodden peasants and farm workers. On the surrounding streets the performers skipped, jumped and danced while handing out free tickets to see the strong man. The locals were dazzled by the sequinned costumes and elaborate make-up. They were flattered by the attentions of people so beautiful and bright. Then once they made the long trek up scar-face hill, their \"free show\" was over in a flash and the tickets for the big top were announced, at a special \"discount\" of course.\n" +218                "\n");219        circus.add("The clown is too skinny. He wears a striped shirt like he's just broken out of some cartoon jail and his arms are flexible toothpicks. The only thing right about him is his abnormally large hands and feet - great for catching baseballs if he's got the co-ordination. He walks like his legs object to he weight of his feet, like one of his close ancestors was a penguin. Ria starts to snicker and as usual that starts a contagion in the gang - everyone's laughing now. I guess I'll just have to go ahead and hire him, some folks are just naturally funny.\n");220        circus.add("The clown was like a cake that had been sitting in the kitchen for too long, buttercream icing all cracked. It was the heat of the day that did it, hot and dry like a Texas summer. Kara took him ice-water, \"We'll get the party started then, get you in there as soon as possible.\" He bobbed his head, neon coils of hair rocking back and forth, and drank without saying a word. After thirty seconds or so he handed the glass back with more red make-up around the rim than had stayed on his lips.");221        circus.add("The clown washed down some uppers with red bull and pulled on his fat suit. Clowns were jolly and fat, in seconds he became both. His face was already made, once he took his pharmaceutical helpers his hand would not be steady enough to do a good job. The only thing worse than being a clown was being an unemployed clown. His face was flawless porcelain white and his mouth made three times its original size in red. His eyes were lined with back as smoothly as if painted by an artist and on his cheek was a glittered star. He grinned into the mirror and the clown grinned back, already getting high from the drugs. He never usually drank but his new girl had given him some gin so he knocked back a couple. After a time he felt his high decrease, he wasn't so happy anymore. So he took another upper. He looked in the mirror again, no grin. His heart rate accelerated in his chest as if it would explode. He became hot and stumbled out into the wintry air, sweating and giddy....");222        company.add("The amygdala is a button they push, an ancient part of the brain triggered by fear. They scare us with so many things to make us easy to control - yet that also brings aggression, societal problems and reduced creative intelligence. So, if you truly want to drive your own brain, to feel its true power and potential - cut out the media, cut out stuff that scares you and replace it with sport, meditation, serenity. It'll feel odd at first and you might even feel an urge to watch a scary movie to bring the familiar feelings of fear back, but you'll be okay. So, come join the living... have the courage to leave the zombie state...");223        company.add("As the world grew more violent so did the movies, their dark fantasies inoculating the population against the real world violence on the news. They were a dialogue that taught the population that violence was a normal part of life, that there was nothing they could do about it. It kept them docile as the bombs dropped on foreign lands, after all, hadn't they seen this plot before? The only way out was to stop glamourizing the violence and show it as it really is - horrifying, raw, wretched, psychopathic...");224        company.add("...The corporate overlords wanted a submissive population easily directed by subliminal messaging. They littered the online world with directions that spoke only to our subconscious minds to see who followed, those who did were selected for success, those who did not \"failed\" every test. They found that for the most part the STEM students were most ideal, the rest could be low-income job fodder, working every hour to make ends meet with no time to create and think.<br><br>As Einstein pointed out, true intelligence is creativity not knowledge. Those whose conscious minds were more highly connected to their subconscious could create new ideas and story plots as easily as dreaming. Though corporations wanted highly educated workers to make gadgets and luxuries, high levels of creativity were considered dangerous. Those with freer minds were more likely to see new ways forwards that did not involve the elites... new ways to run the world without money and centralized power... creative linguists were likely to be the first to see through the web of words that kept the minds of the population tightly controlled...");225        company.add("The robot took a brain scan and a full set of vitals before she'd even presented her identification. It then compared the biometrics to the account holder of the plastic card before him. No match. With pre-programmed perfection the robot welcomed her in flawless and smooth speech with just the right inflections to put her at ease. At the same time the exit sealed. \"Please tell me your full name.\" The voice scan was compared to the account holder before she finished speaking. No match. The robot offered her a drink and made small talk, gleaning information from her body language with each answer, building it's case against her with legal-language ready to send the document to the court before she realized she was sprung. After a few sips the robot topped up the glass, taking epithelials from the rim. In three seconds she was identified as the account holder's sister. Unemployed, no health insurance, no means of income. Charges were filed as the robot offered sugar biscuits.");226        company.add("By 2280 everything is a commodity. Your pocket psychologist, a legal requirement, listens to all conversations, monitors all internet usage and takes full sets of vitals several times per day. That information plus the content of three daily therapy sessions are relayed to the global peace and security government. After it is digitally assessed for an automated crime prediction it is sold for exorbitant prices to advertising companies, medical providers and for-profit-prisons scouts. A prediction above a fifty percent chance of crime automatically increases your psychologist sessions. Above sixty percent your factory installed home surveillance cameras are secretly activated and monitored from a remote location wherever the labour is cheapest. A prediction above seventy percent means \"bring in for 'questioning,'\" a fact advertised on your social media automatically with a warning associates will be brought in in seven days. Above eighty percent was a life sentence. No trial.");227        countrytown.add("...the two of them walked in silence through the village High Street. They passed the greengrocer with his window full of apples and oranges, and the butcher with his bloody lumps of meat on display and naked chickens hanging up, and the small bank, and the grocery store and the electrical shop, and then they came out at the other side of the village on to the narrow country road where there were no people any more and very few motor cars.");228        countrytown.add("The street winds over the hill like a carelessly discarded belt, grey and cracked with age. On each side the houses are separated by yards large enough to accommodate farm animals, but this is no rural district. The homes are many times larger than even the biggest of families might need, yet in each is mostly parents with one child. To each dwelling there are more sports cars than people and kitchens that cost more than our homes just a block over. But I can ride my bike down here, enjoying the wide avenues, the leafy green trees and the relative safety now that the security guards patrol. There is talk of the residents paying to have the road repaved, they don't want the same repair service as the rest of us, nor the same schools or health service. Our parents are the nurses, the technicians and the fast food servers and they would like us to stay in our ramshackle boxes and never enter their plush neighbourhoods.");229        countrytown.add("From the bow of the boat the harbour comes into focus like a high-definition movie. Above the gulls swoop, crying in that repetitive way they do. The houses are identical in shape and size but no two are the same shade. They are yellow, lilac, blue, red, orange and every shade in between. Each one is not only a house but also a shop run by the folks that live above, selling ice-cream, meat, vegetables or fine leather goods. From the bright yellow lampposts hang the flags of European nations and in the town square there is a market. I can't see the fish from here, but I know from my many visits that they are there. Lying on those tables, silver scales to the sun, is the morning's catch. They are fresher than I can hope for back home, were the food has been frozen and breaded with seasoning and sugar some months before. The air here is fresher than in my dreams back in the city. One day I will come here and never leave. One day.");230        countrytown.add("Under the mist that swirls thicker than hairspray in a beauty pageant prep-room lies sand that shifts under the pressure of my boot. I can't see it, only feel. Out there, only meters away is the ocean, alive with constant motion and millions of sea-dwellers. Beyond this wall of white I can smell and hear it. The waves are neither the gentle kind that roll up the beach like a overflowing bath tub, nor the crashing kind that turn murky with golden swirling crystals. They move with force but die within a few feet. From them comes the salty smell, that fragrance that conjures fishing fleets and nets of sun-bleached blue cord hanging out to dry. This place could be anywhere, I guess at a stretch this could be some kind of artificial simulation, but it isn't. This is my hometown beach and that is the sea I swam in as a small child.  The wind here carries my mother's voice and her sweet kisses. I stand still, face to the breeze and soak it all in. No technology, no gimmicks, just nature...");231        countrytown.add("In the plaza the pigeons outnumber the red paving slabs. Just to walk from the tall terraced houses around the edges with their stores at ground level I must take small steps to avoid kicking them. These birds have no fear of me, I'm more scared they'll foul up the Italian leather shoes I bought only last week at Darcy's. A few minutes later my efforts are rewarded by being able to sit on the edge of the octagonal pool that surrounds the fountain, water spraying many feet into the dry summer air from the lips of a busty mermaid. The droplets arc high before cascading down at the will of gravity. I dig in my satchel for the baguette I plan to eat for lunch and the mass of grey feathers before me gets so dense you can't see the stone underneath. Between the splashing behind and the squawking in front the sound of the city traffic disappears, and that is why I walk here to eat. Here I can admire the brightly painted old buildings and imagine I am back in my home town. Just for a moment.");232        desert.add("The cruel sun beat down, it's one malevolent eye unblinking, and the sky was it's co-conspirator with not even a wisp of cloud to soften the harsh rays. The lizards took shelter in the shadows of the rocks where the sand was not hot enough to roast them, but there was no shade large enough for us. Each step sunk into the searing sand, the air was thick and hazy, each breath like drowning in larva.");233        desert.add("The desert of Israel is covered in rolling hills. Wind stirs up the wispy sand and the sun&rsquo;s never ending rays beat down on you mercilessly. Salty sweat rolls off your nose and stings your eyes. Your clothing is overwhelmingly hot and sticky. The stiff, dry desert breeze blows sand into your eyes and makes your hair stiff with salt. Your tongue feels as if it&rsquo;s coated in fur and your lips are chapped and dry. You long for crystal, cold water.");234        desert.add("The white buildings are rectangular and protrude proudly from the desert sands. You enter the maze of buildings on a chestnut colored horse. Stalls crowd the market place and dark-skinned children play. The Egyptians greet you with dazzling smiles, hoping you will buy their wares. Their stalls are covered with magnificently bright cloth. They sell browned fish, hard bread, shimmering jewels, shining metals, crisp, pristine linen, and juicy figs. A dancer, dressed in a gauzy white tunic, twirls in the streets and the crowd tosses golden coins to her. You hand a golden coin to a merchant, missing a front tooth. He smiles and weighs it on a scale before handing you a honey roll. The roll is pure white and coated in sticky, sweet honey. You take a bite, savoring the fluffy");235        desert.add("The river is a trickle. After so many months of no rain it is barely a stream moving listlessly over the stones it usually disregards in its swift passage to the ocean. There is no wading over it, no swimming, no jumping in, now we can step across it and still have dry feet. The marsh plants on the banks are wilted and weak. The edges of their blade-like leaves are yellowed where they should be green and they hang close to the ground.");236        desert.add("Cracks grew deep in the barren, parched soil like a wizened old face, baked hard, no more hospitable to the delicate seeds than a scorched rock. Should the four horsemen pass this way, the hooves of their magnificent steeds will surely make no impression on the ground. The clatter of the hooves will echo around the desperate landscape like music calling the people to their final rest.");237        fear.add("Gina says she isn't scared but I see her body movements are tighter and her appetite reduced. Her smiles are shorter and silences longer. She finds things to do that don't need doing and ignores the important tasks. So I invite her to the coffee shop, my treat. I need to hear what's going on in her head first hand, perhaps then a solution may appear.");238        fear.add("Darwin's feet don't touch the ground all the way home. They dangle in the cool air as he waves his leaves like flags. Once inside I drop him more roughly than I mean to and go straight to the vault. Payment will be have to made in full once he's in bed. When I return, still ashen faced, he is dancing around scattering fragments of red. He starts to sing. Something inside me just snaps and when I speak my voice bursts through more fiercely than he's ever heard before. \"Fifteen tins and aspirin! Next time the answer is no! No walk! No air! No light!\" and I put the goods on the floor with a bang. I catch my face in one of the convex mirrors, distorted more by fear and anger than the curve. I look back to Darwin. His eyes are flooded with tears and his little legs are going up and down like a wind-up doll. He holds out his hands, leaves forgotten, and says \"Mom.\" At first I think he means that corpse in the subway, but then I realize he means me, and I've scared him more than anyone.");239        fear.add("The adrenaline floods my system like it's on an intravenous drip - right into my blood at full pelt. I think my heart will explode and my eyes are wide, letting in every ounce of the fading light. My body wants to either run fast for the hills or work to find weaponry, but instead I stay right where I am. Sometimes freezing is the best of the choices, and let's face it, there really are only three. I want to quell the hammering in my chest, but there's no way that will happen now. I don't regret it though, coming here to the compound, it was my mission after all. How come all those spies in the movies weren't ever scared? Maybe they were, maybe they were scared all the time, perhaps that's what bravery really is. The compound lights come on, unusual for this time of night. My adrenaline surges so fast I almost vomit, I can taste the saliva thickening my my mouth to a rancid paste. At some point I'll have to move. In the shows I watch there is an earpiece that says, \"Go\" or at least some tactical information, but with the new technology the enemy has developed it's just not an option. All I get is a black jumpsuit and meal ration...");240        fear.add("Color drained from his face, as white as a slice of bread, white as a ghost, white as a sheet, rigid, rooted to the spot, frozen, clammy, cold sweat, shaking, stammering, unable to speak, wide eyed, edging backwards, hands clenched, white knuckles, vomit, faint, adrenaline rush, running, heart in his throat, heart pounding, too scared to comprehend, incapacitated with fear.");241        fear.add("And each night she cried with great exertion. Tear after tear that made no difference, and in the morning carrying a vigorous desire for never giving up she went off heedlessly looking for happiness in the same place she lost it. Oh how stupid she was...\n" +242                "\n" +243                "Unconscious to the abundance of her feelings that subjugated her and drove her crazy. Was she just supposed to seek closure in the ideas that one day before our labours turn to dust the pieces will fall into place, the idea that mosaics are made out of broken pieces and still they come together as a resplendent work of art? And until then laugh hysterically at the confusion it brings?\n" +244                "\n" +245                "Oh how bewildered she looked, so doubtful and quizzical. So reluctant to facing the real facts although she knew one day she would face no choice, for she was trying so hard to stop the vicious, secular things her mind was already turning them into ... She was only beginning to know him and already she was overwhelmed by all she knew.. .\"He tried to open up to me\" she said, \"but I already knew too much.\" So frantic of the deceitfulness of the forthcoming actuality. And each time he parted his lips to speak she said \"I would tremble and shiver, then look at him with pleading eyes. Hoping just hoping not to hear the words that without doubt spill salt into these open wounds of mine\".");246        field.add("Four hectares of thick spring grass, wet under the early morning dew. Ankle-deep, undulating, thick and tangled as a horse's mane.  Steel water trough, lined with green algae, filled with a bucket from the faucet every morning. Wooden fence, post and rail, five bar gate. Beech trees line the fence to the north, overhanging boughs provide dappled shade for the horses in summer, standing flicking flies away with their tails.");247        field.add("Edge of woodland, slopes down gently to bramble filled ditch,ditch overgrown with cow parsley and nettles, bare patches, thick lush dew laden grass, cowslip with it's broad yellow flowers trumpetting the music of spring, Dandelions, Ragwort, scattered clusters of rabbit droppings, hawthorn hedge, five bar gate, brook half chocked with weeds, purple thistle, bumble bee, rutted track, cow pats, clump of figwort.");248        field.add("The dandelion has a boldness that Orin just didn't care for. It was too tall, too yellow and in the wrong damn place. It was his lawn and what on earth did that flower think it was doing there? He wanted green, he'd planned for green and he was going to get perfect, even, uniform green. In two strides he was at the brash flower and he leaned down faster than a clockwork soldier to pluck it. As the stem snapped, juicy and dripping, he cursed himself. Beneath that soil were roots, now he'd have to fetch his shovel and make even more mess in his otherwise manicured lawn.");249        field.add("He was bent low over the grass, the batch of weed-killing poison in one hand and the sprayer in the other. As he watched the drops enter the soil he pondered a radio show, one about how there were less bees. \"Whatever could it be?\" he wondered, \"where have all the bees gone?\" Then he straightened up, and surveyed the perfect green lawn with a smile, \"That'll make the neighbours happy,\" he thought, forgetting the radio show for a moment, \"those pesky daisies, buttercups and dandelions won't have a chance now!\"");250        field.add("It was a battlefield that appeared to be anything but, the players unknowing of their roles and every one of them a double agent. I wish I could have told them all what reality is, how to choose the side that is love and healing... avoiding the chasms that open and the knives that appear in the hand without asking for them. Each sought to be on the right side, convincing themselves that they were. When they did the bidding of the darkness they made up stories to justify their actions rather than face what they had really done. It takes someone strong to feel the sting of the dark-side and remain steadfast in a will to work only for the light - to see the dagger in hand at the exact moment you feel compelled to use it and still be loving and kind, to let the weapon clatter to the floor, soundless, unnoticed. That's what being a warrior for the light requires, an inner strength, a keen eye for noble and good opportunities to bring peace, health and love - a self-control to avoid doing service for the one who harms. That was the war, the one we won, but it was hard every day, turning for the better only when we became players instead of pawns, destined to protect our king.");251        fight.add("In that frozen second between stand off and fighting I see their eyes flick from me to him. Our faces are unreadable, no fear, no invitational smirk. I am banking on them making the mistake I predicted they would years ago in the cool of the old bank, and they do. In that instant they fly at me, ignoring Darwin. I am the one protecting \"my servant,\" he has no reason to defend me. They expect it to be five on one, over in a bloody flash and then they go back to their quarry. Not to kill him, but to have him do their dirty work, he's young and strong after all. But things don't go their way, not at all. In seconds I have taken two and Darwin three. The snow stains darkly with the flow from these good looking corpses, no butchery, just expertly sliced jugulars. I look at Darwin, still impassive, his training holding up despite this being his first kill. There is no pleasure in his face, as I never expected there to be, and tonight there will be tears.");252        fight.add("After the stadium lift reached the ground level, Centurion Lumus stepped out onto the sand and dirt, which was heavily stained with blood of the former Gladiator matches. The audience cheered wildly, even though they had no idea who Lumus was, other than he was a decorated Roman soldier. Lumus fought as a secutores. He wore a shiny, loose fitting helmet. In the center of the ring, he drew his gladius, his double edged sword and raised it skyward as his greeting to the gathered thousands. Next, attention turned to the other lift that opened. A prisoner of war from Gaul stepped off. It was Orandes, a champion retiarius. He was lightly armored, and dragged his fishermanâs net behind him. He smiled, and raised his spear trident to the sky. Wild response arose from the audience. Both men bowed to the emperor. The games-master gave the wave to start, and the retiarius faced the secutores. They circled. The retiarius cast his net quickly, but Lumas side stepped as he backed up. Missed. Lumus stepped on the net, and speeded in toward the exposed opponent. Orandes counted with his trident but Lumas bushed it aside with his sword. Orandes knew the next thrust would be to his chest, so he pushed his armored shoulder toward the oncoming Roman. Lumusâ blade glanced off the metal armor. Orandes dropped his trident, and grabbed Lumusâ throat. Lumus plunged his sword to the bare stomach of his adversary. Orandes spouted blood, and fell in slow motion. Lumusâ scores his first victory in Rome. The emperor even applauded.");253        fight.add("A sudden gush of pain jolted throughout Thorbergâs body. His stomach ached, his arms lost tension and his legs began to weaken. \"He will not get the better of me,\" he thought as he dropped to the ground. His tongue was soaked in the taste of blood. Bruised and winded, with a leg in agony, he grabbed the foot of the captain and pulled him to the ground. His head was pounding. He brought a fist to the captainâs face, snapping his nose into a grotesquerie.");254        fight.add("Their swords gleamed in the cool moon light. Erik knew that only one would walk away from this. His opponent's sword was stained with blood. Erik shuffled to the side and awaited in attack, and, possibly, inevitable death. His opponent charged with a mighty cry. Erik dodged to the side in one fluid move. His enemy swiveled in his direction. His menacing eyes were a blazing red and his dark hood made the rest of his features indistinguishable. His opponent thrust his sword forward, only to be met by Erik's sword. Both sword met in the air with a resounding 'clang'. The man was a master swordsman. Slowly, Erik was tiring. 'If I am to die, I shall fight to the last breath.' With renewed vigor, he slashed his blade back and forth. His wound began bleeding openly.");255        fight.add("Again his agile movement was far too slow. Six pairs of rough hands tried to seize him. Johnny's right shot out. With a little gurgle, an attendant in uniform staggered backward to crumple in the sawdust. A ring-master, leaping like a panther, landed on Johnny's back. Dropping abruptly, Johnny executed a somersault, shook himself free and rose only to butt his head into the stomach of a fat clown.");256        fog.add("The trees are veiled in the lightest of mists, their trunks sombre brown with sable cracks that gnarl the bark. As my eye travels to the edge of the woodland they become silhouettes against a blanket of white, as if it is only daylight where I stand, as if I am encircled by twilight.");257        fog.add("A vast blanket of white hung heavy over the hills. It suffocated every building and every tree at their base, swallowing every distant object and vanishing around every corner. It crept round St. John's church, its silent footsteps tiptoeing around each gravestone in the churchyard, passing by Jane Thomson, Rupert Nicholson and many others, before finally coming to rest at the foot of a freshly covered grave. Scott stood in the still silence of the churchyard, his only comfort being that of the cold white blanket that hugged his shoulders and grabbed at his trouser legs.");258        fog.add("It swooped in and skirted around the buildings and the trees, like a giant eraser moving indiscriminately to eradicate what was once there into something that's not. Jeanne stood in a pocket of it, but it only seemed like a pocket to her. She knew that she too was swallowed, erased, eradicated by this enveloping whiteness. It hurt her eyes, it was so white. Staring at it made her feel like she was staring at herself staring at nothing. Her mind fought hard to drum up a thousand different description to plaster across it. But there was nothing that could truly describe nothing. Each thought she had seemed loud and exposed, just like every movement she made in the silence that wrapped like the fog around her. Maybe the fog was somehow in her, just as she was in it.");259        fog.add("The freezing fog wrapped around her like a blanket, the everyday familiar sights of the street lay mysterious, hiding, looming out at her in their whitened haze at the last minute like images from some half forgotten dream. She held out her hand in front of her and watched it become partially obscured. She imagined herself chanting spells, conjuring the mist like a deranged witch drunk on her own powers, cackling, eyes twinkling.");260        fog.add("The early morning fog loomed as far as he could see, it was almost tangible, shrouding everything in a thick white veil,  the light barely managing  to penetrate the haze. The sounds of birdsong and motors that should have been filling the air around him all seemed to have disappeared, even his footsteps had been swallowed by the greedy beast.");261        forest.add("It is to the forest I go for rest, for serenity that flows as cool river waters. There is something about the sparkle upon the blue, a melody without a rhythm, music without sound. Above wave the great arms, clothed in the greens of every palate and none, the verdant hues of nature's free dreams. In that place I become a part of that art, of that three dimensional creation of time and space, of a greater evolutionary span than my brain can fathom. It's when I stop knowing and begin feeling, it's when I hear with my heart the voices of these mighty trees, \"Sister, welcome.\"");262        forest.add("Upon the forest floor lie trees of yesteryear, fallen in storms long forgotten. The seasons have been harsh, stripping away the bark and outer layers, yet rendering them all the more beautiful. They have the appearance of driftwood, twisting in patterns that remind Sarah of seaside waves; even the colour of the moss is kelp-like. They are soft, damp, yet her fingers come away dry. Sarah tilts her head upward, feeling her hair tumble further down her back; the pines are several houses tall, reaching toward the golden rays of spring. Birdsong comes in lulls and bursts, the silence and the singing working together as well as any improvised melody.  A new smile paints itself upon her freckled face, rose-pink lips semi-illuminated by the dappled light. Before she knows it her feet have begun to walk, body and mind both on autopilot - it's morning-time and no-one expects her home until supper.");263        forest.add("When the day is growing old and the hearth calls, the sun sinks down beneath the tops of the pines. The light streaks through the boughs in both brilliant and shadowy beams. In the summertime they were white gold, illuminating the greens into virescent riots; yet the gift of those warm days has passed for the season. On these wintry days the fogs cast those same beams of light into sepia tones and the woodland becomes the most beautiful of photographs. The trunks of fallen trees bare icicles longer than my hand, no two of them the same - more enchanting than any work of man. Every twig and blade of grass grows winter \"leaves\" of ice crystals, frost deeper than the fleece in my gloves. And never is the woodland silent, though it is quieter than any city street for sure. There are the birds above, calling, pecking for grubs. There is movement of mammals, mostly small, sometimes not. There is is the water that flows quietly until it meets the sharp rocky scree slopes and forms the waterfalls I love so much.");264        forest.add("The forest that was once so alive now chills me. In this thirty degree heat I'm actually shaking. The trees that sheltered so many with their spreading canopy of green and provided so much are now lifeless sticks of charcoal, no more vibrant than the old lamp-posts in the city. The unfettered light illuminates the scorched ground and still that smell of burning lingers despite the rain. They couldn't beat us in court so they brought cheap petrol and a five cent matchbook. Who will stand in the way of their progress now? If I were to close my eyes I would still see the virescent mosaic above, feel the humid air and hear the sounds of the frogs. But I won't, I can't. This reality was cruel enough the first time when we stood mute before the flames, I don't think I could survive that again.");265        forest.add("The forest is the orchestra of my mind, playing one enchanting symphony after another. Her leaves dance to an unheard beat, whispering their songs to the wind. In here, sheltered by the mighty trees, is every kind of life, from the humble beetle to enchanting birds of every colour. I hold my hands up to feel the cascading light, a brilliant white shaft illuminating the path that takes me onward and home.");266        garden.add("The sun was brighter than it had been in months; winter was over. So, Sara did what she always did on sunny days. She went for a walk, her feet treading across the dirt and stones, her eyes wandering from bush to bush, tree to tree. The breeze was a gentle whisper in her ears. She paused, smiling, as a blackbird flew across the path, spending the day as she was, moving through her favourite place in the world.");267        garden.add("The garden was always a shade brighter in the rain. It was as if the gift of the skies wasn't water, but liquid magic, washing our world to show what was there all along, nature in her in humble brilliance. The buttercups became gold, the grass the shade of every dreamers meadow, roots quenched, soil renewed. And after the patter of the rain came bursts of birdsong, their hearts rejoicing the occasion of the rain.");268        garden.add("The gardener and garden are as children playing rough, each smiling as they push back on one another. The role of the person is to bring the balance they need, the role of nature is to assert herself as she cradles the life that dwells within. I always saw Pearl as a gentle gardener, one who joined hands with the greenery to cradle nature too. She left the top fruit for the birds, that which fell to the floor for creatures of fur and paw. There were the wild parts, the tame parts, chaos and order in one beautiful system.");269        garden.add("It was described as a formal garden.  The bonsai trees lined the perfect lawn in their wooden boxes. In the centre there was a pond as large as a small lake with flowering lily pads and a wooden bridge that crossed the middle so you could look down at the koi carp. The flower beds were a riot of May colour and even on close inspection they were weed-free.");270        garden.add("There was a gate of rough wood was as big as a cow and ivy cascaded over the fence, growing tendrils in every direction. The stone path was punctuated with weeds after every stone. The dishevelled, un-manicured lawn was more moss than grass and was over shadowed by huge weeping willow flowing down onto the dank and squishy ground.  Clusters of defiant daffodils reared their golden heads amidst the gloom and there were smatters of fuchsia along side the scarlet and saffron hued primroses.");271        gunshot.add("The gun was perfect for despatching Krill for good, small, discreet, deadly. At first the metal was cold in Sal's hand, icy perhaps, yet after just one block with his hand wrapped around it the metal was ambient, feeling more like a part of himself than a tool of death.");272        gunshot.add("He had customized it to suit his needs. The stock was laminated wood with water resistant adhesive, making it stronger and less likely to warp. The trigger mechanism had been taken apart an polished for a smoother release. Even the bullet he was using had been specially prepared. Manufactured by Eley, it was forty grains in weight and readily available on the open market. But he had carefully drilled a small hole in the head. The shock of air as the bullet hit it's target would cause as much damage as the bullet itself. The rifle would relaod itself as fast as he could fire it, but he would only need a single shot.");273        gunshot.add("He focused his attention on the gun that he was holding, a self-loading Ruger point 22 model K10/22PPF. It was a low-velocity weapon, less deadly than some he might have chosen. But the gun had two huge advantages. It was light. And it was very compact. By removing just two screws he had been able to separate the barrel and the trigger mechanism from the stock. The stock itself folded in two. He had been able to carry the whole thing accross London in an ordinary sports bag...He sqaured his eye against the Leupold 14x50mm Side Focus scope, adjusting the crosshairs against the door through which the boy would pass. He loved the feel of the gun in his hands, the snug fit, the perfect balance. He had had it customized to suit his needs...");274        gunshot.add("The morning had more than a bite of frost and the air made Sarah's lungs feel chilled just to breath it in. Luke was digging into the freshly fallen leaves, having dragged out his fathers rake out of the garage. How he stumbled with it. Sarah stifled a laugh. That old fork must be heavier than him. He paused for a moment and bent low, examining the ground in front of him like he'd found some marvellous bug. In that suspended moment Sarah's heart stopped beating, the strong early light shining strongly from the steel barrel of the revolver. His face split a grin as he held it like all the cops do on the TV shows, \"Finders keepers, mama!\"");275        gunshot.add("    Jerome leaned into his wireless a little closer, there was another genocide brewing in Eastern Europe. His insides tightened and he felt his anxiety flare. He had to do something, something big. Otherwise they'd be using someone else's guns and bullets. Profit down the drain. He buried his left fist into his right palm and twisted it around, wracking his mind for the right contact, someone to broker the deal. He picked up his phone and dialled Gregor. He was on the wrong side of the planet for this deal but he knew people who knew people. He was always a good place to start.\n" +276                "\n");277        gym.add("All smiles and pom-poms, right? All fluff and pretty outfits? Think again. It's gymnastics without the safety precautions. No mats, no nets, no room for error. Topple from that pyramid of girls and you'll get your pretty little face smashed in for you. Do I want to cheerlead? Do I want to be one of those popular girls? Hell yeah! But I like my face the way it is thanks. Pass me my coke, I'm gonna sit on the bleachers.") ;278        gym.add("Downstairs the pool hall looked exactly like it had the first night i'd come. Cinder-block walls painted black. Red felt pool tables at the center of the rooms. Poker table scattered around the fringe. Low track lighting curving across the ceiling. The congested smell of cigar smoke clogging the air.") ;279        gym.add("I never dreamt of powerful professions, only a way to build a life full of love. I never a pursued status other than to be the soulmate of a loving partner and mother to my children. I know that is in part because of my fractured upbringing, that I sought what I didn't have and desperately needed. I respect others who harbour other ambitions, yet I resist the notion that their ambitions are greater than mine. How can there be a greater ambition than finding love, understanding love and helping to create a world with more love and happiness? We need good technological solutions to technological issues, but for a great society we need to know what heals us and makes us well. I had secondary ambitions of course, and now that I have the love I need I'm working on those too.") ;280        gym.add("As a boy, all I wanted to do was to fly around space exploring new worlds. There's a part of me that still wants that adventure and know more about what's out there. But as I grew I realized the price tag that came with that life wasn't measured in dollars and cents. I'd never see my parents again, never be there if they needed me. I wouldn't have a wife and children; I'd never see Earth again. I guess that's part of growing up, understanding the finite nature of every life and with every opportunity you take there are so many others you cannot. If humanity ever conquers mortality I would go, knowing that whomever I left behind I'd see again in the future. Now all I want is a decent job that gives me enough to live on and time off for fun with family and friends. I want the kind of work life balance that has eluded my family for generations.") ;281        gym.add("The mountain lay in the distance like a ridiculous green camel hump or perhaps the nose of a slumbering giant turned to rock. Martha held out her hands to make a &ldquo;picture frame.&rdquo; It fitted right in, a perfect photograph; from here it even looked two dimensional. She wondered if the air was thin at the top, if it was the kind of peak you had to take an oxygen tank to like some crazy backwards diver. She imagined herself all grown-up, dressed like a professional climber, one of a team. She'd have the spiked shoes and the pick-axe, a woollen hat and sporty lycra clothes under a fur-trimmed Gortex jacket in dusky pink. It was going to be such fun. But the car turned off on the road to Grandmas, the only adventure today would be apple pie with her firm-to-bite pastry.") ;282        happy.add("The greatest thing about me, my emotional warmth, isn't a flaw... it's a floor. It's the bedrock of who I am, of the person I was born to be. I'm soft, I'm vulnerable, I wear my heart for all to see... and it takes strength to do that... so, I'm a hero; I'm a champion of those who love as I do.");283        happy.add("There is a danger in sealing up us emotional types - in the shortness of temper that comes when we cry. There is a cruelty to taking our emotions as a type of rudeness, something \"well mannered folks would hide\". There is a cost in burying such pain in our bones rather than expressing it freely, one that brings on a loneliness of the soul. Yet with understanding and patience comes healing, a return to real joy, true happiness born in soulful connections. It is then we emotional types become a blessing to others, creating empathic connections with ease, becoming healers and helpers. For that is our purpose, to see what others do not because we feel so deeply. So be our heroes, help us to survive this cold world, and we will become your rescuers - shining true warmth into every heart, breathing peace and compassion into this ailing world.");284        happy.add("For so long I thought you made me feel a certain way; if I was sad, or lonely, or frustrated, I became angry with you. But why you? Why not someone else? I guess it's because you are the one I love the most, the one I feel most loved by. Was I angry you couldn't kiss away my pain? That you were't able to heal me with just words and kind eyes? Maybe. \n" +285                "\n" +286                "It isn't right though; I want to treat you the way you deserve... with the same love and patience you showed me. So I am learning how to walk with stronger legs, feet in boots of iron. My emotions still come in brutal waves, pain felt in full measure, yet I know they are only within my own mind. I have learned to keep on walking regardless, act like they aren't even there... and soon they aren't. Then I come back to you with a smile and see that you are just the same as before, constant and gentle. Please know I'm healing, gaining control, finding my stable core, learning to love who I am... driving these deep emotions into my passion for life, for helping others, for loving you. You have been my anchor, perhaps next I will be yours, yet one day we will simply be birds on eternal summer winds.");287        happy.add("Baby, let the tears flow. In those salty trickles is who you are - one who feels. You aren't cold like a machine who runs on logic alone, who wants only what it is sensible for themselves. You have emotions so divine I want to scoop you up in my arms and keep you safe for all time. In a world of hurt it is human to cry, yet always let the joy in whenever you can. There is love here too, so much love. So let me see those eyes that swim with tears, for they shine with life and the knowledge of who you truly are.");288        happy.add("Crying is how I understand myself best. When I cry I know who I really am. I cry when others hurt as well as myself. I cry at the brutal world news and stupid soft movies. It's my strength and my weakness. Strong because it brings understanding and weak because who wants the listener to weep when they are looking for a strong shoulder? I wish I could turn my tears off, I do. Or perhaps just save it until I'm alone, but I'm not wired like that. My emotions swirl like ocean currents, deep and strong. Sometimes I'm scared to dive in incase I don't make it out again, but I can't be anyone else, I don't suppose any of us can.");289        hospital.add("The hospital corridor is stuffy and the air has an undertone of bleach. The walls are magnolia and are scraped in places from the hundreds of trolleys that have bumped into them. The pictures on the walls are cheap benign prints of uplifting scenes and above the double doors are large blue plastic signs with the areas of the hospital that lie ahead.") ;290        hospital.add("The hospital was little more than a large house on a hill, indeed that is what it had been before the war. But when they had pushed the enemy back beyond their own boarders they had seized this mansion for their own use and flown in the medical staff and supplies they required. Now the generous sized bedrooms and the lounge areas became wards, only the dinning room and kitchens retained their original purpose.") ;291        hospital.add("On the private ward the atmosphere was completely different. The air had a perfumed scent and the seats were plush. Every surface was dustless. The nurses were unhurried and they moved with a serene purposefulness from room to room on their rounds. There were vases of flowers and beautiful framed pieces of art on the walls. In the corridor was a water dispenser and in most rooms could be heard the noise of a television.") ;292        hospital.add("Alex lay in the curtained cubical examining the polystyrene tiled ceiling. There was nothing else to look at. He could hear moans from an adjacent bed and that at least made him glad for the curtains, it meant he didn't have to engage with whoever it was, to show any sympathy he didn't feel.") ;293        hospital.add("Rosie had been fighting hard against being put in an old folks home, but she had broken her pelvis slipping of a dryer sheet. She had always perceived hospitals as beneficent places of caring and compassion, places to recover and be doted upon by dedicated professionals. And to some extent that had occurred. There were medical staff who never wavered in their genuine concern, who despite a lack of resources never faltered in their humanity. Then there were the disaffected who turned up only to get their pay-check. Today her nurse was a pay-checker. Instead of the dignified bed bath she'd had the day before, only uncovering a small amount of her skin at a time, the harried nurse exposed her entirely. She stared at the ceiling too mortified to speak, not daring to glance at the curtains to check for gaps. When she was re-dressed in a clean gown the nurse pulled back the curtain and announced that her breakfast had arrived, but Rosie had lost her appetite. She just wanted to go home.") ;294        industry.add("What is a butterfly worth? Or a thousand butterflies dancing in the summertime? What is the worth of one tree, or a forest, or the life that dwells within? What is the worth of a child's laughter? What do we owe another for unconditional love? Do we comprehend the difference between priceless and worthless? Or do we place this concept of trading possessions on the same plane as the value of all creation? Can we pull them apart in our brains and see that one is a negotiation of goods and the other is the good?");295        industry.add("Money is a manifestation of power; power is a manifestation of fear; so we cannot be free of fear while we have money.  In our fear, we are destroying our planet. What are we afraid of? Mostly, we fear destroying our planet. This is our insanity. I believe that a slow demonetization of the globe, while keeping our vital industries strong, ethical and environmentally conscious, is the way to a sane and peaceful Earth.");296        industry.add("\"Captain Kirk never checked his bank balance or moaned about 'over time,' he lived for the mission. Know what your mission is, Cassandra, and you will always have purpose. Money doesn't matter and it never did.\"");297        industry.add("The money in that wasteland was ice. The desert heat stole into every dwelling and left no sanctuary. Every tree had been sold, every piece of flora coveted and claimed. The ice cost an arm and a leg, a heart if there was one to be found, yet it melted, evaporated, leaving the hoarder with empty pockets and a mouth more dry than the wind blown sand.");298        industry.add("So why so much talk about Kitty? Why all this? Well, anyone not awakened is a \"sleeper\" a \"modern zombie\" and they all choose money over life, every day. When money is worth more than life we build factories that pollute the planet so that a few people can be billionaires. We buy factory farmed meat instead of eating mostly plants and having ethical meat less often.  As nations we hoard food while other nations starve - just because they can't pay for it we'll let it rot. It leads to the factory farming animals as sacred as our beloved pets. It leads to big pharma demanding hundreds of dollars for a vaccine that cost them two dollars to make, holding us all to ransom so that they can line the pockets of their share holders. It leads banks to gather billions of dollars and use their influences to get richer at the expense of both developing countries and the average citizen struggling to make ends meet. And if you think you don&rsquo;t have what it takes to save Kitty, I&rsquo;m going to introduce you to someone who knows you better than that. But you'll have to be quiet, they're quite shy.");299        jail.add("I had thought my jail cell as real for so long that I never even checked to see if the walls were solid. I heard screams from other cells and they paralyzed me from even pushing on the door. Then one spring day when the brilliant light of dawn shone in, I stood and put my hand on the bars. With a prayer I pushed with all my might and a after a brief flash of pain the prison cell itself was left behind me on a hill. From the outside it was tiny, pathetic. After so long crouched in the dark I stood up and let the light warm my skin, my black hair flowing in a heavenly wind. Upon the walls written in stone were the words \"fear\" and \"guilt.\" I threw my head toward the sky with relief, all I had to do was conquer those bullies all along, conquer them and be free.");300        jail.add("Dark, empty, cold, the room stood silently at the end of the corridor. The fluorescent lights flickered as the walls screamed out in pain, the lifeless shadowed figures curled up in the corners of their cells, whispering their demented secrets. He carelessly dragged his feet across the floor, the baggy t-shirt pierced with holes, stained with blood hung from his scrawny figure. The guard removed his handcuffs and his skeletal fingers clutched the cell bars trying to resist entering his new life. He screeched, rattling the bars, throwing himself around, shouting about the conspiracy and he began kicking and throwing punches at the guards. The tackled him to the ground; restrained him and threw him into the cell, slamming the gated door.");301        jail.add("In this jail cell I only know when it is daylight by the slim shaft of light that penetrates the air vent on top. I wish to God it was a little bigger, I'm so skinny now I could fit into a regular vent, but this one is meanly proportioned. Perhaps someone did make it out one day, I'd like to think so. The only other way out is the door, thick oak, new and strong. It's out of place against the metal walls, but that's common now. As the technology of yesteryear decays it is replaced by the methods of centuries earlier. Once this prison was a rehab centre, a place where psychiatrists probed the minds of the deviants. Now it's just a place to rot. Whatever your &ldquo;crime&rdquo; there is only one sentence- life imprisonment without possibility of parole. Rumour has it that once your relatives stop visiting they take you out back for a shallow grave. They're not cruel though, if you dig it yourself they kill you fast; otherwise they won't waste a bullet on you.");302        jail.add("The jail cell is the least of my concerns. It's grey walls do not hit me or steal my rations; the lumpy bed does not sing the same one line of a half-forgotten song over and over until I loose the last threads of sanity I was clinging to. The ceiling drips but it doesn't whisper in my ears of the beating it plans to give me in the cold showers. My biggest problem here, other than being trapped, is the ape they have caged me with. He passes his days by dreaming up new ways to make my life unpleasant, apparently he has no use for a friend, I doubt he's ever had one. The most relief I get, other than when he snores in th top bunk, is when he uses me like a dumbbell to keep his muscles strong. Were it not for my daily use as his dead weight I'd be buried in the yard by now. The jailers don't care if we live or die in here, only that we don't escape.");303        jail.add("There is something disturbing about this concrete box I'm in. It has been engineered with absolute precision. The corners are sharp and straight, the window a perfect square with evenly spaced bars. Someone designed this jail cell, they sat in a clean office under the glow of the natural sunrays and used their God given talents to create something so soulless as to constitute additional punishment. Apparently taking our liberty is not enough, keeping us from those we love is not enough, seizing our property to pay for our upkeep here in the &ldquo;maze&rdquo; is not enough. This place is designed to take so much more than that. By the time a person has done even half their minimum sentence here they rarely recall their name and have lost most of their vocabulary. For the most part their sanity is shot, they swing between crying for the mothers and battling invisible demons. Rumour has it that if a prisoner doesn't deteriorate fast enough they get an injection to start the hallucinations...");304        kitchen.add("sleek, professionally designed, bespoke, granite counters, stainless steel appliances, spotless, scrubbed, well equipped, utensils on hooks, matching cups, uncluttered, clean folded tea towel, gentle swish from the dishwasher, efficient hum of refrigerator, professional knife block, dried flowers hung from beams, nothing superfluous, minimalistic, uncluttered, ceramic floor tiles, underfloor heating");305        kitchen.add("tea stained counters, shabby, dirt encrusted, grease splattered back splash, grubby, functional, ill-equipped, inadequate, decrepitude, noisy hum of refrigerator, dirty tea towel, tea stained mugs, chipped mugs, cracked mugs, odd assortment of cups, crumpled tea towel, dirty enamel mug, slimy draining board, unrinsed dishes, curling linoleum, ancient stove, grime between cooker and cupboards, last years calendar askew on a nail, wobbly three legged table");306        kitchen.add("The aga stood like a great iron brick warming the kitchen. It devoured wood all day long but it kept the room toasty warm. On winter days we would flock to the kitchen table just to be near it and talk for hours about nothing at all.");307        kitchen.add("The aga sat in the kitchen like a well worn loved one. It had peeling paint and perhaps more food splatters than we'd like to admit to, but it was solid and dependable. Something about it just made that kitchen the place to be, maybe it was something to do with the fact that it kept it warm in the cooler seasons. I don't live in the country anymore, I'm not on a farm with wood to feed the flames, but I hanker after that aga.");308        kitchen.add("Squat to the wall, between the larder and the banged up dining table sat the aga. It was more metal than the old pick up outiside, not by size but by sheer density. The walls were thicker than any tank and I'd hate to be around the day they decide to throw it out. The outside, years ago, was a gentle pea green and it sat on the wooden floor like it had just tumbled from the pages of a fancy magazine. Now the feet sit in their own little pits, and the paint creeps over the metal like a capricious vine as if it never had full coverage in the first place. Inside burns the fire that heats the cottage for most of the year, only in the dead of winter do we need to stock the hearth. Jacob jokes that one day the cottage will fall down and all that will be left is the aga. Sometimes I think he's right.");309        library.add("Dust collected everywhere as far as the could see, spider webs wove loosely around books, dirtied shelves, and stands, Busted lamps hung fro weathers, braided wires that were embedded into to cracked ceiling. The ground was littered with dirt, glass, books, and torn paper. The crevices in the wall allowed small amounts light to filter inside along with thin ropes of ivy. Dust floated lazily in the air causing them a difficult time breathing, and every step put more of it in to the air. All that was heard were the faint chirps of birds outside, the scurrying feet of invisible rodents, and the rustling of papers catching the draft.");310        library.add("The library was redbrick, Victorian, sitting self-importantly at the top of a hill. Alex pushed open the heavy swing door and went into a room with a tiled chessboard floor and abour fifty shelves fanning out from a central reception area. Six or seven people were sitting at tables, working. A man in a thickly knitted sweater was reading Fisherman's Week.");311        library.add("Row after row of neatly lined up books with their spines facing outward, colour coded with dots, fiction section arranged in alphabetical order, young adults section, children's section with low shelves and floor cushions, comfortable leather arm chairs, tables for quiet study, muffled stillness, librarian at help desk, hushed atmosphere punctured by the occasional child's laugh, coarse cheap carpet on the floor, computers for doing book searches, computers for surfing the web, children scamper about, people with laptops, tutors and students, posters for book club on the wall, toddlers singing and story group, wall of magazines, shelves of CD's and movies, washrooms, busy car park.");312        library.add("The bookcase was ornate, as if carved by a person with a profound love of literature. The engravings were of leaves, of autumn berries and birds on the wing - so sublime as to invite the fingers to take it in just as much as the eyes.");313        library.add("The architecture of the place was no more apparent than in the bookcase. The stairs had been build first, arcing like the end of a cat's tail before ascending the first floor. The bookcase had come next, built up by the wall, each shelf starting right next to the stair. It was as if the place was designed one feature at a time, each idea feeding off the last.");314        livingroom.add("So saying, the little, odd officer switched on the lights of the long salon. It was a handsome room in the Italian mode of the Empire period--beautiful old faded tapestry panels--reddish--and some ormolu furniture--and other things mixed in--rather conglomerate, but pleasing, all the more pleasing. It was big, not too empty, and seemed to belong to human life, not to show and shut-upedness. The host was happy showing it.");315        livingroom.add("The room is like a perfect magazine cover. I'm afraid to sit in case I wrinkle the fabric or stain it with something I don't even know is on my pants. The couch is cream but inlaid with a fine green silk; leaves embroidered so delicately that they might have landed there in spring and just sunk in, but I know they took hundreds of hours to sew. The white curtains are linen, the kind of white that is untouched by hands and devoid of dust. A cursory look to the right shows me the almost hidden cords that are used to open and close them. There is no television, no bookshelf, no dining table, only the chairs arranged around the bespoke fireplace which leaps with a gas flame. The photographs are black and white, not casual family snaps, but arranged to look like such by a professional. Any one of them wouldn't look out of place in a spread of Hello. The floor is a high polished wood, dark and free of either dust or clutter.");316        livingroom.add("I've never seen a room with so much furniture and so many hues I'd never choose, nor a room I love so much. I've dedicated my purchases to clean lines, simple and mostly white; but these walls are all burnt orange and reds. The furniture is rustic and dark, sprinkled liberally with vibrant cushions. There is a table in easy reach of every seat and the walls are more photographs than paint. Every one is of a happy memory, a smiling child, a birthday, a new baby. There is lively Columbian music in the background and the scent of cilantro in the air. I want to sink into the couch and never move. It isn't just a house, it's a home; she's made it that way.");317        livingroom.add("When I finish decorating it's almost like my mother is back in the room. These are almost her colours, the ones she painted when I was a girl. The walls are cream, but not like the stuff I pour in my coffee, there is a hue of beach sand there. The floor is a dark walnut, just like she had, but not the laminate that was installed to withstand the abuse that children and dogs dish out. It's real wood now, and I know she would have liked that. But unlike her my accents are green, not blue. Mom grew up in a seaside town, but moved inland, so she missed the ocean. My colours are the forest canopy and the gnarled bark of the trunks. Instead of her rolled blinds at the windows I hang rich velvet curtains that remind me of moss. It's odd being here without her. I always felt like this was my home but now it is only my home, not hers. In time these walls will have new pictures, photographs of the family I will build, but there'll always be a spot for her on the wall or mantle. Mom belongs here.");318        livingroom.add("The room gives away his bachelorhood. Everything is functional. The mantle is where he puts his keys and garage door opener. On the coffee table is a wrench set and a new set of wheels for a longboard. Under the small eating table is a pack of beer. I'm guessing that the fridge-freezer holds meals for one and he has more clothes in his laundry basket than in his closet. He's not hopeless though, he clearly knows one end of a vacuum cleaner from the other. He's got modern looking prints of the wall and a small photo of his folks on a side table. He's never decorated, that's for sure, but then who paints a rental place? I know I don't. He turns, smiling shyly, not a look I've seen on his face before. I can't help but smile back, he just told me all I need to know. He doesn't bring people back here often, perhaps he's a keeper after all.");319        love.add("I love you like you're the last of my kind. It is as if you speak the same language as I, yet no other is able. To be around you is like finally not being alone  - as if all my life I've been isolated, in a windowless room, in a doorless room... and then suddenly you walk in as if strolling over a summer meadow. How is that you are so much more than sunshine? How is it you breathe life when no other can? Why is it you are my medicine? Who could love me more than you? So, my love, know this - while I breathe I am yours in mind, body and soul.");320        love.add("Love is the answer to world problems because it reduces cortisol, the stress hormone, which alters brain architecture for the better. <br><br>Lower stress and fear is the answer to world problems because it heals the brain to a better architecture and enhances the ability for love and nurture. <br><br>Creating conditions for the healing of the brain is the answer to world problems because healed people soothe others, reducing cortisol and spread more love.<br><br>Start in faith, science or humanity - the answer stays the same.");321        love.add("I believe that each of us deserve a chance at love. And I know it sound silly that there&rsquo;s someone out there for everyone but I believe in love. Now I know some say there&rsquo;s no such thing as true love, that it all ends in heartbreak and pain, but I think that&rsquo;s the beauty of it. To have something so perfect for such a short while, and then for it to disappear into nothing. It&rsquo;s an endless loop, never ending, always on the move. You never know where it will take you. That's the thing about love, it's so beautiful and mysterious and magical. I believe we all deserve a chance at love, because we all deserve something magical. And for me, my magic started at a simple coffee shop down the road from school...");322        love.add("\"If you personify love even in times of trouble, of hardship or war, then you are truly one of the mighty. I see how no matter the stresses laid upon you, that you show more grace than many do in times of plenty. It is in those moments of pain and fear I see right to your soul and know that my faith in you, my love for you, is eternal.You are brave, kind, always giving of yourself. I want you to know that I will be the same for you; I will be your mirror, bring you what you give others - true love, the lasting kind.\"");323        love.add("Love, I'm not perfect, but I'd follow you into hell if that's what it took to keep you safe. I am your protector as you are mine, one to shield the other. After keeping children safe, as all adults must, not a single soul comes before you. So I'll stay with you as you stay with me, trust in you as you trust in me, and together we'll ride through every storm, waiting to see what the new dawn may bring.");324        meadow.add("The path Mila had taken through the meadow was as visible as any trail in a fresh snowfall. The tall grasses, inflexible in their dryness were flattened from the far hedgerow to the canopy of woodland leaves where she now stood drinking in the shade. She marvelled at her path, so ragged and bent, not at all the straight line she had imagined herself walking. The wild flowers were a cacophony of colour on the fading green; purple thistles, blue cornflowers, red poppies and tall asters with their yellow centres. There was no coordination like the displays in town, just a free-for-all choreographed by the wind.") ;325        meadow.add("The meadow was a glorious expanse of grass and meadow flowers, grass rustling gently in the breeze. There was a narrow brook flowing through it choked with weeds. Tall water-mint with pale lilac flowers, like dozens of tiny bells were growing at the edge of the brook.") ;326        meadow.add("There was a shallow ditch at edge of the meadow. The grass was thick and lush grass, growing in dense tussocks. The oak tree provided sun-flecked shade, a cool and refreshing respite from the mid-summer sun.  The white umbrellas of cow parsley were becoming brown. The rutted track, once boggy   was mud hardened and cracked. The meadow lay peaceful in the thickening light of late afternoon.") ;327        meadow.add("I woke up in a grassy meadow dotted by petite, fragrant daisies. Their sunshiny centers grinned at me while a soft breeze ruffled the white petals. In awe, I turned around and saw little pink butterflies lazily flitting around the lush grass and dipping their tiny feet into a clear, bubbling brook. The sky was a deep blue and an occasional cloud would bounce across the heavens like a dancing sheep. With a sigh, I wistfully stared upwards as the sun basked my face in its yellow rays of glory.") ;328        meadow.add("The meadow was  a riot of colour. The burnt orange Butterflyweed stood tall amongst the grasses and the prairie Black-eyed Susans appeared to reflect the brilliant yellow of the sun herself. The Prairie Blazingstar stood like tall purple bushy cat-tails. Near the edges of the lazy river grew the blue-violet Wild Irises, tall and proud. It was a place I could go with my sketching pad and draw until the light drained from the sky.") ;329        mine.add("I remember my first day down in this hell hole. I was just like him, a terrified kid who had to grow up too fast. My lungs burned from the dust, my muscles ached, and when I finally emerged from the black pit I could hardly recognize myself. I could taste nothing but coal for weeks. Now my lungs have gotten used to the air down here and my muscles have becomes accustomed to this type of work.");330        mine.add("I watched my brother bow his head to the blackened ground and draw a cross over his chest. It was his first day at the mines and only a week after our dear father was lost in an accident. Now Bernard had to take over as the bread-winner and this was the only industry for miles around. He stepped into the blackness and was swallowed instantly, only the dim light he held kept me from thinking he'd vanished. Then before i knew it my feet were pounding over the coal dust and into the shaft after him. The cold dirty air invaded my lungs and stung my eyes. Underfoot was rough, I tripped and called out, my childish voice echoing off the walls. Then he was there, pulling me to my feet and then up into his arms, carrying me back toward the blinding light at the end.");331        mine.add("In the old abandoned mine there is nothing but an echo and stagnation. There is no light, no movement of air, no warmth. Cleo holds out her hand like a child foolishly expecting affection. She jumps, not expecting her nails to scrape the walls, her claustrophobia folding in her like the lid of a box.");332        mine.add("In the mine the blackness is a friend, taking away the stimulation of the world. There are no colours to inspire memories of yesteryear, not the feeling of rain or the hope of a spring morning. Perhaps that is why I come here, just like a child hiding under the blankets. I am buried and the world carries on regardless.");333        mine.add("Old walls are usually covered in moss and ivy around here, but not in the old abandoned mine. No light means no plants. Instead the old brick is just damp and crumbly. I never used to dare go in there, but when I figured out that no-one else did either, it became a place to hide. Once you got over the echoing of your own footsteps and the tonnes of soil pressing down above you it was OK really. I brought three flashlights in my backpack, spare batteries, a winter thickness sleeping bag, my pod, food and a writing pad. Whatever the temperature outside it was cool down there, whatever the weather outside it was damp down there, it was a world unto itself.");334        mountain.add("The striations of the rock are as the first few wisps of white hair for this old man of the land. They sweep upward toward the dove-grey cloud, softly blue in compliment to the sky. The bareness of the high rock is a boldness, a confidence that in all this vast world the mountain dares to stand tall, reaching for the sun above the cloak of green that reaches all the way to my feet.");335        mountain.add("The mountain rose into the blue, a craggy grey face more steep than any David had ever seen. He lifted his eyes to the sky, touched his fingers to his lips and offered a kiss heaven-bound. This mountain was just the same as all of the others, just one boot hold, one hand hold at a time - no more, no less. He wrapped his fingers around the first cold rocky outcrop, his fingers making firm contact. His mind only had room for victory and the next movement each limb. As the wind blew around his tousled hair he recalled his father's words, \"Man is as tall as any mountain, it's just a matter of choosing to climb.\"");336        mountain.add("The track snaked around the side of a mountain with a sheer drop to the right. He was somewhere in the Brecon Beacons and there should have been a view, but it had been wiped out by the rain and the fading light. A few trees twisted out of the side of the hill with leaves as hard as thorns. Behind him, below him, ahead of him, it was all the same. Nowhere land.");337        mountain.add("When the melt comes to the mountains, it is the evergreens who show the season change first. Their white-winter coats are gaily swapped for deepest green and the ground-snow remains as glacial rivers for a time. A few more weeks and there will be rocks showing from the white, then the earth below. This is the time when the streams run full, when their life is infused with fresh water, pure and clean. Together with the birdsong, their watery percussion is the music of nature.");338        mountain.add("The mountain lay in the distance like a ridiculous green camel hump or perhaps the nose of a slumbering giant turned to rock. Martha held out her hands to make a &ldquo;picture frame.&rdquo; It fitted right in, a perfect photograph; from here it even looked two dimensional. She wondered if the air was thin at the top, if it was the kind of peak you had to take an oxygen tank to like some crazy backwards diver. She imagined herself all grown-up, dressed like a professional climber, one of a team. She'd have the spiked shoes and the pick-axe, a woollen hat and sporty lycra clothes under a fur-trimmed Gortex jacket in dusky pink. It was going to be such fun. But the car turned off on the road to Grandmas, the only adventure today would be apple pie with her firm-to-bite pastry.");339        ocean.add("The Ticonderoga, a ship designed to create, inspire, and charter the unknown, glides across the glimmering waters. The ship creaks and churns unsteadily at first, for the captain is unsure of the direction. The south wind begins to pick up, steering the ship into a sweet oblivion. Wavering winds seem to hum the same eerie lullaby, rocking, cradling, enchanting the crew. It guides The Ticonderoga beyond the blue depths, fashioning rings that ripple out in monotonous, infinite patterns.");340        ocean.add("This deep in the sea, even through my second skin, I can feel the temperature of the water drop. It isn't like a winter chill, bringing a shiver to the skin, but more like the welcome coolness of an autumn breeze. I can never get enough of these pure waters or the way everything is cast blue by the filtered light. Down here I am free to turn and move as I wish, the ties of gravity faded to nothing.");341        ocean.add("In the deep, with the brine flowing past our limbs, there is freedom. The sea has so many secrets, so many stories yet to tell and here we explore, admire the wonders and learn. Here my body has no weight that means anything, I can glide in any direction without fear of falling. This place, so far from the ordinary world above, is the wonderland of my dreams.");...
Automation Testing Tutorials

Learn to execute automation testing from scratch with LambdaTest Learning Hub. Right from setting up the prerequisites to run your first automation test, to following best practices and diving deeper into advanced test scenarios. LambdaTest Learning Hubs compile a list of step-by-step guides to help you be proficient with different test automation frameworks i.e. Selenium, Cypress, TestNG etc.